legacy – Apples of Gold Encouragement

THE RIPPLE EFFECT By Lori A Alicea

Created by God…

We are each born for greatness.

We are born to make a difference.

We are born with gifts uniquely matched for our God-assignment.

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.

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the water to create many ripples.
Mother Teresa

You don’t have to do something great or be someone great to have a ripple effect on others…
Just a desire to change the world for one.

The ripple effect of his life’s stone cast across the pond went as far as eyes could see into the sunset.

The years will continue to tell his story thru the ripple effect of those he touched down stream when one-changed-life affects change for another, and then another.

Stopped in my tracks when I caught a sound-bite of him through the open Dutch-door one Sunday morning attending this church for the first time thirty-three years ago, as I looked to find the age appropriate class for my young daughter that day.

Peeking in, I jumped as he startled me with those military commands to put his nursery age class in formation, preparing them to march, as they were now drafted into the Army of God; or should I say, Marines.

My daughter was late finding her class as we stayed and watched in awe this Marine guy and his Second-in-Command (wife) get this platoon in diapers ready for war.

MARCH…1..2..3.

A few soldiers walked, with Mr. Marine army-crawling on the floor with the other recruits.

As usual in the nursery, the children begin missing their parents and Mr. Marine comforts them as good Marine’s do.

“There’s no crying in the military”,
Then diverts their attention by detonating bombs of Cheerios.

“INCOMING…INCOMING…soldiers take cover”.

There were a few causalities when the urgent call sounded,

“Medic, I need a Medic…”

As Mr. Marine handed those soldiers with explosions of their own to his Second-in-Command and sending them to the infirmary.

This Marine guy went into the trenches with his platoon, loving these small soldiers and casting his life’s stone across the pond of their lives, creating rippling effects for years to come as they grew.

I left that military zone with a smile on this single woman’s face, wondering if Mr. Marine had any brothers for me.

Imagine thinking such things in church.

Mr. Marine did have a name; it was Gunnery Sgt. Joe to the United States of America.
Sgt. Joe cast his life’s stone into many ponds, thus widening the rippling effects of the lives he touched with a soldier’s love, kindness, and even military toughness when necessary.

Sgt. Joe was a husband of forty-plus years to his wife, a father to two daughters, a grandfather to six, a teacher and mentor to men and marriages, and an elder at church.

JOE AND DIANE Anniversary Pastor Praying over family

PASTOR RON AND CAROL Pastor preaching at wedding

Sgt. Joe was one brother among five.

25th anniversary - brothers david and brothers 4

Sgt. Joe was Uncle Joe to two generations of nieces and nephews who were crazy about him.

Sgt. Joe was Mr. Joe to a decade of school bus children; a world-changer to them one life at a time.

Sgt. Joe was also a matchmaker, as he did have a brother when I wondered that first day in church. David and I met and married five years later, with Sgt. Joe officiating our 25th Wedding Anniversary Renewal.

Twenty-seven years go by and we’re witnessing once again the rippling effects of Sgt. Joe’s life while standing to receive the guests of his memorial service, those waiting in line for an hour at minimum, a line which wrapped around our church foyer and never emptied until the service began, a tribute to the ripples in his life’s pond that stretched as far as eyes could see into the sunset.

Yes, it’s true, you don’t have to do something great or be someone great to have a ripple effect on others…

Photo by Alexander Nadrilyanski on Pexels.com

Just have a desire to change the world one life at a time; and Sgt. Joe did just that.

CLASS IS STILL IN SESSION By Lori Alicea

School is out for the summer.

Overstuffed desks have been emptied from the (crayons, pencils, forgotten tests and assignments) of nine months of learning and jammed into the backpacks of children popping the cork of their energy as they run and burst through the doors in a mass exodus after the school bell rings one final time to kick off summer break…

Yes, school may be out for the summer,

But class is still in session.

Because…

We’re always learning.
We’re always teaching.

It’s always show-and-tell.

As we continue to teach from the classrooms of our lives.

My dad was one of those teachers.

Dad taught from the front lawn of his neighborhood, a school whose mail was delivered to the home he shared with his beloved Joyce during their marriage, retirement and golden years.

Dad lived and breathed in this close-knit community of like-minded relationships whose pulse and heartbeat was traced to the second greatest commandment given to us…

Love your neighbor as yourself…
Mark 12:31 NIV

With the first greatest commandment being…

Love the Lord your God with all your heart
And with all your soul
And with all your mind
And with all your strength.
Mark 12:30 NIV

It was written…

…There is no commandment greater than these.
Mark 12:31 NIV

And so my father did.
And they did likewise.

To love their neighbors in the houses to the left of themselves, to the right of themselves and down the street; wherever there was need.

While dad came up empty and without a high school diploma on Graduation Day as an eighteen year old, he was highly decorated with an Honorary Degree in going the extra mile for his brother, a Lifetime Achievement Award for all the extra credit in loving his neighbor.

Sadly, we as his children didn’t learn about our father’s accolades until the remaining months of his life battling cancer.

When my father’s reputation for his pristine and well-manicured lawn was now overgrown with weeds…

The neighbors began showing up without an invitation, without an exchange of compensation, without expectation;

To mow, trim, care and lift the burden of my father’s lawn during his final days of summer and beyond until the house sold months after we said good-by to dad, as a lesson learned and tribute echoing back to our father.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Because you see, class was in session from my father’s front lawn when he’d notice the once-pristine now overgrown lawns of his neighbors and crossed their property lines with his mower to meet an unspoken need.

Dad held class all year long among the neighbors of this close-knit community, even during the winter months of plowing snow.

Just loving his neighbors as himself.

Our oldest sister Debbie honored the neighbors at our father’s funeral.

Seven years later the school bell rang again to remind a grown daughter how

Class was still in session.

The textbook of my father’s life was opened up and now being taught from the front lawn of our address, when noticing through the kitchen window my husband crossing property lines and mowing the overgrown lawns of neighbors unable to do so themselves.

Without an invitation…
Without an exchange of compensation…
Without expectation…

Serving somebody’s mother…
Serving somebody’s father…

Just loving our neighbors as himself.

This class is still in session…

Reminding me of the lessons my father taught with his life.

When you bountifully sow into another man’s field, you’ll reap a bountiful harvest in yours.
(Galatians 6:1-10)

THE GENERATIONS I WILL NEVER MEET By Lori A Alicea

We’re all just passing through.

A piece of truth I didn’t give much thought to as a younger person only caught up in the moments before her, with no regard for the brevity of days, years and decades already determined before my life ever began.

Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.
Remind me that my days are numbered – how fleeting my life is.
Psalms 39:4 NLT

Much older now and looking over my shoulder to the family and friends I have already said my heartfelt good-byes to; those ships of my loved ones who have left life’s harbors for the beautiful shores of heaven.

I now keep a closer watch and vigil of the sands of time that gather up my days, as our boarding passes they wait to be printed, with us continuing to live each day before God until our name is finally called.

You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.
My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.
Psalms 39:5 NLT

From cover to cover, the Bible records the generations passing through leading up to the life of Christ, mere ordinary people with human frailties, failures and victories God chose to use and accomplish His will.

A Hall of Faith records for our encouragement those who exemplified great faith with their ordinary lives…believing God when natural eyes failed to see.

Now faith is being sure of what we hoped for and certain of what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1 NIV

By faith and under God’s command…

Noah built an ark for a flood nobody believed would come.

Abraham left his home not knowing where he was going.

Abraham was willing to sacrifice his only son.

Moses left his life of privilege to lead the Israelite’s out of Egypt.

Rahab, a prostitute and in the lineage of Christ, helped the spies to conquer Jericho.

And many more were recorded to inspire our faith.

They were all just passing through.

And so are we… just passing through.

With God wanting to use our frailties, failures and victories to accomplish His will.

Standing here today, there are two generations already looking over their shoulder at me; maybe for wisdom, guidance, instruction, or history…or maybe not, at least for today.

But there will come a day when our family Bible is searched for the names passing through the generations before I was ever born and after, following the paths we’ve dug and paved for the generations we’d never meet, leading them to the life of Christ from the lives we each had lived.

Hence, is the reason I write.

It is for legacy and the generations I will never meet, that I write.

LEGACY; It is for Them That I Write.
By Lori A Alicea
(An excerpt)

The weight of passing on to our grandchildren (and beyond) a lasting heritage weighed heavy on our heart.

We risked the next generation growing up without God if our lives didn’t reflect His image; if we failed to tell the generation in front of us the marvelous works and heavenly truths about their Creator.

One generation commends your works to another, they tell of your mighty acts. Psalm 145:4 NIV

Children and grandchildren are our arrows; arrows that leave the bow of a praying (parent / grandparent) and launched for a Kingdom pursuit that they might pierce the hearts of others for Jesus.

Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.
Like arrows in the hands of a warrior, are children born in one’s youth.
Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. Psalm 127:3-5 NIV

Hence, we grandparents are intent to do our part in living and leaving a life of legacy before them.

It is for inheritance;

It is for legacy.

It is for them that I write.

sephia photography of desk lamp lightened the gray typewriter on wooden table — Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Part of their legacy are stories, their stories, memorializing the past; their history of a faithful God. That they not forget and lean on these truths when facing familiar mountains of hard times again.

BENCH SCHOOLL Anniversary Cumbee Alicea kids

It is for them that I write.

LEGACY; It is for Them That I Write.
By Lori A Alicea
(An excerpt ends)

We’re all just passing through.

A mist, a vapor, a moment; a mere breath we are…

Whose only hope is in you.

We are merely moving shadows,
And all our busy rushing ends in nothing.
We heap up wealth,
Not knowing who will spend it.
And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?
My only hope is in you.
Psalms 39:6-7 NLT

May the reasons I write record a good and faithful God from the stories and history I re-tell of my life and our family’s life alike.

May the generations I will never meet follow the path I dug and paved in hopes to lead them to the life of Christ.

A DANCE INTO FOREVER By Lori A Alicea

The wedding DJ has called for all the married couples to the dance floor for the next selection of the night.

Husbands and wives of every age began leaving their seats as the music to “their song” welcomed and gestured them to center stage.

Crowded on the dance floor were couples swaying back and forth in the arms with the one they said “I Do” to, however many years ago their altar moment was.

Minutes into their wedding waltz, the DJ announced that anyone married twenty-four hours or less must leave the dance floor.

The bride and groom both smiled and laughed as they took their position on the side lines.

The wedding waltz continues and dancing resumes once again.

The second stanza of the song began when the DJ stopped the music and ushered couples married five years or less to join the bride and groom along the outer circle of the stage.

The crowd on the dance floor began thinning out and it remained to be seen which twosome still dancing has been married the longest.

Couples married ten years or less were asked to join the others on the side lines.

Fifteen years or less…
Twenty-five years or less…
Thirty-five years or less…

By this time in the lyrics only a handful of marriages remain on the dance floor.

The children of parents and grandparents still dancing celebrate the rare treasure before them…

A gift and covenant of…

For richer or poorer…
In sickness and in health…
Until death…

Will we part…

The DJ’s announcement intensifies with excitement…

Forty-five years or less…

The waltz still plays as those couples on the sidelines began circling as a wedding ring around the final marriage of fifty golden years.

This wedding ring of marriages circling the rare commitment of fifty golden years; a symbol of infinity which has neither beginning nor end; a display of love eternal and endless, and worn on the wedding finger closest to their heart.

This ring made of precious metal; an image depicting the sacredness of marriage, given to their betrothed with deep emotion and sentiment during the most sacred event of their life.

Fifty golden years is a testimony to the eyes who witness this miracle of dedication, two people trusting God during the valleys and mountain tops before them, persevering the journey together with Him in marriage.

Those words of affirmation throughout the years seal and swell their abiding hearts of true love.A novel of words detailing the pursuit of rare pearls and treasure hunt of each other, passing on down thru the generations living beyond them a marriage’s lasting legacy.
Their kisses of thankfulness for another day thru the decades together.

Oh, the laughter which feeds their souls as a good medicine; stoking the fire of great joy which warms as a blanket around their arms on a cold winter day.

Holding close their gift of friendship…
Celebrating their nearest and dearest confidant…
Feeling safe with the one who holds the secret keys to their heart.

The wedding waltz continues and serenades the anniversary couple as they

Dance into forever.

Embraced in each other’s arms they’ll waltz from anniversary to anniversary, keeping in time with their covenant of forever until the music ceases to play.

Fifty golden years marks the marathon of miles two people in love have traveled together in marriage.

They are a covenant gift and testimony to their children and grandchildren and eyes of those who have witnessed their rare love for each other…

For richer or poorer…
In sickness and in health…
Until death…

Will we part…

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES…By Lori A Alicea

“Do you have a picture of grandma?”

Preoccupied while frying bacon and measuring flour for a batch of homemade breakfast biscuits for three of my grandchildren who spent the night previous, my curious granddaughter asks the question again,

“Gaga, do you have a picture of grandma?”

A quick glance at the clock whose hands stretched out to wake and announce the sleepy hour of 5:30 in the morning, quite early for a little girl to be thinking about grandma still tightly wrapped in her blankie.

But, from the innocent mouths of babes, a child was asking.

Looking up at Aubrey with my full attention now, though still kneading biscuit dough from memory, this Gaga handled a granddaughter’s heart with delicate hands,

“Are you missing grandma?”

Secretly, I had also been missing my mother terribly these early weeks of summer; longing to share a glass of lemonade and the day’s nothings under the shade tree of our back yard together.

Now, here is a five year old, whose birthday was recently shared and celebrated with her sister Ayva turning seven, who also is missing her grandma.

Not having too many pictures framed and displayed in the house, I did remember a 5 x 7 keepsake hidden between the pages of my Bible for this sweet child to reminisce over; a moment taken at our 25^th Wedding Anniversary three years ago.

I wanted my mother close whenever the waves of emotions for her rushed and reached the shore of my heart, usually during the quiet hours of my morning devotions with God.

In just a few short months this September, an ocean of memories will flood the vacancy our mother left behind when she waved good-by for heaven only two years ago.

With Aubrey recently blowing out the candles of her fifth birthday cake,

Only highlights the impact her grandmother had made during the three short years these two shared together.

My mother’s hand-print remains on Aubrey’s life and an entire legacy of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well.

(Aubrey with her grandmother on the left and attending grandma’s funeral on the right; just three short years and yet a little girl still asks for a picture.)

Aubrey isn’t alone in her longing for pictures of grandma, as six months ago at Christmas, her cousin Gracie was yearning the same.

In the spirit of Christmas and found beneath the tree, an album filled and full of grandma’s pictures for Gracie, a gift to comfort a little girl who also missed her grandmother.

My mother would have been eighty-two years young this July 21^st, yet our family is forever thankful for the final picture we gathered together outside her window for…

An 80^th Princess Gala Event in mother’s honor…

A perfect afternoon for the remaining birthday we’d ever celebrate with our mother, grandmother and great-grandmother this side of heaven.

moms 80th birthday party window - candace , gracie and girls

moms birthday guests - ayva, gracie and aubrey

Recently, Aubrey was watering the flowers of my tiny garden, not realizing many of the decorations of angels, wind chimes, birds and flower pots were once placed outside her grandmother’s window of her own garden;

A summer’s delight to lift a mother’s spirit during those lonely afternoons when family wasn’t visiting.

Mother’s love for the Lord is a families great inheritance she passed on down thru her legacy.

Recently, during a day I ached for my mother, God unearthed a treasure written in my mother’s handwriting, a gift of encouragement I have no idea how it was buried and hidden on my computer after all these years.

Your family loves and misses you mother.

Two years is but a blink of the eye for us, yet once you stepped into eternity with God, there was no looking back for you.

In your absence, I’ve had to take your place at the card table.

You’d be disappointed in the whiners and poor sports you used to play with, but actually be proud of the daughter who holds her own and plays in your honor for a game of Phase 10.

From the innocent mouths of babes, her heart was asking.

“Gaga, do you have a picture of grandma?”

Aubrey held her grandmother’s hand for only three short years, a matriarch who left her hand-print on the heart of a grandchild for a lifetime.

Aubrey Ann, your picture of grandma remains between the family bible pages where she loved her Lord from, the great inheritance your grandmother passed on down to you and her legacy of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

HAND-PRINT THAT YOU LEAVE By Lori A Alicea

Almost thirty years ago, a city that I lived in then and still do today, erected a wall of hands to remember and memorialize its children with squares of their painted hand-prints, creating the entrance to a brand new playground and summer memories for this and future generations.

After years of childhood laughter, tag, birthday parties and afternoon lunches at our cities most famous park, this haven of fun has been replaced with a brand new playground for another generation of children; a weekend place of amusement our younger and sometimes older grandchildren beg us grandparents to take them to.

But what didn’t get replaced and still stands today in all its glory is that wall of hands from thirty years ago.

A memorial where our cities children, where two brothers and two sisters (four cousins) in our family permanently scrabooked their young hand-prints, a wall which tugs this parent’s heart when remembering my son and daughter’s life so long ago.

Hand-prints left behind;

A library of lives;

Wall to wall of stories;

A portrait of children begging a reunion.

I wonder how many grown children stop by and pay homage to their younger self.

I wonder about those sons or daughters who overlay their hand-print on their father or mother’s painted hand, their sacred square which bridges those years together and testifies to the family history they share.

In living life, we are leaving hand-prints behind, most of the time unknowingly.

Our innocent smiles of good morning to complete strangers…

Paying for someone’s coffee in the car behind you…

Holding the door for a patron entering the store…

Letting someone take your turn at the stop sign…

These are hand-prints that you leave.

Hand-prints are those single rose stems left behind at the front door of those lives touched by your life.

Hand-prints left behind while you are unaware of their present circumstances, sometimes in desperate want of this thoughtfulness.

Our years here on earth should reflect a wall of hands we’ve impacted in those simple acts of kindness; leaving hand-prints on the hearts of those thirsty for a drink of God’s love.

It really doesn’t take much.

Hand-prints left behind are woven and interlaced into the baskets we’ve planted small seeds in; never realizing the beauty which blooms one day in those lives we gardened.

Weaving her life into others thru baskets, I remember with joy our Bon Bon (Bonnie) and basket-weaver, a matriarch in our family.

Blessed to have a few of Bonnie’s baskets, I value these woven containers of love which left behind her hand-prints of time, creativity and great patience.

All of Bonnie’s baskets are celebrated with a personal hand-print left behind in her own signature.

Now that Bon Bon is with Jesus, seeing her name greatly increases the family sentiment of these gifts.

At our matriarch’s Home-going Service, her daughter thought nothing seemed more fitting than honoring her mother with one of her baskets overflowing with Bonnie’s favorite flowers and wheat.

I was deeply blessed by Bonnie’s son (my brother ‘n law) who asked me to celebrate our basket weaver with a poem of my heart.

Yes, it just doesn’t take much to leave your hand-print behind.

For Bonnie, it was baskets.

For you, it might be a song, a story, a building, a painting, a garden, a kind word or small act of kindness.

Whatever it is, do it hardheartedly and do it for the Glory of God.BONNIE’S BASKETS
By Lori A Alicea

The endless lengths of naked reed,
Dyed color choice and shade.
In weaver’s hands, a masterpiece,
Behold a basket made.

Her basket filled with books or quilts,
Or plants the weaver’s choice.
The weaver’s heart displayed amid,
The humming of her voice.

Her friends, her kids, her special grands,
All woven in her heart.
Behold a basket made in love,
A gift she dare not part.

But soon the basket maker gives,
Into their open hands.
The basket of her heart receive,
Her friends, her kids and grands.

Rejoice in song, and hum as she,
Rejoice the love she leaves.
And interwoven in our lives,
Remains her basket weaves.

LEGACY MEMORIALIZED By Lori A Alicea

Make today your masterpiece.

Count it all joy.

Oh, that the well-spring of your heart overflow with praise and thanksgiving.

May our cups brim and cascade onto its companion saucer with great contentment for the bounty of God’s generosity, filling our laps.

May we live this day as if the second hand of our clock is winding down the hours and minutes of our life’s conclusion.

The wisdom of God reminds us to number our days for this very reason, as He alone holds our personal itinerary, which was written in His book from the very beginning.

For this reason…

As an event decorator, I thought it most loving to somewhat prepare for the last remaining event of our lives.

While most would rather change the subject and save the inevitable conversation for when it’s demanded,

I followed the first few steps of our mother and father who gave us children their final gift of selfless love, by pre-arranging those final needs so come their Celebration Day, all we as a family had to do was take our seat.

Through this gift our parent’s taught their final lesson in life;

To remember how God has numbered our days so count them…
To remember how fleeting our time on earth really is …a vapor…
To remember and live life to the full as today could be our last;

So prepare for it…and they did.

“Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days;
Let me know how fleeting my life is.”
Psalm 39:4 (NIV)

“You have made my days a mere hand-breadth;
The span of my years is as nothing before you.
Everyone is but a breath,
Even those who seem secure.
Psalm 39:5 (NIV)

The well-spring of our hearts has spilled over into the words we leave behind as a lasting testament for our grandchildren etched onto our memorial…

Children are the crowning glory of the aged.
Parents are the pride of their children.
Proverbs 17:6

It is because of an overflowing love for our ten beautiful grandchildren:

Hollis, Cova, Kizzie Mae, Rosalee,
Brooklyn, Brodie, Ethan, Bristol, Ayva and Aubrey

We leave you a legacy rich and full of Godly principles.

That you might know and experience for yourself the marvelous works and heavenly truths of your Creator,
That as arrows, you desire to be launched for a Kingdom pursuit,
To pierce the hearts of others for Jesus.

The second generation of our life is before us.

David and I hold tightly the “baton of God’s truths” and run our race so the exchange of these truths, are successfully passed into the hands of those ten runners forging onward in their race.

This memorial is our legacy framed in the reasons I write…

A former blog which tells the story of our heart.
LEGACY; It is for Them That I Write.
By Lori A Alicea

The benevolent man leaves an inheritance
That endures to his children’s children…
Proverbs 13:22 TPT

What parent doesn’t want to leave an inheritance to his children and children’s children?

I imagine most do.

My husband and I have considered for years the inheritance of our heirs.

At the end of life this side of heaven, two hearts long to bless their family with monetary gifts.

But money pales in significance to the true inheritance of legacy David and I endeavor to leave behind in generous portions for our children and children’s children.

Unless money is sowed into fields of eternal value, once it’s spent, it’s gone.

But a legacy rich and full of Godly principles can remain alive for future generations.

Regarding legacy,
David Green, founder of Hobby Lobby wrote in his book
A Generous Life
10 Steps to Living a Life Money Can’t Buy:

A legacy of true value is a legacy made of more than money.

….

To invest in eternal things is the most important thing we can do with our lives, our energies, and our resources.

Becoming a grandparent changed everything for us.

When our second generation came forth, we took notice the hour glass and its sands of seconds gathering into the mounds of hours, months and years more quickly than before in our youth.

Time revealed its true identity as mere moments of breaths.

The weight of passing on to our grandchildren a lasting heritage weighed heavy on our heart.

One generation commends your works to another, they tell of your mighty acts.. Psalm 145:4 NIV

After that whole generation had been gathered to their ancestors, another generation grew up, who knew neither the Lord nor what he had done….
Judges 2:10 NIV

use hospital brodie kristy brooke nana hospital

Ten beautiful children created in the image of God.

Those kissed and smothered with love inside the womb and out.

Hands already gifted.
Feet with steps already ordained.
Their life already planned and prepared to serve Him.

To know the way they must be shown the way, but who will tell them?

Along with their parents, we grandparents want to do our part in living and leaving a life of legacy before them.

Their legacy began when we were once children ourselves.

As a child with five other siblings, our mother introduced us to Jesus; she faithfully took us to church. Her prayers to keep Jesus alive at home found six children growing up to serve Him the same.

My husband and four other brothers are also God fearing men because of a praying mother.

use Joe Alicea Marine at Raquel's wedding

Parents recognize that children, the “fruit of their womb”, are a gift from God.

Children that are dedicated back to Him, to be raised, loved, nurtured in the way that they should go.

“I prayed for this child, and God gave me what I asked for.
And now I have dedicated him to God.
He’s dedicated to God for life.”
1 Samuel 1:26

BABY DEDICATIONS OF OUR CHILDREN – GENERATION ONE

BABY DEDICATIONS OF OUR CHILDREN’S CHILDREN – GENERATION TWO

USE dedicate 2013 brystol on dedication day

USE dedicate 2013 brystol and kids on table at her dedication day

Children and grandchildren are our arrows; arrows that leave the bow of a praying parent and launched for a Kingdom pursuit that they might pierce the hearts of others for Jesus.

Hence, we grandparents are intent to do our part in living and leaving a life of legacy before them.

It is for inheritance;
It is for legacy.
It is for them that I write.

It is for them that I write.

The other day I had a long distance Face-time conversation with my six year old grandson who asks about my blogs most times when we talk; blessing this grandmother with his inquiries. Such big questions for a little boy who has no idea he is mining his own inheritance, his legacy.

It is for him that I write.

On October of 2019, David and I invited our ten grandchildren to be our witnesses at our 25^th Wedding Anniversary. Their young minds thought we were getting married, which delighted us both.

Written as a true love story that it was, I documented the faithfulness and goodness of God in our twenty-five years together, words shouted and celebrated from every detail of our special day.

So that in years and decades to come, our children’s children will be reminded of God’s reflection of marriage as an encouragement for their own.

Yes, David Green, founder of Hobby Lobby, you said it perfectly regarding legacy:

A legacy of true value is a legacy made of more than money.

….

To invest in eternal things is the most important thing we can do with our lives, our energies, and our resources.

It is because of an overflowing love for our ten beautiful grandchildren:

Brooke, Brodie, Ethan, Bristol, Cova, Hollis, Ayva, Rosalee, Aubrey and Kizzy Mae

We leave you a legacy, rich and full of Godly principles, that you might know and experience for yourself the marvelous works and heavenly truths of your Creator; that as arrows, you desire to be launched for a Kingdom pursuit, to pierce the hearts of others for Jesus.

All because of Inheritance;
All because of LEGACY;
All because of you I write.

BACK IN THE DAY By Lori A Alicea

Call me old fashioned, but I love sitting with those from generations before me and hear their stories of back in the day.

Stories of life as they knew it, recreated from the keepsakes of their memory.

I capture their smiles as they step back in the day; noting the details which rewind an old fashioned movie.

I regret not inquiring more of the family history when both sets of my grandparents still took their seat around the holiday dinner table.

All those questions I regret not asking, whose answers went with them sadly unanswered to the grave.

“Tell me about life as a child and teenager back in the day?”

“What were your dreams and hopes back in the day?”

“What can we learn from your life back in the day?”

“Did you really walk a mile to school in knee deep snow? Mom said you did.”

“Tell me about your morning chores before school.”

“Who milked the cow, who gathered the eggs, who helped mother in the kitchen?”

Of course, the “event decorator I am” sits on the edge of anticipation to hear about their wedding back in the day; hoping for pictures collecting dust in an old closet box.

These conversations paint a portrait of life changing from generation to generation.

The intimacy of handwritten letters sent back and forth between two hearts in love.

Grandmother’s old fashioned recipes with grease and flour still remaining from hands which once referred to them in the kitchen.

Both now a novelty replaced with technology.

The simpler life of family togetherness now stuck in the traffic jams of busyness.

During these times when you long for quiet, when you wish for a few minutes of the good old days; you reminisce the stories which take you back to life with your grandparents and great-grandparents and even your mother and father.

It’s so important to glean in the fields of their stories, to be a witness to their life and gather the fruit of history and legacy, your inheritance worth more and valued higher than earthly dollars.

Lean in close to the simplest of details from the generations of family as these pages written from their life will become those memories you save into the keepsakes of your memory, the legacy you pass to your children one day.

Walk a mile in their shoes, their steps back in the day. Those history lessons which hold the generations together, if we dare to protect these stories from the sun of time which dares to fade them.

We have so much to learn from each other.

We need not be stuck in our own ways, unteachable to learn “what’s already been” from the past or “what is possible” in the present; or hope for the future.

Be willing to take your basket and start gathering.

Reach for the abundance of wisdom, their Godly influence, and hidden fruit of their lives which still waits to be picked.

You must be intentional to do your part and gather.

The next generation depends on you entering the fields of back in their day.

Yes, call me old fashioned, but I love sitting with those from generations before me and hear their stories of back in the day, especially when they’re stories about my mother.

Talking about her, reminiscing and re-living these stories keep her alive in my heart, even though she left her earthly home a year and a half ago.

Now that I am the living grandmother, I get the privilege of repeating my stories you’ve heard once or twice before as my grandparents once did.

Stories which journey back when all my siblings still lived at the same address on Fox River Rd.

Stories which refresh my life while stuck in the traffic jam of busyness.
A story about my mother.

SUMMER IN A JAR
By Lori A. Alicea

With family vacations, summer sports and fairs coming to town, you might not have noticed that Christmas has snuck in the back door of some stores, sounding the alarm that winter is around the corner. By the time most of us are snuggling up in that first sweater, we might be asking ourselves, “Where did the summer go?” For those who’d like to hold onto summer a little longer, did you know it’s possible to capture the essence of this season in a bottle, labeling it “summer in a jar?”

Growing up, backyard gardens, cornfields and fruit markets were common neighborhood sights.

With breezes carrying them in, the smells of summer welcomed itself through open windows, evident in the slight waves of the curtains.

Strawberries, peaches, apples and grapes, all waiting for someone to take them home from the fruit market down the street. As a little girl the aroma of this seasonal shop was so delicious, fruit juices could be tasted just by breathing.

Mother would buy these farmer spoils by the flat, bushel and bucket, bringing them home to create jams, jellies and frozen fruit for future homemade pies.

The pantry off from the kitchen displayed my mother’s mid-year labors, as I fantasized over them in the winter pretending they were “summer in a jar”.

From June through August, we five sisters helped mother prepare fruit for her signature jams, giving into temptation to eat more fruit than we prepared. Though our mouths revealed the sticky evidence of our crime, mother didn’t scold us, rather kept focused as she boiled fruit on her Magic Chef stove. Still boiling hot, blue Mason jars were filled then sealed with melted paraffin wax. Mother’s creations eventually lined the pantry shelves when they cooled, waiting for winter to come.

It’s hard to appreciate kitchen art when the thermostat reads above 90 degrees. But light the fireplace one frosty December morning, and top a fresh baked biscuit smothered in butter with homemade jam, those early hours might usher in a smell of summer with fruit so fresh you’d think they were recently picked.

As an adult, I am saddened that subdivisions have taken over the neighborhood, leaving farmer fields a figment of my imagination. Kitchen curtains don’t fly in the wind of open windows as air conditioners keep them closed. Fruit markets are a novelty now, canning isn’t a way of life, and out of five sisters, I’m the only one that cans, bakes bread and finds pleasure in homemade anything.

But as for me, my homemade effort’s brings back time with mom and memories of yesterday, when I go the extra mile to see my shelves full of “summer in a jar”.

SHALL WE DANCE By Lori A Alicea

Marriage is a beautiful dance.

Marriage is two people lost in the moment whose inseparable hearts beat to the rhythm of life while dancing cheek-to-cheek.

Marriage is an invitation to journey together, a hand reaching from across the table for the other as music plays their song to say, “Shall we dance?”

Young love says nothing about age, as the awakening of one’s heart is a miracle from God whose hand can touch you at any stage of your life.

Young married love, a play-list and series of songs, a dance card which keeps you close during those new beginnings as man and wife.

Twenty-seven years ago on our wedding day, I never realized we’d unwrap a jute-box of albums I had never heard before, yet music we’d need to learn the words and attempt to line-dance to during our early years of marriage.

That unfamiliar genre and play-list for blended marriages, blended love, parenting, siblings, culture, finances, and all those contemporary songs we’d learn along the way when driving, dating, college, and then their marriages were the in music for our family.

Year after year following our first day of marriage, the family dance moves became more complex to choreograph.

Yet echoing from the “surround sound” of two hearts head-over-heels in love after twenty-seven years together, are the lyrics to our song still playing as when his hand first reached across the table for mine to ask, “Shall we dance?”

Young married love says nothing about age as the awakening of one’s heart is a miracle from God whose hand can touch you and keep you deeply in love for every stage of your life.

The old songs that rewind the music video of our love story never go out of style.

They are the anthems we’ve been singing and dancing to for years with our children and now grandchildren as part of their inheritance to sear into their remembrance what true love looks like and sounds like long after their parents and grandparent’s lives become a memory.

When our hearts awakened over the births of our ten grandchildren, the genre of music we danced to repeated once again from the play-list of our young love, renewed and head-over-heels with these angelic faces that call us Papa and Gaga.

Marriage is a beautiful dance and every grandchild of ours has grown up to know they have a special place in our circle of love.

These ten lives are part of our song; they are the lyrics that give us joy to sing to; to dance to.

The music never stops whenever they are with us.

Our grown sons are now fathers reaching for the innocent hands of their daughters to dance.

Both cheek to cheek, they sway to the music of their song, while writing new lyrics and memories to call their own, the inheritance they’ll pass on to their future generation.

The years, they come and go so quickly.

A revolving door of days and weeks you beg the pace to slow, yet music whose turntable only plays at one speed.

Our marriage, we never weary of our song.

We never tire of our dance.

Our young love is still the same age these twenty-seven years after we said, “I do.”

A dance for the history books, a hit song for the generations beyond our lives.

This journey of marriage he invited me on all those years ago is a once in a lifetime adventure I’d say “yes” to all over again.

The gleam in his eye that sparkled like a shooting star from across the table so many years ago still catches my attention today.

I look for him from around the room whenever the band is playing our song, waiting restlessly as a little girl until he reaches for my hand to say,

“Shall we dance?”

TAKE TIME TO TELL YOUR STORY By Lori A Alicea

We all have stories to tell, don’t we?

Whether you have lived a day or a hundred years, there’s a story about your life worth telling.

Your dreams…
Your successes…
Your failures…
Your heartaches…
Days you wish you could get back and do over…
Days you longed for but never happened…
School days…
College days…
Work days…
Marriage…
Divorce…
Friendships…
Death…

At our birth, a diary of blank pages awaits the journaling, chronicling, scrap-booking and jotting down for our remembrance those events when we rejoiced in the successes, gathered our tears in the losses, and traced God’s heart though it all while traveling the valleys up to the mountain tops of our lives; a library of hope passed on down to the next generation.

We must remember the goodness and faithfulness of God in all things; as He is a husband to the widow. A father to the fatherless. Our defense in the face of injustice. He is freedom in our surrender. He is provision in our lack. He is an open door in a neighborhood of closed. He is a light in the darkness. He is the answer to our questions. He is a stream in the dry desert. He is our way when there seems to be no way. GOD IS! HE JUST IS!

Yes, document the days that had you dancing, laughing and smiling.

But difficult stories are also worth mining beneath the surface to discover the treasure buried in those hard times we’d rather forget. As those gold nuggets of God “bringing us through” what we thought would bring us death is wealth we must share among our heirs;

When we take the time to tell our story.

We must tell our stories to the world, as well as to the generations of our legacy, because all it takes is one generation to forget about God, and there goes their hope here on earth and a future with Him in eternity.

We must take time to tell our story.

Parents have been charged by God to obey His commandments; to love Him and serve Him with all their heart and soul so their days are multiplied and their land is blessed.

Parents have also been charged to teach these same truths to their children, reminding them day and night, that they might receive the same inheritance of blessing promised to their parents.

¹³”And if you will indeed obey my commandments
That I command you today,
To love the Lord your God,
And to serve Him
With all your heart
And with all your soul,
….

¹⁹You shall teach them to your children,
…
²⁰You shall write them on them
On the doorposts of your house
And on your gates…

²¹That your days and days of your children
May be multiplied in the land
That the Lord swore to your fathers
To give them,
As long as the heavens
Are above the earth.”
Deuteronomy 11:13, 19, 20, 21 (ESV)

Such is this hidden wealth to bequeath our children and children’s children, our life lived for God through our stories.

Everything changed for my husband David and I when grandchildren began filling our laps and stealing our hearts.

Overcome by their sweet faces and our love that overflowed an ocean for all ten of these gifts, we grandparents longed to give them each the moon, but knew giving them God meant riches beyond counting.

Hearing the amplified voice of God speak in a grandparent’s ear to leave an inheritance we listened, we followed.

A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children…
Proverbs 13:22 (ESV)

Though still living these truths before our grandchildren, we began telling about the goodness and faithfulness of God through our stories, transferring the baton of our legacy and inheritance into the grips of the next generation, that they might run their race loving and serving God with all their heart, soul and mind.

Going through the journals of our own lives as young and adult children, we recall and remember the Godly inheritance passed down to us from the generation previous through their stories, albeit just as imperfect as ours, yet the rich legacy we received in their saying “yes” to Jesus.

God’s “more than enough” provision through our hard working fathers.

God’s unrelenting hope through our mother’s who never gave up on us when “giving up” seemed to be our only option.

God’s amazing love through grandparents to our children and their great grandchildren, an example we watched and learned from along the sidelines, whose footsteps we’d follow when becoming grandparents ourselves.

I lament the questions I never asked the generation previous.

I wished I would have sat at the feet of our legacy more often and allowed them to impart the wisdom they gleaned from the fields they sown and reaped from; possibly avoiding a few of their mistakes instead of repeating them.

In the busyness of my younger self,
I didn’t take the time to hear their stories
While they were still with us to hear.

One by one we buried stories when we buried them, journals never to be opened or read again; for that, I am deeply saddened.

But yet, we are still a rich family for the Godly inheritance and legacy they left in our hands and the hands of their “children’s children.”

Reminding us of God’s charge to tell the next generation of His goodness and faithfulness through our lives and through our stories;

In keeping His commandments; to love Him with all our heart, soul and mind.

Tag: legacy

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