Just A Single Moment

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Just a Single Moment

Spring Dreaming

Just A Single Moment

My Favorite Photo

My brothers and Myself

Just A Single Moment: Sweet Apple Dumplings

Winter Prayers

Winter Prayers







It is February and the snow continues to fall, followed by icy rain and chilling temperatures. We, however, are blessed to be in a home, with heat, with lights, with food and with each other. I think of this as I gazed outside last night after hearing the ping of icy rain hitting our window. I looked at my grandchildren, my son and husband and bowed my head in thanksgiving.


I was alerted by my son actually, that he had not seen me pray over our meal, something that I do all the time and anywhere I am. I found it heartwarming that he would remind me. I guess I am setting an example to my children. My grandchildren who were already chomping down on their burgers and fries all turned to watch me. Puzzled looks upon their faces.


My husband, bless his heart, explained to the children why grandma prays and thanks God for our food and home. I was amazed that anyone had even noticed. It has become so instilled in me to pray before a meal, that I do not realize I do it. Tonight, was the first time in ages that I had to be reminded that I had not prayed. I was truly surprised at my son for pointing it out. For a moment, I almost felt chastised.


Prayers are an important part of my life. I don’t always feel I pray enough, or long enough or even in the right manner. However, I do pray daily. I think of those who truly need to be prayed for and kindly ask God to oblige to move in their lives, as if he didn’t already know right? Yet here I was, a parent, who needed reminded I had not bowed my head and said grace. God is my parent, do I remind him in my prayers. I think so, in some small way, I want him to hear about those I love, care for or worry over.


Just as my heart was warmed that my son noticed, I like the think the same of my Heavenly Father. One of the things I like to do in my prayers is give thanks. In my busy life, I do not always remember to do this, I take things for granted and often days go by before I truly am reminded of just how much I have. I used to keep a blessing book, something I think I need to do again, in which I listed every blessing I could think of in my life. I have so many, some so small that most people would wonder at my giving thanks for it. Yet even the smallest occurrence in our life can be counted as a blessing.


I explained to my grandchildren the story of my buying our home, a home in which they now share with us. I bought this rambling five bedroom house twenty years ago after their father had died. I was a single mom with four young daughters making very little money. I had a down payment and I had a heart to have a home, one in which I could give my daughters some sense of security after the loss we had just experienced.


I went house hunting. I prayed, I mean to tell you, I prayed a lot. The day I found our home, I was not really bowled over by it, but it fit our needs. I remember being at work, waiting to see if the bank approved my loan, a special loan at that time that I was one of the last to get. I prayed that if God really thought it best we purchase the home, he would provide a way. He did. I also signed for a fixed rate for seven years. My plan was in seven years when the rates went up, all four girls would be old enough to move on and out, or so I thought. I would then sell and buy or rent something smaller.


God provided much for us in the last twenty years because I put my faith in him. Four years after I purchased my home, I met Mark, my husband to be. Four years later, we would marry, refinance and God had provided again. I didn’t have to sell. Our home has had children move in and out and back in and back out several times. The home is older, a little more worn and shows signs of wear and tear, but so do we. Last year, we put a new roof over our heads and are secure for awhile longer. I give thanks to God for providing all of this.


We have weathered many storms, saw many cold winters here, lost power a few times, and shoveled snow so high we thought we would never see the end. Now we share this home, the very home God provided for us, with grandchildren and children. We are blessed.


So at every meal, every chance I get, I give thanks to God for all these blessings. As I explained to my grandchildren last night, even in the darkest, scariest storms in life, even when we feel sad, or lonely, we still can find something to count as a blessing.






Teresa Gale

Going Home

Going Home


The word home takes on a special meaning to me. I have lived in more homes than I care to count, went to twenty-two different schools, learned to pack quick and many times lived out of boxes. My parents moved a lot, no, my father was not military; I liked to say my birth mother was just a bored housewife who lived on the excitement of new houses.

Going home for me is traveling to my parents home in which I never lived, in a small town where I never unpacked a box or paid rent. However, it is where my dad and mom live now and have for several years, in a big rambling house that often is full to the brim with family.

The miles seem to stretch further apart these days and the trips home less frequent than when I was a young mother. I find the older I get; the busier I get and the less opportunities to travel the distance. I get homesick often, miss my folks and send cards, letters and try to keep in touch on the phones. It’s not the same as walking in that door and being embraced by my mom and dad, or seeing my grandmother smile.

Pictures line my rooms with photos of family in an attempt to gather them close to me. The substitution is not easy and my heart often aches for a visit. We have six children, all fairly close in distance from our home, a home I have lived longer in than I ever thought possible. We have several grandchildren, busy jobs, four pets and a multitude of commitments. I don’t know how I did the travel when my kids were smaller, but it seemed we found more time back then.

Lately, I could feel the disappointment and something like anger in my dad’s voice quite a few times as he encouraged us to make the trip. They were both lonely and health made it harder for them to travel to us. We recently lost our grandfather and grandma is now staying with my folks. I needed to get home, but found it near impossible with football schedules, school commitments, working loads of overtime and just plain exhaustion from trying to keep up with it all.

I noticed a certain edge in my father’s voice when I spoke to him, a longing to see his only daughter and the guilt weighted heavy. I even found myself defensive and dreading the calls home. My father has never been harsh with me, rarely raised his voice and I can only remember one time in my youth did he spank me. So when dad’s voice gets tense with me, it breaks my heart. What’s worse is I knew it was just plain ole homesickness on his part that we come home.

It took a few weeks to clear the calendar, make sure teen son was going to be responsible and daughter would handle the pets. Hubby and I took the first trip ever all alone with no children or grandchildren in tow. We took our time, stopping often on the four hour drive to give my leg a break which swells often from a recent blood clot. We stopped at our favorite shop along the way and loaded up on goodies.

I found myself getting more and more eager as the miles between my parents and our home drew closer. I wanted; no I needed to see them. As we walked into the door mom enveloped me in her arms, she is much shorter than I and almost has to stand on tip toe to greet me, but it was a hug much needed. Grandma’s face lit up in such a beautiful smile and our ole dog Duke came slowly hobbling our way for a sniff. Dad stopped in twice during the evening, taking short breaks from work and I was so happy to feel his rough beard against my cheek. I was home.

The days flew by, the hours of talking, catching up, laughing, touching each other as we walked by just ended way too quickly. Aunts came by, one of my brothers stopped in and the house filled up with the chatter of family who miss each other very much.

As I sat across the table from my father, my dad, no my daddy, I noticed the years had made him even more handsome. His hair gone whiter, his face a little more weathered, his hands tapping as we spoke just like his mother’s used to. All of it endeared me deeply. Mom was her usual happy self with lots of laughter and telling stories. I tried my best to memorize it all, to take some photos, to capture each precious moment as best I could.

Every time I part, I leave chunks of my heart behind. I often go silent in the car ride home and feel the heavy weight of homesickness clamping on my heart and soul. I long for the things I have never had with my parents, living closer. We have always had these miles between us as jobs and husbands took me further away. I have missed much in their lives and they have missed much in my own.

I wish so often that this could change, but I know in my heart, I can never leave my own children to move closer and my parents just wouldn’t be home moving closer to us. So we settle. We wait for those phone calls, we stalk each other on social network, we plan time together and we wait for the chance to see each other once again.

Although we may have so many miles between us, although we miss a lot of the day to day stuff, we can never erase that feeling of going home. We embrace our time together and cherish those moments together. Until we meet again.



Teresa Gale

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