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Do You Re-Gift?
Saturday, July 17, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Do you re-gift? I do!!
For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, it’s where you receive a gift and then turn around and “re-gift” it to someone else! I sound VERY EXCITED, don’t I? Well, I am…and here’s why.
Let me tell you about my latest re-gifting experiences…A couple of weeks ago had cervical artificial disc replacement surgery. As the name suggests, this is a very invasive and unpleasant experience. However, two beautiful bouquets of flowers were sent to the hospital for me and I was able to see those beautiful blossoms every time I was roused from my medicated state.
I LOVE flowers! I associate flowers with people and think of various friends and family members as the seasons change. Daffodils remind me of my Grandma Nonnie. Zinnias take me to my mom’s garden. Iris make me smile because of a Godly woman I love, named Margaret. Well, you get the picture. Flowers mean more to me than petals, stems and dirt.
For several years, I have not been physically able to garden, which makes my appreciation of them keener. So, when I received the flowers in the hospital, I wanted to admire them all that I could because flowers don’t last…at least with me. Before I left the hospital, two other patients who did not receive any floral hugs received beautiful bouquets from a “Secret Admirer”…ME!
Yep, I re-gifted them through the nurses to two patients who were not blessed with visitors, cards and flowers. I don’t know who they are, but I know they were blessed because I was blessed by them first!
Then, a couple of days ago, I was having a really bad day and the Lord reminded me that He allows “crap” (manure, call it what you will) to heap upon me sometimes because that is how He helps me grow into a beautiful blossom in His garden! I Facebooked about my revelation, but was not particularly happy about it…who is? Crap STINKS!
Then, the doorbell rang. I kid you not, it was MORE FLOWERS!!! Beautiful roses, asters and a fragrant profusion of blossoms that tickled my memory and my spirit in such a powerful way. God knew I was going to have a bad day. My precious friend, who was so generous to send them when she felt the inkling from Wisconsin, had no idea she would be used to send a special message from God. However, that is what happened. (thanks Terri!)
Today, my top priority is re-gifting this beautiful bouquet to someone else. Who will it be? I’m not sure…maybe a shut-in elderly widow, maybe a friend in the hospital, maybe my step-mom who is having us over for supper…it doesn’t really matter who they go to, because they will be a blessing. But, the cool thing about re-gifting is that I am blessed more than anyone else!!
Here is a "phone picture" of my special message flowers...
Cash vs Store Credit
Thursday, July 15, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Did you ever get a gift certificate to a store where you looked and looked and could not find that magical item at a price you could afford? Did you have to walk by “the holy grail of cool things that you REALLY want” in order to get to the first store?
Well, I’m here to tell you Just Between Friends is all about the holy grail…or paying the mortgage or a summer vacation for you and the kids. We know that money does not make the world go round, but try to pay for your next tank of gas with store credit and you quickly realize that it is important on some basic levels.
I was recently asked by a die-hard traditional consignment store consignor what makes JBF so special? (that’s when the glimmer in my eyes started to shine) Well, we pay our consignors up to 70% on their sold items. (she was getting 45% at best) We also pay you, in cash, two weeks after the sale for everything you sold. (not small checks each month or in store credit)
I went on to tell her about volunteering and how you can shop EVERYONE’s items before the public and even other consignors if she just volunteers four hours or more at the sale. (since her store was continuously open, there was never a chance to shop first unless she was in the store when an item was put on the sales floor) Of course, I also mentioned that moms set their prices, so she will find name brand clothing, toys, baby equipment, etc. at up to 90% off retail!
Needless to say, that mom is now JBF consignor number 2569! I love that we never have to hard sell Just Between Friends because it just makes sense when you do the math. Up to 70% on your sold items, CA$H at one time, you get to shop everyone else’s stuff first, and there is a TON of stuff at one time that is PRICED TO SELL! What’s not to love? Have you told your mommy-friends about JBF? (they will love you for it!!)
Manuals = Money
Friday, June 25, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
As I become a seasoned consignment “seller” (I’ve always been a seasoned shopper), I have paid particular attention to what sells best and how to sell it. With that said, manuals and original packaging can significantly increase the value of an item…particularly those items that are electronic in nature, or that have to be put together, or that have accessories.
Take, for example, a Bumbo…there are a dozen on the table to be purchased…which do you think sells the fastest? You guessed it, the one in the box. It might look the same as all of the others, but the BOX sells…even if the item is few dollars more than the others. There is a feeling of security and confidence when something LOOKS new.
When you consider electronic games, think of how confused you are when you see all of the new-fad products your kids breeze through and you have trouble turning on. Manuals are also helpful to KNOW you have all of the pieces something is supposed to have and where to go if the item needs repairs or replacement in the future.
Did you know you can’t sell a car seat without a manual? And, don’t even get me started about how much fun you can have trying to put together a crib without directions and illustrations.
So, here is what I do…when I purchase an item, I have a “warranty and manuals” file folder that I use for everything we purchase…toasters…vSmiles…strollers…board games. One place for all manuals…so I go back there anytime I sell, donate or give-away an item. How easy is that?
If I purchase something that I know will have a short lifespan, I also will break down the box and put it in the closet. Then, I have it to repackage the item with when it’s time to find a new home. Again, easy and not a big space is required for short-term storage.
Too, if you have an item that is part of a recall, make sure to print off the information and include the “fix” or parts that make the item safe to resell. Otherwise, you might be keeping an item that is now safe...but not documented.
These are not rocket science ideas, but they are worth the time and effort it takes to do them…after all, an extra $5 in your pocket means a special day a the dollar movies, a relaxing cup of coffee and gourmet cookie, or just a warm fuzzy in the collection plate at church!
Life Interrupted
Thursday, May 20, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Life is interrupted all the time...you start a job, you end a class, you have a child, a child moves out, someone dies, you move across the state, you make a new friend...well, you get the picture.
I was listening to a webcast from Disney this week, on change leadership, and it reminded me that WE are leaders of change in our family, in our circle of influence and in our own lives. One of the insightful things that was shared included, "Change, really, is the only constant in our lives. We cannot stop it and we cannot escape it. We can let it destroy us or we can embrace it."
Then, a "Walt Disney" quote summed it all up..."If you're coasting, you're going downhill." And that is SO true.
I grew up as a military brat...so change was normal for us. We moved around a bit, lived in different parts of the country and I, eventually, ended up in a broken home. Then, a grafted home, with steps, halfs and reals!
When things happen in our lives that are beyond our control, we have the opportunity to take a good look at ourselves and decide how we want to move forward. Is a job half-way across the country, with no family support, the best choice to make right now? What are some ways I can cut costs while my husband is deployed? What should I do with my time now that all of my children are in school?
I was always taught that you plan to fail if you fail to plan...so I have always tried to ponder solutions to interruptions that I know are going to happen. My children leaving the nest. Starting a new business. Medical issues that have changed my physical abilities. I don't just lie down and let life run me over, I allow myself time to pull over, change tires and then get back out on life's highway!
But, you cannot be prepared for everything...so I suggest taking time out to think about your options BEFORE making your next big decision. I like to talk to wise counselors, pray and consider all the things that are before me FIRST. Most decisions involve risk or we would already know what we should do...and that can be scary. However, it can also be exhilarating and set us free.
Maybe you've always wanted to return to school and finish a degree. You've just been laid off and have a severance package and the time. It might be the right time for you! Go for it!
No matter the interruption or the solution, you have choices. And, sometimes, the more you think about things, the more options you will have. Don't feel so rushed when life gets interrupted...remember, the road to "bitter" and "better" start with a single decision from you.
Here is Michelle...just pondering life with a cup of tea and her three canine confidants: Roly Poly, JJ and Dally.
Types of Moms
Monday, May 10, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Motherhood, in all of its many forms, offers each woman the opportunity to embrace, encourage and enhance the future. Being a mother, however, is not always about giving birth.
My mother was given up for adoption by a 34-year old woman who had 32 brothers and sisters, as well as an 18-month old daughter that she kept. I believe that it was a mother’s love that gave a childless couple a baby of their own.
When my mom’s adopted mother died of ovarian cancer, “Mother Superior” stepped in. My mom was only nine years old when she went to live at her Catholic boarding school, but soon her best friend's mother took her in and made her part of the family...that woman also became my Godmother.
My father was in Vietnam when my mother gave birth my older sister, with the help of her new mother-in-law (my grandma), mother number five in her life.
Although my parents divorced when I was seven, I received my second mother second mother six months later. After all, my dad had four children to father and mother. My step-brother made five and then a half-sister years later completed our flock of six children.
Having two mothers was not what I had dreamed about as a child, but it has been a blessing to have two mothers to learn from and share with. I did not always take advantage of the blessings, but have learned to accept, grow and become a better person with the guidance and direction of two very different women...both of whom I call mom.
When I became a mother at the age 20, I started to see myself as a mother first and a woman second. Then I met my husband and was blessed with yet another mother, my mother-in-law. Kevin and I were unable to have a child together, but I embraced his two children and welcomed them into my heart as their “second” mom. I know it will only be a few years before I am a grandmother, yet another important role of mother.
Sadly, I lost my mom "Queen" last September, of AMML Leukemia. She was gone in less than a week after she was diagnosed at a regular doctor's appointment. This was my first Mother's Day without her. But, I am comforted knowing where she is and that we said all there was to say and do before her passing. In fact, I still think often of the last two things she said to me...as she drifted in and out of a coma..."Thank you for your goodness and kindness"...and, after trying to rouse her for hours, I leaned down and told her "I love you" one last time...she whispered back, without opening her eyes, "I love you, too." What else does a daughter need to know? What else does a mom need to say?
I can honestly say that being a mother is the best part of being…it makes you laugh, cry and pray…sometimes all at the same time. Mothers are simply women who open their hearts to others and love unconditionally and, yes, sometimes unconventionally. The manner of motherhood is less important than the method of motherhood.
Here is an impertinent and wonderful picture of my mom, horsing around with her camera-in-hand-so-she-doesn't-have-to-be-in-the-picture daughter!
Losing Hannah
Monday, April 12, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Losing Hannah in a Sea of Cotton Balls
Hannah was the most beautiful baby that ever was or ever shall be for me. She had red ringlets of baby soft hair, sparkling blue eyes and alabaster skin with the slightest hint of freckles across her nose. Hannah was a very bright child whose intelligence was but a promise of the future ahead for her. She was kind, loving and her laughter was like bottled sunshine on a cloudy day. Hannah was perfect. But she was never real.
Hannah was the name that I had chosen for the child I would someday have with my husband. We talked about her daily, saw other children and took the best parts of them to make up our Hannah. We dreamed of what she would look like and of all the things we would do with our sweet girl. I loved Hannah, or at least the thought of her, almost as much as I loved real people. Hannah would be the child I “raised right” now that I was older, wiser and better able to afford a child. She would keep me young, as she grew and be a joy to her older half-brothers. She would join my husband and I together like an unshakable bond. But Hannah only lived in the recesses of our minds and I lost her for good one morning in a sea of cotton balls.
My husband’s doctor only gave him a 50/50 chance of ever being able to father a child, and that only if he underwent a costly surgery that insurance would not cover and that we could not afford. I was the last woman in my family who had not had a hysterectomy and my deteriorating health demanded that I go through with the surgery. I was angry when the nurse paraded me by the nursery on the way to my hospital room. I was mad at the pregnant girls I saw in the waiting room with loving hands on their protruding stomachs. I was hurt that God never saw fit to give me the baby girl I had always dreamed of having. Yet, God sent me a hug in the form of one very petite nurse who came to prep me for my early morning surgery.
I cannot remember her name, but a smiling face burst into my room of gloom and she acted as if this was not one of the darkest days of my life. She chatted about this and that and saw to my comfort as if I was her sole patient. Then, she asked me if I had children and I told her about my wonderful son. “You are so blessed,” she said. “I see so many girls in here every day, much younger than you are, who will never know what it feels like to hold their baby in their arms. You are lucky to have had the chance to raise a child of your own. I had to have a hysterectomy, too, but God used me to raise three adopted children and I would not change my experience for the world.”
Blessed? Me? I guess I had been blessed to have such a wonderful son in Halston and having him had brightened each day of my life. I could still look forward to blessing my grandchildren, my stepsons, Halston’s friends, and the host of other young people that come in and out of my life. God wasn’t punishing me by not letting me have a child; He just had another path in mind for me to take at this time. By the time I saw the inside of the operating room, I no longer felt sorry for myself and mad at God for taking Hannah from me. I was thankful for Halston and all the many years behind and in front of me that we would share. I know that the Lord held my hand as I drifted off into the anesthesia and He listened quietly as I told Him all about the girl that I had dreamed of for so many years. Then, as if looking through a sea of cotton balls, I gave Hannah to God and I let her go once and for all. Slowly blinking again, I saw an austere recovery room filled with doctors, nurses and a newly healed woman who was not going to hold onto what could never be, but who was thrusting her loving spirit around what should be in her world.
Being in God’s perfect will is not about getting everything you want, it is about taking everything you are given and using it to glorify the Giver. Living in God’s perfect will is not always fun, easy or where you might want to be, but it is where you will grow, mature and receive mighty blessings if you are willing to accept His direction for your life. God’s map for your life is not set in stone, with a strict list of directions to heaven. It is a perpetual, living pathway that leads where you need to go, when you need to be there. If you choose to take another path, you will be on someone else’s road that will lead you right back to where you left your own path…time and time again until you get back on the right path. If you decide not to go any further and stop on your path, then you will not receive all the blessings that God has in store for you on the way to your final destination. No, it is much easier to just keep putting one foot in front of the other on your own path and following where the Lord might lead you. He will show you flowers and scenery beyond comparison. He will hold your hand through the dense forests, rushing rivers and high mountain passes. He will take you where you need to be to become the best “You” you can be. What other map can promise you such great treasure?
Letting go of a dream that I had fostered and fed since childhood was not something that I wanted to do, because it meant letting go of the pain and loss that accompanied that memory as well. I had to release the fantasy and grasp reality to realize that my future lay in another direction and that I would miss what God had for me if I continued to live in a past that never really was in the first place. Giving Hannah to God allowed me to turn a corner in my life and start off in another direction full of promise. I know not where this path leads, but I know that I am not alone and I no longer feel the pain and loss that had previously come with thoughts of Hannah. She was at peace now and so was I. Looking back, I see no familiar or painful sights because of the bend in my road. Looking forward, I see all I ever wanted in new and exciting forms. I guess He really does know best. Are there things in your life you need to let go….and let God handle?
Sean Connery
Monday, April 05, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
No matter who Sir Thomas Sean Connery portrays in the movies, he always comes off as a sexy, debonair and suave gentleman who reeks of romance. Blessed with a voice that could charm the pants of a saint, he need not do anything more than conjure up a bit of the Scottish brogue to incite swooning women and jealous men. However, it’s more than a look. It’s more than a sound. It’s the entire package. Strong. Striking. Mysterious. A bit of a rebel and a rouge.
Although the man is old enough to be my father, I can safely say that none of my dad’s cronies look anything like Connery. The epitome of an international man of mystery, he is also a bad boy, a hero and a heartbreaker with flowing gray hair, a full beard and strong, steady hands. When I see Sean Connery on television or in a movie, I have to physically stop myself from fantasizing about a man whom I have always considered as ruggedly and wildly handsome as his home country.
I think his appeal comes from never running away from a challenge, especially one wearing high heels, spandex and more than one concealed weapon. Sean Connery is intense when he speaks, directing his full attention to the person he is talking to. Every moment is slow, precise and never includes a hint of hurry or indecision.
I have never heard that Sir Connery is a fool and I am quite certain he has fully utilized and honed his natural persona, which has made him quite popular with the ladies and not-as-popular with the men. Is this an unfair advantage to the rest of mankind? Certainly not. Just strive for what Sean has managed to perfect—making every person important to you feel like they are a stunning supermodel, Prince Charming or a priceless treasure.
In order to accomplish this, let’s break down Sean’s sexy shell and see what’s inside. First of all, he always looks good in what he’s wearing. From khaki jungle garb, to cowboy attire, to a sleek tuxedo…or much less. Then you have that soft and sexy beard, but then again he looks just as great clean-shaven. That voice, strong and direct, always tinged with a bit of humor that makes you wonder what he’s thinking…and when he is going to get around to giving you a kiss!
His eyes reach out and grab you, demanding your full attention…even if you are watching a late night Connery movie on a tiny black and white TV screen. Those hands—strong like a warrior’s, not like a dandy’s—are the hands of a man who works for what he wants and doesn’t expect others to do it for him.
Now, even though Sean Connery is very male and exudes a masculinity that defies definition, there are many of his attributes that could easily be adopted and most assuredly would be appreciated by your sweetie. Start by being comfortable with who you are and what you wear. Don’t fight fashion, define your own personal style and set some of your own trends. Expound upon your personal assets and never underestimate the magnetism of a genuine smile.
Be kind in your speech and think about your words BEFORE you say them…and don’t always be in a rush (Boy, do I struggle with this one!). Slow down, savor the moments you spend with others and make every minute worth remembering. And, when you are talking with someone, give them the gift of your full attention and respect them enough to listen to what they are saying, so they FEEL valued, respected and special.
Don’t be afraid of hard work and remember that something made with your hands or your heart is better than anything money can buy. (Personally, I like hand-whittled diamonds, heartfelt checks with lots of zeros and two-hour massages…wink! Wink! Nudge! Nudge!)
Being a romantic is not something you can pull out of the closet like a tuxedo and put on for special occasions, it is a way of life that demands you be engaged in your most special relationships every day. Also, you don’t save your loving, thoughtful and generous nature for your spouse…extend your efforts to your friends, family and co-workers….more on that in a later blog!
I’m not saying you have to a candlelit dinner waiting every night (guys, this goes for you, too), but every once in a while is certainly nice. Likewise, a love note, sexy pager message or a lacy “welcome home” from a hard day at work can turn up the flame and keep the romance bubbling like a warm post of stew and cornbread on a cold, winter’s night.
Women, too, can learn a thing or two from Sir Sexy Sean. What man would not like a confident, collected and forthright woman who speaks kindly, works hard and could melt a cold heart with a hot look? (…only a stupid, close-minded chauvinist who is better off living alone in his RV behind his mom’s house, drinking warm beer and sitting around in his saggy underwear with his flea-infested dog, that’s who!)
Be proud of who you are, where you come from and what you have to offer the world. Utilize your strengths to surprise and delight others. Are you a great cook? Make her a wonderful dinner. Are you good with your hands? Make him a picture frame and put yourself inside. Are you a writer? Tell the world how wonderful your honey is with sweet words…you can always use Splenda, if you are a diabetic!
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Divorce & Kids
Monday, March 29, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
The Girl Next Door
Trailers do not have soundproof walls or doors. But I did not need sounds to tell me something was going very wrong with my fairytale existence…for me, once upon a time would not end in happily ever after. I was just starting school, in Brownies and in the middle of a divorce. One day, my mom just wasn’t there…six months later, the girl next door, Jean, married my dad and we moved into her trailer with her son, Robert. The new marriage was not started before the old one ended, but it sure felt that way in my heart. I vowed to never marry anyone with children…never say “never” to God.
Twenty-four years after my dad married the girl next door, my husband did the same with me. We were neighbors, our children played together and spent the night together, and we became friends almost as an afterthought. How could my Dad marry someone other than my Mom? I found from personal experience that it was not that hard. Growing up with a “step monster” was almost too easy. If anything was wrong or bad about my life, I could blame her. “Her” could be my stepmom or my real Mom—whichever one would fit better in whatever situation I happened to be in at the time. I spent all my time blaming others for my problems and no time dealing with those problems—yes, I had it good.
Robert, my stepbrother who is a month or so younger than my younger sister Ann, was quiet and thoughtful…much like his mother. He was dark, we were light. He was silent, we could not shut up. He was different, we were the same. I didn’t want them in my life and I wasn’t shy about it. I wanted my Mom, my life and me back. How could I be a momma’s girl when I never saw my momma? How could I learn to be a good mother on our monthly weekend visits? How could someone leave me…I was special. It took me years to realize, it was not about me.
I spent a great deal of my time as a kid trying to figure out what I did to make my parents split and what I could do to get them back together. No matter what I tried, the pages on the calendar kept turning. Looking back, I now see that I could not appreciate what I had because all I saw and thought about was what I had lost. My mother lost her mother at nine, my Dad lost his father at 13…I believe they did the best they could with what they knew. I had looked around at other kid’s parents and wondered why mine could not be more like them. I talked with many friends years later who had looked at my parents and wondered why their parents had not been more like mine. How ironic…I guess the grass does look greener on the other side of the mountain.
Today, I am the daughter of two mothers and one father. Maryann gave birth to me, we shared a face, and we shared many stories, memories and a French heritage (she is now with the angels). Jean raised me, taught me how to keep house, cook and clean, and we share many triumphs, challenges and spiritual strong towers. I call them both “Mom” and, more importantly, my heart can no longer tell the difference. They are as different as night and day and I love them both, each for their unique qualities. Neither is/was perfect, but neither am I. Tom, my father, has still never told me, “I am proud of you,” but I had to stop holding back my love for him until I heard those words, because I may never hear them. I found that forgiveness is freedom, the past can haunt the present if you let it, and that parents just get you started in the race…it is up to you how you finish it.
Below (I'm the second tow-head from the right)!
For Single Moms
Monday, March 22, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Laboring Into Life
The constant electronic beeping of my heart echoed that of my unborn child, growing faster and harder as the night wore on. The monitors that embraced my swollen body, like the tentacles of a metal octopus, kept trying to drag me into the murky depths of unconsciousness. The cold, reaching sleeves of steel dragged me in and out of the black world of confusion and fear as the agonizing screams of another young girl were magnified in my ears—only that other girl was me.
I could not take the sounds of terror anymore, the pain consuming everything but my mind, so I retreated there. Smiling through the sweat that was rolling down my face, I felt the chilled breeze that promised snow was coming to the Missouri Ozarks of my past. Laughing like a child, I stomped through the forest and stopped to silently admire the delicate balance of snow on even the smallest branch. Then, the branches changed to black solid bands grasping at me and ripping me painfully back to the Oklahoma hospital where the searing spasms in my body made me feel as if I would soon be split open like a ripe watermelon left too long in the sun.
I spent an eternity in those seven hours, journeying far beyond the blue walls of my torturous prison to other places, only to come crashing back with startling clarity. Why did I desire escape? Why was I not embracing the life I was about to bring forth? Because 20 years of wistful dreaming was being shattered by a choice I made on the night of March 5, 1988. In a desperate plea for love, I chose to let a man unworthy of my affection and devotion push me to make a decision that would forever change the direction of my life.
The doctors and nurses chatted endlessly about Thanksgiving dinners and family plans, while discussing the hottest toys for Christmas that year. Time existed for me only in the broken record of people I can no longer picture counting slowly to ten as my contractions grew stronger and longer each time. The pain of loss and rejection I felt that cold, spring night reverberated a thousand times over in my heart during the next nine months and crescendoed at 4:42 am, November 30, 1988.
A friend at the time, whom I have not seen in years now, had recently lost her last child and was the only familiar face to share this priceless moment with me—when two souls are separated and then introduced. This special time, which is meant to be part of the life-long bond of parents and child, was a moment passed in the gut-wrenching heartache of rejection that hurt more than any physical pain ever could. As my son’s first cries screamed the silent pain I could not give voice to, I retreated inside where only I could still feel the aching agony in every fiber of my being.
The shock and weight of the impending role of a “single mother” robbed me of even being able to hold or look at my child right away and I asked that he be taken away until I could deal with my broken and battered thoughts and emotions. Alone and very scared, God threw me a lifeline in the form of a precious, little boy with strawberry red hair and ocean blue eyes. As the tiny sleeping bundle was brought into my recovery room and placed into my arms, I gazed in wonder at the gift that was being entrusted to my care and I slowly and reverently began to unwrap my unexpected present given during an event that was anything but celebratory. All pink and wrinkly, smelling like only a baby can, I branded my son, Halston Grant (which means “blessed greatly”), with my tears and I vowed to make sure he never suffered for my bad choice. I now had the love I had so desperately sought less than a year before, although my love could never keep my son from suffering a sense of loss for the rest of his life. Amazingly, Halston does not dwell on his lack of a father and, seemingly, celebrates the bond that we share even more so than other sons and mothers.
When the pediatric nurse came to take my precious son back to the nursery, she practically had to pry him from my loving arms. It only took a few seconds of gazing at God’s creation to give me the strength to exhale the pain of a lover’s rejection and inhale the innocent love of a child. All alone in my sterile hospital room, devoid of flowers, family or friends, I celebrated the new spirit that God had placed inside me and then brought forth to share with and with which to bless the rest of world.
I finally had something that was truly mine to treasure, someone to love and be loved by in return, and a kindred spirit to celebrate life with every day. Yes, I agonized inside when a smiling nurse came to me and asked if the baby’s father would be able to partake of the traditional “New Parents’ First Night Out” steak dinner provided by the hospital, but I said “No” without a waiver. I was not the same person who had entered the hospital the day before, but having my stepmother pick me up and quickly share a meal prepared for two in the hospital’s “blue room” still clinched at my heart. This meal was meant to be shared by those celebrating the new life of two loves, not the venerable emotion of a lost soul and a new life clinging to each other with blind need.
I flamed with shame as I filled out my son’s birth certificate and purposefully left the father’s name blank. I was disappointed when family and friends seemed embarrassed whenever my child was discussed. I was angry that I shouldered the burden alone. For the first time in my life, I could not retreat back into myself because I had someone else to care for and love. I have now been a mother for 21 years and I can say with no uncertainty that my son is truly the only reason I am still here on this earth and writing these words. Giving birth is just the beginning, especially as a single parent. I will not say that the road I have traversed from there to here has been all that fun, exciting or easy, but it has been well worth it. I have been so far down that the only thing between me and meeting God face-to-face was Halston. Loneliness can eat away at your insides and cause you to give up on life, but love can and does fill you up…if you let it.
Years of attempted father/son activities still blow cold through the caverns of my soul, but the light in my son’s eyes when he knows that I have tried warms me inside. I cannot change or make up for the choices I made that have impacted him, or others for that matter, but I can take each day for what it is worth and try to make the best of what I have at that time. Remember, some choices affect us for a minute, like what to have for dinner. Some choices will affect us for a week, like where to go for vacation. But, some choices will affect us for the rest of our lives. God can bring about good from our poor choices, but I find myself wondering, from time to time, what my life would have been like had I not made the choice that I did so many years ago—slowly exhaling, I leave the past behind and look to the future. Where are your eyes focused?
Here is my Halston Grant!
Crowns of Daisies
Wednesday, March 17, 2010 By: Michelle Wiginton
Crowns of Daisies
It was late spring, after the rains had brought a colorful carpet of flowers to the countryside, when the days seem to linger with a hazy lens effect on time. I was four years old and it was 1972. A soft, gray kitten was my new best friend, butterflies were mystical creatures that played with imaginary fairies, and I lived with my family on the side of a mountain, just below my grandma Nonnie’s house in the Missouri Ozarks.
Nonnie had taught hairdressing school for years, but the loss of her husband and oldest son demanded that she stay near the farm, so she set up shop on the first floor of her home. Her clientele consisted of a never-ending parade of other grandmas from around the area. I knew they were grandmas because they were always telling me I reminded them of their grandchildren—which I thought was strange, because I knew I was special and not like anyone else in the whole wide world. I just assumed they did not know how very special I was, so I just smiled like I had been taught and said, “Thank you very much.”
My Grandma’s shop was located on the southeast corner of her home, overlooking the valley, forest and hills that were in a constant state of change. The trees were a kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, oranges, browns and greens, always mixing and meshing with the seasons. In spring, the shades of green around the farm abounded and were more varied than the selection I had from the big box of crayons that I had gotten for Christmas the year before. My mom was expecting another baby and so I got to visit Nonnie during the day, if I stayed out of trouble.
When you are four years old, life is exciting in a way that will never be again. The closest I can come to recapturing that thrilling feeling of discovery is when I travel to places to which I have never been. I would follow deer tracks to see where they led, I would lie on my back for hours watching cloud characters play in the sky, and I would make gifts for everyone—that was my first special gift. I have been a giver as long as I can remember and, I truly believe, this is a gift from God. At four, I gave of my time and imagination, creating crowns of daises for my Grandma’s customers. The ladies might arrive “just grandmas,” but they left “queens” with real crowns—given to them by a special princess…me.
When the time of the daisies ended, I made clover jewelry, bouquets of dandelions, honeysuckle, and anything else that had petals wound up as priceless presents for the grandmas. I toiled hard during those spring and summer months, but I also discovered how unique a fuzzy caterpillar felt when it crawled on my leg and I spent many humorous moments laughing at inch worms crawling up my arm. It was many years later that Nonnie told me how her customers would squeal and cringe as they observed me playing outside the shop windows. Oblivious to their disapproving eyes, I continued to do the fascinating things that all four-year-olds do and managed to have something special for all those ladies who came to call at my Grandma’s shop.
As the summers began to run together, I found new ways of giving to others: a word of thanks for every meal that was prepared for me; showing appreciation for a job done right, the first time; and offering a helping hand to family, friends and even strangers whenever I thought they could use one. As a giver, I have observed many who were not blessed as I was and my sorrow, even at the tender age of four, was great for those who did not think of others first. To see a heartbroken widow’s face begin to crease into a smile that had long since faded over time made any sacrifice or effort more than worth it to me. To hear the words of praise from my family—words that I was never meant to hear--as they told others of my gift assured me that my lone cause was worthy. To feel the thanks from my father as he toiled in the sun when I brought him a cold drink—these things meant more than money 38 years ago and they mean even more to me today.
As a teenager, my friends would tell me to out with boys just “for a movie and dinner” and I would say, “But I know that I don’t like them, isn’t that wrong to use someone like that?” It was, but I still did it from time-to-time and felt terrible the entire evening. As an employee, peers would ask me why I gave “110 % every day” and my response was, “Why don’t you?” but they rarely ever did. As a single parent, others would say, “Why don’t you take welfare instead of working” and I would say, “Because I can work and give my son a good example for when he has to provide for his family.”
Giving is not about gifts, it is about living a life that others can take from and be better because of it. Giving is not about material things; it is about a heart that values people over property. Giving is a test of faith in God that says you know you will be provided for and taken care of by a loving Father who owns the cattle on a thousand hills. Giving is a gift to yourself, as you will learn more when you give than you ever do when you take and those warm memories, feelings and relationships will follow you to your grave…and beyond.
Look around, are there those people in your life who continually give to others? Are you one of those individuals? If you are not, then you should be. Giving comes in many forms and God wants to bless more of His children with this special gift. Listen for that quiet voice that says, “Tell that lady she looks nice today.” This simple command has been given to me so many times that I have lost count, but it has also opened up a window of blessing that continue to pour into my life each new day. I have been told by many “nice-looking strangers” that they were down so low and that what I said had brightened their day and gave them hope, especially when I share that it was God’s whisper that told me what to say. They did not look “down” on me, but God knew what was on the inside of these other people and He needed a giver just to give, not ask questions like, “What if she thinks I’m weird?” or the usual excuse, “But, I don’t know that person, Lord!” God just asks that we be willing, He makes us able. I have never been asked to give more than I have and the blessings that I have received in return have always been greatly tipped in my favor.
Giving is a way of life. I have taken my son on “secret service trips” where we will go and do something anonymously like mow someone’s lawn right before they return from vacation. He has accompanied me when I gave blood and plasma, always seeing me look for opportunities to give to others. We have opened our home to those in need, always given good clothes away instead of selling them at a garage sale, and even hidden money in couch cushions for those who are not able to take easily. I am constantly amazed at how many times I have been blessed just when I needed it. There have been times, many times, when I did not have five dollars to my name and I would find money on the street, receive an anonymous envelope with twenty dollars in it, and even receive a rebate check I was not expecting. I have never had much, but I have always had enough--enough to enjoy and enough to share.
Any time I feel down, lonely, hurt, forgotten, rejected, lost or unloved in any way, I make myself give something to someone and I always feel much better because of it. Your gift may only be a smile, but think of how good it feels when a stranger smiles at you in a crowd. It may only be a night of taking care of a baby, so a mother can take a long bath and read a book without interruption, but think of how welcome that might be to an exhausted young girl with no family around to help out. It may only be an open heart and wide shoulders, but think of how wonderful it is when you can help someone else exhale their heartache with the help of a true friend. Giving is not about a gift, it is the gift. What do you give to others?
I am the second "princess" from the right!
