I'm being serious...

Just kidding. I’m not like that often...but I have been known to be serious on occasion. I try not to be serious for any length of time because that just isn’t the way I’m wired. Some people say I’m not wired right...never have been and never will be. They’re right. That’s me. And my main thing with this blog is to bring a smile to your face or make you laugh so hard that tears will fall down your legs.

But this one may be a little different because there is something I must share with you. After my sister died unexpectedly in January of this year, I felt lost. Yes, I have my wonderful husband, daughter, son-in-law and brothers...but she was gone.

Vangie was a “presence” in my life. My first playmate, my first friend, my roommate. She was constantly reminding me that God gave me the voice I have to sing with and so I must always use it for Him. So when I was singing Carole King and James Taylor tunes in coffeehouses and other venues, Vangie’s reminder always came to me. Even when I’d try to shove it in the corner of my mind, it was there. I’ve never forgotten. And now I do my best to use it like she advised me. (Except when I sing the songs I use in my comedy routines, like the one I wrote about comparing my body to a car...and “The Menopause Song - Stand By Your Fan.” She heard those, by the way, and laughed as hard as anyone, so I guess it was okay with her if I did a little comedic music now and again.)

My sister was my biggest supporter, cheerleader and fan. She would constantly encourage me about this or that...not empty praise or encouragement...but straight from her heart. And that is now my dilemma. She’s gone.

I recently began doing my comedy again, after I’d had time to grieve and get some things in perspective. But I hadn’t had the opportunity to share in a church service until this past Sunday evening. The 3 1/2 hour drive was mostly through heavy rains, so I was a bit tense. I didn’t listen to the radio because I wanted to concentrate on what I was going to share that night.

But one nagging thing was breaking that concentration as I drove. I felt that I just couldn’t stand up and share my heart with that congregation without falling apart. It’s one thing to stand up and try to keep them laughing...but this was different. Yes, I shared a few funny things, but I had a message to bring. I’m not a preacher. That’s my husband’s job. But I do have things to share that I hope ends up encouraging others...as was the plan that evening.

Vangie would always write on her calendar the dates I’d have for speaking or singing engagements, as well as my comedy dates. That was so she could pray for me. Afterward, she’d always ask how it went. But I knew she didn’t know about this one. And it felt strange to think I wouldn’t have to call her the next morning to give her a report on the previous evening’s moments.

People tell me that the “firsts” of anything will be the hardest after a loss like I’ve experienced. They’re right. Last night was my first time to speak in a church service, sharing something God had laid on my heart to say. And it was a first without her knowing about it. Maybe she did. Maybe she gets to see stuff like that. Maybe not. All I know is that others were praying for me and I made it through. God showed up and I knew it.

But what about next time? What about my first retreat? My first Camp Sychar without her? That was where we’d spend nearly two weeks every summer together. And this year, I’m leading the worship music in the morning and evening services each day. She won’t be there.

As I drove to Unicoi, Tennessee yesterday to share in that church service...I thought about the fact that I wouldn’t have her at camp this year. I actually started to cry thinking about doing that without her. I even wondered if I would be able to do my music job properly because of the grief I’ve experienced over losing her. It’s something I’ve struggled with for weeks and weeks. She was such a beloved person there at camp and now I’ll be seeing lots of people who loved her. I know we’ll cry. But we’ll smile, too...thinking about her. But how in the world will I be an effective worship leader at this “first camp” without my sissie?

Well, last night I found out that I can do this. I’m going to be okay. Because last night I talked with the congregation about God’s Promises. And His biggest promise at that moment was that He would be with me. God showed up. Big time. It was evident He was there.

From now on, I’ll be doing everything without my sissie. But I’ll be okay. Because I know where she is and that I’ll see her again. In the meanwhile, I need to rely on those promises I shared with the church last night.

And something else. I can rely on His Word. There are two scriptures I’m concentrating on these days. I’m doing this because I do not want my grief to define me when I’m trying to lead other believers in worship. I can’t take them someplace that I’m not willing to go myself. And if I let my grief get the best of me, I’ll not be giving God the best of me.

So I leave you with these two scriptures and ask that you, too, would keep me in your prayers. I don’t want to be a hindrance in what God wants to do through my music leadership.

Lord, teach me how you want me to live. Then I will follow your truth. Give me a heart that doesn’t want anything more than to worship you. Lord my God, I will praise you with all my heart. I will bring glory to you forever. Great is your love for me…
Psalm 86:11, 12 [NIRV]

Here in this great gathering for worship I have discovered this praise-life. And I’ll do what I promised right here
in front of the God-worshipers.
Down-and-outers sit at God’s table and eat their fill. Everyone on the hunt for God is here, praising him. “Live it up, from head to toe. Don’t ever quit!”
Psalm 22:25, 26 [The Message]


This picture was my view on the way home after sharing at the church service. It's one of those "aha moments" people talk about. Maybe you can see why I thought it was appropriate to place in this part of the blog.



“If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”

For here or to go...

On a recent drive from our family home in Virginia, I became extremely sleepy. Driving while sleepy is as dangerous as being drunk and is considered impaired driving. I knew I couldn’t keep going...something I wish drunk drivers would realize. Even as I was on the exit ramp I wasn’t in full control. I was on the ramp. My car was where it should be, but I was so very sleepy, I’d taken my foot off the accelerator and was at a crawl. When I realized what I was doing, I quickly looked to see if anyone was behind me. Thankfully, I was alone in my stupidity. I pulled into a busy parking area of the first gas station I saw, made sure my doors were locked, cracked my windows for a bit of air, then promptly fell asleep. About 45 minutes later, I awakened and felt refreshed.

I got out and walked around a bit to stretch, then went into the McDonald’s next door for a snack. An ice cream cone seemed like the perfect thing. I placed my order and the young lady at the register asked if it was “...for here or to go.” Hello? It’s an ice-cream cone!

Later on that question struck me as funny, so I posted it on my facebook page. Several good comments were made...
Greg: “Did they offer you a hot apple pie with that?”
Robyn: “Was she going to put it in a bag if it was ‘to go’?”
Kelly: “You should have told it it was to go and then when she handed it to you, you should have said, ‘oh, i’m sorry...i said that was to go...’”
Wes: “I will have a Caesar salad.” Cashier asked, “What kind of dressing on that sir?” Then Wes wrote...”Heeeere’s yer sign!”
Rick: “Oh, Beth. Have you not bought fast food for a while? In Ohio, it is taxed if eaten in the restaurant, and tax free if taken to go. Very likely wherever you were it is the same way.” (I was in East Tennessee, and I should know the tax laws here, but I must admit that I do not.)

Her question made me start to think about other stupid questions. Right here I should tell you that I wasn’t allowed to use the word ‘stupid’ when I was growing up. Mother would actually wash my mouth out with Dove Soap if she heard me say it. Dove is not very tasty.

But I digress...

Other ‘duh’ questions (how’s that, Mom?) that come to mind are things like the following:
Q: Where were you when you last saw your keys?
Duh: If I knew that I wouldn’t be looking for them right now.
Q: Do you remember where you laid your phone?
Duh: If I knew that I wouldn’t be looking for it right now.
Q: What time is the Midnight Christmas Eve Service going to start?

Duh: Duh!

I can speak fluent sarcasm, just so you know. In fact...it’s my second language.

But as much as stuff like that bugs me, I have been known to make the brilliant proclamation to someone who was looking for something they’d misplaced: “It’s always in the last place you look!” 

Duh, Beth. Of course it is. Why would one keep looking when the lost has been found!??!?

All this reminds me of my mother...not because she was the Dove-mouth-washing-mother...but the funny mother. This was a woman who laughed at a joke three times. When you told it. When you explained it. And a few hours later when she’d get it.

Daddy never once called her a ding-bat...but he would sometimes smile and call her “Edith” of Edith-Bunker-All in the Family television show-fame. Mother was not stupid in the least, but sometimes things would zip over her head and we’d have to explain.

Come to think of it. I’m a bit like my mother in that regard.

I guess that’s why I was nearly home when I realized that cashier asked me if the ice cream cone was “for here or to go.” I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes!




“If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”


We weren't finished...

4:00 Saturday morning, January 19, 2013:

I’m typing this blog from my sister’s room in the Intensive Care Unit of a Cincinnati hospital. I see six IV bags hanging from poles, numbers constantly changing on a monitor above her head, tubes...everywhere...and hear the constant puffing and whirring of a ventilator that is assisting her breathing. All this follows an emergency surgery for a ruptured bowel. Now her body is fighting septic shock, acute kidney failure, pneumonia, and any number of other things going on at the moment. Her doctor told us this morning that the prognosis is guarded. Guarded. Does that mean he doesn’t want to give us a hint of hope in the midst of this...or does it mean he’s trying to get us ready to lose her?

Earlier this week my sister and I decided it would be fun to sit and talk with each other on the phone while watching QVC. We’d been deciding what top would go best with a beautiful maxi-skirt she bought for me. We did ‘shop’ talk while the televisions were on mute, essentially providing our own commentary on the beautiful Susan Graver designs being shown. 


9:00 Monday morning, January 28, 2013:
That last paragraph was typed just before I saw my sisters legs moving, and I walked over to check on her. Any movement seemed to indicate she was in pain, as she was sedated to allow the ventilator to breathe for her so her sick body could fight the infection. I stood next to her bed, holding her hand, talking with her. I told her that I saw her open her eyes and look at the nurses when they were working on her a couple of hours earlier and that I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me...just so I’d know she was ‘in there’ and she’d know I was with her. There was no attempt for her to squeeze my hand as I held hers, but I needed to know she knew I was there. I kept whispering in her ear that I needed her to look at me. Then she raised her eyebrows. I told her that wasn’t good enough...I wanted more. So she raised her brows and barely opened her right eye to see me. I was satisfied. She knew.

Many times over the course of the next two days, I would talk with her, reminisce, sing, joke, and talk some more...reassuring her of my love and that when she got out of the hospital, I’d be there to help look after her. One time, I sang the song she would request me to sing a number of times...”It is Well With My Soul” and prompted her when the alto part she’d always sing came by telling her “that’s your part.”

Over those days, more and more people arrived to support her sweet husband Gary...who I like to call “Favorite” because he’s my favorite red-headed brother-in-law. Vangie was well-loved and the steady stream of people - even in the middle of the night - gave witness to that. During those hours of waiting, Vangie had a massive heart attack - one I’m thankful she never felt pain from because she was so heavily sedated.

Without chronicling every single thing that went on during those next many hours, the decision was made by her husband (and lovingly supported by her siblings) that the ventilator should be cut off so she could move on to Heaven, a place she sang about and longed for many times. The nurse said it would be about ten or fifteen minutes before she’d draw her last breath. Well, Vangie got the last word - which was typical - and breathed on her own four and a half more hours. She was such a fighter for so many years through chronic illnesses that left her weak and at times, bedridden...that her little heart and lungs kept going until SHE was finished.

But I wasn’t finished with her. I never will be. My heart is broken. It will mend...but it will never be the same. She used to tell me I was her ‘other half’ and now half of me is missing. I am a woman of faith, so I know God will mend my broken heart and I will see her again. But for now, I can only say that I wasn’t finished with her yet...we had so many plans. We had a unique relationship. A closeness that some didn’t understand, others envied, but mostly one that our friends and family appreciated about us. 

I loved her so.

I always close my blogs with the same line...and now those words have taken on a whole new meaning. “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”

My sisters life counted. About 600 people at her funeral was a real testimony to that. Originally we thought there were about 500 people until we talked with the guy who cleaned up the church afterward. He told us there were nearly 600!

Evangeline Ruth Miller Hughes was well loved, but most of all was in love with Jesus...and her husband. She was a witness for so long...even in her death. 



Now let me remind you - as well as myself: “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”

The Greenhouse Effect

I think it was in 1987 when I ran across an article about affirming children in their early years. One phrase stood out to me and I immediately tucked it into my heart, with a promise to myself that I could use this to be a catalyst in my daughter’s life.

"

You can do hard things."

...a phrase that has been repeated many times over in her 27 years of life. I cannot recall all the situations and circumstances that caused me to say those words to my beautiful daughter. But I’d like to think that the reason she is so adventurous and ready to accept challenges is that she believed what I told her. She believes in herself and the gifts and abilities God has placed in her life. She is married to a man who is also quite gifted. (They are a match that was covered in prayer from the day she was born.)

My daughter’s name is Hannah. She brightens up rooms when she arrives. Even though she is mine, believe me when I tell you that she is beautiful! When she smiles, her whole face smiles. Her laughter is contagious. She is very opinionated, stylish and quirky. Very quirky...and it is quite endearing! And she can do hard things.

Hannah is an Interactive Graphic Designer for Scripps. You can see her work on HGTV’s website mainly, but also on other Scripps sites. (She is also on Pinterest! Look for Hannah B. and see what she’s pinning.)

She is a designer. And an artist. I am convinced that all the colored pencils and sketch pads we invested in every time we took a road trip are paying off today.

A couple of years ago, I tried my hand at watercolor painting...a floral. I did a postcard sized pencil drawing, then used watercolors my cousin loaned me to complete it. After showing it to Hannah, she saw some possibility there. Next thing I knew, she bought paints, brushes and paper for me to experiment with. Time went by, the things were packed away but not forgotten.

This fall, I started thinking about a certain painting I’d like to try. I had plenty of time to think about it, but by the time I got around to doing it, there wasn’t much time to work.

But I did.

In pencil, I drew the picture that was in my head, then did the watercolor. It was a drawing of the house where Hannah and Andrew live and I was able to match up the colors on their house pretty closely. After the colors were finished, I did something unusual...I pulled out my ultra-fine point Sharpie pen, used very small print and wrote their love story all around the outline of their house. It was written in chronological order with their wedding date and details on the front steps. Looking at it from a distance you can't tell that there are words printed there. I framed it and shared it with them on Christmas night.

They liked it.

Hannah cried as she read it. (I guess that’s a good sign...)

When she came over to me with a huge hug, I told her that she was the reason I tried it. She was the one who saw some potential and bought those art supplies for me. I thanked her for that.

As Hannah let go from the hug, she said something quite familiar...”Momma, you can do hard things.”

I’m glad she told me that. She learned to do new things...hard things...exciting things. And I guess I have, too. 

Lots of times when I’ve stepped outside my comfort zone, my knees were applauding my bravery.

Well, my knees didn’t beat each other to death on this project. In fact, I rather enjoyed it.

Guess I need to be less nervous and learn to ‘practice what I preach‘ because I really can do hard things.

So can you.



If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!

Joys and Concerns

Have you ever been in a church service where there is a place in the bulletin for the “Sharing of Joys and Concerns?” A lot of churches that have moved to a less formal order of worship will use this time for congregants to share good news (joys) and prayer requests (concerns). I was in such a church on Sunday morning. Needing to use the restroom, I slipped out during the time of greeting one another at the very start of the service and returned during the sharing of joys and concerns.

I had no joys or concerns to share when I went to the ladies’ room...only that I needed to get there fairly soon after downing a 32-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper before my arrival at church that morning. That was a concern that turned into a joy. But when I completed my ‘task’ and flushed...I became quite concerned. That toilet would NOT stop flushing! It wasn’t running over (my other concern, especially while using someone else’s restroom) but it was continually flushing with this great amount of water pressure! I’m not kidding. It went on and on while I washed and dried my hands. I stood there waiting for it to stop but it didn’t. Thinking the handle was stuck, I tried to un-stick it. Nope. That didn’t stop the flow. I pulled the handle in the opposite direction. That didn’t work. Finally, I resigned myself to find someone to check the toilet, but everyone was in the sanctuary.

Lots of joys and concerns that morning...
As I came back into the sanctuary, people were being mentioned with severe health problems, tough situations, and many joys, too.

I decided this was a definite concern. The utility bill for the church was going to be atrocious if that water kept gushing through the pipes. And, as a good steward of God’s resources - water and money - I finally raised my hand for the pastor to allow me to share.

Yes, I did that.



I shared my joy of being there as a musical guest in their church, and then my concern: “The toilet in the ladies’ restroom is still flushing! I’m concerned!”

The congregation and choir began laughing! Several females in the choir loft let me know that the toilet in question always “over-flushes” and assured me it would quit momentarily.

Boy...I was relieved after I was relieved! (insert smile here)




If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!

Too fast for me...

The other day, I stopped at a hotel to use the restroom on my way from Tennessee to Ohio.

Yes...a hotel.

I started using hotel restrooms when I was potty-training my daughter because they are usually very clean. Years later, I still use hotel restrooms for the very same reason.

Sometimes there are paper seat covers provided above the toilet. I always pull those things apart so that when I put the cover in its proper place, the center drops into the water and it can be flushed away when I’m finished with nature’s call. Always nice to have that added little bit of protection since my mother taught me that I should never, never, ever sit on a naked toilet seat.

All that is fine as long as the “eye” (that tells the toilet when to flush) isn't too quick on the draw. My exasperation came when I would place the seat cover and turn around to sit on it only to hear the big flush before I could accomplish what I came for!

Wait! I didn’t even get to sit down!!!

So I placed another cover on the seat...turned around again and “flush!” It happened again!

Third time’s a charm, they say (whoever ‘they’ are) so I made my third attempt on the task at hand. And for the third time, it happened! Premature flushing.

I felt like that poor, hapless Charlie Chaplin in one of his movies...or Lucille Ball...or maybe I was on Candid Camera! No. I knew better than that. And there was no one else involved in this situation so I knew that it wouldn’t be an episode of ABC’s show “What Would You Do?” John Quinones wouldn’t be lurking outside the stall.

So, I gave it ONE MORE TRY. I got myself ‘ready’ so that when the cover was in place I could drop down quickly and beat the flush!

Didn’t make it.

Mother, I sat on a bare-naked toilet seat. I knew better, but the flusher had me beat.

(Hey...that rhymes!)




I always close my blog postings with this thought:
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!

More Dobie Tales (not tails)

I’m writing this blog entry while in our Virginia home. My husband and I have the family home, the house we will likely retire to someday...in a little coal-mining town called Appalachia, Virginia. Yes, there is an area called Appalachia, but there is also a town by that name where my hubby was born and raised.

The Greens moved into this house in 1950, when Joe was just eight months old. His oldest brother was born in 1937 and one more Green was added to the family in 1960 bringing the grand total of seven children for Roy and Mary Ruth. In fact, the last child was born on Mary Ruth’s 45th birthday. And he was not a surprise baby either! Some folks call them “uh-ohs” or “surprise blessings” but David was planned. Roy asked Mary Ruth one day if she missed having a little one around the house (Joe was 10 years old by this time) and she said she did.

“Why don’t we have just one more?”

“Alright,” said Mary Ruth and next thing you know...David was on his way! His arrival came a little too early and he struggled those first months. But all the while, his mother ‘kept the faith’ and Dave grew to be a strong and healthy member of the Green clan. He is now one of seven undertakers in the family, with the latest one being the fourth generation in the funeral business.

Joe and his oldest brother are ordained United Methodist ministers, so you could say the Greens are a ‘full-service family.’ They can marry ‘em and bury ‘em!!!

My hubby tells people that the hardest thing I had to get used to when we married was learning to sleep in a bed with a lid on it. (Remember that this is the same man who proposed to me in a cemetery, asking me if I’d like to be buried in the family plot!) His daddy saw me putting my makeup on by the light of the kitchen window one day and told me if I handed him my brushes and laid out on the kitchen table he could make me look really natural...just like I was asleep! He was a funny guy so his son comes by his humor honestly.

Back to the house...
We inherited this wonderful old place after Joe’s mother went to heaven in 2009. I think the house was built around 1920...big brick structure with two floors, a full basement and wonderful old attic that is fun to explore. The house has good bones. After the rest of the children got the furniture and things out that they wanted, Joe and I began to move many of our things into the place. It is really special to sit in the living room and look around. Some of the furniture that I inherited from my mother and daddy is mingled in with his parents’ furniture. It gives me a warm feeling to see it all together like that...kind of like the two of us!

When the family gathers here now, it is so meaningful to Joe and me because this is what his parents enjoyed...having a house filled with family, lots of activity, laughter and music.

The only one in ‘our family’ who doesn’t seem to feel content here is our dog, Dobie. When we come up once every thirty days to spend a night here for insurance purposes, he usually travels along. He’ll follow us around as if he thinks we’re going to suddenly leave him here. It’s kind of the way he acted when we first moved into our new home in Cleveland, Tennessee but he finally became contented there. Here...not so much.

It’s almost 3:00 in the morning as I’m writing this. I fell asleep around 10:30 last night and slept soundly until about an hour ago. My sleep patterns have been that way of late. Sure hope this stage passes soon because I enjoy a good night’s sleep and miss having them!

Dobie seemed to know that I was awake and moved around on his chair, rearranging the blanket he is now comfortably curled into. But not long after I awakened, I sent him into a frenzy of ‘poodle proportions!’ All I had to do was mention two magic words in the form of a question.

“Go outside?”

Suddenly he did his little routine that he does each time the question is asked, which is licking his lips...running around in circles...and yipping. Sometimes he cuts such a shine, running in circles even on top of us, that we can’t stop laughing! And we’ll let him go on and on and on, which is kind of mean on our part because he probably really needs to GO!

Why does he lick his lips when he’s going out to do his ‘business?’

I don’t do that.

Joe doesn’t do that.

Do you?

Dobie does it because he knows that when the deed is done, he will get a treat! And he’ll launch into the routine again after he is finished with the job until he gets it.

No one ever gives me a treat when I do my business. If they did...trust me, I’d be bigger than I am now because I do my business a LOT!

Dobie is crate trained thanks to our son-in-law, who suggested it when we purchased the poodle. Best idea ever! (Andrew's had other good ideas since then, too.) But the other night, the pooch brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘crate trained.’

Our coffee table is an old chicken crate. My father thought that was a really dumb idea when I was out in the driveway scrubbing the feathers and other stuff out of it. But even he admitted it was a cool idea after seeing it in front of our sofa.

It’s filled with character now...water spots, scratches (that blend in with the ones that were already there) and crayon marks. I smile almost every time I notice them because my little girl (who is now a graphic designer for HGTV) put them there while diligently coloring in one of her coloring books or sketch books.

There are two places in the crate where ‘rungs’ are missing (...those posts that are in place to keep the chickens in place). Well somehow, Dobie squeezed himself in thru one of them the other night. Joe and I were looking around calling him and he wasn’t coming to us. We didn’t see him right away but heard this little pigeon-type noise coming from the crate. Yes, he makes a pigeon sound. Strange for a dog, I know...but look who is owners are! Looking down, there was this pitiful poodle laying in the chicken crate with no hope of escape. We tried coaxing him out by putting our hands next to the spaces where he’d obviously gotten in through. He wouldn’t budge. Finally, Joe brought a treat to the crate. Dobie began going around in circles and licking his lips right then and there before convincing himself that a treat was worth the risk of squeezing through his tight spot.

Even in the chicken crate he did his little routine!

That night Dobie brought a whole new meaning to the term being ‘crated trained!’

Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!