Libby Baker Sweiger

Weaver of Everyday Tales

Archive for the category “Love”

27 Oct 2011
6 Comments

Six Little Cowboys

“Let us make one point, that we meet each other with a smile, when it is difficult to smile. Smile at each other, make time for each other in your family.”
― Mother Teresa

It was by brother Bill’s 50th Birthday Party. He didn’t look it. He didn’t act it. None of us were acting our age, it was a cowboy theme party! We were having a great time at my cousin Marnie’s house in Eagan with all my cousins assembled, my Aunt and Uncle, my sister Suzy, Sara was in Wisconsin, my mom and my dad and brothers Bill and Scott, and dad’s wife, my dear friend Patricia, who everyone called Trisha or Grandma Trish depending. We were all having a wonderful time and the cowboy hats and scarves were certainly helping.

It was so great to see my Dad and Uncle together. They had so much fun in the old days and every opportunity in between. Then Tricia started to gather my siblings for a picture with dad. We were shuffling around trying to follow direction and get into place and my mom saw us gathering for a picture and followed suit. Sweet Trish who was trying for a shot of dad and the kids shot this picture instead:

Middle (Me) Left: Suzy, Mom, Back: Scott, Dad and Bill on my right (6)

We all smiled! It was the first time in many years the six of us had been in the same picture together. Not by design, just by circumstance.

Here is the last picture taken of just the six of us:

Dad holding Scott, Bill, Mom holding Suzy, Me 🙂

My dear friend who I refuse to call step-anything, Trisha gave us a wonderful gift that day. Mom has dementia and doesn’t quite understand everything. The rest of us are very happy with the way life has turned out. Yet wasn’t it nice — on the day we all were together to celebrate my brother Bill and his matching cousin Muffy’s 50th birthday’s in our cowboy clothes — we were given a glimpse into the past and a moment of remembering?

It was a precious moment courtesy of one classy lady I call my friend. Thank you Patricia. You blessed our day. Hope we can do the same for you, next holiday! Love, Lib

Posted in Children, Family, friendship, Hope, Love
26 Oct 2011
11 Comments

Nothing To Fear

In the Depths God is There by Mark Chatwin

When we were kids we believed in things that go bump in the night. We had our dad check under our beds for the boogey men. Not every night, but some nights when TV was too scary or 2nd grade too overwhelming. And there was an old wives’ tale going around that said if you were falling in your sleep and didn’t wake up before you landed you would die. Now I believed that one for sure. I don’t know what reliable soul told me that one, but I believed it. I fell in my dreams, but I always woke up before I landed. Whew! I’d think to myself and go back to sleep. I used to dream all the time I could fly too. I had bad dreams, but also very fun, freeing, wonderful dreams.

Now I’ve mentioned that I was very ill with bi-polar disorder when they first discovered it. Probably because my boy Davey was very sick and I had to keep him going. I used all my physical and emotional stores to care for him, so that when the illness hit me, I didn’t have a lot left to fight it with. It hit me hard. And then little Davey died after I’d been in the hospital about 1 month or so. With that to absorb I got worse. I had excellent care, and many people loved me and were praying for me. Yet many days it felt like I was fighting very hard and going nowhere.

Before I got sick my favorite Psalm was 139 and when I was feeling really bad I would recite it to myself, as much as I could remember:

Psalm 139
1 O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
2 Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.
3 Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.
4 For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O LORD, thou knowest it altogether.
5 Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.
7 Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
8 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
9 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
10 Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
11 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.
12 Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

One night I was lying in my bed trying to sleep. Sleep was the hardest thing for me, because it was hard for me to quiet my mind and get peaceful. I was just lying there fretting about this and that. All of a sudden, I heard the still small voice within me say “let go”. Let Go? That isn’t right I’ve gotta fight this thing. Persistently the thought was there, “Let Go.” Finally I let myself relax and inwardly say okay. Suddenly I felt myself falling fast and hard not like in a dream, more like in a horror flick. I thought, oh no I’m going to die. I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to die I want to live, please Dear God, let me live. I kept falling and falling and falling. Then I landed, not hard, but soft and gently. And I didn’t die, nor did I feel awake. I felt surrounded by the warmest, strongest, most all-encompassing, dearest love I had every felt or even imagined. I knew it was the amazing love of God.

Then it struck me I had hit the very depths and God was there. I had gone as low as my soul could go, and God was there surrounding me his love. And then I knew like the Psalmist, that I could climb to the highest heavens and descend to the deepest depths and no matter where I went the love of God would be there before me. “If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there will thy had lead me and thy right had will hold me.” I was sick, but I was no longer afraid.

My doctors said that from that night forward, I started to get well. They didn’t need to tell me, I knew I was, but it was very nice to hear.

Posted in God, Love and tagged , , , , ,
25 Oct 2011
8 Comments

Smile From Your Heart

“Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.”
― Mother Teresa

Smile from your Heart

There’s so much power in a smile. A kind a loving smile. I try to greet everyone I see with one. I want them to know they are loved. I was smiled at a lot as a baby and a little girl. My mom and dad smiled at me. My grandparents smiled at me. My dear little sister Suzy — only 16-1/2 months my junior — smiled big at me when I wrangled her out of her crib to go see what was happened at the grown-up party going on in the living room. My cousins smiled at me. I was surrounded by love. I’m sure I smiled a lot in return because it has become a joyous loving habit of my life.

I try to live by this quote as I do by my favorite scriptures which it illustrates: “Let no one ever come to you without leaving better or happier.” (Matthew 25: 35-40 “‘For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; 36 naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’ 37 “Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? 38 ‘And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? 39 ‘When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ 40 “The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’ “) This is the living Gospel!

Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.”
― Mother Teresa

I know Jesus was the very kindest person on earth. Mother Teresa was so very kind too. She said some of the kindest things and lived a life of kindness, with the power and love of Jesus to help her! I know I am to emulate Jesus and I do, but many days the quotes of Mother Teresa speak to me very strongly and I want to walk in her steps as she walked in his.

Each day I try to do what is asked of me for that day. Greet every one with a smile. Make there way lighter. Have them leave me happier then when they first saw me. Impact them with love. The love of God, not just human affection. To do this you must be tapped in at the source. You must be praying, believing, communing, faithfully listening to your God. So that is what I do.

And with this comes so much joy! I remember in 9th grade our minister gave some of the kids who’d been confirmed a chance to speak in a special service. I decided not to prepare, but to just read the scriptures like mad before the big day. When it came my time to talk, great stories from the word just poured of out me so smoothly and with such love. I was so blessed. My family, my uncle, different members of our congregation came up to me afterwards and hugged me. You sure have been reading your bible, my uncle said. I was happy and delighted. I never passed up a chance to speak or read the word in church or anywhere after that!

Here’s one more quote I’d like to share on the subject of smiling:

“Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.”
― Mother Teresa

Mike and I Smiling!

Posted in Christianity, God, Love
25 Oct 2011
12 Comments

Cooley

Cooley: My Best Friend!

“We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend.”
― Robert Louis Stevenson

We always called my best friend Lynn by her last name: Cooley. It just stuck. People sometimes called me Baker, but usually Libby. Cooley was so cool, we just naturally called her Cooley. She was the best friend anyone could have because she was honest, true blue, that’s the kind of cool she was. She wasn’t too cool for other people, she was down to earth and as funny as the day is long. I loved her and her whole family. We were friends from the age of 13 on and still are best friends to this day. Her mom Rita and I were great friends. I called her Mrs. Cooley, but for some reason we called her Rita otherwise. Her car had the license plate: Reets, which was her nickname. Her Dad’s name is Frank and he is nice and kind. A real gentlemen and always happy to have her friends stop by.

Mrs. Cooley and I were pals. I’d stop over there after school and shoot the breeze. Mrs Cooley usually had a roast in the oven and was watching her programs. She was a lot different from my mom. She was known to have a can of beer in the afternoon with a cigarette. People didn’t sweat that stuff quite so much back then. It was starting to be known the dangers of it but they were still shrugging them off. Mrs. Cooley was even funnier than Cooley — if that could be possible. She got me laughing and she laughed at my tales. I still miss her. Mr Cooley is still with us, but I don’t know for how long.

I am sad for her. It’s very hard to lose your parents. Even harder when you’re an only child. I try to be a sister to Cooley as best I can, but I know it’s not quite the same for her.

She has always been like a sister to me. She was like the one or two friends who visited me years ago when I was hospitalized for my first bout with bi-polar disorder and was so very sick. She drove herself downtown in her Valiant. We were talking about it the other day. She felt bad she couldn’t do more. She was like a beautiful ray of sunshine in that place. I’ll never forget it — or the incident we had when she came. She loves to tell it. She walked in and this pipsqueek Michael, a pot burnout case, told her he was Jesus Christ. She kept her cool. I did not. He had stolen another pack of my cigarettes, an unfortunate habit I had picked up with a vengance during my mental collapse! I was mad when I saw them. I gave him a swift kick and grabbed back my pack! Cooley burst into peels of laughter — the first laughter I’d heard in that frightening place. I laughed too, hard and it did me some good! I loved our visit and actually felt better after she left. Michael also quit stealing my stuff, red licorice included! What a friend.

Cooley is still the same great friend today. I called her yesterday to tell her some great news about how well the blogging was going or some such thing and notice she was quiet. I quickly got quiet to find out her dad is dying. I said I wanted to come sit with her. She said it was okay, that her husband was there and her youngest son was flying in from college. I thought how wonderful it was that because of her, her father’s name was continuing. All of her children have double last names!

She’s a wonderful friend. True to herself. Always honest and good to her friends and family. A credit to the whole human race. A dear daughter too. I’m so honored to call her my best friend!

Posted in bestfriend, friendship, Love
24 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Young Love

Dear First Boyfriend Mike at High School Reunion This Summer

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”
― Dr. Seuss

Young love is so exciting. You kind of tingle all over. It is hard to sleep, at least it was for me. Sleeping has never been my best thing anyway. I was in 6th grade and the cutest boy on the block, well frankly, the whole school had declared his undying love. We kinda liked each other the end of 5th grade too, but there was another boy, Gordy, I also liked. Finally, in 6th grade Mike had enough. The rumor I heard — and you know how dramatic grade schoolers can be — was that he was on the window ledge of the 3rd floor and threatening to jump if I didn’t pick him. Well I told the message bearer of course, Mike was IT for me! I liked him better anyway. There was certainly no reason for anyone to scrape a knee or break a leg over!

I was hooked. He was so sweet. Kind of quiet. I always liked the quiet ones. Probably a safety net provided by God to keep me from having too many boyfriends! Most quiet boys were a bit intimidated by me. Not Mike. He had tons of self-confidence. He was older than I was too. I was a June birthday and small for my age. What I did have that he really liked was long brown hair almost to my waist, very straight.

This continued into 7th grade. It was nice going into Junior High with a really sweet, cute boyfriend. We went to some parties together. Boy/girl parties. At first opportunity, Mike kissed me at one of those parties. Very sweetly. Short. Nice. He was good to me. Only thing was, he loved my hair. He told me if I ever cut it he would break up with me. I didn’t believe him. He couldn’t mean it. It was just his way of complimenting my hair.

Naturally, I told my next door “best” girlfriend Barbie what he said. I didn’t notice the correlation back then. I never wanted to think ill of my friends. But, from the moment I disclosed that tidbit of news to Barbie, my without a boyfriend “best” friend, she started in on me to cut my hair.

The funny thing about girls and women in general is that they seem to care more about what fashion dictates and their girl friends think than what the men who care about them say about their appearance. And while long straight hair was in style in my High School years, I was bucking the trend then. The celebrity model who was big then was Twiggy with hardly any hair on her head at all.

Well you guessed it. My mom and Barbie and I took my beautiful long hair to the department store stylist and got a little trim: to my shoulders. Mike was horrified. And did what any guy with his character would do, was true to his word and dropped me.

I couldn’t believe it. I was stunned. What happened I thought to my self, and said to my girlfriend Barbie. She said boys are fickle, you can’t trust them. It didn’t seem right. I had always been able to trust Mike. I thought, much later, gee maybe he really meant it about the long hair.

He was a sweet boy. I missed him for a long time. You’re too young to articulate things at that age and we never discussed our falling out. I saw him last summer. He came back from California for our 40th High School Reunion. He hadn’t been back since the 10th. We had a great time talking and hanging out a bit on Friday night. We talked about the tree fort he had in his back yard and the fun times we had as kids. Nothing about kissing or hair. He was is the midst of a happy 26 year marriage, me a happy 32 year one! He was still a great guy. I had turned out okay. You can see by our smiles we had shared something pretty special once and we really didn’t need to talk about it. It just was.

Posted in friendship, Love and tagged , ,
23 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Saturdays at Dad’s

LtoR: Scott, Suzy, Pop, Dad, Sara, Me and Bill

“A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin

Every Saturday, many Sundays after Church, every Christmas Eve and Father’s day were my dad’s and nobody questioned it! My dad had many qualities that made him a great dad, he loved his children, he loved to be outside and play with us and was the best story-teller. I could listen to my dad’s stories by the hour. I still can!

He loved us so much, my mother told me later, that the night they realized that a separation was going to happen he cried about not living with us kids. It breaks my heart to think of it. My poor parents, both loved us so much. My dad in tears, I could hardly bear it when she told me.

But on to the fun stuff. We lived in Minnesota. My dad was from Mitchell, South Dakota. Two cold places. He never let that stop him from being outside, or from taking us on hikes as he called walking up and down whatever hill or mini-mountain we could find.

On a Dad Hike! Me Bill and Scott!


He played football for the University and taught all for of us to go out for passes. Suzy first, she was the fastest, then me, then Bill and then Scott. He had us running, catching the football, throwing a nice spiral back to him so he could fire one off to the next kid in line. It was a blast. We went as fast as we could. Suzy set a pretty fast pace. She’s the beautiful blond girl in the pigtails in the picture. The baby is my sister Sara. She’d watch at first. Eventually she joined us for basketball. I don’t remember her playing football.

Sara was a delight as was her mom. Pop is my dad’s dad, also known to tell a good story. My dad loved words and chose his well. I loved to hear my dad talk about anything, but most especially his childhood. His childhood friends had amazing names, like “Liver Lips” Johnson! My dad could really made us laugh as you might well imagine! He told the stories of how he and his brother fought that are the stuff of family legend. He has golf stories that would make you laugh ’til you cried. You’re probably wondering why I’m not telling you any, well my dad is an author, currently working on his memoirs! I don’t want to steal any of his thunder!

I will say this, my dad taught me to love words and books and writing and speaking. When I was in high school he had a regular column in the Minneapolis Athletic Club magazine the Gopher for local business. It was funny, witty and I read it every month. His book, “The Guide Shoots First” about his hunting adventures is selling well on Amazon.com

There was one thing I envied my brothers. Well two, I guess. 1) every year they went hunting with dad and 2) they went down to the Athletic Club every Saturday morning with dad to workout, play basketball, etc. Dad would pick us up after. It was a men’s club back then with just certain hours that they allowed women’s swimming, which we did! But I wasn’t to envious. One big drawback, they couldn’t be a daughter of dad’s which is a precious thing!

All sports at my dad’s house were strictly co-ed. Other places, it was another era. There weren’t many sports for women back then, and my gym teachers were amazed at my basketball prowess when they began to “teach” us the game. Too bad they didn’t teach football too! Dad would have loved that story!

Posted in Children, Dad, Family, friendship, Hope, Love and tagged , , , , , , ,
22 Oct 2011
14 Comments

Hem of His Garment

The Hem of His Garment

18 While he was saying this, a synagogue leader came and knelt before him and said, “My daughter has just died. But come and put your hand on her, and she will live.” 19 Jesus got up and went with him, and so did his disciples.
20 Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the hem of his garment. 21 She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.”
22 Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.
23 When Jesus entered the synagogue leader’s house and saw the noisy crowd and people playing pipes, 24 he said, “Go away. The girl is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him. 25 After the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took the girl by the hand, and she got up.
26 News of this spread through all that region.

I was sitting in Church on beautiful sunny spring Sunday and our minister, started preaching from Matthew. My ears really perked up because he was talking about a man whose daughter had died and he believed if Jesus came and touched her she would live again. Pretty extraordinary stuff and definitely a part of the bible I hadn’t read lately.

This man’s faith caught my attention. I was really struggling. I was in my Junior Year of High School, not my best year. I had developed a frightening case of acne that had scared more than one date away. I was not close to my dad and didn’t know how to fix it. I think I was scaring my mom a little bit. I know she was praying for me a lot.

Then my ears perked up again, suddenly a woman appeared on the scene. She was really sick. She believe if she touched the hem of Jesus garment she would be healed. Now I was really listening! Then the still small voice within me started to speak. Now this is an expression from the bible Christians use instead of sounding crazy and saying God started talking to me. But in fact, deep in my heart, God started talking to me. I kept hearing the words, “If I only touch His cloak, I will be healed.” I knew who He meant, Jesus wasn’t there in the flesh, he meant our beloved minister. He wanted me to touch his robe and be healed.

I was fighting this one hard. No way do we have altar calls in the Congregational Church and certainly not in the suburbs! Yet, I couldn’t shake the unmistakable, over-powering tug on my heart and soul. Healed from what? I was thinking all the while: acne, broken heart about my dad, rebellion, lousy attitude. You name it, I needed healing mind, soul and body badly. But really, walk up the aisle of the church and touch the minister’s robe?

I was getting really warm inside. Every time the dear minister said “If I only touch His cloak I will be healed” and “Your faith has healed you” — which seemed to be a refrain in his sermon — it was like someone putting a light charge of electricity through me.

Finally I got up. I walked up the very long aisle to the front of the church and touched our minister’s robe just as he was reading the words, “Take heart daughter, your faith has healed you.” And then he smiled at me and looked and the congregation. He said, our little one here has come seeking healing…he looked at me and I nodded. That was all I could do. Then he turned to the congregation and said something like…if any more of you would like prayer please come up and join us here. And people came forward! And he prayed for all of us. Many hearts were touched. It was the very first alter call ever in that church, but certainly not the last.

Did I get healed? In every way. It was the beginning of a work of restoration of faith in my Lord. I know my desire to be closer to Him and to my Dad was in the works. What about my skin? That wasn’t instant, but there was a healing that took place. The dermatologist had spoken with me about treatments to fix scarring and pitting down the line. Due to the healing started that day, none of that was ever necessary. It was like I was given brand new skin!

I do have an interested post script to this story. Years later, I was working in the marketing department of a Life Insurance company in downtown Minneapolis. I was on a company weekend at their home office in Wisconsin and was up late one night talking to one of the women executives. She and I had really hit it off and she knew I was a person of faith. She said she was once a Congregationalist, but she got really turned off to church one Sunday. I asked her what happened. She said a young girl got up at the end of the sermon and walked up and touched the minister’s robe. It turned her off completely.

I was able to tell her that that young person was me and I gave the story to her from my perspective a bit. It was so amazing. That wonderful woman opened her heart back up to God that night. She thought that if He would go to all the trouble of finding that girl and put her back in her path all these years later, He must care about her a lot. And of course, I agreed!

Posted in Christianity, God, Hope, Love
20 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Mom Plus God

The Five of Us

“Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God. Be a person in whom they can have faith. When you are old, nothing else you’ve done will have mattered as much.”
― Lisa Wingate

My mom tells the story that when dad and she decided to get divorced and she was alone in the house with us that she laid down on the floor and stretched out her arms and legs and gave up. She told God she couldn’t do this thing: raise the four of us without dad in the house and without his daily presence and love. She told God she needed Him to give her the strength as soon as possible, PLEASE! She just laid there until he answered her. From that day forward she always said God was her husband. She was NOT a nun, she was real flesh and blood. She got frustrated with the four of us who could be very unruly without dad to yell out our given names! But, she had a lot of love and determination and incredible energy. I’m not surprised looking back to think that it was not really mom raising us at home, but mom plus God.

Now I want to stress again that my dad took care of us, too! He was there for us emotionally and financially and on weekends and holidays. But on the weekdays and every night it was mom + God who raised us. She needed help from others too and got it when she would. She was very beautiful and dated some. I love this picture of us taken at Minnehaha Creek by my all-time favorite of her boyfriends, a doctor and a really great guy. She didn’t have very many of them, but they were all sweet to us. Some wanted to marry her. She never took them up on it, and finally stopped dating. She maintained she was married to God. That might sound a bit goofy to some, but my mom was not goofy, she was full of love. I think, however that she never really got over my dad. She is 81 now, with Alzheimers, and her face still lights up like a Christmas tree when she hears his name!

And my grandparents, were always around. I had two sets. I was very fortunate in that department. My moms parents we saw the most, because they lived near by. They were an important part of our lives. And my cousins too, of course. Yet, sometimes we were lonely. My mom started this ritual of putting is all to bed individually and lying down with us and talking to us for a good long time. My mom took a couple of hours to put four kids to bed. I mentioned she had energy. She was very happy raising us. She would get up the next day to begin the adventure again!

She depended on me for help with my brothers. My sister Suzy helped more around the house. We all helped mom when we could. I was her rescuer. One early summer day I rode home on my bike and saw her holding the window air conditioner out the window! I ran upstairs to see what the deal was and found she had it stuck outside the window, not in the brackets and could get it in or out! She was holding onto the thing for dear life. She wasn’t about to drop an air conditioner! I got on my bike and pedaled to the nearest gas station (about a mile) and the guy who knew us came and helped mom out! Wow! What a day. I get tense just thinking about it! Okay now I’m laughing. Life with mom was never dull!

Mom raised us on the praise method. She had been raised that way by her dad with a bit more of a critical style by her mom and saw no value in it. Even today, my husband Mike calls her the president of my fan club! She is the first person I call when something great has happened. Well it’s a coin toss! The second person I call is my Dad! They are two great people who built a wonderful happy family, together and apart. One of their secrets: they loved their children. A second? They never had a bad word to say about each other! I had the two best parents in the world, plus God!

Posted in Children, Family, Forgiveness, God, Hope, Love
19 Oct 2011
18 Comments

Daddy’s Girl

I adore my dad. I love him fiercely like a bear cub and gently like a baby dear. He taught me to sing “America the Beautiful” while we were driving up the Rocky Mountains on the way to Colorado Springs, Colorado.

Driving through the Rockies (Courtesy of Photobucket)

He took me across the street to the park every Saturday when I was only 3 to explore and hike and experience nature. He taught me to love the outdoors, the beauty of God’s creation and probably caused my heart to hunger for more of God. He taught me Astronomy when I was only five and made me feel smart and wonderful always. I loved to hear his stories. My dad is a great story-teller and a natural author. He is 81 and working on his third book. I am so proud of him. He has accomplished so much in his life, not the least of which raising three girls and two boys of which I am the oldest.

I know I said in an earlier post that I felt a shift in his behavior toward me after the divorce to a more grandfatherly pose as a disciplinarian. It’s true he wasn’t as strict, but we cherished all of our time together and he was always, always there for me. I knew I could count on him in any kind of crisis and experience bore that out. But I don’t want to talk about crisis now, I want to talk about my dad and his stories and our great times together.

He could and does tell the very best stories. And he has a wonderful laugh. I love to hear it and I love to make him laugh. He’s told me he thinks I’m brave and that is music to my ears because he is. He was born in the Great Depression. His parents separated when he and his younger brother were very young. I’m sure it was very hard, but the way he tells it they had a great deal of fun and fought as brothers will. They would get into the movies for the cost of a gunny sack each he used to say. And one day, he and his brother found where they stored the gunny sacks and went to the movies quite easily from then on! On they reminded me of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. I loved to hear about their adventures.

My dad was always a very hard worker like his mom. He worked on the railroad when he was only 14 pounding spikes which he said may have stunted his growth. Hard to say when he’s 6 feet tall! 🙂 He worked his way through college after being in the Army at the end of World War II on the GI bill. And went to work for an insurance company. He worked his way up to heading a large local Insurance brokerage house and had traveled on business internationally before he retired. All on the strength of hard work, good salesmanship, and smarts. I’m very proud of my dad and all he’s accomplished in life, while being here for us kids.

Now I call myself a Daddy’s Girl, not because I don’t love my mom to pieces, because I do. And it’s not because I’m spoiled either. It’s just when I looked up for help in the times of my life I really needed it…I always saw my dad’s face. Always.

I relate to my dad. I understand him. I want to make him proud and I want to make him happy more than anything I guess. I want to somehow pay him back if I can in some small way for always being there for me.

I’m crying now thinking of all the times he’s been there for me. I ran away after a bad experience when I was 16. He was the one who found me. I didn’t go into the hospital willingly when they first found the bi-polar, because I didn’t want to be separated from my son…so I had to face a commitment hearing. My dad went with me to that. His calm demeanor and praise afterward kept the experience from scaring and scarring me. Also I passed and became a voluntary admittance which is much preferred, believe me. When my boy died he held me up. He held me at my daughter’s funeral. He gave me away with such joy when Mike and I married. He paid for my college, when I finally made it at 28! He was there for my awards dinner with my mom when I scored high grades.

Here’s a birthday card I had made for him last year. I will never be able to show him how much I appreciate all he has done. But like me, he loves celebrations, and birthdays! His is 4 days after Christmas!

Sis Sara, me, Niece Kimmy, Sis Suzy

Happy Celebrating Every Day, Dad…with all my love, Lib

Posted in Children, Dad, Family, Love and tagged , , ,
18 Oct 2011
8 Comments

When God Found Me

I was always really curious about God. I remember driving my Sunday school teachers down at Hennepin Avenue Church crazy with questions. How can we talk to God? How does He talk to us? How do we know He will answer our prayers. How can we get into Heaven?

It bothered me a lot that they didn’t have answers for most of my questions. I had asked my grandmother Meme, a Methodist — and all I got was — try your best and be a good girl and hope you get in. The vagueness of the reply troubled me greatly. Also I didn’t think I was a particularly good little girl. I teased my little brothers, sometimes my sister and didn’t help my mom enough! When I got older, 7th grade I remember getting mad and saying bad things in my head at the minister’s sermons because he sounded so vague and irritatingly non-committal about everything. When I thought about my questions and my thoughts later, I was sure a girl who was mean to a minister — even in her head — was not headed for anyplace too good at all! This continued on until I turned 13 and was in the 8th grade in Jr. High.

Now let me preface this by saying that I believe I had a big old hole in my heart. I believe I was missing God and I also know I was missing my dad. Now my parents had separated four years earlier and divorced when I was 10. I saw my dad every weekend and intellectually I comprehended the thing and was even behind it. I did not believe my parents belonged together. My dad was also much happier with my step mom, who I really liked and who really liked me and all the kids. My sister Sara, their only child hadn’t come along yet. But despite all this, I was a daddy’s girl. One who had followed my dad around every minute of my life until the day he left and I just plain missed him fiercely. After he moved out he treated us more and more like a grandfather than a dad I thought. He wanted all our time together to be special I imagine, so he spoiled us a bit and didn’t discipline us much…well we were probably on our best behavior too…at least that was my child’s impression. So I missed my dad. The one who used to YELL, Elizabeth Diane Baker if I was in trouble! The firm hand of guidance, and the safety I felt in that.

I didn’t know what to do with my new-found freedom, so a big part of me was looking for God. Probably the best idea I could have had. That all brings me back to the year I was 13 and in the 8th grade. I was walking home from school one day. I probably missed the bus because it was a two mile walk and I didn’t usually make my way on foot. I was passing by a church and noticed some pretty cool looking kids hanging out, playing in the side yard. I went over and talked to them, liked their banter and decided I’d go there the next Sunday when they asked. As the oldest child in the family I had certain privileges, as well as the safety of our neighborhood and those long ago times. When I told my mom I was walking to a new church on Sunday she let me go! My family drove down to Hennepin Avenue and I walked on a sunny spring day to Colonial Church of Edina and sat myself down in one of the pews.

Well, what did you know but my quest had ended? God had found me! On that sunny side street among friendly, playing children He had set the stage for me to walk right into a place that didn’t intellectualize tired old dogma, but told the story of the New Testament and the love of God in His son Jesus. I was home!

So that’s why I say God found me. Sure I was looking. But I think He set a pretty attractive trap and caught Himself a Libby and changed the course of her whole life! What do you think? Oh, by the way, my mom and my sister and brothers followed me to that church. It was great driving with the family again. We all felt we were home.

Posted in Children, Christianity, Dad, Family, Forgiveness, God, Hope, Love and tagged , , , , ,

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