Author Archives: dinahoverlien

Good Old Days

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When our four kids get together, their conversation eventually comes around to reminiscing about the bad good-old-days.

  Like…

“Remember when mom dressed us in look-alike sailor outfits?”

Or…

“Remember when dad wouldn’t let me leave the supper table until I could spell the word c-h-i-c-k-e-n?”

Why, oh why, do they recall with such fondness the moments I would most like to forget?  It’s amazing they turned out so well after being exposed to such limited parenting skills.

Funny how I remember very different things: reading books out loud all afternoon, singing songs in the car, staring at their eyelashes as they drifted off to sleep.  Now, those were the good good-old-days.

Grandparenting is a chance to have a re-do.

I hereby vow to never dress my grands in matching outfits.

PB promises to refrain from drilling important words into their little minds.

Today, we get the chance to create great good-old-days.  Let’s go!

First, we’ll squirt water into cups in the backyard.

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Then we’ll go to the park….

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and play in the water….

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and the bubbling fountain.

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Then we’ll have some lunch, but keep the McNuggets away from Opa.

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We’ll read a book…

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and have a tickle….

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then take a nap.

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It’ll be a great day.

Meet Charlie

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May I introduce you?

Everybody, meet Charlie.

Charlie, say “hi”!

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He’s a honey.

How many times can one Nonnie fall in love?

Apparently over and over.

Although I’m here to help my daughter and her husband keep the household intact during this transition to a family of four, it’s clear that my main function is to be Hud Bud’s buddy.  Today, I woke up extra early so I could jump in the shower and get my make up on before Hudson woke up.  I sure didn’t want to scare the little guy.

We had a great morning.  We played with toys, we tickled and laughed, we sang “Twinkle, Twinkle” dozens of times, and read the first page of ten different books.  We went outside, picked up rocks, and tried not to get all wet in the sprinkler.  I had a blast.  By then it was 7:30 a.m.  I could have kept it up for at least another couple of hours, but a trip to the farmer’s market sounded like fun, so we packed up the diaper bag and took off.

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There was lots of beautiful produce….

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and delectable baked goods…..

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Someone was handing out suckers as we strolled along.

Hudson has never had a sucker.

Big brothers should have some privileges, that’s what I say.

There’s got to be some perks,

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Hud Bud knew instinctively what to do.

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He really liked it.

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Dad, you’ve been holding out on me for 18 months.

Thank goodness Nonnie came.

To Tell the Truth

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I’m mad.  I’m sad.  I’m mad and sad.

  All along I believed him.

But now it seems he wasn’t being truthful.

No, I’m not talking about PB.

He can’t lie to me.

PB confesses every time he sneaks a Big Mac.

I’m talking about RB.

#8.   2011 MVP.  Left fielder.  My favorite player.

Solomon was right:

“Truth lasts;  lies are here today, gone tomorrow.” (Proverbs 12:19)

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Lies, deception and cover ups are as old as the Garden of Eden.  The serpent convinced the newly created couple that God was actually the liar.  Even without television and internet and peer pressure, Eve fell for an untruth in paradise.  Before there was corrupt politics and shady business deals and magic potion salesmen, the first family unraveled because of fibs and fabrications.

Okay, I’m not mad anymore.  Just sad.

Sad because people with freakish talent still feel the need to up their performance in order to prove to the crowd that they are most valuable.

Sad to observe a world where we can convince our very own selves that a lie is the truth (or the truth is a lie) if we believe it long and hard enough.

Sad to know that a mom and dad suffer with every scathing comment, locker room buddies wrestle with bitterness, fickle fans find new favorites.

I must not forget that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God —

 most of our transgressions aren’t broadcast on ESPN.

“Surely You desire truth in the inner parts.” Psalm 51:6

My Royal Grandson

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royal baby

Kate is going to have her baby soon, and  I’m not talking about the Duchess of Cambridge.

I’m referring to my daughter, Katie, who happens to have the same due date as the other Kate.

I expect thousands will be gathering outside the English hospital to await the royal news.

PB and I will be gathering by the phone, waiting for word from out west that the baby has arrived.

I suppose there will be great rejoicing in the streets of London when the church bells ring out.

PB and I will do a dance right in our living room, with peals of laughter and cries of joy.

I’m sure the regal birth announcement will be all over the TV and internet for the world to hear.

PB and I will be calling and texting and tweeting and facebooking our little corner of the world.

I presume there will be 101 gun salutes heard across the English countryside.

PB and I may set off a few left-over firecrackers in the backyard in honor of our new baby boy.

Little man, you may share a birthday with a prince or princess, but you aren’t in anyone’s shadow.

You aren’t the first-born, you aren’t the first-grand, you aren’t a twin.

You are different from all the rest — may your light shine.  Soon.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”  1 Peter 2:9

Paving Paradise

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What with VBS and a visit from the twinsies, I’ve been a little distracted lately.

Then PB kidnapped me and we gallavanted all over southern Wisconsin for a few days.

This morning I took our dog, Bo, for a walk around the block.

The landscape had changed.  We were shocked to see this:

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And this:

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And this and this and this:

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Bo and I couldn’t believe our eyes.

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I kept saying, “What happened here?”

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And here?

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Did a tornado rip through this one block?

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Did a disease devastate these old shade trees?

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Bo didn’t have any answers.

But the little flags and skinny sticks did.

It seems we’re paving paradise with sidewalks.

On a dead-end street.

Are these beauties next?  It seems so.

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Is our street also on the chopping block?

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Lord, have mercy.

“They took all the trees and put ’em in a tree museum.

And they charge the people a dollar and a half to see ’em.

Don’t it always seem to go,

That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

They paved paradise and put up a…..”*

sidewalk.

*Big Yellow Taxi lyrics

Fear Knot

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knotThere’s a saying going around that there are 365 “fear nots” in the Bible. I haven’t counted so I can’t verify the truth of that statement, but I do know it’s in there enough to qualify as the most repeated command in the Good Book. Oh, and yes, “fear not” is a command.

It seems God has built into my body a stress detection system. When fear, worries and pressures start getting to me, the muscles in my lower neck and upper shoulders tighten up into a snarl of strained sinew. I call it my “Fear Knot” and it’s my own personal alarm telling me it’s time to step back and do these things:

1. Breath. Up until recently, I wasn’t aware that I haven’t been breathing correctly. Shallow breaths let in the bare minimum of oxygen, causing my cells to practically suffocate. So I’m learning to take deep, belly breaths — just like my vocal music professor instructed me years ago. Singing requires good, cleansing breath — so does living. I knew that — I just forgot.

2. Sit up straight. Confession time: I’m a sloucher. It’s a bad habit. Shoulders back, chin up, ten-hut.

3. Enlist PB to give me a rub down. I sit on the floor in front of him and he works my shoulders like a pro. I have to join him in watching “Duck Dynasty” but that’s even worth it. He tends to like the idea of me sitting at his feet anyway.

4. Take a walk at the lake. Being out in nature reminds me there is a world beyond my office. And a magnificent one, at that. (A kayak ride around the lake with friends is even better!)

5. Pray. I pull out my go-to list of stress-busting Bible verses. I say them out loud in order to get my mind to listen to my heart.

Where do your “fear knots” tend to show up? How do you loosen the ligaments, tame the tendons, and stomp out the stress?

  • “Lord, won’t you look and see how upset I am? My stomach is in knots.” Lamentations 1:20 Continue reading →

    • What Are You Afraid Of?

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    fearOne of my fears is ending a sentence with a preposition.  Here I am, agonizing over whether or not I should change the title to “Of What Are You Afraid?”  I am going to face my fear of dangling prepositions, confront the high school English teacher in my subconsious and leave the title as is.  Ha!  (How’s that for facing down a fear?)

    Seriously, our women’s Bible study group is going to be digging into the topic of fear this summer.  The Bible has a few things to say about being afraid — mostly “be not afraid”.  So, is that possible?  Can we ever really erase fear from our lives?

    I need your help, I’m afraid.  I mean….I need your assistance, please.

    If you are reading this, you have been chosen to take part in a little survey.  (*Bells, whistles, flashing lights*)  Answer these three questions in the comments.  You won’t win anything, except my deep appreciation.  I’d like to start our study next week with real thoughts from real people (that’s you).   Your identity will be protected so be brutally honest, if you’re not too scared.

    1. What were you afraid of when you were a child?

    2. What fears do you have today?

    3. On a scale of 1-10 (1=not much, 10=a whole lot) how much does fear control your life?

    That’s it!  Don’t be timid! Jump in! (Oh, man. Another hanging preposition.)

    If you’d prefer to email me with your thoughts: dinah.overlien@gmail.com

    Revival

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    two dancersOne more thought about the crippled beggar in Acts 3:

    There is another person in this story to consider.  This unnamed person stays in the background and is easy to miss.

    Someone had to carry that lame gentleman to the Gate Beautiful every morning.  Someone had to come back and carry him home every night.

    This friend or family member probably thought it was the right thing to do.  It took a high level of commitment to make sure this poor man could at least spend his day in a high traffic area.  Sitting near the temple was good strategy, as religious people might have been more likely to drop a few sympathetic coins into the cup.  There was certainly deep compassion that drove this helper to physically carry a grown man and get him settled in for a day of begging.

    What did the nameless care-taker think the evening he went back to the spot and found his friend walking and leaping and praising God?   Don’t you think he joined in the dance?  Can’t you just picture the two of them doing a jig right there in the temple courts?  The crippled beggar wasn’t the only one set free that day.  Every person who carried, washed, fed, and tended to the lame man received a miracle.

    So, here’s the thing.  There are a lot of hurt people in our lives that we are carrying.  We have great compassion for what they are going through and we are committed to being there for the long haul.  We lift them up in prayer, we try to meet their needs, and we do it all from a sincere heart of love.  But if we are serious about real healing for our friends, we have to get them to Jesus.  Because when our wounded buddies go from begging to dancing, by the power of Jesus Christ, we are also set free.

    We all move from survival to revival.