Of course, you gain a lot, too. Besides the memories and the irreplaceable time with your child…besides all that, you also gain membership into a close-knit sisterhood of women working together to see to the education and well-being of their children. You see, being a homeschooling mom isn’t a solo journey. There are heroic partners all along the way.

As we are graduating our third child from homeschool, I want to salute the many homeschooling moms who have created a culture of excellence and camaraderie for our family:

THE CO-OP PRESIDENT AND BOARD who do everything from making sure the church is cleaned after class to recruiting teachers to managing membership (and so much more!).
THE CO-OP TEACHER who shares her special area of knowledge to the benefit of all.
THE TEAM ORGANIZER who knows every gym, every stadium, and the phone number for every athletic director in the state. Because of her hard work, the team has a schedule full of games.
THE CHRISTMAS PARTY PLANNER with her tub of decorations and games that she brings out year after year.
THE YEARBOOK DESIGNER who collects precious memories from the families and organizes them so the kids will have a souvenir for years to come.
THE BAND ASSISTANT who knows where you can get used instruments for cheap…and her kids teach private lessons, too!
THE CHEER SPONSOR who is always sore from practice because she believes in leading by example.
THE HOME SCHOOL VETERAN who had so many people asking for copies of her lessons, that she organized them and published them so families can learn from her even after she’s retired.
THE FIELD TRIP MAVEN who knows exactly how many participants are needed for that coveted group rate.
THE ROBOTICS CAPTAIN that comes home after work and donates his time and a lot of equipment (don’t tell his wife) so the kids can compete on a national level.
THE NETWORKER who listens when you mention a concern, and then comes up with a specialist, a program, an opportunity that fits your need.
THE PIONEER that hears of people doing something somewhere, and asks, “Why don’t we have one of those groups in our area?”
THE HOME SCHOOL RESCUE TEAM who step in when illness strikes to make sure meals and transportation are handled while Mom is down, and then come to help Grandma get through the lessons.

Being a homeschooling family means being a part of a network, having a bond akin to comrades at arms. Together we faced fears of inadequacy, challenges when resources were scarce, and the frustrations that come when we can’t blame someone else for our child’s failure. Together we pooled our talents and our strengths to fill the gaps and smooth the road in our children’s education. Together we celebrated their successes.

So, I’m celebrating you. Homeschooling has many benefits for the child, but one of the greatest rewards for me has been the quality of women I’ve been privileged to learn with, laugh with, and love.

Thank you!

The post The Sisterhood of Homeschooling Moms appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

After a long day of flights and getting our bearings in the town, we were pleased to see how nice and clean our hotel was. It was beautiful with French doors to a balcony and many windows, but a quick inspection showed that the balcony was one continuous platform with only a very low wall separating it from the other four rooms on that side of the hotel. Not only that, the lock on the French doors popped open when wiggled and the window in the bathroom (which also opened out to the balcony) didn’t have a lock. Alrighty, then. First, we placed the only chair in the room in front of the French doors and then we propped one of Coy’s shoes on the windowsill to jam the window closed. We’re not usually that cautious, but it was our first night in a foreign country and the front office was closed for the night with no one on call. Might as well be careful.

I was sleeping hard, I know that much. With the air conditioner and fan going, outside noises were muted into a soothing drone…that was until I heard screaming. Someone was screaming bloody murder. I sat up in bed and that’s when I realized that the person screaming was me.

Why was I screaming? Then I saw him. There was a man standing in the dark at the foot of our bed.

Now, let’s analyze this –

Waking up to find a stranger in your dark room has to be on the top of every “scenario-you-don’t-want-to-face” list. In my part of the world, when this happens, it’s either the Grim Reaper or someone is fixing to meet the Grim Reaper. To be honest, I didn’t even know where I was, but I knew I was facing pure evil and somehow I was going to defeat it by shrieking at the top of my lungs.

Immediately, I heard a roaring next to me. Coy bellowed like Braveheart and threw a pillow at the figure while he simultaneously rolled out of bed and charged. The intruder turned and dashed into the hall. Coy disappeared around the corner and I started hearing a very apologetic voice fading as it ran away, “Sorry. Wrong room. Wrong room.”

I can only imagine what people in the neighboring rooms thought hearing this ruckus. Had there been room phones, I’m sure they would’ve lit up the front desk. Coy came back to the room twitching with adrenaline-fueled jet lag and locked the door behind him. (Did I mention there was no latch on the inside of the door?) Then we just looked at each other.

Wrong room? How did his key work? Were all the keys the same? Who else was coming through the door? We put the one chair in front of the hallway door and moved a nightstand in front of the French door. Then we piled suitcases up on both pieces of furniture so we’d have a little more warning before someone could make it to the bed.

Needless to say, every noise that night had me jumping up to see if the door was opening, because we still didn’t know how that had happened. It wasn’t until the next morning that we got a reasonable explanation from the hotel staff. The men (there were two, one didn’t make it into the room before we unloaded on them) were the nephews of the owner. They’d been staying in our room, but when our reservation came up the staff moved their things to another room and had forgotten to tell them and take their keys away.

It was as good of an explanation as any. The staff was appropriately horrified and the hapless nephews claimed to have been as scared as I was. All in all, we were able to rest well for the rest of the trip. Hopefully the only consequences to our scary night was the sore throat I got from yelling. As long as no one uploads the film from the hallway security camera, all will be forgiven.

The post The Last Thing You Want to See in Your Hotel Room appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

“It’s really not that bad,” I assure her. “I can write/clean/cook while they do their lessons. We love all the time we get to spend together as a family.” But she isn’t convinced, so I give up and we move on to less astonishing topics.

If you’ve homeschooled long enough to dull your sharpened pencils, you’ve had this conversation. “I’m not Superwoman,” you insist, but no one believes you, so you go back to your quiet home, cuddle up with your little ones, enjoy your favorite read-alouds and wonder why they are so amazed. Who wouldn’t want this gentle, idyllic life?

Then it happens. For me it’s usually 2:30 when child #2 admits that she’s skipped her science assignments all last week and child #4 is in tears over a writing assignment. The phone rings and it’s a friend on her way home from running her errands. She wants to chat as she heads to her clean house before the school bus drops her kids off. In despair, I look my chaotic children and realize I have a couple of hours of homework before I can work on my edits, or shower, or start dinner. Discontent begins to creep in.

“This is so hard,” I think. “I can’t do this any longer. Who do I think I am, Superwoman?”

Surprise, surprise. The lady was right after all. It is hard. It does wear you slick. It takes incredible amounts of patience, time and nerve to educate your children. Why do we deny this? Why do we pretend it can be accomplished with minimal effort?

We do ourselves a disservice when we “humbly” pretend that homeschooling is easy – that’s it’s for everyone – that it requires little sacrifice. If we trick ourselves into believing that, then we are unprepared for the tough days. We are shocked when the sacrifice hurts. We are frustrated when the price is high.

Guess what. If you are homeschooling, you are a superhero. You are doing a very difficult job with little encouragement or praise. Daily, you deal with fears of inadequacy, but you keep fighting the fight.

They were right. It does take a super strength to succeed, but the power isn’t in one amazing feat. It’s in a million small decisions. Be wary, be prepared, and on those tough days put on your cape and keep flying.

(This article was written for a homeschooling blog in 2011. Copyright retained by Regina Jennings.)

The post I’m Not Superwoman (But I Do Borrow Her Cape) appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Always looking to save some money, we decided to park way out at the Lloyd Noble Center and walk to the stadium. We’re both healthy, so what would it hurt, even if it was 100 degrees in the shade? We can take the heat.

One thing I couldn’t take though, was walking two miles in uncomfortable shoes. Just a few weeks earlier I’d made that mistake when my friend and author buddy Becky Wade had visited OKC. Someone in the group who is related to me by marriage and should know better, underestimated the distance to the OKC Memorial. It turned into quite a hike…especially for someone wearing an adorable pair of new high wedges. Once we got to the Memorial, I took off my shoes to give my feet a rest before we started walking back to Bricktown. Unfortunately my feet swelled like inflatable rafts. The shoes would not go back on. At all.

Poor Becky and Mr. Wade were escorted back through downtown by a barefoot hostess. At one point, crossing a gravel parking lot, I had to catch a piggyback ride to make it across. Just what you want to do in the trendy section of town on a Saturday night. We gave them a visit they’ll never forget.

And I hadn’t forgotten either. No cute shoes on this trip. I was going to wear my tried and true flipflops with a lot of cushion.

And that worked well for the first mile to the stadium. Becky (my sister) and I chatted, laughed and sweated as we hurried along just behind the crowd. We were a little late.

(Owen Field – photo by Andrew Rine, WikiCommons)

Suddenly something snapped, and with the next step I was standing on bare pavement. What just happened? I looked behind me and there was my flipflop with the strap broken. Now, if you’ve ever had flipflops break, you know that they become the most useless thing in the world. They aren’t sandals. There aren’t other straps to hold them on. Nope, they are just a flat piece of foam with no method of attachment to the bottom of your foot.

This was trouble. I could walk a mile barefoot. I’d proved that in Bricktown. But did I want to walk two miles back in the dark when the game was over? And would they let me into the stadium barefoot? Somehow I doubted it.

But we would press on. We were resourceful. We could figure out something by the time we reached the game.

My first try was to poke my chewing gum into the holes that hold the strap in. Both the side and the hole between my holes had quit on me, so I filled them with green, spearmint gum. Then I carefully pushed the prong into the hole and waited.

Did I mention that it was 100 degrees? That gum wasn’t going to set-up and harden for anything. One step and I realized that all I’d accomplished was getting spearmint gum stuck between my toes. I tried to pick it out, but people were starting to stare at the crazy woman who’d chosen the middle of a busy sidewalk to clean the gum from between her toes. It’d have to wait. I had bigger problems.

We kept walking and soon we were in tailgater land. We asked a few times for duct tape, and unbelievably there was none to be had – a fact I share with the deepest shame and regret.

“We could borrow a rubber band,” Becky said. “Oh, wait. I have a ponytail holder.”

She pulled a ponytail holder off her wrist. By stretching it over my foot and shoe, I was barely able to hold it on. Enough to fake appropriate footwear as we went through the gate at least, but that thin band wouldn’t hold for long. Not being scraped against concrete the way it was. Something else must be done.

I hobbled through the gate and went to the concession area. Surely there’d be something to buy, and there was. The cutest pair of OU flipflops I’d ever seen. For $38.

(The Sooner Schooner – Photo by Nmajdan, WikiCommons)

Suddenly saving on parking didn’t look like such a great idea. Neither did leaving my wallet in the car. I’d stuck a twenty in my pocket for snacks during the game, but I don’t like using plastic when I don’t have to. I also don’t like carrying a purse. Hmmm…. I might need to rethink some of these preferences.

Luckily my sister was with me.

“I only have twenty dollars,” I told her.

“You can borrow some,” she said. She reached in her pocket and pulled out…. $2. She blinked. “I thought I stuck two twenties in there. Not two 1s.” Evidently the aversion to carrying a purse was a  family trait.

“Can I buy one shoe?” I asked the kid behind the counter. He didn’t even answer.

The crowd above us roared. The game had commenced. At least we could watch the game. It was only the walking two miles back to the car in the dark barefoot that concerned me.

On our way to our seats we passed a Medical Emergency Station. I stopped in front of it.

“You’re not going in there, are you?” Becky asked.

“They could probably help me.” The more I thought about it, the surer I was that it was the answer to my problem. We found our seats, me dragging a leg Zombie-style to keep the shoe on, but at the first break I slipped down to the medical station.

I felt guilty standing there among all the heat-stroke victims. The nurses kept eyeing me until they took care of those who had real medical issues to deal with. Finally one was free.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “But my shoe broke and won’t stay on my foot. Do you have any tape I could repair it with?” Because if the shoe wasn’t fixed and I stepped on something, then it could actually become a bonafide medical issue. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

She pulled out latex gloves and pointed me to a cart away from the front desk. It didn’t take her long to size up the problem, but instead of reaching for clear tape, she grabbed an ACE bandage.

“We’ll make sure that shoe stays on your foot,” she said. Then fast as a whirlwind she spun that giant ACE bandage around and around my foot and shoe until I thought she was turning me into a mummy. But do you know what? It felt very comfortable. And since it looked like I had a verifiable handicap (besides my inability to choose footwear), no one would be staring at me like they had when I was walking around with one shoe on.

“Thanks so much! This is perfect!” I wanted to high five her, but she had other, fainting people to worry about.

She ripped her gloves off. “That should hold it, but there’s one other thing. You have some bright green stuff growing between your toes. I’d get that checked out if I was you.”

The post How I Lost My Sole at the Football Game appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Being an inquisitive sort….

Of course I couldn’t just let it go without finding out for sure whether there was a whole flock of birds in my parents’ bedroom chimney. I told them to stay there and watch the chimney. I was going inside to start a fire.

I removed the little fireplace screen and tossed a few Kleenexes in the fireplace. I got a match  and then because I would never want to cause any harm to their lovely house by making it smell like smoke, I reached in to open the flue.

The noise was akin to standing beneath a helicopter when it takes off. A massive whirling, fluttering noise rose up over my head and immediately birds came pouring out of the fireplace. I smashed the fireplace screen over the opening, but the fireplace tools were in the way, keeping it from falling flush against the brick. Dozens of birds were flapping, their little claws poking my fingers through the screen, their soft bodies squeezing between the screen and the brick where the fireplace tools were leaving space. They were determined to get into the house.

I started yelling to see if anyone was in the house. I needed to get the fireplace tools out of the way because one by one, birds were squeezing through the gaps and flying around the bedroom, but I knew if I let go of the screen, dozens of birds would flood in. No one was in the house. Both hands were holding the screen, so I started blowing on the birds, yelling at them, hoping to scare them back up the flue. Surely one of my family members would come inside and check on my experiment… but no. I was on my own.

Eventually, more and more of them found their way back up the chimney and I was able to toss the tools aside so the screen fit flat over the hole. All while dodging the darting birds that had made it into the bedroom. Finally there was only one left in the fireplace. I put something heavy against the screen to hold it in place, then went outside to get the swimming pool net and start rounding up the birds inside. There was the family, watching the chimney.

“Gina, you wouldn’t believe how many birds were in the chimney!”

Yep. I think I would. In fact, y’all didn’t even see them all, because some are still flying around the house.

So much for my science experiment. My parents are so proud.

This poor bird came down the chimney, got squished in the fireplace screen, flew into a light fixture where it was trapped until we got it out with a pool net. Now it’s too tired to fight off the kids.

 

The post Alfred Hitchcock fans, this is for you – appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

  Liberty’s Kids – $5.00

The fabulous Lori told me about this special. I LOVE LIBERTY’s KIDS! This series was on TV back when my 19-year-old was little and it’s a great series that reinforces your child’s American History lessons.  For only $5? You’ve got to be kidding me! Love, love, love, this deal!

A Ladies’ Shawl – under $5.00

I didn’t bother posting a picture because there are so many inexpensive scarves to choose from, but if you’re looking for a little something extra for you, this is a nice addition.  Great idea, Linda.

5-Piece Stylus Set for your iPhone – $1.14

This is pure genius. Never in a thousand years would I have thought to get extra styli for my smartphone…maybe because I don’t have one, but these are so cheap, I might have to get some anyway! Good stocking stuffers, too. Thanks, Sherri for the tip!

Wilton Holiday 6-piece Cookie Cutters – $5.76

Cookie Cutters! I never think to buy cookie cutters, but every December when I’m making Grandma Laura’s Sugar Cookies, I wished I had. Plus, if these get you free shipping, then they paid for themselves! I owe you one, Heather.

Batteries! – Starting at $3.99

“Oops, I bought too many batteries. We’ll never use these!” – said no one ever! Not a glamorous purchase, but so practical. Karla is a smart cookie!

Dover Books –  $1.50 and up

These Dover books can buy you hours of silence when you most need it. They have holiday books, science books, coloring books, and all sorts of activities to keep the kiddos occupied. What a bargain! Mary suggests keeping a few in your purse for a surprise when you’re stuck in a waiting room.

Other ideas suggested by the Facebook posse – hair products, jewelry, Christmas socks, chocolate, yarn, craft glue, Scotch tape, ginger candy, ear buds, throw pillow, and holiday stickers.

Of course, I’d be remiss if I neglected the Number One Answer of the night…

A BOOK!

We can’t have too many books, can we? As much as we authors love to write and research, if we don’t sell books eventually we have to get a real job. So, if you’re looking to reach your free shipping, don’t forget you can always toss a book into the cart, too!

Thanks so much and Merry Christmas!

Love,

Regina

The post Amazon Free Shipping Hacks appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

But the first Christmas I can remember really appreciating all my Grandma did was the first Christmas she wasn’t there. Grandma died of cancer when she was fifty-nine. I was fourteen and couldn’t begin to comprehend how young fifty-nine really was, nor could I predict how much I would miss her.

I grew up the next Christmas. Grandpa couldn’t have us at his place—he could barely take care of himself—so he came to Oklahoma for Christmas. He appeared with the clothes on his back and seven identical brown paper sacks for his grandchildren, each holding a snow globe he’d purchased at the last truck stop before our exit.

For the first time, I cared more about the giver than the present. It really didn’t matter what was in the brown paper sack; I would make sure Grandpa knew that I loved him for trying, loved him even if he didn’t have the strength to try.

I remember his face as he sat amid the flurry of wrapping paper, his eyes blinded to the joy before him. They’d come into watery focus only when we hugged his neck, so we did it constantly. That year, instead of praying for everything on my Santa list, I only wanted that lost, bewildered look to be replaced with something more hopeful.

And it soon was. By the next year Grandpa had met Carol. A widow herself, Carol understood Grandpa’s loss and began taking care of him immediately. She was different from my grandma—younger, stylish, and a city lady. Carol had never had children, so Grandma’s afghans and cookie jars were quickly replaced by chintz sofas and silk flowers, but she made Grandpa happy. And I grew up a little more.

Grandma Carol has blessed our family more than we could’ve imagined. Since Carol came, Grandpa has never again felt alone. Even today, as he faces a decline that’s been heart-wrenching and frustrating for us all, Grandma Carol has remained with him, patient and caring.

God answered my Christmas prayer for Grandpa by bringing Grandma Carol. And Grandma Carol taught me gratitude, even for gifts that weren’t of my choosing.

The post A Christmas Prayer for Grandpa appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Case in point – our daughter Reagan.

My kids and I spend a lot of time sharing books aloud. Our homeschooling curriculum (Sonlight Curriculum) is literature-rich, so every school day finds us gathered around a book. And even when school is finished, the kids prefer to hear their favorite books aloud.

By far the best reader of the bunch is our 15 yo daughter Reagan. Reagan’s readings are performances. She has different voices for the characters. She does accents. She draws out the suspenseful portions until I’m tempted to rip the book out of her hands and read ahead. Reagan has talent.

Her sisters and brother will do almost anything in their power to get her to read to them. When they get stuck on a series, they promise to do all her chores, bring her drinks, adjust the lighting…whatever it takes to keep her reading. But before you mentally construct a picture of domestic bliss, children lovingly cuddled around a fireplace, you should understand the negotiations that go into their reading choices.

Currently their favorite series is the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordian. Last year when the new book came out, Zeke bought it with his own money…hard cover, full price. He presented it to Reagan and offered to let her read it if she’d read it aloud to him, and not read ahead if he wasn’t there. Just as they were about to shake on the deal, Tabby got involved. If Reagan read to Zeke, there was no guarantee that Tabby would hear the whole book. She needed a way to guarantee that no reading would go on without her. Her options weren’t good. If she bought her own book, Reagan would have the choice between the two of them, and her price might go up. Tabby and Zeke would be stuck doing dishes and cleaning her room for weeks. Negotiations were on. Finally a compromise was reached. Tabby bought Zeke’s copy for $5 more than he’d paid for it and the two committed not to let Reagan read aloud without the other one present.

This year, Tabby got the latest Riordian book, but her schedule is hectic and Reagan and Zeke were growing impatient waiting on her to continue the story. Wanting to read ahead, Reagan tried to persuade Zeke into a deal that would break up Tabby’s monopoly. If Zeke would split the price of the ebook with her, they could both have the book on their Kindles. Seeing the possibility that she might lose her sister’s services, Tabby stepped in to stop that deal. She reminded Zeke that if Reagan got her own copy of the book, she wouldn’t read to either of them. Reagan is too frugal to pay the full price, so even if he did have to wait until Tabby was available, Reagan’s skills as a reader were worth the wait. Seeing the danger, once again he and Tabby banded together to keep Reagan from getting a cheap copy of the book. Thwarted, but she’s still getting to read her favorite author for free while her siblings take care of her chores. Not a bad deal.

Congress could learn something from their negotiation skills.

Once the deal is struck, then, yes, they do cuddle together and laugh and squeal over the adventures of the Olympians. So I get one of those rewarding Mother moments of seeing my children practicing what we’ve modeled for them for years…plus watch them grapple with the concepts of monopoly, supply and demand, and negotiations.

What books has your family read together aloud?

The post How Being a Reader Can Make You Rich and Popular appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

Becky’s Story (or my version of it, anyway)

We knew it was going to be bad. We were warned. Even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, we left the park before late afternoon when the storms usually fire up. I had the boys home (Walker-10, Weston-8, Wyatt-5) and the weather on when my husband Jeff called.

“What are we going to do tonight?” he asked.

“I guess go to Mom and Dad’s.” Their two-story is built into a hill making it the most comfortable storm shelter around.

“I don’t know. They say it’s going to be bad. Why don’t we head south, eat dinner in Tuttle and come back when it’s over?”

That sounded like more fun than being at the mercy of Dad’s remote control all night. I got together our photos, our birth certificates and other valuables and loaded them into the SUV. The boys packed a bag including irreplaceable things like their Bibles, hair gel and DS games and we set out.

Immediately we noticed that traffic was heavy. Sunday after church and Friday night after a football game are about the only times you have to wait through a light in our town, but it seemed that everyone had the same idea – fleeing the coming wrath.

May 31st – Sky over Canadian County, Oklahoma
(photo by Brad Austin)

And by now it was starting to sprinkle. Dark clouds formed from thin air…which is normal I guess, but these didn’t look normal. By the time we got to the bridge the view was breathtaking. Jeff pulled over to join the dozens of others looking back on what was passing just to our north. A giant column of clouds boiled, the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. Now, in case you’re questioning our sanity for parking on a bridge and getting out, I’d like to mention that by this time traffic was barely crawling. Under normal circumstances the 4-lane split highway would carry you over the prairie between the two towns in about 10 minutes, but this Friday it’d take hours to go that far. Might as well forget about dinner and watch.

Which is what everyone was doing. Groups gathered, sharing updates about the giant tornado that was plowing through El Reno, headed toward Yukon. Strangers compared notes on who they’d talked to and what neighborhoods were safe, although communication was failing. Cell towers were going down, electricity blowing out and the updates growing scarce.

May 31st, Sky over Canadian County
(Photo by Matt Rohwer)

Sprinkles turned to drops as the sky darkened. Time to edge our bumper back into the traffic and hope it moved faster. The kids were getting hungry and the rain was really picking up. With the rising wind the party on the bridge broke up. Through the busy windshield wipers we could tell that the clouds over us were beginning to have the same sickly color as those to the north. In fact, they were swirling, too. What looked like fingers pointed down here and there, mean protrusions that hovered, ready to squish us like bugs.

On the Run
(Photo by Janet DeMoss)

“This is bad,” Jeff said and he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Suddenly all traffic rules were out the window. Those with trucks, which were most, crossed the grassy divide to rush south in the northbound lanes, which were mostly empty. Probably because no one in their right mind would want to be where we were.

“We have to get somewhere.” Because of the kids I tried not to panic.

“I’m trying, but there’s no where to go,” Jeff answered.

“Do we know anyone who lives over here? Brandon and LeAnna? They live near.”

May 31st – Sky over Canadian County, Oklahoma
(photo by Andrea Beecroft)

Power flashes. Street lights out. The only lights were those of the cars stuck on the highway. We pulled off and drove on the shoulder until we reached the next road and wove our way towards the neighborhood. We had to dodge branches, ease through water, and stop to peer at each dark house, all the while very aware that the storm was intensifying. I pointed at the house. Jeff pulled up and tried to call our friends, but the phones were out and the house was dark.

“They have a storm shelter in the back,” I said. “They have to be in it.”

But then someone opened the door to look out at us. It had to be them.

We ran for the house. The rain flew sideways like someone was throwing buckets of it on us. I couldn’t breathe without getting a mouthful of water. Gusts literally blew Weston down, but we all scrambled inside just as we realized that we’d left the doors of the SUV open. Too late to fix it. Sirens wailed as we rushed inside.

“Hurry,” the lady said, shining her flashlight to show us the way to the master bedroom closet. As we crouched beneath her hanging clothes I held the boys tight. We were all here. A closet isn’t the safest place to be if the tornado ramped up to a F5, but it was better than sitting in a car. Besides, being with friends is a comfort…I squinted my eyes again at the woman holding the flashlight. In the darkness I couldn’t see her very well.

“I don’t think we’ve met. Are you LeAnna’s mom?”

“LeAnna? Never heard of her. I think you’re at the wrong house, honey.”

###

We stayed with the nice lady for a couple of hours as the storms back-built – forming and reforming over the same area instead of passing through like a normal front. Getting home was difficult because of electric lines down, bridges washed out and flooding but we still had a house and after hearing about the homes destroyed and the lives lost, we didn’t take that for granted. Next time we’ll hunker down closer to home and ride it out with family, although we did make a new friend that night.

Ruthless storms and hospitable people – Oklahoma’s worst and best at the same time.

(Thanks to our friends for the amazing pictures.)

If you’d like to donate to help faith-based disaster relief (both in Oklahoma and around the world) prayerfully consider the Southern Baptist Disaster Relief Team.

The post How I Found Myself Hiding in a Stranger’s Closet appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

My Mom (far right) and my sisters.

Most everyone has a shoe box tucked away brimming with crisp letters that they cherish. With all our e-mailing and Facebook messaging I hope we don’t forget to occasionally send an honest-to-goodness letter on stationery – something that can be stumbled upon years later.

Going through an old book this week I found a note from my mother tucked between the pages, and it was everything you hope to find in a discovery of correspondence past. Sure, it reflected on a significant event, but more importantly it sounded like her. No one else (with the possible exceptions of my cousins Cindy and Lori) would write with such heartfelt conviction.

If I could only keep one letter from my mother, it would be this one (unless she writes me an even better one someday).

 (Dated, summer of my senior year) Friday, 2:03 a.m.

Regina precious,

I have (several times) asked my lovely daughters to please put their make-up, hair appliances, gunk and misc. away after they use it, but so far no one has heeded their dear mother. So, Thursday I put it all in a trash bag and was going to keep it for a while.

However, due to my getting to bed very late – or actually early morning – and my earnest desire to sleep late, and knowing your lively temperament and conscientiousness in getting to your job on time, I have reconsidered. If you are missing anything (and you are) it is most likely in the trash bag beneath the sink in your bathroom. If, when you are through with it, you put it away it won’t be put back into the trash bag to be held ransom.

Please humor your loving and deserving mother by cleaning up after yourself and letting her sleep late.

I love you immensely!

Sincerely, etc.,

Mommie

—That’s a treasure! How about you? Do you have a favorite letter you’ve held on to over the years?

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