Only three weeks and counting, yet my husband and I have been longing and aching this day for months.
From the calendar of our hearts a save the date has been sent to reserve a couple’s corner of heaven every year for the past twenty-nine.
Twenty-nine years ago this weekend was celebrated as Sweetest Day.
Twenty-nine years ago this weekend was also celebrated as our Wedding Day. Every year following, our anniversary has been cherished and honored as the sweetest day the Lord has blessed two people head over heels in love with.
Love is a gift we never want to take for granted.
Hence, we return to the place where our love began and plan this homecoming year after to year, watching the delicate bud of our lives together become a rose of splendor in our watering with time, patience, intentional acts of kindness and prayer.
A few minutes ago, my husband sent me these roses of words regarding our anniversary, not knowing I was also gathering a basket full of roses for him in my words. There’s just something special about this quaint little town whose hospitality wraps their arms around us as old friends.
It’s the gift we give to ourselves.
It’s what we do for us. An old fashion cottage overlooking the lake and the center of attention throughout our anniversary weekend, whose waves and playlist of music will lull to sleep or serenade us honeymooners for life.
Hand in hand wherever we go, though barefoot along the shore in wait for the tide to rush our feet, or side by side we sit in quiet as the sun nods off for sleep.
Time has been good to us.
Though time has aged and refined itself thru our mirrored reflections, our love has stood the test of time and anchored us during the most turbulent of times, remaining strong as the three-stranded cord not easily broken.
Every year our anniversary hearts leave behind a sand message written for those passing by after us, inspiring hope to those who may have given up on true love for themselves. Such is the power of the written word.
Much like the arrows which pierced my heart through the words from a Valentine card my husband gave me early on in our relationship.
When I think about our future, I just have to smile because I know We still have so much more to look forward to In our real life dream come true.
With David’s handwritten sentiment…
To love you is to live. I love you forever.
Wedding anniversaries are a couple’s homecoming to remember when God set aflame His love in two hearts intertwined as one.
Every anniversary we unwrap the gift of marriage we were blessed to have been given by our Almighty God and thank Him for another year together.
Anniversaries take us back to our wedding day at the altar, remembering the words a bride and groom vowed to each other as a lifelong covenant between these two.
Enclosed is an excerpt of my wedding vows to my husband David from twenty-nine years ago to remind myself…
You fit the mold He made for me, He found the perfect choice. How my heart does skip a beat, Just hearing your sweet voice.
So tender are the words you speak, The meaning they impart. Your eyes illuminate my soul, And ravish through my heart.
Because of this I want to give, To you my everything. I want to live my life with you, From summer though the spring.
I count it all but blessed joy, A privilege for me. To know and serve your every need, Though times you may not see.
For you I’ll burn a lasting flame, It’s warmth will be my love. If you would ever feel a chill, These words remind me of.
We’ve been celebrating all summer long in great anticipation for our twenty-ninth wedding anniversary getaway to Our Place.
Amazing how some things never change; and today I celebrate that wonderful truth.
I recounted this truth during a beautiful fall afternoon after a hard day’s work, with my husband laboring for the second time over our vehicle needing a repair.
Watching him fight the resistance of nuts and bolts unwilling to break lose from their build-up-of-rust, his greasy hands and collection of old mismatched tools have been telling the same beautiful story throughout our marriage of a man who never ceases to serve.
Such are the eyes of a woman treasure hunting the good in the man God gave her to love for a lifetime.
When we seek, we find.
When we dig, we discover.
When we look, we see.
Give honor to whom honor is due. (Romans 13:7)
The following are words from such a “treasure hunt of good” over twenty years ago…
THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING GOOD TO SAY By Lori A Alicea
Ever known a person who just rubbed you the wrong way? Knowing that same person, if you had to say something good about them, could you?
Those were questions from a family broadcast, encouraging listeners to begin to believe the best in someone, even if it required a treasure hunt of their character to find it.
I was standing in my husband’s garage one morning when I remembered the broadcast about treasure hunting.
Though I could fill up a book’s worth of pages recounting story after story honoring the servant hands of my husband.
For some reason though during the early hour that day, I was stirred up for a treasure hunting challenge to see if anything in this garage could honor my hardworking man even more.
Flipping the light it’s obvious no fancy cars or fishing boats are parked in this garage. Though thrilled he’d be for either one, neither would mean anything worthwhile.
While stepping through this hard hat area I felt consumed by so much stuff. Seemingly lost in a man’s world, I started to doubt my quest, yet minutes before stopping my search was victorious, when one blue zipper bag was found.
At first glance, one might question the honor in a blue zipper bag. One might cringe at its worn, greasy appearance. But honor goes beyond the grease, as the real treasure remained hidden inside; an assortment of old rusty tools. For Father’s Day one year I bought these tools so my husband could change the oil and rotate the tires. That day these tools were shiny and organized. Now they’re stuffed in a tattered bag giving the impression they haven’t been cared for, but just the opposite is true.
Over the years I’ve watched my husband become a servant among servants, helping others with these tools. Changing oil became fixing breaks and whatever he’s learned to do since then, mostly requiring a hot meal as payment. Occasionally I watch my husband working under the hood, curious how parts on the garage floor ever get put back correctly. Yet hours later when I hear the engine running, I stand amazed that though I have the college degree, he truly is the smarter of us both. Looking at these tools, I recall harsh weather my husband has labored in.
I see the mismatch set, remembering frigid slush he searched through after his tools had accidentally dumped.
I see their rust and feel soaked myself, as he’s worked beneath cars in a downpour.
Then I see that great smile he wears regardless of it all. Maybe a hot meal doesn’t justify the effort of “being a blessing”. Maybe it does if you see blessings as released boomerangs; so faithful they return.
“Finding the best” in someone is always worth the hunt, as treasures are buried in all of us, even hiding in some blue zipper bag.
…The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7 NIV
Traveling the sidewalks alone most days without shoes, a young man in his thirties with overgrown hair and a beard resembles Moses who wondered the desert for forty years.
In confidence he navigates the streets of the neighborhood with head-held-high and minus a shirt, yet one could only imagine when this terribly lean man last sat to eat a meal.
Earlier this summer while pushing my granddaughters on the swings at the local playground in town, my heart sank to notice him rummaging for half-eaten food disposed in the garbage bin across the field. A loner without friends and a mystery on paper whose story I wish to read and understand.
My heart grieves for the mother who’d weep for a glimpse of her wondering son who must keep her up at night worrying and begging God for his safe return.
This loner is somebody’s son; whose mother must be desperate for someone to have compassion for him in her absence.
Jesus reminds us all regarding somebody’s son…
To give him food when he his hungry.
To give him drink on a hot summer day. Because when we consider the least of these, Our deeds are as if we have done it unto Him.
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink… Matthew 25:35-36 NIV
I tell you the truth, Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, You did it for me. Matthew 25:40 NIV
Standing at the deli counter a week ago and buying a few pieces of fried chicken for my husband’s lunch the following day for a trip to the zoo with our adult children and grandchildren, I noticed him in the store; wearing shoes and a shirt of all things.
Running fingers through his unkempt hair to present a favorable appearance in public, this mother decided lunch for somebody’s son today was on me.
Just as I was about to approach this stranger and offer my husband’s chicken, he began pointing at the Jell-O salads on the other side of the glass to place his order.
Realizing I might have judged this homeless person incorrectly, I walked a few isles over to the self-checkout register and pay for my food.
When only a few seconds later this mother’s heart sank for the licks worth a stranger walked away with, only a taste test for somebody’s son that day at lunch.
Stopping him before he began traveling the sidewalks again, I struck up a small conversation with the man I’ve been noticing for over a year.
Heartbroken that it took me this long to offer a hungry man food, somebody’s son was appreciative to enjoy a hot meal for a change.
As I watched this stranger exit through the automatic doors of the store and back onto the sidewalks of town, God reminded me that in showing hospitality to a stranger, I might have just shown kindness to an angel.
Do not forget to entertain strangers, For by so doing, Some people have entertained angels. Hebrews 13:2 NIV
An angel???
Only God knows.
For sure though, I set the table and served a meal to my wonderful Lord. With a smile, I offered food to somebody’s son. With the same heart of compassion I’d want to be shown towards my son in my absence.
There is a time for everything, And a season for every activity under the heavens.
A time to weep and a time to laugh, A time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 NIV
Such is the season our family is walking with the recent good-bye of a cherished loved one in our lives. For my sister longing the gentle embrace of the man who held her for forty-six glorious years, she weeps and though her…
Tears are just water and salt, But a thimble full can feel oceans wide.
An excerpt from song…
God Loves You By Chondra Pierce With an ocean of tears standing before us, especially for my sister, her children and grandchildren, a family struggles to remember life on dry land.
There are those waves of the unexpected which overtake and have one gasping, struggling to reach the surface for another breath, when only minutes ago you were just enjoying the view.
It’s difficult to make peace with our new season of weeping and mourning, when the heart longs to laugh and dance like it used to. You trust a loving God who already foretold from the beginning there’d be seasons and times for everything and every activity under the heavens.
While we wish our God handed out save-the-dates in matters of the heart; there must be an ongoing reminder in our calendar to prepare, to have oil in our lamp when the Lord shows up at our darkened-door of the unexpected.
Every now and then God puts a song in my heart to sing, albeit in metered rhyme.
I dedicate these words to anyone bearing the weight of grief on their heart, especially my sister, as she navigates this season along a detoured path in an unknown forest from the road, a path where two people once traveled together only a few weeks ago. A song to remind her she travels not alone…
A song to remind a travelling companion now holds the map for every step of the way in front of her… Words to hold close and hold onto the guide who already knows the way as He is the Way…
A God who is ever present and close beside in her tears…
A GOD WHO COLLECTS OUR TEARS By Lori A Alicea
Our hopes, our joys, and dreams we dare, Our memories will keep. Our heart, a home where love resides, Which measures oceans deep.
Nothing delights a Papa more than when his grandchildren call and ask to spend a few hours together around a fishing pole and retention pond you have no idea finds bluegill, bass, and crappies waiting for lunch, with a few turtles taking a bite from your hook when you least expect.
The tackle box is carried by our fishing girls in pink, who each will pick the prettiest lure for their Papa. Gummy worms, spinner-bait, and spoons are irrelevant to them, picking only the ones which sparkle and dazzle their eyes, the lures deemed perfect for the catch of the day. There’s a quick visit to the Country Bait Shop for minnows, night crawlers, and behemoths for whatever the fish might be biting that day.
A short stop off the road, the Country Bait Shop no larger than a glorified shed has been in business for years. Pickup trucks and boats are parked throughout the day before tournaments, camping trips, or a day spent with your Papa, where fishing stories are shared among strangers parked alongside the other before going about their adventure.
After finally finding our spot around the retention pond, it doesn’t take long before those bored faces and crocodile tears express their disapproval for those fish appearing to be taking a nap.
Class is always in session learning patience and contentment for the beautiful surroundings until the catch of the day is tugging on the fishing pole in your hand.
There are those quiet moments though when sitting next to their Papa is more than enough for them.
But it doesn’t take long before the slides and swings nearby have taken his place. Then are those serious fishermen of ours who enter into a self-organized tournament each time they are together to determine if their catch of the day earns the trophy for biggest fish, most fish caught, or unofficial ones who got away, each trying to out-match the other, especially their Papa, for the tournament win.
Papa has learned to show no mercy to those dimples and smiles and guard his pole from those thick-as-thieves grandsons trying to add to their tournament haul by reeling in Papa’s fish from his unattended rod, who’s busy fixing their rods for whatever reason they had.
Such is the patience of Papa who’s been baiting hooks and untangling lines since the days those fishing poles his grandchildren in training held were longer than they were tall; who rarely was seen with a rod in his hand back then after paying so much attention to them.
A Papa realized in those early years that the catch of the day had nothing to do with fish, but had everything to do with those moments you caught during an afternoon spent together around a fishing pole and a bucket of bait.
Yes, the catch of the day are those camping trips your daughters and niece and nephew will never forget, those memories you caught around evening campfires, swimming, bicycling trails, bacon cooked on an open stove, s’mores and yes, fishing with them.
Worms and minnows are a small price to pay in exchange for the time spent with your Papa; whose value continually compounds in the tackle box of memories you’ll carry of him throughout your life.
All those fish a Papa and grandchildren have caught return to the pond they are released to.
You’ve been told it happens in the blink of an eye.
The mirage of those miles of years not-yet-traveled reveals to be a quick walk around the block.
The hands of time unable to be held against their will, no matter the hearts who beg them.
Because Just like that…
When you least expect…
When you turn your back for a mere minute…
The first of your eleven grandchildren is all grown up.
A beautiful four-year old brimming in joy, she wraps her finger around the heart-strings of our son with no children of his own at the time; yet falls in love with this child and her mother during their first hug around his neck. Only to find her place at the family table which had been hers all along, we just didn’t know it at the time. Brooklyn’s journey into our lives is a love story written only by God and one I pray she shares with the world.
A book of pages and chapters still being written by the Author of her life, who holds the pen and keeps in suspense the secrets He’ll one day unveil in their appointed time.
An excerpt when four-year old Brooklyn finds her place in our hearts.
BORN OF MY HEART By Lori A Alicea
I choose you! For no other reason than it was always meant to be; I choose you! Loving a child as your own is yes, a choice, but never seems like one.
Love is powerful. Love allows you to expand the borders of your family without ever noticing. Love is color blind. It has no need for a DNA test. Love is reason enough and rewards a double blessing when you choose to love those born of the heart.
Our spunky four-year old is growing and blooming before our very eyes.
Once hidden in God’s garden under the shadow of the afternoon sun, is this delicate bud He destines to be a rose.
Brooklyn…
In God’s great plan you are…
A child of destiny…
You are a world changer, blessed from the womb, ordained for greatness, settled into grace, marinated in faith, formed in Christ and developed at Calvary’s feet…
Excerpt from: The Prophetic Parent Letters from God with Prophetic Prayers for your Children By Ivan Tait
We receive these prophetic words for you. Just like that…
We’re lighting the candles on those birthday cakes which celebrate the milestone bridges you have crossed in your life.
Leaving your tweens for teens… Brooklyn turns 13…
Brooklyn’s Sweet 16…
Our first look at Brooklyn as a beautiful woman at eighteen… A legal adult now able to vote and drive… Just like that…
The garden God grows finds you much too exquisite to keep to Himself…
And must now share you with the world.
The family nest which has kept you safe and secure among your parents and siblings finds you stirring and ready to test the wings your parents have been preparing these eighteen years for flight.
Not ready to leave your place in the nest any time soon, but restless to sense the direction God is sending you into the wind.
Just like that…
As you face the fork in the road which faces the east, the west, the north and the south and you ask of the Lord, “Which way?”
Going forward in your destiny with God you’ll find that He is enough for every question, for every concern, for every desire; all He requires is our hunger and thirst for Him.
Brooklyn, there is a call on your life that only He will reveal when you seek, when you search, when you have faith to find.
Here is a prayer we speak over our Brooke as you stretch your wings to fly.
Excerpt from:
The Prophetic Parent By Ivan Tait
Today We Pray…
Matthew 5:8 over my children (and grandchildren).
They that hunger and thirst after righteousness shall be satisfied.
I pray the spirit of hunger over my children: a hunger for God, His will and to satisfy their destiny. They will fulfill their calling in God and have a hunger to know all of His plans for their life.
All day long they will hunger after God and be satisfied with the righteousness of His kingdom.
While sitting here, I find myself drawn to this picture ofhome I’ve saved in my memory; a hidden haven, nestled and tucked away off an old dirt road where only birds and squirrels know its whereabouts.
A place of hospitality where you’re welcomed into the arms ofpeace and tranquility, a neighborhood of Christmas evergreens, with old oak trees and acres of flowers growing wild in every color the eye can dream of.
A place where the sun tip-toes quietly in the morning when life is just beginning to yawn and stretch with their eyes barely open, rising and greeting through the kitchen windows on a husband and wife who share a cup of coffee at a table set for two. Yes, this scenic view tempts and draws me to sit for a while to savor the choir of birds and critters serenading an audience they are unaware of. Remembering a place called home in the country where childhood memories were lived and made for our kids and grand-kids enjoying their two-acre playground for almost eighteen years.
Though truly content in whatever address we currently call home,
As Home is wherever I am with you. We secretly long for another hidden haven, nestled and tucked away off an old dirt road where only birds and squirrels know its whereabouts.
Yes, this scenic view looks all too familiar. It was the year of 2017 and we had moved again after packing up our quiet life among the wild flowers and evergreens.
Our journey from our home in God’s country found us at a fork in the road where the next step could be about us, or about our parents. We chose to move one street over from them to assist in their care.
No, we didn’t move to the home of our dreams, but we did move to the place of honor according to God in Exodus 20:12,
“Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.
Three years later, David and I were packing again; my mother’s home as well as ours.
Bittersweet are the years as just when you are getting used to the idea of your surroundings, life changes again.
My step-father Roger went home to be with Jesus and mother’s health forced an address change to a nursing home.
The reality of our age is setting in as good-byes to loved ones become an unwelcome guest in your life.
After selling our home before finding another, David and I inquired of the Lord in a Motel 8,
“Where to next Lord?”
I was looking out our hotel window and in my journal penned these words dated August 3, 2017:
The first leg of our house hunting journey has us parked at a Motel 8 for the next two weeks.
While this is not the Hyatt and the only amenities are a mini fridge and a microwave, David and I couldn’t be any happier.
The fridge has enough room for a few days’ rations which is fine with us.
We light a candle and enjoy our frozen dinners for two.
Oh and yes, we have our own coffee pot, coffee and cream; couldn’t leave home without that.
God is so good because if our room had been located on the south side, our view would have overlooked the parking lot and all the surrounding businesses.
But we were placed on the north side so when you look out the window, all you see is God’s creation.
Being on the second floor the wind is given permission to blow through the open windows of our room, allowing the eavesdropping of conversations that critters were having at night.
We are camping without the tent. Yes people, we could be depressed staying where you dare not take off your flips, or be ever appreciative of the view God has prepared in advance for us.
It’s your perspective; it’s what you choose to see.
God’s got all the details.
We truly are enjoying the adventurous ride.
Yes, Home is wherever I am with you. After four moves in total, our picture of home among the wild flowers and evergreens off an old dirt road still remains tucked away and close in our memory.
We’re always asking and could be packed in a moment’s notice,
“Where to next Lord?”
As God has been our mission coordinator and traveling companion for twenty-nine years, sending us into neighborhoods where broken hearts need mending, where marriages need hope, where lonely ones need company, where discouraged need encouraged, where sick need assistance, where lost souls need Jesus, where streets of addresses need a lamp-post to shine His bright light and love.
We’re ready and willing Lord…
Until then…
We’ll hold tight to contentment and carry our dreams wherever we go.
But trust that God’s dreams for us are bigger and greater than we could ever imagine….
No matter the place we live.
Because it’s all about perspective. It’s what we choose to see.
When you live in a state as I do experiencing the four seasons changing guard with one another throughout the calendar year, you embrace everything beautiful in its own time.
The season of spring showers bringing us May flowers.
The season of bright summer days around baseball fields and concession stands, swimming and snorkeling, fishing with Papa and family visits to the nearby zoo.
The season of fall around a Thanksgiving table, in the stands at a basketball game, another anniversary celebrated at our honeymoon cottage, and taking in the brilliance of a season changing in color.
The season of winter fast asleep under a blanket of snow until spring, peered through a holiday globe of Christmas cheer, sledding, snowball fights and snowflakes falling and glistening as diamonds under the afternoon rays of the sun.
Yes… There is a season (a time appointed) for everything and a time for every delight and event or purpose under heaven- Ecclesiastes 3:1 AMP
There is … A time to weep… A time to mourn… Ecclesiastes 3:4 AMP
One morning recently as the kitchen windows and front door were opened allowing a cool breeze to surprise me with a slight kiss on the cheek, a slow trickle of raindrops played as a song of tears from heaven dancing outside onto the stage of crisp leaves as they fell in the rain-forest I heard with my eyes closed, watering a new season of sadness and all its firsts our family has recently entered into, with the unexpected loss and love of my sister’s life.
After forty-six years of marriage she can’t escape their time together, sharing on social media, “Everywhere I look or go is a reminder of a memory.”
During the early hour that morning when heaven wept for me in my place, I consoled myself and lit a candle to shine a bit of comfort on the dim place of my heart. There is… A time to embrace… Ecclesiastes 3:5 AMP
And welcome home the simple, the seemingly insignificant moments rich in memories around the table and chairs where families gather.
A kitchen captures the smell of maple syrup from bacon sizzling on mother’s griddle though neighbors catching a waft outside the screened window swear it’s cooking on the open fire while camping.
Enjoying my first cup of coffee still wearing pajamas and seated at the heirloom once owned by mom…
I’ll soon be joined by grandchildren wearing their PJ’s as well and accompanied by parents and Minnie Mae… Ready to embrace a few moments around a breakfast table of French toast and bacon together; a simple meal yet a memory the grandchildren will remember.
There is… A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. Ecclesiastes 3:3 AMP
The month of May rings the bell for our hardworking farmers to take their place in the fields for planting; when June, July and August call them back out for harvesting.
Flats of strawberries, bushel baskets of corn and zucchini are canned into jams, relish and creamed corn for our delight on a cold winter’s day in December.
There is… A time to laugh… A time to dance… Ecclesiastes 3:4 AMP
Nothing delights a child more than when the county fair comes to town.
Face-painting, cotton candy and a day spent searing memories in the minds of children enjoying an afternoon of thrill and wonder on the county amusement rides, a page of history you’ll remember in great detail looking back as an adult; savoring the laughter and fun of today, wishing the day would never end.
There is… A time for love… Ecclesiastes 3:8 AMP
A day isn’t lived unless the day is spent with the ones that you love.
Time passes faster than a fleeting thought.
You must be intentional to capture the moments when the hour is within reach; lest they be lost as sand sifted between your fingers.
Clear your calendar.
Take the pictures.
Brave the heat and eat outside.
Don’t be in a hurry for the check.
Count your blessings and name them one by one. Count your blessings see what God has done. (song Count Your Blessings By Johnson Oatman, Jr.)
Count your blessings no matter the season.
And even reclaim your crown when a re-match of cards is taunted. Yes… He has made everything beautiful and appropriate in its time… Ecclesiastes 3:11 AMP Yes… There is a season (a time appointed) for everything and a time for every delight and event or purpose under heaven- Ecclesiastes 3:1 AMP
But at his home-going celebration, My brother ‘n law Andy wore a baseball hat, blue jeans and a flannel shirt, All befitting the simple man he embodied in life.
Remembering though…
There’s always another story. There’s more than meets the eye. W.H. Auden
Unbeknownst to me who didn’t get the memo, family members young and old, prepared in advance and arrived at Andy’s Celebration of Life to honor their father, papa, uncle and friend, each dressed as Andy was dressed, sporting a flannel shirt. A family honored the man behind the shirt. Their outward expression for an inward love they each had known in the individual ways Andy shared his life with them. Author and Speaker Dr. John A. Tetsola said it best from his book titled… The Power of Honor
Honor means to value. To value means to hold something or someone In high regard and esteem in your heart and in your sight. Family and flannel were mirrored reflections of the other through our tears, our smiles, our laughter and our joy in remembering Andy that day. Not wanting the day to end in our good-byes…
As this signaled the continuation of our journey minus Andy’s presence behind the shirt…
At least for now on this side of heaven. But as I stated earlier…
There’s always another story. There’s more than meets the eye. W.H. Auden
Because it is written…
For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all. Luke 8:17 NLT
Because in the days of going on and packing up of Andy’s office, the true man behind the flannel shirt was discovered and made known to all from the drawers and closet from which they were concealed; even to his wife.
While Andy was known as a God fearing man in the way he lived his life, the way he raised his children, loved his grandchildren, and submitted himself to the mandates of a Godly marriage.
A deeper version of the man behind the shirt was revealed through the binders and books of notes written from the pen of Andy’s hand, a student of the Word, searching and studying for more of Him, learning the ways and attributes of God.
It would have been so easy to take the outward appearance of Andy’s flannel shirt and honor the simple man which he was, yet overlooking the possibilities, the inner qualities one might be hiding in the secret place, as Andy did.
Yet, God’s love for us shines a bright light and sees our heart, our character, and who we truly are on the inside.
Nothing is overlooked.
…For the Lord sees not as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7 AMP
What was done in secret was brought out into the open, with Andy preaching his life’s message, his final sermon spoken and passed into the hands of the generations ready to receive the hand-off of his legacy, ready to run their race set before them…
Seeking, searching, earnestly looking for more of God,
Who promises to find us in this pursuit.
I love those who love me,
and those who seek me find me.
Proverbs 8:17 NIV
How interesting though,
To know the son, you’ve known the father, both students of the Word.
In the Bible it is written in Romans 13:7 ESV… Give honor to whom honor is due.
I find such a man in my brother Andy, whom honor is greatly due him.
This was an unexpected honor for me when my sister Debbie asked if I’d be willing to celebrate her husband’s life in words, because as far as I could remember, our brother Mark has always been the official family spokesperson at times like these.
Even as Mark and Andy are heavenly neighbors now, I somehow feel Mark’s presence still, prepared to take his rightful place at this podium.
But yet I’m here instead, privileged to deliver the words God wants to comfort us with while Celebrating Andy.
They say that the hearing is the last to go and if Andy could hear my name being called to the stage today, he’d be jolted and startled for a second with these words, “Copy that???”
Today is a bittersweet day to be together, locking arms and hearts together as we navigate this maiden voyage of uncharted waters without our Andy.
This small setting has all the “feels” of our family holiday dinners; the holiday being the celebration of our Handy Andy, our Hunny Bunny, our Papa, our Dad, our Brother ‘n law.
But as beautiful as this table set before us is, it’s hard not to notice the empty chair once occupied by Andy.
Rumor has it that Andy chose instead to attend a heavenly grand reunion in his honor…Greek translation…rude.
I wish I had a front row seat to the Houle section in the banquet room of heaven.
Surely, there is a senior table for our family pillars, Mom and Roger, Bill and Gloria and Bon Bon, with Dad and Joyce waving from their table nearby.
Surely, there’s a table where Andy has taken his rightful place seated next to Belinda, Mark and Mary. I can almost see Mark high fiving Andy – “Bro – you made it.” I have no doubt Belinda has a left a goody bag of jelly beans on Andy’s plate, and Mary, she sits and laughs as she takes it all in.
Mom is beaming with great joy to see her sidekick back at the card table and the entire family cheers for this grand reunion they’ve been waiting for.
Yes, it is an honor to Celebrate Andy’s life.
The book-ends of anyone’s life are their birth certificate and their obituary.
Held together by these book-ends are the volumes of details, the memories, the moments, the trials and victories of our beloved’s life.
Let’s begin by reading the final book-end of Andy’s life.
Andrew Hritz, age 66 of Valparaiso, IN passed away July 12, 2023.
He was born on Sept 15, 1956 to the late Michael and Pauline Hritz in Gary, IN.
On March 5, 1977, Andrew married the love of his life Deborah Houle in Valparaiso, IN. Andrew enjoyed reading, making homemade ice cream and eggnog, but most of all he loved spending time with his wife, children and grandchildren.
Andrew was talented with his hands; his nickname was Handy Andy and if he did the job well his wife called him Honey Bunny.
Andrew will be remembered as a loving husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle and friend and he will be deeply missed.
Andrew is survived by his loving wife of 46 years, Deborah Hritz of Valparaiso, son, Phillip (Mandie Fusner) Hritz, Amanda (Jordan) Mayfield of Argos, IN,
Four grandchildren, Kollin and Zachary Hritz, Gracie and Luke Mayfield;
Four brothers Michael, Bill, John and Paul Hritz and many other loving family members. Andrew was proceed in death by his father, Michael Hritz and his mother Pauline.
When you open up the book between the book-ends of Andy’s life, the first page begins with a shortened stanza from an old song we used to sing sitting on the pews of our Southern Baptist church as kids…
GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS…
All I have needed thy hand hath provided… Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.
From beginning to end, Andy’s life reflected God’s faithfulness as he learned to trust and never let go of God’s hand for every need and provision for his wife, children, grandchildren, employment and extended family.
Andy had a life verse whether he realized it or not, and this verse was once prophesied over him proving to be a true word from our Creator…
God will bless the work of your hands… Deuteronomy 28:12
I looked up the meaning of this verse and it reads as follows: God has destined that our hands be empowered to accomplish great things and will be sufficient for you.
There’s a quote from the website of once evangelist Billy Grahamwhich speaks to and exemplifies the life of our dear Andy:
The Greatest legacy one can pass onto one’s children and grandchildren is not money or other material things accumulating in one’s life, but rather a legacy of character and faith.
Yes, character and faith through Andy’s hands would become his legacy…
HERE IS A SMALL TRIBUTE TO THAT LEGACY.
From his hand and heart, Andy waved the white flag of surrender in salvation to God.
Andy gave his hand in marriage to one woman for 46 glorious years, as he loved her, cherished her, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health all the days of his life. Handy Andy hung galleries of Debbie’s Board and Brush pictures with his hands, defying physics and logic and preventing a house implosion from the sum of its weight. Andy was always game for a hand of cards – albeit Rummy, UNO, Yahtzee, or Pinnacle against Denise, Brad, Jill and mom, showing no mercy to either of them.
Uncle Drew held out his hand and scooped up the small nieces and nephews whenever they reached for his lap.
Game shark Andy showed no hand of mercy either while playing Chutes and Ladder, Candy Land, and Mother Love with his daughter Amanda and niece Candace when they were just learning to play.
Uncle Drew’s hands walked my young daughter to elementary school when she was afraid of the neighborhood dogs.
Daddy Andy held his daughter’s hand while learning to walk on tippy toes as a toddler. He held her hand as they walked together to the altar during her Honor Star service, and most proudly, Amanda’s father held tight to his daughter’s hand as she walked her wedding isle as a beautiful bride.
With books in their hands, a father and his son Phillip treasured the words written about God, exchanging their discoveries and truth about prophecy, and End – Times. They also bonded as guys do in the garage around tools, cars and grease. Uncle Drew’s hands wrestled through the ages of my young to my grown-up son Jake on his lap, once conning his nephew to pull out a pair of skid marked whitey-tightys from his Christmas gift as a joke for the giver– a legendary memory of laughter for us all.
Son ’n law Andy with his hands helped our mother by fixing her car, hanging pictures on her walls, sharing coffee and a seat around the table, and whatever he possibly could do to harass her.
Andy’s hands were the official carver of the holiday turkey and ham; whose place at the stove rang the silent dinner bell for everyone to take their seats at the kid’s table, senior table, adult table or any place you could find on the floor as dinner was almost served.
You wouldn’t know about them unless Andy felt led to show you, but Andy kept a library of hand written notes and diagrams pertaining to his job description throughout those 30+ years on the clock, a trophy recognizing his pursuit of excellence unto his Almighty God at work.
His hands as an employee carried a cooler/lunch pail so big and jammed pack of food, someone taking a picture might think he was toting the refrigerator to his job.
Andy’s hands clapped the loudest from the heart of the most proud Papa for his sweet Gracie during her dance and piano recitals.
Andy’s hands held and shared a fleet of trucks and cars with his little Lukie who loved and treasured this one-on-one Papa time with him.
Papa’s hands shared the hearts of his grandchildren Gracie and Lukie with Carla, Deb and well, ok…Dave, their other grandparents equally in love with them.
Don’t get me started on the hilarious sight of Andy with giant Old Maid cards in his hand and a game against granddaughter Gracie, nieces Ayva and Aubrey and their giggles to give him the Old Maid for the win.
Chef Andy’s hands concocted and shared the most delicious homemade eggnog with his daughter Mandie Renee at Christmas. But truth be told, Andy shared a cup of her stash with David and I this past Christmas.
A father ‘n law’s hands stood and saluted on the inside with the utmost respect and pride for his military son, a man of honor who lives for God, Family, Country and Flag; and in that order.
Papa Andy’s hands shared a bucket of popcorn for years with his son Phillip, his grandsons Kollin and Zachary and nephew Ethan tagging along to watch those action-packed movies at the theater. A wrestling match against old and young took place most nights during their time together.
It was a given for Andy’s hands to serve and share a cup of coffee with David and me whenever we visited, ensuring a carton of our favorite cream was bought in advance.
Andy might have been a man few of words, even though this Queen of Questions standing here tried to pry a few sentence over the years, but his servant’s hands spoke volumes for themselves. Andy and Debbie weren’t travelers and the farthest they’d ever drive was to the nearest Walmart. But when the car doors opened from our military family, and from our southern drawl families from Tennessee and Texas, rest assured Uncle Drew welcomed you with those Andy-hugs he was famous for. Rest assured Andy made the draft cut into the Special Forces which thrived to bother, aggravate and stir up trouble as guys love to do. Rest assured his nieces and nephews found a seat at the table near their Uncle Drew, making up for lost time of love and laughter with him. Andy had a hand in being present for those long distant relationship reunions.
Andy also had a hand in being present in his quiet relationships at church, and through our special events when extended families join together in celebration.
Our sister Denise’s best friend Jill had two small children in need of a babysitter so Debbie and Andy opened their home for babysitting, while also watching my two. They became Aunt and Uncle to Julie and JT who loved them as their own. Our family adopted these two as well into their hearts. Julie and JT’s pictures filled up Aunt Debbie’s library of scrapbooks, they each had a seat along with their extended family at our gatherings, their names found themselves on every guest list of ours, became part of the cousin generation, their branches grew and became off-shoots from our family tree, and we can’t imagine life without them, all because Debbie and Andy opened their hearts and home to them.
Brother ‘n law Andy extended a hand of hope to me as a single woman, receiving my small children during the middle of the night and putting them to bed as I went off to work. Rules were meant to be broken when Debbie wasn’t around, and Uncle Drew became Mr. Fun, pulling out all the stops of entertainment while I worked the other shifts. Loving my kids to life during this most difficult season for them, Debbie and Andy bonded with my little boy and girl as second parents. Andy’s hands touched others beyond his knowledge.
We each have a ripple effect, touching others beyond our reach, beyond our life’s stone cast across the water into ripples on a pond.
Through his wife’s pictures on social media, Andy was known at the city gates as a family man, a papa on adventure with his grand-kids, a father whose hands held the hearts of his children close, a husband who understood covenant in marriage; a rare find of gold mined from a man’s life these days.
Though a man of few words, Andy had a message and it was preached through the ripple effect of his life’s stone cast across the water into ripples on a pond.
From his hands he gave back to God what was due him in tithes and offerings, in prayer, in time and talent and Sunday mornings with Him.
Hand and in hand along the Riverwalk of their life together, Andy enjoyed the most wonderful year of retirement with his bride. A year of bike rides, pancake breakfasts, Dairy Queen trips and Walmart shopping sprees to name a few.
Their final night together, husband Andy held the hand from the wife of his youth while sharing his devotion and love to her; they both fell asleep this way. A framed moment his wife of 46 years will forever hang from her heart.
Yes, God truly blessed the love and life of Andy’s hands.
Andy and Debbie’s faithfulness to God, their children and grandchildren will be a legacy passed on through the generations. The fruit of their faithfulness is evident and measured in the bushel basket-fulls of their family.
Amanda, the God-fearing woman she’s been throughout her life of forty years without waver is now mirrored in the worshiper we see in her daughter Gracie. Her son Lukie stands on a stage all his own, enjoying life and passionate around a race track of cars and trucks, making room one day for his calling in life.
Phillip, though man of few words as his father, has a hunger in his pursuit for Jesus which has been evident in him wanting his grandmother’s books centered around Christian living from her library as his inheritance. Phillip’s son Kollin is equally as quiet and has a presence about him in his respect and kindness for others. Phillip’s other son Zachary has this zest for life and humor like his Papa, causing hilarious trouble while drawing others unto himself.
Debbie and Andy have lived out the scriptures charged to them as parents…
We will not hide them from their descendants; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord. Psalm 78:4 NIV
To pass the baton of faith, you must first possess it in your hand. For a smooth hand-off in the relay of life, you need a firm grip on the baton of faith and an intentional effort to place it in the hand of the next generation; as Andy and Debbie have.
Surely Andy has already heard these words of affirmation from the Heavenly Father,
Well done, good and faithful servant… Matthew 25:21
Andy’s address has changed.
He now lives and breathes in a perfect place with God while we attempt to process his absence here on earth; a momentary separation until our name is called and we are reunited with him once again.
BUT HERE WE ARE; WE GRIEVE. Everybody grieves.
Yes, everybody grieves.
But everybody grieves differently, and in their own way. Some grieve outwardly, visible through the rainfall of their tears.
Some grieve inwardly, as if a dam holds back the streams of their pain, yet breaks through in the flow of their written words or song.
Every year following, our anniversary has been cherished and honored as the sweetest day the Lord has blessed two people head over heels in love with.
There’s just something special about this quaint little town whose hospitality wraps their arms around us as old friends.
An old fashion cottage overlooking the lake and the center of attention throughout our anniversary weekend, whose waves and playlist of music will lull to sleep or serenade us honeymooners for life.
Such is the power of the written word.
