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.

 

Somewhere Between: Humiliation to Hope

 I wish to keep this posting shorter but sweet, and this topic is sweet:  Hope.  Not just any hope, mind you, but hope in God.  God’s hope.  Thinking on the topic causes this almost physical reaction in me…a warming up…a settling in…a peace.

Sometimes hope seems in short supply.  Sometimes hope’s well is dusty bone dry.  I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that a few of my friends might be there even now.

Frankly, I think hope is hardest to hold when in the in-between time, which is how I define a waiting period fraught with varying degrees of difficulty.  One might lend itself to boredom, another time to despair.  They’re the times we bide until we get a spouse, a friend, a place, a church, a job, a purpose, a house, a grade, a child, an accomplishment.  A consequence.  It’s the time in which we wait for an illness to heal, a prodigal to call, or a tattered heart to mend.

The irony of the in-between time is that the older I get, the more I feel as if I'm there.  I won’t lie to you—they get longer and longer.  It’s impossible for me to count milestones by a semester, or a degree, or a promotion.  At my age and in my circumstances, life can be routine.  I would guess the in-between time is almost ongoing, probably over ninety-five percent of the life I experience.

One of my hardest in-between times was when we moved back to Texas from Canada. 

We loved Montreal.  We didn’t think it was perfect, but it was interesting and an adventure.  We had friends there.  We were trying to put down roots, so we bought a house.

It was a charming, small house in a gorgeous neighborhood.  It was not far out of the city center, so Craig’s commute to work was short (The shortest it’s been during our marriage.).  Then and before we moved in, we borrowed and spent loads of money remodeling it, thinking it to be a good investment.

Little more than a year after we moved in, Craig’s boss called him into his office and told Craig that they no longer needed him in Montreal. 

This didn’t seem so devastating.  We decided we would take the opportunity to move closer to family, and Craig soon had a job at the same firm in Houston.  His gracious parents allowed us to move in with them, and we placed our precious house on the market.

Honestly, I was confident that we wouldn’t be living with them long (more like an extended visit.). Our house would sell pronto, I reassured myself during quiet moments.  It was in a wonderful neighborhood and cute as a button, after all. 

Then it didn’t.

No one wanted our precious house into which we had poured our heart and soul (or should I say money and time), at least not at a price that would allow us to walk away without losing our shirts.

How humiliating and distressing do you think it would be to be living with your husband’s parents for ten months when you’re forty (Yes, I was forty!)?  It felt devastating at the time.  All my pride went down the toilet along with most of our money.

When people asked us where we were living, I would say we were ‘staying’ with my in-laws.

I guess I’m pretty good at spin if I have enough time to puzzle it out.

One day, I was sitting in church with my mother-in-law at Champion Forest Baptist, and a guest speaker gave the sermon.  I wish I could remember more of what he said, but I know it was on the subject of waiting on God.  He gave a moving testimony of some sort.  All I remember is crying copious, quiet tears; and my sweet mother-in-law comforting me.

It was a turning point.  I decided I didn’t want to live in discontent or fear of what petty people thought of us while in the in-between.  I didn’t want to live with a constant low-level of worry about money.

In other words, I decided to believe what I professed.  That God—only God—was my hope.  Our situation was humbling, but I was ready to submit to it because I believed I needed to be there to become more Christ-like.

I did need to be there.

So with hope in God, I let go and relearned how to count my blessings no matter the circumstances.  A good way to put it would be that God delivered me with hope; then He blessed us with a change in living situation.

Yet at times I'm fickle and I forget. So when I'm in the difficult in-between place, I have to once again ask myself some tough questions.  Do I truly believe that God is my strength, rescuer, refuge, and only hope like David (Psalms 18:1-6, 16-19)?  Do I believe that I should fix my eyes on Jesus, so God can guide me through the difficult times, or do I trust my own ability to solve my problems (Hebrews 12:1-3)? Have I embraced the process to become more Christ-like (1 John 3:2-3)? 

Have I decided to see past my circumstances, past mistakes, excuses, and distractions to let God out of the box in which I've placed Him once again?

I don’t have to wait for Him to prove Himself, after all—He already has by the blood of Jesus and the creation of, well, the world.

(It can be a) Happy Friday, everyone.

Practically

adverb prac·ti·cal·ly \ˈprak-ti-k(ə-)lē\

: almost or nearly

: in a way that is reasonable or logical : in a practical way*

 

I love words.

I love the way they convey my meaning, especially in writing.  I love their sounds, and I like the shape of each letter.  Form letters into words and language, string them together, and the result is almost miraculous.

When we communicate face-to-face or in writing, you may come close to understanding me, and I may come close to understanding you.  

That’s good.

Almost mystical, it's even better when our words reach out and embrace each other as we interact, igniting our empathy, so we have complete understanding.

Wow.

In particular, I love it when words have more than one meaning, like the one above.  Then I love taking that word and driving it to a different destination.

So as I struggled with ideas for a new name for this blog and feeling in my gut the lack of life in each mental offering, I decided to ask a few friends (some creative, some not, but all that I view as pragmatic) for thoughts.  The one brought forth by my friend Suzy seemed perfect from the beginning, because that’s just what she did.  She took the word practically and pointed it toward an unusual coordinate: Laura.

This spoke to me.

In my day-to-day doings, I often veer to the right at the practical fork in the road.  I’m a fairly down-to-earth person, after all.  Just ask my husband Craig how levelheaded he thinks I am. 

If I swerve to the left, the same word indicates a position, as in almost or nearly at/to a particular place.

Then Suzy stretches the usage a bit.

So when I heard the word paired with my name, it was only a moment or two before I thought about the sanctification process, which is the ongoing spiritual growth I experience because of Christ.  I’m not there yet, but I’m growing and changing and becoming more like Jesus.

And as I do, spilling words on a page as individual beats from my heart, I’m becoming more like me—the person God sees covered by His son’s sacrifice.

Laura and only Laura.

 

*"Practically." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 3 Sept. 2015. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/practically>.

Tumbleweed Thoughts No. 6: I Cried

To Timothy, my beloved son: Grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.  I thank God, whom I serve with a clear conscience the way my forefathers did, as I constantly remember you in my prayers night and day, longing to see you, even as I recall your tears, so that I may be filled with joy.  For I am mindful of the sincere faith within you, which first dwelt in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and I am sure that it is in you as well. For this reason I remind you to kindle afresh the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline. 2 Timothy 1:2-7 (NASB)

 

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this more than in passing, but I work with the eleventh-grade girls at my church, along with my two incredi-partners Alicia and Tiffany.

When you volunteer to work with the teens, the ministry has a policy that you stay and volunteer with the group through all four years of high school.  I’m sure you can imagine how good the continuity is for this age group—in theory, it allows time for us to learn to trust each other, and so we share deeper relationships.

It’s like a four-year marriage…

…or maybe more like a four-year prison term.

Okay, I feel as if I should mention that I have a little failing called sarcasm.  It crops up every now and then, and well, it just did.  I’m sorry.  Let’s get back on track.

Navigating through this responsibility has been interesting over the last two and a half years, to say the least.  However, God has used it to change me for the better in innumerable ways.

I’m going to be honest now and trust you to give me some understanding.  I’m also trusting that you won't try to fix it (whatever ‘it’ is) or offer me unnecessary comfort.  Remember:  God is teaching me lessons.

Here we go:

The first year, I didn’t feel like anyone in the high school ministry liked me (I’m exaggerating a little.).*  To summarize:  I was offended, and I cried a lot.  Whether or not my feelings were based in reality, God’s biggest lesson for me was to give people the benefit of the doubt, and then to give them patience.  Paranoia and self-focus had to go.  Forbearance and forgiveness were key.  After all, I, myself, love those last two things (Colossians 3:1-17).

During the second year, which I called our ‘Girl Power Year,’ I felt like things were better. We studied Ruth and Esther; then the second half of the year we worked through Lies Young Women Believe by Nancy Leigh DeMoss and Dannah Gresh.  This is a good book, but it tackles some incredibly sensitive issues about life and relationships.  We had a lot of fun…maybe too much at times.  Every now and then, our discussions would become so outrageous that they would get to the inappropriate point.  We would laugh about it, but at times and as their teacher, it did concern me that they seemed more focused on discussing these ‘taboo’ subjects than what the Bible had to say about God-honoring conduct.  It made me worry that I wasn’t being ‘spiritual’ enough around them, and I felt like a few of them were determined to misunderstand me.  I embodied the verb cringe, and I continued to cry every now and then—but not as much as the first year.  God’s lesson for me had to do with not being so hard on myself, and trusting Him to transform them.  So He’s continued to work at cleaning out more insecurity in me, and he’s been working with me on understanding my value in His eyes.  He doesn’t want me to be blind to my missteps, but He also wants me to ask forgiveness and move on.  Here are some key verses I focused on: 1 Peter 2:4-5, 9; Colossians 3:12; 1 John 3:1; Romans 8:31-39; Ephesians 1:3-5.

We’re on our third year, the junior year, and on many occasions it’s felt like a train wreck (Cue the crashing noises.).  I can’t go into detail because things that are private should stay private.  But in discussing our year with more experienced youth leaders, it would seem that a teen’s junior year is often full of more than drama, mainly because it’s such a tough and anxious year for them as they plan for their Future with a capital F.

So…of course I’ve cried.  In fact, I started crying while discussing it with our high school volunteer coordinator, whom by all accounts is a godly, awesome guy.  However, I don’t know him well, and he’s about eight years younger than me.

And he’s, well, a he.  Did I mention I don’t know him well?

It was a tad embarrassing.

I go off on these tangents about the ministry to illustrate that I’ve shed many tears, and not only over this part of my life.

I later had the chance to discuss that phone call on another phone call (lots of phone calls over the past months) with our youth pastor JJ, and he said something that I liked.  I can’t remember it word for word, but he suggested that we should feel free to cry or some such.

What?!

Yep, he said it. Of course, he meant that it’s good for others to see genuine emotion from us that's not harmful.  At least, I think that’s what he meant.** 

This makes sense to me.  After all, there’s a season for everything (Ecclesiastes 3:4, but consider reading the whole chapter).  If God acknowledges that there’s a time to cry; then I should feel okay to cry whether in joy or pain.  Furthermore and in my mind, Paul was not upbraiding Timothy for crying in the top passage. The tone seems to convey the desire to reunite and comfort.  In fact, David wrote that God put David’s tears in a bottle when he was oppressed by his enemies in Psalms 56, implying to me, that God is a loving God that cares for us when we’re overcome by life’s hardships (Psalms 56:8).

In all honesty, I look like death warmed over, but I usually feel better after a good cry.  Furthermore and for me, it’s often more appropriate to acknowledge the deep heartbreak that rains down…

…or the profound well-being that overflows…

…than to walk around like an animated stick.

So if you see me crying, don’t worry.  Just pass me a tissue if you have one.  You don’t have to enter into my feelings.  You don’t have to understand me or I you, but if I have a tissue, I’ll hand you one, too.

Let me know if you need to get something off your chest in confidence—I’ll pray for you.  Otherwise, I’ll leave you be, and you can do the same for me.

And, by the way, I prefer the Puffs with lotion if you have them on hand.

Author’s Notes, etc:

If you have been crying on a prolonged, daily basis, please consider making an appointment to see your doctor.  They can take it from there.

*Let me make this clear—I feel that God has revealed to me that these feelings were all about me.  If you were around me at this time, you should not be tempted to think they had anything to do with you unless God reveals otherwise.  After all and if you were around me in that situation and a Christ-follower, God would’ve been teaching you your own lessons, right?  We’re good.

** I emailed him just to clarify, but I think he’s forgotten to respond (This is an odd comfort because it means I’m not the only one with memory problems.). ;)

Thank-You Notes: To Those Who Persevere

 11 But flee from these things, you man of God, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, perseverance and gentleness. (1Timothy 6, NASB)

Back in the mid-1990s I was A) bored B) disillusioned C) unsure about what to do about it.

Ever since graduating from Baylor, I had worked at one of the larger aerospace companies in the north Texas area, but my work life hadn’t turned out as I’d envisioned.  Although I made a good salary, was blessed with a ninety-five percent trustworthy coworker rating*, and had excellent benefits—I wasn’t satisfied.  After all, there didn’t seem to be enough work to fill the day or much opportunity for advancement.

So I started searching.  For anything.  I searched for anything that would be a ‘better’ alternative—jobs, school programs, starting a business, running away with the circus (I would take Craig along, of course.).

I’m not sure I prayed much about it, but I did consult Craig.  The result was that I decided to take the LSAT, most likely after watching one too many episodes of LA Law.  Who wouldn’t want to be Grace Van Owen, right?

 

Susan Dey and Harry Hamlin in LA Law

And scarily enough, I nailed that test…and a vista opened before me containing the best Texas law schools.

It was a heady feeling for a young woman who harbored a fair amount of hidden but deep-seated insecurity.  And you know the funny thing about insecurity, don’t you?  It’s such close friends with pride.  They’re as inseparable as two sides of a coin.  Seriously—can insecurity even be born without a fair amount of pride residing within a person?

So I quit my job, and I moved back to Waco because we had decided that Baylor Law was my best alternative.

And things went well at first.  I made study buddies, I kept up with the work, I survived some close calls with the Socratic method, and I tried to like law school.

Unfortunately, this is when the sticky part of the story starts.  This is when I write the stuff about which I’d rather not write.

I’d prefer not to tell you what a costly and bad decision I made**, because I just didn’t have it in me to stick with this thing.  I didn’t love it much less like it, I didn’t have a hunger for it, and it was costing too much money.  And it was costing too much personally for me to continue in it.  Yeah, I don’t think I mentioned that my husband was still living up in the Dallas area, finishing up his Masters degree.  We only saw each other on the weekends (So instead of the circus, I ran away to law school, and left my heart in Dallas.).

To top it all off, our savings was running out much faster than we had anticipated.

One Sunday evening, I looked at Craig as he was about to leave for Dallas, and I knew I couldn’t go back to class the next morning.

It seemed impossible.

So I quit.  I threw away an opportunity for which many people would gladly pay a small body part.

I look back on it now, and I know it was the right thing to quit.  I’m glad I did it—I didn’t and don’t want that lifestyle.  I’m glad I stopped the madness.

But at the time, I felt as if I’d failed.  I didn’t persevere, and I felt like a quitter.  And that feeling clung to me for a long, long time.

I’m glad I no longer see it that way because those ‘quitter’ feelings, understandable at first, were ridiculous in the long term.  I’m pretty sure that when the Bible teaches on perseverance that it’s not referring to being so stubborn that you cling to a bad decision.

In fact, I believe that the Bible is referring to something much more mind-stretching and beautiful.  It speaks of persevering in our continued growth as a believer (sanctification)—Hebrews 12:1-2; Romans 5:1-5; persevering in our assigned ministry—Luke 8:15; and persevering in our belief that God is going to take some of the crappiest (Excuse my French.) life experiences, turn them upside down, and use them for His glory and our good—Romans 8:28; James 1:12.

But perseverance is good in other ways as well.  When the parent with the child with a learning disability doesn’t give up but searches for ways to help them, that’s good.  When a father with no options but a thankless job doesn’t get in a car and drive, drive, drive far away because he cares more for his family than his ego, that’s good.  When loving grandparents raise their grandchildren because their own children are too immature to handle their responsibilities, that’s good.  When a person stays in a marriage with an unappreciative spouse and continues to demonstrate love to their partner, that’s good.

It’s always good when we make a commitment worth making, a right decision; then we stay with it even though it goes beyond difficult to heartbreaking to keep.

Only by the grace of God, I’ve done some of those things.  I’ve stuck with the important decisions when I haven’t had the care or energy to do so.  I’ve kept promises when not doing so would leave a trail of destruction.  And leaving law school didn’t leave a trail of destruction.  In fact, it enabled me to focus on getting a new job and moving back to Dallas to be with Craig.

I stopped questioning it a long time back.

But even better, I’ve seen some of you stick with those right decisions as well, giving the precious gift of a good example to the rest of us.

Even worse, I’ve seen some of you walk away, leaving a hurricane-ravaged landscape behind you; yet you never cared enough to look back.

Dear Persevering One:

Thank you for walking on.  I know you’re tired of going to the grocery store and rousting teenagers from their beds.  I am, too.  I know you’re scared of letting people down or not living up to your potential.  I am, too.  I know you want to give up, but you won’t.  By the grace of God, I won’t either.

Instead you’ll get some rest, take a deep breath, get yourself up, and try again.

Bravo.

Your most ardent admirer,

Laura

Author’s note:  I know I’ve oversimplified decision-making.  Only you can say whether or not my conclusions might work for you.  You may have many more variables to consider.  However, if you have made a decision which has left destruction in it’s wake, please consider taking it to God, asking him for forgiveness, and seeking direction from Him in the Bible and by prayer on how to make amends.  If you’re a Christ-follower, then God wants to give you second times infinity chances.  Even still, people won’t always allow you to mend your relationships with them.  Trust may be lost.  But if nothing else and in my opinion, you should make every effort to tell those you’ve hurt that you’re sorry and ask for forgiveness.

If you’re not a Christ-follower and seeking to know God better, you might want to start with Romans 5:8.

*This is Laura’s rating for the number of coworkers one could trust out of a pool of 100 random workers she might have encountered at the company.  In this case, she would estimate that approximately 95 out of 100 people at the company were trustworthy (Fantastic!).  This is a totally random number and based on nothing other than her feelings.

**I’m in no way saying that law school is a bad decision for you. ;)

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

Thank-You Notes: Steven, Part II

Over the next several days I began to experience some new sensations—my sense of smell grew beyond all proportion (Pre-pregnancy, I didn’t know we lived in a world with such varied kinds of, um, aromas.).  About a week and a half later, my stomach decided it didn’t like London fish and chips at all.  But otherwise, I tried to carry on as normal.  In fact, I didn’t tell my cousin that I was pregnant even though I did tell my mom and dad—Craig and I felt it would be better for mom to know in case I had any difficulties while travelling.

So we arrived and began our explorations, but mom and I didn’t talk about the pregnancy because I had a huge desire to keep it quiet, and I needed to act like everything was usual.  Truth be told, I’m sure I would’ve felt a little awkward bringing it up with my guy cousin despite the fact I’ve always considered him a close friend.

Not long after we hit the ground in Paris, we were walking over to the Louvre—it was only a few blocks from the Hôtel de la Tamise, the place we were staying, so it made a good place to hang out our first day.

I can’t remember much about that day (We were so jet-lagged.), but I do remember walking up to the Louvre, and feeling taken aback by the stunning juxtaposition of the I. M. Pei pyramid against the older architecture of the rest of the museum.

Isn’t everyone?

Funnily enough, I also remember being relieved to sit down and drink a slightly strange-tasting Diet Coke in a basement café later that afternoon.

After all, snack breaks are always a good thing.

In a journal I was keeping for Craig I wrote:

The plane ride was grueling, the taxi driver possibly “took us for a ride,” and we have not showered in over twenty-four hours (I think); but Paris is still one of the loveliest cities I have ever seen.  On the to-do list today:  1) Check into our hotel.  2) Visit the Louvre.  3) See the Eiffel Tower.  4) Buy post cards.

The Louvre was wonderful.  It had that peaceful, museum feeling at times and then pandemonium the next.  Although I didn’t think the crowds as bad as we had been warned.  We viewed the Mona Lisa, Venus d’Milo and several other great works of art…. 

People are friendlier than expected, more flowers are in bloom, the trees have not yet turned to their autumn colors, and the architecture on many of the old buildings is cool.

None of these observations were earth-shattering, but I’m glad I kept a short, albeit unimaginative, journal to take back to Craig.

After a rather non-touristy day at a marché aux puces helping Steve shop for antiques for his business (“Combien ça cout?” I repeatedly inquired while trying to figure the price with the exchange rate via calculator.), and eating gourmet, artichoke pizza out of a temporary store front at the market; we visited Notre Dame, St. Chappelle and Versailles on our last day in France.

Here’s a smattering of what I wrote:

We were rather disappointed in Notre Dame…

St. Chappelle was lovely.  The exterior stonework is wearing down giving it a fanciful look…it’s all painted woodwork inside—blue, red and gold.

Versailles was the highlight for me.  The size was incredible…we learned a bit about the different personalities of the kings and their times by viewing the rooms they decorated…

The grounds were wonderful…fountains and statues were everywhere.  My favorite part was the Queen’s Village.

Okay, we did find some fall leaves.

Through the Chunnel to England, and through it all, I tried to act as if nothing was unusual.

I think I was pretty good at it.  

But my flimsy facade was soon to crumble.

 

 

Related articles

Thank-You Notes: Steven