Into the Free conveys Depression-era Mississippi innocence along with the harshness of survival in a time of unemployment and poverty. Life is hard, Millie’s family life is harder, and still she marches on. While not duplicating Harper Lee’s Scout, Millie has enough of a Scout echo to strum heartstrings that adore Alabama’s favorite heroine. Millie’s music is an original song that captures her struggles and joys. It still plays in my head.

A five-star book for me is one that I’ll read again and that I find myself pondering scenes from as if they happened to someone I know. Into the Free is a definite five-star.

GPS search results

Still, I pick my restaurant and take off. In this case, I basically know where it is anyway, but choose to let GPS direct me. Immediately it dislikes my approach to the starting point and starts “rerouting.” I ignore it, knowing it will catch up with me.

Cruising along, I hear, “In .3 miles, turn left on Columbia.” Good enough, but by the time I check my mileage and look up, I’ve passed the street. I whip into a parking lot and try again while the GPS tries to steer me back on course.

Then I hear, “Turn left on College Avenue.” Sure, that’d get me there, but I know the restaurant is in the parking lot straight ahead and I can approach from the back. I reach Inca, turn off the GPS, and we’re both happy. Destination achieved.

How does that compare to trusting God for guidance? I enter my destination. Again, not so fast. God might have other plans. Maybe he wants me to go to Ross Dress For Less. I hope he doesn’t choose Crop Production Svc Inc because I have no idea what I’d do there. With GPS, I can cheat and look at the entire route before traveling. With God, I see just far enough ahead to keep moving. Or waiting until he tells me to move.

Once I’m on my way, God keeps me on course until he tells me to change direction. There may not be an “in .3 miles” warning at all. So I remain flexible and trusting. Like GPS, when I make a wrong turn, God recalculates, but he doesn’t squawk at me saying, “recalculating” or anything else that I interpret as “you’re an idiot, why didn’t you listen?” That keeps me calm and trusting.

There may not be any familiar landmarks when traveling with God. He wants me to rely on him. That’s so much harder to do. I want to look for a McDonald’s or even that advertised Red Lobster. Still, he’s God, he has a plan, and he cares where I go. I’m much better off sticking with him as my guide than relying upon my instincts.

Eventually, I end up where God wants me. I don’t always know where it’ll be or when. But he’s a lot smarter than a machine, and I plan to choose him every time.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV

What about you? What experiences have you had with GPS and with God? What’s been better?

At that point, our hotel room was our local retreat. Once we returned, I was able to relax and reenergize for the rest of the trip. We’d stamped the room with our personalities and made it home by filling it with things we’d brought—clothes, books, and electronics. Life with the bare minimum.

A day later we were back in Colorado. Our home here is bigger and contains more of our stuff. But is it really the stuff that makes a home? It can’t be as simple as that since we could label a hotel room home.

We’ve lived in many towns and states and made our home in each place. Home is a place we belong. A place we choose. A place with family, friends, and familiar things. Home is fluid and adaptable. It changes with our needs and it comes in many forms. I enjoy the variety and the way we’ve redefined it in each place. Like a hermit crab, we’re able to grow and mature and toss off one shell for a more appropriate one. Eventually, we’ll shed this earthly one and move into our heavenly one Jesus has gone to prepare. Now, that will really be home.

My house has been on a diet. I’ve attacked rooms, closets, and drawers. Along the way, I’ve examined clothing, shoes, purses, lotions, soaps, knick knacks, pillows, pictures, furniture, and, most recently, Christmas decorations. My Christmas closet now holds one-fourth its former weight. It wasn’t easy. Who doesn’t love a singing Christmas tree? And dancing Frosty?

Clean Christmas closet

Still, like every other area in the house, I asked myself “Do I love it?” and “Do I still use it—or still want to?” Those questions helped—a lot. Anything I love or still want to use, I kept. But those other things, the ones that I’d enjoyed but tired of, have gone into give-away piles. I filled boxes to offer to friends and took all leftovers to Goodwill. It’s been liberating. Someone else can now enjoy one of these treasures.

The things with emotional pull, but no current use, transformed into a digital picture I can look at whenever I like. And we all know digital pictures don’t add any weight to our houses. So if that crazy rock reminded me of a great vacation, I pitched it out of the house and into my memory stick.

The result of my decluttering diet? There’s more room to move in the house, less to clean and dust, I’m emotionally lighter, and I can enjoy the things I truly love.

What about you? What have you gotten rid of and how did you do it? Please share. I might need to apply your tricks to take off those last few clutter pounds.

Ensign James F. Trawick

The earthly journey ended last week for my father-in-law, Commander James F. Trawick (USN Ret.). Also known as Jim, Jim-Jim, and Dad, he went to heaven on Monday, January 28, 2013, and was buried next to his wife, Eunice, at Memory Garden in Brea, California, on Saturday, February 2.

I’d never been to a military funeral and the respect these servicemen showed one of their own impressed me. Six men drove from San Diego to Brea to give a proper send off to Dad. As the flag-draped coffin approached the gravesite, one sailor saluted and two others walked behind. The minister shared stories from Dad’s life—silly jokes he was known for, his love for teaching his Sunday School class, and his work with the Gideons.

When the minister finished, the three-gun volley pounded into the sky like a sledgehammer to my heart. Thwack, thwack, thwack. The bugler slid into Taps and a sob hiccupped from deep in my chest with absolutely no warning.

Finally, the folding of the flag. With precise hand movements and a white-gloved hand running along the folds, the sailor moved forward and folded again. He presented the flag to the Captain, who saluted and took it, then the sailor saluted.

I sat behind my husband as the Captain knelt in front of him, presented the flag, looked him in the eye, and solemnly said, “On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to this Country and a grateful Navy.”

Funeral of Commander James F. Trawick (USN Ret.)

The sailors quietly slipped away as the funeral finished. They were as humble in this duty as Dad was in his. Not many knew he received a bronze star in World War II for ordering his crew to return fire when the enemy attacked their ship. He certainly wouldn’t tell you.

I’ll miss Dad. As will his three children, five grandchildren, six great-grandchildren, sons-in-law, and friends.

The next morning, we awoke to ten inches of snow and ice. All of us were stranded, with and without power at varying times, across the Arkansas capital area. My sister Sherri created our indoor exercise program—we climbed all nine floors of our hotel, walking the halls on every floor on the way up and down. She, David, and I talked all the way. What a great time from a situation we couldn’t do anything about.

Over the next couple days, we dug ourselves out, and the whole family shopped, ate, and visited the Clinton Presidential Library (http://www.clintonlibrary.gov). The snow and power outages took away any pressure to do anything other than enjoy the opportunities we had. Before leaving town, we met at IHOP and feasted on pancakes and other breakfast goodies.

David and I drove home on a new route so we could visit with one of my critique partners and her husband. It was delightful to finally meet Lora and Bill, and we chatted for hours.

The second day of our drive, we played tourist. We checked out the Great Wolf Lodge in Kansas City, Kansas (http://www.greatwolf.com), the Great Overland Station in Topeka (http://www.greatoverlandstation.com), and ended the day with the Eisenhower Presidential Library in Abilene, Kansas (http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov). I highly recommend stopping for any of these if you get the chance. All our sightseeing took up the bulk of the day, and we stayed another night on the road.

The next day, we woke to more snow and drove slowly through limited visibility in Kansas then reached clear weather in Colorado. We finally made it home in the late afternoon.

Our Westie, Daisy, stayed with our friend Cathy and her dogs, Emma and Katie. The three girls played like crazy the entire time we were gone. Daisy slept for two days after we picked her up. This picture of her sums up what happens when you have a good time over the holidays hanging out with family and friends.

I hope your holidays were just as fun. What did you do and how are you recovering?

The three girls

Where’s your home for the holidays?

My grandmother Annabelle died over fifteen years ago, but she hugged me last night. Sleep evaded me and I snuggled beneath the covers, pulling the top layer under my chin. The nubby texture flooded my mind with memories stored within the stitches of the afghan my grandmother crocheted for me when I was in my teens.

I don’t know why she picked the colors she did. Well, one color’s yellow and my sister and I shared a yellow bedroom. I think I might have had something to do with that. But brown and orange? I haven’t a clue. Other than that bedroom, it’s never matched any decorating scheme of mine. Yet it’s always found a place on a couch, in a chair, or on my bed.

Daisy Belle enjoys Annabelle’s afghan

It’s still going strong. A testament to the durability of sports weight yarn. I’ve washed it hundreds of times in the thirty plus years I’ve carried it around the world. Created on a farm in Arkansas, it’s been to Germany and three states. Six apartments, six houses, and one condo. It’s also been slept on by my four Westies, the most recent named Daisy Belle. Grandmother would have liked that.

Sweet dreams.

What are your favorite memories of your grandmother?