Practically Laura

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

Thank-You Notes: Steven, Part III

So while touring the Louvre, at the base of the Eiffel Tower, and around Versailles, I acted as if everything was still status quo.

And through the Chunnel, and scrambling around London to pick up our rental car, I never uttered a peep.

I acted a part.

I acted as if my life wasn’t changing in a huge way.

Maybe other people are prepared, but I wasn’t.

I wasn’t prepared for my first small taste of what it would feel like to have another’s life in my hands.

My second phone call (vaster-distance this time) was a bit better in that I received some true care or at the least, some comforting advice.  And I didn’t mind their matter-of-fact tone at all.

“This happens quite often in early pregnancy.  But you need to stay in bed a few days, and take it easy.  You need to keep your feet up, and don’t lift anything heavy.”

Like a dash of cold water had been thrown in my face, my thinking was clarified.  This was scary but in a good way.  Scary because there was the possibility I might lose this baby, but good because I knew that I did want to be a mom no matter how overwhelming the responsibility seemed.

So I parked myself in bed with a book and wrote in my journal for Craig.

Honey, I miss you more than I can say.  I cannot wait to see you, tell you all about the trip and (insert mildly private comment here.).  You are such a good husband, and I know you will make a great father.  In fact, it makes the thought of parenting so much more comforting to know you will be there with me. 

But what would I tell my cousin about my sudden need for rest?

I was rather shy about it, so I let my mother tell him; I’m not sure what she said exactly, but I was not asked any questions that might embarrass me (Thank you, Mom!).

Not that my cousin would be insensitive, anyway.

Honestly, I can’t remember if the three of us talked about the baby or not, but whatever the case, I was able to take it easy for the next few days.

Steve, however, didn’t have to tell me that he cared about our situation.  He’s such a gentleman that he just did things without any prompting.  Of course, Steven has always had a servant’s heart.

He still does.

Anyway, after he and mom came back from that first day without me, he had purchased me a couple of Staffordshire dogs.  Something I have always wanted (Isn’t taste unaccountable?) but something I might not have been able to afford on this trip.  Yep, he knew it and he bought them for me.

And he carried my suitcases whenever we moved to a new location, and he made the trip as stress-free as possible because he took on 99.9% of the driving.  He’s the kind of guy who just sees a need, and if he’s able, he steps in.

That’s the kind of guy he is.

Dear Steve,

Thank you for treating me as you normally would…because I needed that.  After all, my personality was not submerged because I was soon to become a parent.

Thank you for buying me those ugly dogs…I still love them.  In fact, they sit on my mantel even as I type this.

Thank you for carrying around my heavy luggage without complaint, and driving us around the upside-down and backward roads of Great Britain without incident.

Thank you for giving me a real hug every time you see me.  When people hug me like that, it causes something in me to forget the scary stuff for just a moment.

Thank you for being silly with me…and mom, too (She loves being goofy.).

Thank you for being my friend.

Your crazy cousin,

Laura

Epilogue:

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…

“You told me it would be fast.”

“That’s how a normal baby heartbeat sounds.”

“Cool.  I love it.”

Related articles

Thank-You Notes: Steven

Thank-You Notes: Steven, Part II

Lies Like These

I have a confession to make—I don’t care much about my birthday.  It’s too close to Christmas and New Year’s Day.  Oh, it’s okay as long as there’s not much fuss involved.  Don’t get me wrong, I love it when my Facebook friends send me greetings; I get to laze around in my jammies that extra hour or so; and my family buys a cake and takes me to dinner.

And I can usually get Craig to go to the grocery store for me (Heaven!).

But that’s it.  That’s a perfect birthday.

Okay, maybe there’s a little bit more to my birthday indifference than its proximity to other major holidays.  Maybe it’s all that almost-subconscious introspection which inevitably happens around January 1^st.

I know, I know!  Introspection isn’t necessarily a dirty word, but mine is the devil incarnate. He sounds something like this:

1.  You’re forty-nine, have a good mind, and many advantages but haven’t made anything of your life.

2.  You spend too much time with your head in a frivolous book instead of interacting with the people around you.

3.  You’re ageing, you need to lose five pounds, and you’re ugly.

4.  Your writing is a joke, but no one will be honest and tell you to stop.

5.  You’re a lackadaisical parent, wife, sister, adult child, friend, etc., and about your spiritual life.  In fact, you aren’t a good role model.

6.  What’s the hold up on training your pet to be perfect?

7.  Keep your mouth shut—you’re not helping anyone, you sound like an insensitive boor, and an idiot to top it off.

8.  When will you ever finish that book?

9.  You’re not capable of homeschooling an academically gifted child.

10.  Why aren’t you making sure your sixteen-year-old student driver drives more?

11.  Those girls you work with at church…they don’t like you.  In fact, no one likes you—they feel sorry for you and tolerate you.

12.  You’re a quitter.

That last one…that’s a biggie for me. In fact, they all are.

Okay, I needed a good cry on my birthday, didn’t I?  It hurts to admit I have thoughts like these because it’s so real, so out there, so fragile, so embarrassing.

So raw.

So guilty.

But God didn’t make me to be closed-up.  He didn’t make me to hide myself away.  He didn’t create me to have closed eyes to myself, or the lies I sometimes tell myself.

Lies like knives that pierce my soul with uncanny precision.

Lies like these.

It’s quite a list, isn’t it?

Yet I resist them, and I’ll continue to resist the lies to my last breath.  Because I would ten times rather speak the truth about myself than wallow in the dirt, guilt and shame of that ludicrous list.  It’s ridiculous!

God created me after all.

And I was introduced to the world forty-nine, overflowing life-filled years ago.

So with some divine help, I’ll turn that List o’ Lies on its head.  Here we go:

1.  I’m forty-nine, have a good mind, and many advantages.  Watch out world!!

2.  I’m a person who needs down time.  I’ll probably live a lot longer because I give myself margin.

3.  I’m gorgeous (Okay, I got this from one of my Facebook friends, Stacey Mc.  She says we’re all gorgeous, and she’s right.  So I plan on owning it.).

4.  Being able to creatively express myself is a gift from God.

5.  I’m a loving, fairly consistent and conscientious parent, wife, sister, friend, etc.  And I’m working on the adult child and spiritual growth.  It’s called sanctification, people.

6.  I give my pet a caring home—I think she’s perfect in her imperfections.

7.  I should speak truth with respect and sensitivity to my friends and family.

8.  I’ll get back to the book soon.  I need to give myself a break because I’m in a busy season of life.

9.  I’m blessed to have the challenge of homeschooling my bright child, and it’s okay if he teaches me a few things along the way.

10.  I had Super Girl drive home from Barnes and Noble two days ago.  There were some tense moments, but what a great metaphor for parenting in general. ;)

11.  I deserve love, and I’ve been blessed with many people who love me.  I’ve learned my ministry isn’t about myself, and I feel things are going boatloads better this year.  After all, we've loosened up with each other enough to make all kinds of teen girl-centric, inappropriate jokes.

12.  I may take breaks, but I finish the tasks that are important.  The others were either icing or so unnecessary it’s acceptable to forget them.

How’s that?  I’m not crying anymore.

Even better, I’m all ready to go, get dressed (still in my jammies) and face the world on this birthday that I now predict to be a fantastic day.

Craig walked in not long ago with the strawberry cake, btw. 

Happy Saturday, January 4^th, everyone, and if you have a List o' Lies, please (I beg you.) turn it on its head, too.

P.S.  I bet you were wondering how to tactfully text me psychologist recommendations.  Someday, I might need them but not today.  Writing is great therapy, right?  I need to do it more. ;)

No, my cake's not oval, but I need to stop fussing over this post.

Free Indeed

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.  Galatians 5:22-23 NASB

I think I’ve written before about my overabundance of sensitivity (‘Why, God, why did you make me this way?!’ my inner drama queen laments.).

Yep.  I can forget I’m not fragile.  I can forget my high worth.

Actually, I believe that in Christ I’m far from fragile—the Bible doesn’t mention anything about insecurity being a fruit of the Spirit as far as I can recall.  So God has been diligently working with me on this thing over the past two years or so.  And, to be honest, I don’t want to waste time as an emotional basket case when someone is inconsistently friendly, or inadvertently slips that they think my opinions, unknown to them, are moronic.

Or maybe they disagree with me outright…or don’t give me the benefit of the doubt…or pay me no attention…or never return my texts/phone calls/emails.

Or blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

On the other hand, I often thank God for my sensitivity because even though it can seem overwhelming…almost handicapping at times…or tempt me to respond in a not-so-nice manner for which I’ll later have to apologize (Yikes!), there are positive aspects to it as well.

He’s gifted me with empathy.  Man, if you have a problem, I’m feeling it right along with you whether or not I’ve personally experienced such a thing or not.  Moreover, I will sometimes have moments of amazing clarity when it comes to understanding those around me.  I can be quite perceptive.  I may even be learning from your mistakes…or triumphs.

Feel free to learn from mine.

But it still hurts when you offend me.  It still sometimes takes me way too long to stop the questioning, anger, self-incrimination, finger-pointing, etc.  It still takes me awhile to remember God is teaching me lessons.

I still waste too much time as the self-elected mayor of a place called Forgetting I’m not in Control-ville. 

On another note, I’m so glad that only a few people read the stuff I post on my blog (especially today). And I don’t say this with any sense of self-pity.  I have a few loyal readers, and I’m very grateful.  However, I came to the realization long ago that I write because it helps me to process the world and it’s enough.  If, in a moment, someone else sees they’re not alone in their thoughts and feelings that’s just almost too much icing on an already award-winning cake—it’s all good but not necessary.

It’s too late to stop the writing anyway.

Because this writing stuff is between me and God.

It builds our relationship, and it helps me to tell the people around me how I think and feel about them…how I love them…which is one of the best gifts I can give them.

And (Oops, I almost forgot!) over the past several months, I’ve decided one of the best gifts I can give those around me is the Grace to allow them to be where they’re at.  If that’s what I view as some thoughtless purgatory or whatever, then I need to trust God enough to work mysteriously and wondrously in their lives.

Which means lots of freedom for me because I can let it go…and maybe, just maybe…I can love them where they’re at.

Because I love to be loved where I’m at and so many people have done this for me over the years.

So, yeah, I guess I’m sorry for my earlier whine fest.

For now.

But the next time someone hurts me perhaps I’ll remember a little earlier the freedom I’ve gained in Jesus and the grace he’s gifted me through my brothers and sisters.

Because I’m not the ‘Son,’ but I’m a child of God; I don’t have to leave the metaphorical house or get tied up in knots even when we don’t get each other.  After all, He’s standing in the middle working it out.

And some day it won’t matter…because ‘now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face.’

Thank you, Jesus.

^‘35The slave does not remain in the house forever; the son does remain forever. ³⁶So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.’  John 8: 35-36

Author’s note:  Oh, yes, I’m sure I’ve offended you as well.  Please let me know (in an extremely gentle and private manner) if I need to apologize.

A Craig and Laura Relationship

“You don't talk much... I like you!” – Young Ellie to young Carl in the movie Up

My fifteen-year-old daughter started talking about ‘hot’ boys around a year ago—generally, the imaginary type.  You know…from a movie or TV or a manga…like Chris Evans as Captain America.  It was interesting to me because she seemed to start on this typical journey of objectification so much later than many of her peers and, frankly, than I did.  This delay was, in many ways, a profound relief (I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for any responsible parent.).

Yet it did begin.

You see, Craig and I have incredibly old-fashioned notions about dating.  But, however premature, I’ve still felt the need to have a few conversations with her about what I believe to constitute a healthy relationship—even though I don’t claim to be an expert.

Nor do I feel the longevity of my relationship with my husband necessarily qualifies me to comment.  I’ve known a few people who’ve been together far longer than Craig and I—and they’re unhappy.

But I can hope to give her some insights based on our own experiences, and I will…I must.

Because even though we, as imperfect persons, will be given to objectify the opposite gender, it’s important to point out the error of this mindset to those we should be teaching life lessons.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:  We’re so much more than the sum of our parts (or did I steal this quote from someone else?). So, whenever it happens…and it may already be happening…I want her to look past the obvious when dealing with real people whether they are purely friends or potentially more.

After all, we care about her future, so friendship is all we will allow her at this point (I know…many of you are shaking your heads at our naivety.).

So, to get back on track and believe it or not, one of the first illustrations I mentioned to her was from the movie Up.  Carl and Ellie have brought a few tears to my eyes—it was one of the best examples (and maybe the only) of a positive romantic relationship I’ve ever seen in popular media.

The screenplay was genius!

I mean, the writer must’ve plunged deep into their own psyche in order to give us such mature insights--and they portrayed it as an almost pure visual; there were very few words involved if I remember correctly.

I’m not the only person who feels this way about the opening segment of the movie, but why does it draw such an emotional response from so many?

I guess it seemed to exemplify a relationship with a sweet, fun friendship; mutual respect; support through adversity; and sound commitment.  It could’ve been otherwise because Carl and Ellie were portrayed as very different people.

So in thinking about my own relationship with Craig (and we’ve gone through many different phases), I’ve wanted to give our daughter some insights which may help her look beyond the immediate when developing her friendships plus…not all of which hark back to the movie.

So, my sweet daughter, here are some things you should look for or practice in a relationship (Craig, my love, some of these are my anniversary gift to you because you do live them out.):

1.  Since you’re a Christ-follower, only settle for someone who loves Jesus and takes developing their spiritual life seriously.

2.  Be wary of anyone bearing expensive gifts often and/or early into your friendship.  They’re very likely amazingly insecure or guilty if they feel the need to buy your regard.  Nor should they be looking for such things from you. 

3.  Look for a person who wants to return to you, to the metaphorical home…over and over.

4.  The above three things will take time to determine, so don’t be in any rush to push a relationship where it’s not ready to go.  Don’t let friends, family or ‘the world’ determine what your level of commitment should look like.

5.  Find someone who is not jealous of you, your talents or your opportunities.  They should never wish you to suppress your personality beneath their own (Think twice about anyone who is overly critical in general.).  They should encourage you when you’ve stalled and be the first to give you a standing ovation when you succeed—and vice versa.  If it’s the proper time, you should both be willing to put at least a short hold on your own desires in order to build up the other using the right amount of God’s resources at your disposal.

6.  Be committed to spending time together.  This may mean some compromise if your areas of interest diverge.  

7.  Like-mindedness is a blessing but showing mutual respect when opinions differ is an even bigger one.  In fact, this is such an active part of showing love—I truly can’t praise this practice enough.  Respect is an honest need for the vast majority of people.

8.  Look for someone who isn’t upset by emotion.  They may not completely enter into your feelings, but they won’t leave the room unless you’ve asked them to fetch a tissue.

9.  It's hard to word this correctly because attraction is so individual and unaccountable.  But here goes:  Even though physical attraction is essential, beware of too much of it.  Arrogance is not always but often can be an unfortunate side effect of beauty; its innate selfishness will quickly turn repulsive.

10.  Patience.

11.  Be loyal…you know, in the trustworthy sense.  How would you feel if they were discussing you behind your back or acting in a questionable manner?

12.  Forgive.

13.  Never think “It won’t happen to us.”  That’s a sure clue something’s being taken for granted.

14.  Cling to and seek God at all times, but cling especially tightly to each other when the hard things occur.

15.  Know that there are people who are praying for you.  Of course, this doesn’t mean the details of your relationship are any of our business.  Once you’re self-supporting, it’s always okay to tell those who interfere to stop—including your own parents.

16.  Pray together.

17.  We’re here if it doesn’t work out.  We’ll always love you.  But don’t let that tempt you from being committed when those fickle mushy feelings run and hide.

18.  This is true romance--a helpmate. 

Super Girl, we know you’re not there yet (Thank goodness!), but hang on to this if…when you might need a little direction.  But, even more, seek God and pray.

We love you.

Craig, thank you for wanting to be with me...for coming home as soon as possible.  Thank you for more often than not allowing me to have the last word--it demonstrated your faith in my ability to discern when I needed to change my way of thinking.  Thank you for encouraging me in my journey to discover my purpose.  You never doubted God had one for me after all.  I love you.  Happy 23rd anniversary.  Laura

November 18, 1989

Famolare Shoes

She probably doesn’t think I read her post because she knows how I love to reminisce…but I didn’t comment.

Instead it prompted me to once again stop and think (and stop and think) and try to remember about high school.  In particular, I tried to remember what it might’ve been like to walk into the building on the
first day.

It wasn’t as if I wasn’t familiar with the high school anyway.  After all, my sister had just graduated from Sunset the year before—I’d visited several times. But Lisa was off at college, and, if she’d been born a year later, I’m not sure she would’ve entirely welcomed my presence.  As close as we are now, four years during the teens can feel like an unfathomable galaxy. 
Only the U.S.S. Enterprise of age can begin to bridge that distance(Live long and prosper.).

However, I bet Kristi and I found each other somehow, some
way.  I bet it didn’t take us long.  We may’ve even set up a place to meet before class for solidarity’s sake—then we wouldn’t have felt so alone.  If we met at the front of the school (and I’m thinking we did), we would’ve had a whole pyramid’s worth of concrete steps to climb to get to the main entrance.  It was the kind of concrete with microscopic little pebbles, the Dallas kind.  So if you kept your head down as you climbed this gauntlet, it was highly possible to be distracted by the tiny, bright dots of color embedded within the steps; it might’ve made it a little easier to ascend with all the potential onlookers perched around.

We would’ve noted each other’s new clothes once together,
including some ridiculous Famolare heels I’m sure my resourceful mother helped me to find on sale because I wanted to feel stylish; I wanted to feel like I fit in.  I vaguely remember some burnt red, linen-y pants and a long-sleeved striped, cotton blouse.  I wonder if those were the pants I chose to wear the first day.

I don’t think the shoes did the trick, by the way.  I think I just felt awkward.

Nonetheless and with Kristi, her presence would’ve done the trick; it would’ve been another welcome and welcoming distraction.

Because we almost certainly felt awkward together.

Soon we would’ve scanned the crowd for Sus and Lori and Lisa
D., eyes darting hither and thither, and almost unthinkingly registering the cute boys who passed us by.

But we could talk over the cute boys later.

Yes, these were the boys who might break our hearts in a few
weeks time…the boys who might teach us to be especially careful with our feeble, patched-up selves for a very long while.

Teaching me it was better to remain just friends with the Y chromosome (even if on a subconscious level)…for all the cuteness.  After all, like a fine work of art, cuteness can be admired best from a little distance.

Even more importantly, we girls always had each other after
the sometimes treacherous boys took their leave.  We didn’t necessarily have to talk the heartache over in any great detail, but we stuck around…we continued to be there.

Therefore, when my own daughter left for her very first day
of high school this past Monday, I prayed for many things.  But one of the most important things I whispered to God concerned her friendships.

After all…belonging…is pretty close to everything.

Tumbleweed Thoughts No. 5: Unbuttoned

I was recently having dinner with a neighbor.  We’re trying to get to know one another better.  We attend the same church, but she’s over ten years younger than I (I think), and we hardly cross paths in our fairly large congregation.

It’s a shame.  Here we are…living right next to each other, but not growing closer due to the different demands made on us from our varied stages of life.

But we’re trying to bridge the gap—a good thing.

And even though she seems to be handling it with grace…the only problem I foresee for Marianne, my sweet neighbor, may be my natural bent toward candor.  It’s probably pretty surprising, possibly even alarming, for those who don’t know me well.

I mean, I really don’t do small talk (at least not proficiently), and, to be frank, it bores me to tears.

I don’t have much to say about the weather other than something innocuous like, “Man, it’s hot today, huh?”

I was long ago disillusioned by politics, and most media-worthy current events are scary or depressing.

Furthermore and to be frank, I don’t give a flippity-flop Brad and Angie are finally getting married (Okay, okay.  I did take a peek at the ring while standing in line for groceries.  Gee thanks, ‘People’ Magazine.).

So I automatically come to the relational table a little unbuttoned, a circumstance possibly unsettling for any newbies who may encounter me.

Plus my mind tends to wander a bit, and I usually talk in stories not sentences.  In my defense, the stories usually have a point if I can still remember it by the end.  Nonetheless and just to give you an example, you could tell me you cooked rice for dinner which might trigger a memory of the first time I ever had Chinese food with my good friends from Fort Worth…

You get the picture, right?

It used to bother me that I shared a little too open and freely, and I didn’t understand why God made me without the caution or secrecy switch so many seem to use with such adroitness.  I mean, it’s not like I spill everything…but I am pretty up-front and honest.

And I feel, in the past, it’s sometimes made those around me a little uncomfortable…or it’s given them perceived power over me which has made me uncomfortable.  It’s a risk!!

However, over the last few years, I’ve learned to be content with the fact God has gifted me with openness.  I think it’s because He’s also given me a great desire to relate to people on a deeper level.

It’s almost as if it’s something I must do-I’m not sure why exactly, but the good news is I may be beginning to understand it a little more.

For example, I’m part of a small ladies’ Bible study group, and one of my fellow participants said to me very directly one day she wishes she could be more open like I am.  And, I’m not for sure, but I think she’s already begun to be a little more transparent by sharing prayer requests she might’ve normally kept to herself.

So maybe, just maybe, my openness may inspire (if even a little) a few other people to be brave enough to go and talk to those they encounter in an authentic way.

Because how can we even begin to relate to and help each other if we’re hiding all the life lessons gained throughout our years?

How can people know there’s hope for change or improvement if we don’t share our ongoing spiritual growth?

How can people know they should seek help if they think they’re the only ones who’ve been through a difficult, sad or tragic situation?

And, lastly, how can people create genuine friendships if they feel they have to be emotionally ‘alone’ to survive?

All these questions tumble through my mind.

I guess I’ll risk people looking down on me, even if I’m only able to help one person, because they’re the person God designed me to help.

Tumbleweed Thoughts No. 4: One Size Does Not Fit All

 

I have a couple of friends (married to each other and highly intelligent) who work with and conduct research using frogs--Xenopus frogs, in particular.  In fact, one of them has his doctorate in developmental biology.

 

And every year at Christmas I like to send them a little gift with a frog theme because I think I’m funny, however unoriginal.

 

So a few years back I sent them a Hatley mug and a sleepshirt with frogs on both items.  I think the sleepshirt said something like “Hop into bed!” with a giant, leaping frog emblazoned across the front.

 It was pretty darn cute if you ask me.

 

Anyway, a little bit after Christmas, I’m checking my email, and I notice a message from my friend, Lori, the wife of this incredibly bright duo.

Lo and behold, there’s a picture of her husband wearing the sleep shirt I had sent to her.  Yes, the mug was for him.

 

Well, the shirt was one size fits all, and even before she looked at the style or tried it on, she decided there was no way it could be for her…she could tell it would swallow her whole. So she convinced her husband the shirt was for him and the mug was for her. They realized her mistake once he tried it on, but Lori thought it was so funny she took a picture of him in the nightshirt to send to me in a droll effort to let me know how much they appreciated the gifts.

 

I’m laughing like a hyena as I type.

 Not Fitting!

  

 You see, I think of Lori as the Diana to my Anne…or the Anne to my Anne, an obvious Anne of Green Gables reference.  She’s terribly funny and always ready to torment her husband whom she adores.  She would do anything for me or anyone in her life--up to and including taking me to a body art place for some creative ear piercing last time I was visiting in Montreal.

 

And truthfully, she’s more likely the Anne in our duo than I.  I’m constantly and almost subconsciously trying to imitate her.  I affectionately refer to her as my partner-in-crime.

She’s unique.

 

So it didn’t matter what my intentions were when sending the sleep shirt or that Hatley offered it as a one size fits all because, even though it was meant for a woman, it didn’t fit Lori.

Furthermore, despite the fact he could wear it, the style didn’t ‘fit’ her husband.

 

I’m using this little story as an illustration.

Why? It’s because God Himself, the Most Unique, designed each of us to be surprisingly, wondrously and beautifully different.

 

Going past the fingerprints and the ‘cup half-full/half-empty,’ then delving deeper down, upward, inside and back out, we each will have our own special place and time, our own way of viewing the world and our own set of physical limitations with which to work.

Could thinking on this ever get boring? Yes, for maybe half a second after an excruciatingly long day.

 

Common ground is lovely of course.  I like being able to understand those around me.  I sometimes need the mental simplicity of it.  I oftentimes need the fellowship of it.

 

Still, I find it immensely interesting, even satisfying, to know when I peek out the door my eye is drawn to the tiny, blue wildflower nestling unobtrusively under the mossy, twisted oak.  Soon after…when you look out from over my shoulder, your eye is drawn to the clouds puffy and puffing lazily across a sky so gloriously blue it hurts the eyes.

Then I can draw your eye down to the flower, and you can draw my eye up to the clouds.

 

And maybe only then…together…will we even begin to see the whole picture.

***************************

Want your own one size fits all, Hatley sleepshirt?  Click on the link to explore your options.

Hatley "Don't Bug Me" Sleepshirt

 

Oak Cliff-O, Part 3c: Church Friends, v. Scary

When I say we were scary, I don’t mean like the Church Lady.

I mean, the Church Lady (Thank you, Dana Carvey.) was quite scary…in more ways than one…albeit funny.

I guess I mean to say we didn’t shy away from Halloween…which, when you think about it, makes sense.  After all, we grew up watching reruns of The Munsters and The Addams Family.  Talk of the devil’s holiday wasn’t an issue…at least in Oak Cliff…so we all dressed up and trick or treated as children.

As we grew a little older and entered our teenage years, we continued to view Halloween more as a way to have fun with our friends…or even reach out to the community…or (believe it or not) raise money for church youth activities.

This manifested itself in different ways.

For instance and at one point, we used the youth building across from our church as a haunted house to raise money for a mission trip.

Another year, our youth group had a retreat or something out at Mt. Lebanon (our local, Baptist encampment)…back then our church had its own lodge.

And, actually, I’m not sure if we stayed the whole night…but they (Mt. Lebanon) allowed us to have a Halloween scavenger hunt...truth be told.

Jodi B. and I were in charge of the hunt; we had to drive out the night before to set it up.  And I remember dreaming up the clues (or we both did); then we put them together and planted them around the grounds of the retreat.  One clue was on a white sheet, and we spray-painted it with red paint to look like blood.  One clue was in a humongous pickle jar which I had previously used as a bug collection and fumigation repository for a science project…but I can’t remember exactly what we did with the jar.  We also had a pail with all kinds of food slopped in it…which sat out over night…and attracted many critters (Yes…that one wasn’t thought out too well.).  I vaguely recall us hanging a life-size, fake corpse or some such (I cringe to admit.) from a tree.

Thinking back on it…I hope we gave out some decent prizes to the winners because dealing with that pail alone deserved a prize.

And I bet you almost anything I wrote up most of the gruesome clues…because looking back on a lot of things I’ve written for the blog has caused me to come to the conclusion I was the main culprit in many of our ‘adventures.’

I have brief flashes…snapshots…of sensations from that night at Mt. Lebanon.  I feel cool, dark, October air… running…gray trees…dirt…shadows…pinpoints of light from the various buildings.  I think I was largely alone…I don’t know if it was because I was one of the people who set up the scavenger hunt, so I couldn’t participate.

Later that evening, I continued by myself in the huge, open-air tabernacle where we had planted one of the clues.  It was so odd to be alone in this place which I had only ever experienced packed with people, sound and light.

I remember wanting to dance around the smooth, concrete floor a bit…I think I did.

Surprisingly…throughout it all…the entire night…I don’t think I was scared once.

I was young after all…and I didn’t know to be afraid.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

I’m not sure anyone else will think this is funny…but we continue to think it’s funny after all these years.

The silly thing is…we may’ve already been in college at this point and a little too old for these types of escapades.  If this was the case, it must’ve been the summer…so we were together.

Recently, we bandied it back and forth via facebook message to see what we could remember about the incident…and it wasn’t too much.

Although Duane reminded us we were in his car which was a little Horizon…I couldn’t remember whose car it was, but thought it might have been a Chevette.

Okay, okay…I’ll try and get to the point.

One night, I guess we were back at Mt. Lebanon for something, but we obviously had a lot of freedom because several of us decided to take off for Goat Mountain in Duane’s mini car.

Now, I bet you’re thinking something like this:  What (in the world) is Goat Mountain?

Goat Mountain was a little cemetery in Cedar Hill, Texas…not too far from Mt. Lebanon…and there was no mountain involved.

Although Goat Mountain was not its real name (I’m not sure anyone knows its real name.), but it was rumored to be a place where witches or devil worshippers would do their rituals…rituals supposedly involving the sacrifice of goats or other animals.

Sounds scary, right?

In reality, it was just a small, lonely, country cemetery…with a few scrubby bushes or trees and that dusty, lime-stone chipped top-soil so common in that particular part of North Texas.

The few times we were there, we never saw evidence of any goat-type sacrifice…ironically enough.

So, one night, I guess we were bored and thought it would be fun (or briefly amusing) to pile into Duane’s little car and head over there.  My friend, Kristi, was in the car along with Duane (of course)…I can’t remember who else was along…maybe Lisa D. or Kathy or Lori or Owen…but Shawn was definitely with us because there wasn’t enough room in the car…and he had to sit back in the hatchback area…you know, the trunk area.

And he wasn’t happy about it.

Not. At. All.

I’m not sure why he came along…I bet Duane convinced him.

Consequently, it wasn’t long before we started hearing moaning and groaning from the back.

“I’m tired; I’m hungry; I’m sick,” Shawn wailed, adding other descriptive words as he dreamt them up and continuing without abatement.

Finally, someone (probably Duane) asked with a little sarcasm thrown in for good measure, “How are you, Shawn?”

“I’m fine,” he nonchalantly replied as if the previous litany of ills were never voiced in the first place.

However, in a few more moments…the complaints started up again…only to have another one of us ask how he was doing to which he would reply with the same droll answer then a brief respite.

Okay, so I guess there’s not much point to this tale, but I have to say…Duane and Shawn are still two of the funniest people I’ve ever met…Kristi comes in third…because she really knows how to tell an entertaining story (and laugh at herself).

Once we got out to Goat Mountain, I can’t remember what happened, but Kristi says we chased some people out of the cemetery…which is really hard to believe because all I can remember from that night were the cramped car conditions and Shawn’s groaning.  And, generally, we weren’t really the chasing sort of group.

But, in a funny twist of fate (and this gave us the biggest laugh of all), Kristi says her husband, Scott (pre-Kristi), was chased out of the cemetery one night by a bunch of crazy people.

I’m pretty sure we’ve decided we were the ones chasing Scott and friends out of the cemetery…whether or not it’s true…because it makes a good tale.

And if I can say nothing else about my old church friends (and I, fortunately, have many good things to say about them)…it’s that we all love a good story…the more ridiculous the better.

Have a fun, safe Halloween, everyone!

Author's note:  Since I published this, Shawn has very subtly let me know the incident probably occured during the winter.  Well...so much for my memory.