Practically Laura

Everyday No. 2

If you asked me who I’m voting for this presidential election, I would say no comment or something of the equivalent. Religion I may bring up with just about anyone, but when it comes to politics (especially now), I would rather not discuss it unless I’m extremely close to you, and I already know where you stand. Most of the time, there are no surprises that way.

But I do need to voice an opinion now and then, so as you might guess, my husband is the person most likely to hear my thoughts on the subject.

He's a great choice, by the way. He loves current events, politics, and history. He devours newspapers, talk radio, cable, and internet news. He reads every presidential biography he can get his hands on and then some. His dream job would be something revolving around teaching history or political science. In other words, he’s a good person for me to bounce back and forth thoughts and ideas about this touchy subject.

Oh, yeah—we also share a love of political humor. We’ll laugh at almost any politician whether we admire them or not. Hey, if you want to be in politics…

He’s a safe person, too.

To be frank, I rely on him to give me reasoned, well-informed information and opinions on the subject. I’m not as interested in current events as he. I have muffins to bake and naps to take, right?

That was a joke. In truth, I shy away from too much news. It causes me anxiety. I try to balance not keeping my head in the sand with the overwhelming information age we live in, needing to focus more on my present circumstances, while at the same time praying for our leaders and people around the world as they experience disaster…heartbreak.

It breaks my heart.

Anyway, I told him this recently—how much I rely on his good information and commentary. I wanted to give him a compliment, but I may have overstated my propensity to shelter myself, possibly even calling myself intellectually lazy. There may be some faded shade of truth to that, but I really shouldn’t say it out loud. It seems my self-deprecating humor needs more bounds.

His response was to suggest I read Politico.

This made me laugh. He’s so pragmatic. I’ve got that side to me, too, but I’m not sure he got how amusing I found it.

As we’ve been discussing the presidential race, he’s mentioned his Grandma Rotella a few times. He misses her, and he and his mom have been talking about what she would’ve said, who she might've voted for in this current race. Frances was a staunch Democrat, and back in the mid-1980s, Craig was just starting to figure out who he was and, at the time, a typical Alex P. Keaton, Hip-to-be-Square Republican. He was very much a product of the Texas, conservative movement of the day. Oh, the fun they had arguing with each other! Oh, man. They loved each other a bunch.

Frances, too, was a product of her environment and circumstances, an amazing cook and hostess, she loved nothing more than putting out a huge spread and seeing her family enjoy it to the fullest. And we did. “Seconds, anyone?” and second generation, New Jersey, Italian-American and identity completely wrapped up in it. In fact, I was just asking Craig about this, and he describes her as a massive Yankees fan. She loved the Yankees; she loved her Italian heritage, and she loved a Democratic candidate. She also loved penny poker and playing Mah-Jong with the neighbor ladies. I bet she ended up with all the pennies.

She was one smart, sharp lady.

I love that Craig had her—someone who loved him despite ideological differences.

I wish everyone had that. Maybe then they wouldn’t be so scared. Maybe then they’d remember to keep their eyes on Jesus.

I need to remember it, too, but for now, I guess I’ll go and read Politico.

Michael J. Fox as Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties

Everyday No. 1

…a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance

Ecclesiastes 3:4 (NIV)

How do you gather your thoughts in a basket with holes? Well, I try. Writing helps.

It’s an understatement to say it’s been a sad few days.

A disturbed person may choose a target, and that’s what happened last Friday. I know you know this, but I feel the need to restate it—a sniper killed five people (Dallas police officers) while they worked at a peaceful protest that night.

I feel sadness then fatigue then distraction. My thoughts go round and round my head while I sit still, while I run errands, while I’m at church. What does it all mean? Has it always been this bad?

Growing up in the seventies and eighties in North Oak Cliff, I didn’t think so. Sunset High School, the school I attended, was nicely integrated. I know there were attitudes beneath the surface, but for the most part, I feel we felt more of a modern generation, a generation that didn’t necessarily register race at first glance. Even then and knowing that others of our age would’ve concurrently lived a more segregated lifestyle, it wasn’t that way for us. Was it perfect? No. In fact, my own youthful lack of caution and ignorance may have offended some person at some time. I cringe to think of such a mistake. I hope you’ll forgive my lack of sensitivity if that’s the case, but please know it wasn’t on purpose. It was more from the unspoken assumption on my part that we are equal. 

I would prefer you think of me as a person first. I would rather give you the same consideration, yet be assured I respect your right to be proud of any part of your heritage or identity. On second thought, I would love it if you thought of me as a Christ-follower.

But to get back on track, the fact of the matter is that we’re still self-segregated, although I view it more as a socioeconomic (possibly educational) divide, instead of a racial divide—not even a religious one.

Last week makes me think I may be wrong.

In the meantime and as a white, middle-aged housewife that lives in a fairly diverse Houston suburb, I wonder what I might change in my own life. What do I need to do? I’ve yet to come to a conclusion other than wild thoughts of moving my family farther into the city, somehow trying to breach that divide.

I don’t think that’s a possibility for now. Instead, I paste on an awkward albeit sincere smile as I go through life instead of looking down; I pray silent, disjointed words that only Christ understands; and I wait for an answer.

Then I’m brave enough to talk to my children about subjects I don't mind broaching but wish it wasn't a necessity. Subjects like how I believe we’re all equal but not the same. God made each of us in his image yet unique. “When the heart breaks, no, it don’t break even,” after all.* And things about life not being fair, but I still feel it’s good. And in saying this acknowledging how blessed I am, and the irony that it may be too easy for me to hang on to that hope due to my background and circumstances.

And people I don’t know…just people…giving me awkward smiles back.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were:

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind,

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

by John Donne

 

*Lyrics from “Breakeven” by The Scripts

Super Pastel Something

"At that time, Jesus said to the crowds, "Have you come out with swords and clubs to arrest Me as you would against a robber? Every day I used to sit in the temple teaching and you did not seize Me. But all this has taken place to fulfill the Scriptures of the prophets." Then all the disciples left Him and fled. Matthew 26:55-56 NASB

One Sunday evening, I ordered pizza for the teen girls who attend Bible study at my house each week. I love pizza, especially the cheese part, but I have a dairy sensitivity, so I decided to head over to Taco Bell for two crispy tacos, sans cheese (Don't judge, Taco Bell haters.). I hoped to return before the delivery person arrived—even though my kids are teenagers, I don't like them answering the door to strangers. Yeah, I know it's a little silly, but I bet there are a few moms out there nodding their heads in agreement.

Moms are protective.

I arrived home about twenty minutes later to find that the pizza had arrived much sooner than I anticipated.

Warning bells went off. The delivery driver had parked in my driveway, car facing the street, no sign of them in the vehicle, and no one on my front porch.

As if on autopilot, I screeched to a halt, flung myself out of the car, and sprinted toward the front door. Finding the door locked raised the alert to red.

I pounded on the wood with my fist. I may have even kicked it, scrambling for my keys all the while.

"Emma! Emma!" I yelled as I shoved the door open, afraid of what I might find.

And what did I find? Nothing. Not a thing…other than my daughter, precious, safe, and wondering why her mom was raising such a ruckus.

I guess the pizza delivery person had been sitting in the car after all. I didn't see them, but I'm sure they saw my crazed race toward the door. I bet they congratulated themselves on the foresight they had shown by parking in my driveway in a manner facilitating a quick getaway.

To be honest and at times, I imagine myself as brave. I'm Batgirl or Wonder Woman or Super Something (but not Robin).

If I'm faced with danger, I wouldn't run. I would be fierce. I would be cool-headed, calculating, and protect those around me.

Well.

The truth of my potential response could more likely be plotted any place on the courageous to cowardly spectrum. I can't say with certainty how I would react if faced with a similar danger to the one the disciples faced. Just as in the pizza debacle and as a person untrained or unprepared for a crisis, instinct would most likely take over. Especially since I (like the disciples) would not have paid much attention to Jesus' warnings concerning His betrayal.

I'm guessing, furthermore, that if and once I started to run, I would outrun the whole pack.

My survival instinct is as keen as my protective instinct.

Jesus knew they would react this way, by the way. He foretold it earlier in the chapter, but I wonder what He thought and felt as He watched his closest friends flee. Maybe He felt sadness, maybe He felt exasperation, or maybe He felt both and so much more. I imagine Him sigh and shake His head, pinching the bridge of His nose. But that's just make-believe because we don't know what he was feeling.

A few things we do know:

1. Peter, scared and skulking around, did betray him three times before the rooster crowed (Matthew 26:69-75).
2. The "disciple whom He loved" made an appearance at the crucifixion and was entreated to care for Jesus' mother (John 19:26-27).
3. While on the cross, one of the thieves flanking Jesus asked to join Him in paradise (Luke 23:40-43).
4. After three days, an angel perched on the rock at the entrance to Jesus' tomb, now empty (Matthew 28:2).
5. He soon appeared to His followers (Matthew 28:9).
6. These five occurrences barely scratch the surface of the story.

I'm not trying to be hard on the disciples. After all, they were only human. They knew Jesus better than anyone; they had seen His miracles, and at least on a subconscious level, they knew He didn't need their protection.

But praise be to God and unlike the disciples, Jesus didn't run from God's will—He walked straight to it for our good and protection, despite knowing that it led to spiritual separation and a protracted, painful death. When he returned, moreover, he didn't run from his faithless followers.

He sought them out and forgave them.

In the past, He had called them friends.

"No longer do I call you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard from My Father I have made known to you." John 15:15 NASB

By returning to them, I believe He reinforced their importance to Him and demonstrated forgiveness toward them.

Wow.

Just like God will forgive us once we decide to follow Christ.

That's all it takes.

Now I have to admit that I like to decorate with bunnies, chicks, and other cutesy, pastel things at Easter. It's happy on a shallow level, but far more meaningful, it represents new life. I especially like multicolored eggs and the family memories associated with them, but I love stories of forgiveness, repair, second chances, and redemption even more. Just like this one. Talk about new life!

Happy Easter, everyone. It's yours for the asking.

Tumbleweed Thoughts No. 7: Not Alone

I knew this day was coming, deep down in that unacknowledged place. You know, the place one tries not to visit too much. It also goes by the name Denial.

Yep, I knew the day would come when the last of my stay-at-home friends found a job, but when I got the text this morning, I didn’t allow myself to feel it too deeply.

Instead, I consoled myself with the fact that she may not pass the background check, yet to occur.

I texted back to that effect and had a good laugh because I’m 100% sure my friend has no scary skeletons in her closet.

The only things she stores are a down-to-earth attitude, a listening ear, and a boatload of acceptance. She doesn’t act like I’m outrageous or quirky in a bad way. When I feel insecure, she scoffs at such nonsense with feeling.

In our relationship, she showers me with copious amounts of security.

She’s a gem. I love this woman.

And I knew when she told me a month or so ago that she had applied for this job that she would be perfect for it.

This makes it all the harder.

It makes it harder not to feel sorry for myself, feeling alone. On the other hand, I’m incredibly grateful to God for this cool opportunity for her, and blessing for her family.

Now I’m torn!

I should be. I don’t believe it’s necessary to feel sorry for myself, and I believe that it’s entirely necessary that I’m happy for my friend.

This mirrors the internal struggle between right and wrong that I grapple with a little too often.

And speaking of being on the right side of this struggle, we’ve been studying Romans in our senior girls’ Bible study, and I’m glad that I had my nose down in Romans 6 just yesterday.

I’ve studied Romans before, but some time has passed since, and it’s good to be reminded of all the truths packed into this book of the New Testament. Truths about salvation, faith, hope, and who we really are once we follow Christ.

Moreover, Romans 6 seems a main course. For me, it’s the first bite of cheese enchilada after a few chips with hot sauce. For you, it might be a taste of filet mignon after a necessary salad.

Now that you despair of my nutrition choices, I’ll continue.

As I was reading through it, I re-realized how key this chapter’s concept is to the sanctification process.

Just an aside—Paul repeats his idea several times in different ways. Do you think he thought his readers were dense, and he felt compelled to reword his thoughts in slightly different ways to make his point? Possibly.

However, when I repeat/reword a statement, it’s usually to give the words emphasis because I find them important. Furthermore, I’m excited about whatever it is I’m trying to convey. Maybe that’s how he felt.

Or maybe he felt both.

Anyway, I found a few key points to absorb and apply to my above, um, situation as well as the myriad of others that happen each day (I’ll try to make this brief.).

Once I was brought into relationship with Jesus through the Holy Spirit, my reality is different. I’m something new.

For if we have become united with Him in the likeness of His death, certainly we shall also be in the likeness of His resurrection, knowing this, that our old self was crucified with Him, in order that our body of sin might be done away with, so that we would no longer be slaves to sin; for he who has died is freed from sin. Romans 6:5-6

How awesome is that?! When I became a Christ-follower and all at once, my old nature was dead and buried, and I was gifted with a new nature no longer bound to do wrong. This was a major theme of much of the teaching my childhood pastor David Kuykendall blessed us with over the years, by the way.

My new state makes me bound to Jesus leading to righteousness not sin to death.

…and having been freed from sin, you became slaves of righteousness. Romans 6:18

But now having been freed from sin and enslaved to God, you derive your benefit, resulting in sanctification, and the outcome, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus. Romans 6:22-23

Awesome, right? Now that I’m no longer a slave to wrongdoing, I live and work for Christ, and I begin the ongoing process of becoming more like Jesus (sanctification).

But how will I apply this in my everyday life?

Well, just remembering this reality is a good start for me.

I should continually give every aspect of myself to God for His use.

...and do not go on presenting the members of your body to sin as instruments of unrighteousness; but present yourselves to God as those alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness to God. 6:13

…so now present your members as slaves to righteousness, resulting in sanctification. 6:19

I must stop and remember that I have a choice when my thinking or actions go wrong. Stop and think and remember, Laura! For me, this has a lot to do with not making excuses but making a mental decision that hands over my attitudes and actions to God. Moreover, I should pray and consult the Bible to help bolster up my being with the truth and keep me on the right path.

So I don’t have to feel alone because I’m not. The Holy Spirit is my constant comfort.

I don’t have to feel sorry for myself because I’ve much for which to be thankful, including a lunch here or there that I’m sure my friend will fit in for me.

I don’t have to continue to wallow in an awful attitude because Jesus made it possible for me to be free once I became His slave.

Once this once again sinks in, I’m ready to fly.

 

Thank-You Notes: To My Friends

Maddy and Emma

In Montreal, we had to start from scratch.  Actually even in Fort Worth, we had to start from scratch.

In other words, we didn’t arrive with an entourage of friends and family in tow.  So I guess it was good that in Ft. Worth, even though we’d moved only forty-five minutes in distance, we were reminded how to make new friends.

This was always tough for me.  I used to be more timid than I am at present, but I knew I needed friends (I love people!), particularly in a new country. 

Then I found Katie.

I was walking Murphy, our dog, around the block in Westmount when a beautiful, little, blond girl spied Murph and wanted to make friends with our shaggy Cairn.  Perfect!  I had my own little, ash brown-haired beauty just a few doors down.  Maddy might make a great friend for Emma.  And all young moms know how that works—Katie, Maddy’s mom, might make a great friend for me.

She did.  I mean, we had our moments, but for the next several years we remained close.

Then we moved to Montreal-Ouest.  No big deal, right?  We were less than 15 minutes away.  But the truth of the matter was that even that small distance put distance in our relationship.  We were busy moms, now with two children each, and it was difficult to fit in the time to visit that had naturally arisen by passing each other on the streets of Westmount.

The times when we pushed our baby joggers up the hill to Roslyn Elementary, Emma and Maddy covered in down and struggling through the snowplow piles.  The times we, by design or by chance, ended up at Prince Albert Park, pushing each other’s children on the swings.  Those times when Katie, with grace, supplied spare snacks to my bottomless pit toddler (Yes, that would be Andrew.) when I’d forgotten once again to pack them.

Still once we moved and even though it wasn't as convenient, we did try to get together every now and then, and so Katie shared one of the weirdest, most frustrating, and funniest experiences I had during our time in Canada.

Let me set up the scene;

    1. We had adopted Katie’s cat Norman about a year or so beforehand when they         discovered Maddy had a cat allergy.

    2. We had moved to Montreal-Ouest, taking Norman with us.

    3. Craig was out of town on a rare business trip (This is always when disaster strikes.)

    4. We were in the long-drawn-out process of renovating our house and had just had new windows installed in the basement.

    5. Katie had invited us to dinner because she knew Craig was away.

    6. I was looking forward to this dinner with much relief and anticipation.

Then I realized Norman had crawled into the ceiling of our basement and been sealed in when the windows were installed.

It’s no understatement when I write that I was desperate to get him out—even to the point that I was cutting random holes in our new sheetrock; and placing stinky, canned food in the openings to lure him.

I was frantic, but it didn’t matter.   Nothing worked!

I called Craig; there was nothing he could do other than listen.

So I couldn’t put it off any longer.  I had to call Katie and cancel the lovely dinner plans that would’ve been the highlight of my week.

When the doorbell rang an hour later, everything felt better…because when I talked to Katie, she had a solution, not to the Norman issue but to the cancelled dinner.  She would wrap up all the food she had prepared (And Katie’s an excellent cook.), and she would wrap up Maddy and Nicholas, and she would bring the party to us.

She brought me a beer, too.

It was awesome.

The mess I had made, and the accidentally entombed cat were no longer insurmountable.  I knew it would work itself out because, in that moment, Katie saw what I needed and did it.

She took care of me.

Later that night, I heard Norman meow at one of the many holes I’d placed in the ceiling.  I wasn’t great at grabbing him, so I placed a large pillow under the opening. His invisible, euro murse packed to the brim with nonchalance, he stepped onto it and leapt to the floor.

I’m sure he zipped off to his water and litter box, but I didn’t stick around to find out.

I went straight to bed after a huge sigh.

But to get back on track, Katie’s not the only person I’ve been privileged to call a true friend.  I have so many.

So here’s my thank-you note to the ladies who’ve befriended me:

Dear friends,

When I sing, you urge me louder.

When I throw dinner together, you ask for the recipe.

When I don’t look my best, you call me beautiful.

When I cry, you dry my tears and pray.

When I’m hungry, you feed me a meal.

When I feel unwanted, you grab me.

When I see the irony, you laugh.

When my vision grows fuzzy, you lend me perspective.

When I become poetic, you get the metaphor.

When I play with words, you call me a writer.

When I don’t have the answer, you’re the handbook.

When my words are tangled, you understand.

When I’m lost, you welcome me in.

When we laugh too hard, you sober me up.

When others are deaf, you hear.

When others go, you stay.

God uses you.

Thank you for all of these things.  Thank you for teaching me how to be not just a friend—you teach me how to be a good friend.

There’s a world of difference.

You’re in my heart,

Laura

P.S.  Hold on to your hats because here comes more cuteness:

Maddy, Katie, Emma

Emma and Maddy: School Together

 

Maddy and Emma

 

Emma and Maddy: Murray Hill Park