"Unca" Dan

"Unca" Dan turns 90 on Christmas Day.  His birthday celebration is Wednesday, and I, regrettably will not be able to attend.  Thinking about his birthday has brought many memories to mind. 

I am a child of the '50s and '60s.  It was a good time to grow up, for while the '60s were a time of growing pains and turmoil in this country, I was protected from most of it.  We had a fairly insulated world of public school where most of our classmates were our neighbors, and the greatest diversity was found in which protestant church you attended regularly.  Some were financially better situated than others, meaning some had 2, or amazingly, 3 bathrooms and some of us only had one.

In the days of walking to and from school, riding bikes all over the neighborhood, and friends' parents correcting you when you misbehaved, I was blessed with "Unca" Dan and Aunt Sarah in my life.  Now, they were not called "Unca" and Aunt until I was grown because we called everyone older than ourselves Mr. or Mrs. Whomever.  As I became an adult, the Mr. and Mrs. Leech sounded so formal, but heaven knows, calling them Dan and Sarah would never work. That was just not propah! Thus, "Unca" Dan and Aunt Sarah were born. 

I met Mr. and Mrs. Leech through their daughter, Becky.  We met the first day of first grade, and became very good friends.  We had some adventures (Shelby Park Tennis CourtsJ).  Seldom, but sometimes we got crosswise with each other (the 1920's-tennis-skirt-styrofoam-cooler-on-the-head-falling incident - I still laugh when I think of it), but those did not last long.  Our parents had the good sense to stay out of it, and I always felt loved by the Leeches.  Becky had sisters.  I had brothers.  There is quite a difference. 

"Unca" Dan was a contractor, and so the Leech's actually had 2 bathrooms in their house, or 3 if you counted the one off the garage, which proved to be a welcome spot on a day of playing outside.  I was always a little afraid of that bathroom.  I was much more fascinated by the pocket door on the master bath.  I remember their house being huge, but I imagine if I walked in it now, it would not seem so.  In the den they had a "coffee" table made of a log.  It was known as "The Log!"  I learned at my mother's birthday party that it is still around, and there is some conversation as to what to do with it.  I think I heard talk of a Solomon solution; "cutting it in half." 

The Leeches had a big round table in their kitchen.  I shared meals with that family at that table on many occasions.  In the middle of it sat a little bottle of saccharin tablets.  I was always fascinated by that, and we were known from time to time to sneak some of Mr. Leech's little "sugar" tablets, and let them melt on our tongues.  I also remember high hilarity at that table, and when it got out of control, I was sent from the table just as if I were a Leech girl.  There is some chagrin and much comfort attached to such an event. 

Mr. Leech loved cars.  He bought Becky a red car that made a SmartCar look like a luxury sedan.   I do not remember what kind it was, but, if memory serves, we called it the Red Rooster.  A moderately strong teenage boy could have picked it up and carried it home.  I do not recall that it lasted long, but I do remember enjoying time spent in it.  There were other cars too.  Unlike my daddy, Mr. Leech bought vintage cars to fix up.  My daddy bought old cars that broke down.  Mr. Leech's cars were small and fashionable.  Daddy's were tanks!  Did I mention, I had brothers?  My daddy was a smart man!

The first time I saw the ocean as a teenager, I  was on a family trip with the Leech's.  It was at New Smyrna Beach.  It was amazingly fun.  I was with the Leech's when U.S. astronauts landed on the moon  I will never forget Mr. Leech insisting that we go to Cape Canaveral.  Seriously, we were at the beach.  Who goes on a sightseeing trip like that at the beach?  Can you fathom how stupid I was that I could not appreciate the fact that we were going to the very place from which the astronauts left earth to go to the moon?  Mr. Leech was not to be deterred, thank heaven.  I remember many things from that sightseeing adventure.  Above all, however, I remember how I felt at home.  I was not with my blood family, but I was with family nonetheless. 

I had a wonderful father and I have a wonderful mother.  I guess I did not need multiple sets of parents, or, perhaps I did.  Perhaps, we all do. 

So happy birthday to "Unca" Dan.  You are a lovely man, who just by being yourself have, along with the rest of your family, been a blessing in my life. 

For anyone reading this, I wish you an "Unca" Dan and an Aunt Sarah, and I wish you

blessings

A Maelstrom of Observations, Thoughts, and Feelings

Who to Trust:

Recently, on FB a picture was posted.  It was of a man and woman, who depending on your life filter, were either in an argument or a conversation.  Two different FB friends posted this, apparently in support of the article attached.  The paradox comes in the captions, and articles/video connected to the picture.  One caption read: "Christian Woman Praying to Christ Ejected From MUSLIM Prayers at National Cathedral."  The other caption (remember, same picture) read: " 'Christian' Verbally Assaults Muslims Gathered For Religious Unity to End Violence."  So, which is it?  I do not know, and I will never know because I was not there, and Heaven knows, I am not about to trust any one who might be reporting the incident...no one.  Without having the opportunity of knowing the people involved, I have no idea what motivations were driving the behavior.  Shoot, I often do not even know what motivations are driving my own behavior.  It just makes me wonder if any of the people reporting this event care one iota about a coming together to end violence, or are we all just so mired in our own belief system, we have no room for the other man's viewpoint?

Convictions:

I get all my news from FB and little snippets of the Today Show.  I really and truly despise the news.  I do not watch it, and I have begun to stop reading a lot of it on FB.  For example, the articles mentioned above, I did not read them, the captions were enough to let me know there would be great bias in the reporting.  I find that the news can depress me, or cause me to feel alarmed and afraid.  In addition, I cannot do a thing about it.  Instead, I read blogs.  Blogs by Patrick Mead that make me analyze my own approach to religion and spirituality.  These are things I can change.  I cannot change the violence in the world - or, perhaps, if we self-proclaimed Christians, of which I am one, would actually live our lives like the Jesus we claim to worship, the entire world would change.  Sometimes, I think we are so verbal and critical of other faiths and thoughts because we just are not totally convinced of our own.  If those people have anything right, then how can I be right?  Maybe it is not about being "right."  Maybe it is about embracing and loving and trying to understand all people regardless of race, nationality, beliefs, and lifestyles.  It is my belief that can be done without sacrificing one's own beliefs and convictions.  Really, is there anything more compelling than a person who lives out their convictions without talking about them and imposing them on others?

Expectations:

Recently, on FB (I know, a major time-suck in my life), a friend asked how an event went that he could not attend.  Someone responded, "about like you would have expected."  I literally (not the "literally" that the man on the radio meant when he said, "there were so many planes waiting to take off, it was literally a train.") put one forefinger on my nose, pointed the other one and yelled, "ding, ding, ding, ding, Bingo!"  I know that seems a bit dramatic, but were truer words ever spoken? Things generally go the way we expect them, because that is what we are looking for.  It would be foolish of me to project what that particular person meant by the comment.  Perhaps, he expected the event to go very well and he was quite pleased.  Perhaps, he thought it would be a fiasco, so it was.  Perhaps, he thought it would accomplish very little, and in his mind it did.  Expectations are very powerful!

Sexiest Man:

As if violence around the world, hungry children, people dying of Ebola, weather states of emergency, are not enough, the newscasters are all a buzz with the "sexiest man alive."  Not being personally acquainted with the recent awardee of such an outstanding honor, I cannot comment on his worthiness.  Perhaps it is my age, but give me a man who looks good in a suit, whose face lights up at the sight of his grandsons, who recognizes when a friend has no place to go for Thanksgiving and invites him to join us, who empties the dishwasher and cleans up the kitchen, who cooks the cornbread for Thanksgiving dressing, who gains much more pleasure by what he gives than receives, who has a kind and quiet spirit, who watches the tiny TV in the bedroom when The Voice is on, who has a hilarious sense of humor, who just might be blind to his wife's aging appearance, who has a servant's heart.  Now, that would be the sexiest man alive, and if one should happen to be acquainted with such a fellow, one should feel very grateful. 

Traditions:

This, I think, will be the first year that I am totally responsible for the turkey, dressing, and gravy for the 30 or so who will be here for Thanksgiving.  It is the general consensus that no one, and I mean no one, makes dressing as good as my mother's.  Of course, she has no recipe to follow, and a little of this and a little more of that is relative, and when added with a lighter or heavier hand, can produce a not-so-good result.  So, I have decided that I will not try to emulate my mother's dressing,  I will research, use a bit of common sense, and come up with my own concoction.  Unless it is just inedible, everyone will be kind, and Thanksgiving dinner will be enjoyed.  THAT is my expectation, and perhaps, a new tradition will be born. 

Of course, my mom will be here, but recovering from pneumonia at age 90 is a relatively slow process, and she has so many other events coming up that, for this year at least, she is passing the torch.  These things happen a little at a time.  The first year we had family Thanksgiving at our house was an accident.  Mom called that Thursday morning, and said her turkey had been in the oven for like 7 hours, but it wasn't done.  Did I think her oven was not working?  Yep, yep, that is what I think.  So, Mr. L and I went across town, gathered food, and dishes, and silver, flowers, and linens, brought them to our house, and Thanksgiving at the Switzers was born.  It was hard for her to give it up, but it hasn't diminished her enjoyment of the Thanksgiving gathering,  After all, isn't it about the people we are with, and not the food or the decorations or the location?

So, on this beautiful, cold November day, I wish you people you can trust, well-lived convictions, great expectations, an ever-evolving viewpoint on the "sexiest man," and I wish you a joyful and grateful heart as you create new Thanksgiving traditions or revel in the old, and, as always, I wish you

blessings

Random Musings

This blog is the result of a request.  Not a request because my writing is so brilliant, but because a friend stated that whenever she checks to see if I have posted a new blog what always comes up is "We Are All Bastards."  She is tired of seeing that.  I will interject here that she is always kind and complimentary about my blogs, so it was not a serious complaint.  Thus, this post is being birthed as I write. 

Saturday was a great day.  I spent it with my friend, Nancy, shopping, eating, and seeing a wonderful production of "Steel Magnolias," in which a friend played Ouiser.  She was excellent, as was the rest of the cast.  The set was so wonderfully pleasing to my eye.  I enjoyed the whole day. 

As we were leaving the restaurant where we had lunch, I heard, "Marilyn!"  It was a relatively new friend having lunch.  I went to introduce her to Nancy, and just drew a complete blank on her name.  She laughed, introduced herself, and made a funny comment about how she was my "reaaaaaaaaally" good friend.  I was mortified, but not really, because I knew I had not offended her.  She is just not a woman who walks around looking to be slighted and offended.  After a lesson on generosity at church yesterday, I sought out "Miss" Betty to tell her how much I appreciate her generosity of spirit.  You know what she said to me?  "You could not offend me, I love you too much."  And, there you have it. 

Later, Nancy and I ran into other friends of mine, one of whom I had not seen in a long time.  I introduced everyone.   The younger one said, "wow, you remembered my whole name."  I proceeded to tell them about the encounter with "Miss Betty."  I referred to Betty as a very good friend, to which one of them said, "as opposed to us, who are not your really good friends?"  She was teasing, but what I wish I had said to her was, "you are not just friends.  I love "Miss Betty," and she would do anything for me if I asked, but you, you people I have known for years, and you have done so much for me without my having ever asked."  That's what I wish I had said. 

Last week, my precious, adult lifelong friends (as opposed to Nancy who has been my friend since we were 5 years old - that's a looooooooooooooong time) Betsy, Dele and I had a small dinner party.  We invited some of the younger women at church who had expressed a bit of angst over getting to know people and finding their place.  It was a lovely evening.  There were precious young women here.  Betsy, Dele, and I simply tried to make some introductions, get to know some younger women ourselves, for they so enrich our lives, and possibly plant some seeds for future friendships.  Dele texted me yesterday, that two of those women, along with their families, were having lunch together.  Seed planted, and the watering has begun. 

Speaking of seeds (I warned this would be random), Simeon, Max, and I planted some jonquil bulbs yesterday.  Well, I dug the holes, they threw the bulbs in, I set them up straight so that they will actually grow, and I covered the holes with dirt and mulch while they played in the leaves with their Fizzy.  Hopefully, they will remember their "help" when spring comes and we have lovely flowers blooming.  If not, I will remind them.  Playing with Fizzy was the highlight of their day.

It is amazing to watch my adult children parent their children.  One set of parents is a bit stricter about diet than the other as they try to be sure that their son does not eat many sweets.  He did not go trick or treating, for he would not wear his costume, and they do not want him to eat the candy. What would have been the point? Besides, it was freezing!! The other grandson is allowed to eat candy on special occasions or as a special reward.  He did go trick or treating and loved wearing his costume, as well as his cousin's costume.  Everyone came to our house for dinner.  When the grandson who had been trick or treating arrived, he brought in his candy bucket, empty.  That did not go unnoticed.  His parents, in an effort to prevent causing his cousin sadness, encouraged him to leave his candy in the car.  There is so much right about that to me.  They certainly could have said, "just because he can't have candy doesn't mean you can't," or any number of "okay" things, but, instead they embraced a generosity of spirit, and put the other person first.  That is a life lesson far more valuable than most. 

The other grandson has a bear that he takes with him everywhere.  Big Brown Bear, is his name.  He loves that bear.  It is his special toy and friend.  He is encouraged, and often made to share toys, but Big Brown Bear is a special exception.  However, when his cousin becomes upset, I watch him walk over and hand him Big Brown Bear saying, "here,  Big Brown Bear will make you feel better."  You can see the difficulty it causes him to hand the bear over to his cousin, but his sweet spirit of generosity longs to console.  He is watching that, and learning that from his parents.  I relish those very special moments. 

So, random thoughts.  Nothing deep here.  Just thoughts from a wandering mind.  Now, off to work on Advent calendars for the little boys.  I love a good project. 

For today, I wish you spirits of generosity, and I wish you

blessings

"We're all bastards......

......but God loves us anyway."  When asked to describe the message in the Bible in ten words or less, this was Will Campbell's reply. Will Campbell, often described as a maverick, was a white man who fought for the black man during the Civil Rights movement.

I was reminded of this story early last Saturday morning in Montgomery, Alabama where I participated in a pilgrimage of sorts visiting important sites of the Civil Rights movement. As a friend and scholar stood at the Maya Lin Civil Rights Memorial, hand resting in the fountain on the name Thomas Coleman, I heard how Will Campbell was faced with the hard truth of his gospel, "we are all bastards, but God loves us anyway."  Thomas Coleman, a young, black seminary student was killed as he walked out of a store. He was killed by police officer, Jonathan Daniel.  Thomas Coleman was Will Campbell's friend. Thomas Coleman died because of the color of his skin, and the prejudice in Jonathan Daniel's life.

As Will Campbell angrily wept over his friend's death and the violence of the Civil Rights movement, and the hatred so many harbored in their hearts, he was asked the question, "which of these bastards did God love more?"  It was a question he neither wanted to face nor contemplate, yet, there it was.  After this event, Will Campbell left his work in the Civil Rights movement,and began to minister to members of the Ku Klux Klan. Even though he had preached, faithfully attended church, and  tried to live his life by Biblical teachings, he said only when he began to love and serve members of the KKK did he become a true Christian.  He courageously tried to change hatred with love, violence with non-violence.

As we traveled down the highway, a speech delivered in 1895 by Booker T. Washington, a most amazing man, was read to us. I was struck by a parable that Mr. Washington used in his speech. The story tells of a disabled ship that had been lost at sea for several days. It was spotted by another vessel, and the captain of the foundering boat shouted out, "water, water, we die of thirst," to which the reply came, "cast down your bucket where you are,". Again, the plea came, "water, water, we die of thirst."  The reply did not change; "cast down your bucket where you are."  After several more pleas with the same reply, the captain of the disabled vessel cast down his bucket, and brought out clear, fresh water to drink.

This world seems in a shambles. There is hatred, bigotry, and violence in Iraq, in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Ferguson, MO.  I must ask myself, "who does God love more?"  I must be very careful in assuming that God's mind is my mind.  If I believe Will Campbell's "we're all bastards but God loves us anyway," and I claim to follow Jesus, God in the flesh, what must I do?  If I follow the logic, then I must love "anyway."  While I will not be traveling to these places of unrest, if I will just "cast down my bucket where I am" I will not run out of opportunities.

For today, I wish you opportunities to cast down your bucket where you are and love anyway, and I wish you

Blessings,

No Explanations Needed

Favorite Quotes of the Day:

"Can I be naked?"  I counted.  This questions was asked 17 times in a row with no break. I promise!

"Don't say no."  Mellie was not the one who said this, either.

"It's my turn!"  Said over and over and over and over.

"Maxie!!! He's gonna give me a hug!"

"You may spit outside or in the bathtub. No.where.else."  Followed by puzzled looks, especially when placed in the bathtub fully clothed.

"That hurts."  This came after Mellie put both legs through on of the leg holes in his bathing suit.

"It's MINE!!"  Ad nauseum

"I'm being naughty."  No argument here.

"Do'Do'Do'Do'"

"Water bomb!!!"  Mellie had to change clothes.

"You can do it, Simmy."

"Hey, I sticked it on you, Mellie.  You're a magnet."

"That's not cereal. It's Cheerios."

Crying-"I don't like calm music. It is not my favorite. I need Mike Farris. "

Upon Nunny's arrival-"this is hilarious."

Mellie:  "where are your glasses?"  Child to remain unnamed to protect the guilty: "in the fireplace."  Sure enough they were.

"Yes ma'am, Mellie."

"I love you so much, Monie."

For today, I wish you marvelous quotes of the day, and I wish you,

Blessings

What's Working?

Well, now I know what What's Working means.  It is what we ask ourselves about everything - our writing, our relationships, our spiritual life - whatever!  How much better is that than asking what's not working?  If I learned nothing else from the workshop/retreat this weekend, I learned that.  What's working circumvents that negative talk we often give ourselves.

In spite of my fear and trembling, I had a great weekend at the retreat.  Minton Sparks who was the leader, teacher, director? is amazingly wonderful.  She is a tiny person that is a bundle of energy, enthusiasm, brilliance and hard work.  I do not aspire to be a performer as she is, well, maybe a little, but I do love that I learned many things from her that will help in any writing I may want to do, and in life. 

Probably, the greatest serendipity of the weekend is the people I met.  There were seven of us besides Minton, oh, and one other that I will mention later who was not in the workshop.  We were a very diverse group.  I had names for them, some of which changed as the weekend went along.

There was The Artist.  She was the most difficult for me to get to know.  She is the only one in the group that I sensed was not really being herself, whether because she does not know herself or she just did not wish to share herself.  Unlike others in the group, she seemed more interested in telling you about herself rather than asking about you.  Unfortunately, she had to miss the last session as her mother was ill, for I would have liked to have had another chance at getting to know her, because I could have totally misread that. 

The first person I met on Friday evening, as we sat in the announced but wrong location, was The Joyful.  This woman is just happy, and has taken a turn in her life.  She spent her time before retirement working in the corporate world of technology.  You never would have known that at the get-go.  I did not have to worry about conversation because she could carry her part and mine, and I mean that in a good way.  She told me one day that she woke up, asked herself, "is this all there is?" as she realized her life centered around work and a little family time.  She decided that it was up to her if that was all, and by golly, she decided that it was not, and began to pursue writing.  She is great at details in her writing, wonderful humor, and self-deprecation.  I liked her so much.

The Sweet One, became The Comedienne.  By the looks of it, I would say she was the oldest in the group.  She had this sweet, sweet smile which she used often.  She was hilarious in a subtle, gentle, kind way, and I loved everything she wrote and the way she delivered it.  She is working on a book.  She is an exceptional Two Truths and a Lie player.  The woman can spin a tale that you will believe like no other.  She just reels you in with that sweet smile, just enough detail to make it sound true, and a most innocent expression.  What marvelous traits for a writer.  Loved her!!

There was The Lawyer, who became The Amazing One.  She is 33 years old, a Harvard law school graduate (she did not tell me that, I googled her!), works for one of the big firms in town, humble, brilliant, a captain in the Marine Corp. for 5 years, she has lived all over the world, had varied and amazing experiences, a brilliant writer/performer, sort of bohemian, the glue that holds her family together ~ husband, 6 year old son, divorced mother who lives with her, dad who lives around the corner.  I started out misjudging her (that is what judgment does for you) in the brief session on Friday night, but oh, I am so fond of her and impressed by her.  She is truly amazing.

The Depressed One became The Paper Carrier became The Singer Songwriter Precious One.  When the workshop began, she did not look anyone in the eye.  Her writing that first night (we wrote about our names) overwhelmed me with a sadness.  I felt how truly unfair life is, and it is, but as I got to know her, I saw so many sides of that family in which she was raised, and this life she is making for herself here in Nashville.  She chose to eat pizza for dinner last night in order to eat with The Amazing One and me.  She really wanted sushi, but decided that the company was more important than the food.  I giggled at her when we asked about her song writing and performing and she said she was in a "band of introverts in the basement."  I thought what a great name for a band!  A classmate had asked her to bring her guitar and perform a song for her before we said our farewells.  Of course, we all wanted to hear her.  She was so wonderful, and this woman who could not look us in the eye on Friday night was hugging and high fiving us as we said goodbye on Sunday morning.  "Let's stay in touch," she said.  I plan to.  My life will be enriched for it.

The Contributor Seller became The Wanderer Full of Surprises.  This woman, how I wish each one of you could meet her, will blow our homeless stereotypes to kingdom come.  She was so incredibly intelligent.  I would say she was very well-educated, although I do not know that as a fact.  She, too, is working on a book.  She is a wanderer by her own definition.  She has lived all over.  She came to Tennessee from Kentucky because of the book she is writing.  She lives in a cinderblock room, sleeps on a bedroll.  This morning as she and I chatted while the rest of the class did yoga, I learned a lot about her.  She has a brother who is a doctor, another one who was a nurse but committed suicide.  We had a common bond right there.  She has 5 sons, one of which has died, and the other 4 live all around the country.  Her writing will make you weep, but not because of sadness, but because of the depth of emotion and self-awareness she conveys.  She made deep sacrifices to be in this workshop.  As she said, it meant everything to her to be able to participate.  If you are reading this, and you live in Nashville, go by 28th and Charlotte, buy a Contributor.  You may be able to say you knew the seller before she was famous. 

The last person I will mention is an exquisitely beautiful young woman who was our contact person and source of information for the workshop.  I will say her name, Maddison Grigsby, because she is a professional singer/song writer.  She performed for us on Saturday night, and her stunning physical beauty was matched by her pure, sweet voice and the lyrics of her heart. 

So, all in all, it was a most lovely weekend.  Some of the breathing and Zen-type things caused me to have to tamp down an ever ready giggle, just because that isn't me, but more power to those who find it helpful.  Perhaps, if I were not so buttoned up, I would benefit from it as well.  I learned a few things about myself along the way.  In later posts I might share a few things that I wrote over the three days. You will note that this is not formal writing so punctuation is sort of a vapor.  I will share a short one here written as a result of the writing prompt, "there was dancing involved:"

Mike Farris blasting from the Ipod - cain't no grave hold my body down. 

 The passerby glanced into the large picture window, and stopped as he watched two very young boys and one not-so-young grandmother dancing - with abandon. 

No one else in the word, just those 3.....and, Mike Farris.  The grandmother was young again. 

No prom, no sock hop, no New Years' Eve ball escort compares to the joy found in the presence of these two exuberant, laughing, tiny dancers. 

Well, not a complete thing, but it is a start.

For today, I wish you marvelous experiences, serendipitous moments, new people in your lives, and I wish you

blessings

Fear and Trembling

Tomorrow evening, I begin a workshop/retreat, that I paid lots of money to attend.  I find myself terrified.  It is a writing and performance retreat.  Well, I thought it was a "workshop" which conjures people in business casual, sitting at desks, taking notes in a neat and orderly fashion.  "Retreat" conjures wild-haired, maxi-skirted (1960's style), orthopedic sandaled, grannies, sitting on pillows on the floor.  They even told us to bring our own pillows if we want.  They are offering YOGA Sunday morning.  Yikes!!

My fear and trembling began when I received a questionnaire from the coordinator of said retreat, and I sensed a bit of touchy-feely-ness in the questions.  Mr. L saved me from a non-creative bio, by reminding me that the required "three lines" did not mean three sentences.  One can get a lot of information in three lines of eight-point type without having to use proper punctuation.  

The first question was: "what's your highest vision of yourself over this weekend?"  What does that even mean?  Are they expecting me to dig deep within myself?  I have spent sixty-two years trying to avoid such a thing.  I really enjoy life on the surface! 

How is this for a question:  "what's not working?"  Well, my dishwasher is making weird noises, I have to use a crowbar to open my front door, the faucet in the tub is leaking, the one in the sink does not bring forth hot water, there is no door on my mailbox, I think I have arthritis in the toes on my left foot ~ is that what they mean?  I don't think so, but what do they mean?

What about this one?  "What do you want your life to look like as a result of the training?"  Well, frankly, pretty much like it does now.  Even though I think the fee for the retreat was a bit steep, I was not expecting a complete life overhaul as a result.  Frankly, I find my life to be lovely most of the time.  I have a husband I love and enjoy, grown children who seem to tolerate me pretty well, grandsons who love me, one of which after breakfast most mornings announces he is ready to come to my house.  What more could a person want? 

So, it is with fear and trembling that I will arrive tomorrow night at 6:00 pm for my Writing and Performance Retreat.  What am I scared of?  SMALL TALK!!! Hate it.  I also do not look forward to any bit of deep group therapy-type stuff with fourteen people I do not know.  That is not going to happen.  Big talker - I'll be the one spilling my guts and weeping.  Can we not just stay on neutral, middle ground?

They are not feeding us meals, so we have to walk to restaurants nearby.  Oh, my goodness, it is ninth grade all over again having to walk by the senior boys' table in the cafeteria as they make jungle noises and nasty little remarks.  What if I have no one with which to eat?  What if I am the only one who does not already know someone in the group?  I have Mr. Lincoln on call Saturday night to go to dinner with me if that happens.  Lunch, I can do by myself, but a two hour dinner?  I don't think so.  Do I sound like an insecure, self-conscious 'tween?  Yes, yes, I do. 

One may ask why I signed up for this dreaded weekend.  I saw the director perform at Tokens.  She totally fascinated me.  Apparently, introvert that I am, I failed to understand the definition of "performance."  The writing part, at which I may or may not excel, is at least a solitary endeavor.  What was I thinking ~ performing?  In front of people I do not know?  Oh, if I could only tell the Andrew Jackson story.  Do you think if I just insert my name instead of ole Andy's  anyone would notice?  Yeah, probably so. 

I am not sure why I periodically feel compelled to step out of my comfort zone and do something that is hard.  I could have just stayed home this weekend, packed for my trip next week, hung out with Mr. L, gone to church, gone to bed by my normal 9:00 time, played with Simmy and Max, and been perfectly happy.  But, I will step out, and as Mr. L says, I will get every penny's worth of what he paid for me to attend.  Definitely, my life will be changed in some way, big or small if I will let it.  I will look for the serendipity in the weekend, perhaps improve in some of the many ways in which I need improvement, and hopefully, be a bit of a blessings to those around me. 

For today, I wish you courage in your fear and trembling, and I wish you

blessings

Two Questions

Sometimes, I discover that I knew things in junior high school that I have forgotten.  I can remember on some occasions in junior high and high school walking away from conversations because I felt it was unseemly for me to participate in them.  There were many more from which I should have departed than I did, but I will count life's small victories where I can.  I distinctly remember, as an adult with a group of women from church when I did not just walk away, but I said, "I am not comfortable participating in this conversation."  Sometimes, some church women can be the worst in these sorts of conversations (gossip) because they get to hide behind the "bless her hearts," and " she needs our prayers."  We all, in my opinion, need prayers, but our struggles do not need to be casually bantered about, often among folks who have only a modicum of understanding of those struggles, under the guise of "helpfulness." 

Recently, I was caught in a conversation where I said, "I am not comfortable participating in this conversation."  I was told that I was silly, and so I had to admit that might be so, however, my participation in that conversation was not going to happen.  Certainly, in the 62 years of my life, I have said those words not nearly enough, enjoying my sense of superiority discussing another's problems, "for as messed up as my life might be, praise God I am not as screwed up as they are." 

In a conversation with a dear, precious friend, yesterday, she told me something she was going to do for the purpose of saying it out loud, which created for her a bit of accountability.  We rule followers understand that all too well.  She knows that I am not going to check up on her to be sure that she is sticking to her resolution, but saying it to someone, made it real and much more difficult to break for her.  I get that.  Thus, was born this blog.

There are two questions I try to remember to ask myself when I get caught in conversations that make me uncomfortable in my gut.  First, would I say this to this person's face, and secondly, if I were the subject of this conversation, would I feel loved and cared for?  If the answer to either one is no, then I want and need to walk away.  If I am really feeling it, I think I need to say, "this is a conversation in which I am uncomfortable participating."  I am not telling you what you should be doing, but I have every right to let you know that I am uncomfortable, and for my own sense of self and to put forth some effort in some small, tiny way to reflect Jesus in this world, I must listen to what my gut is telling me. 

I do think we all need a confidant, someone with whom we can share the frustrations we feel are caused by others' actions.  I am blessed with two or three people with whom I can share these things.  Otherwise, I might explode...or implode.

There, I have said it out loud.  I have put it in print.  I am accountable to the 2 or 3 of you who read this.  I pray that my knee jerk will be to ask, "would I say this to the person's face, and would I feel loved and cared for if I were the topic of this conversation?"  Until that becomes my default, I pray that I will analyze, and consider before I join the dialogue.

I do not know who said it, but someone said, "speak only that which love requires."  I like that.  If all else fails, then the old standby "if you can't say anything nice, say nothing at all." 

For today, I wish you the power to speak only that which love requires, and I wish you

blessings

Departures

Today, I took some folks to the airport. They were leaving behind their two-year-old for the first time.  There was a huge struggle to be brave-a struggle for the parents. The two-year-old was fine. He had been well-prepared for his parents' departure so he took it in stride.  It brought back memories of other departures in my life.

I remember the first time I left my son. He was ten months old. We went to St. Louis to see baseball games between the Cardinals and the Cubs. 4 games, count them, 4 games in 3 days. Yep, I was blessed with a double-header the last day. Actually, I read Ken Follett's The Eye of the Needle throughout the entire double-header. I needed an escape. But, I digress. The anxious state in which I left would have discouraged a weaker man, as Mr. L had planned this trip for a little get-away. Very thoughtful, but I am sure there were moments he regretted putting forth the effort.

First of all, this was the first time I had ever flown anywhere in a big plane. My dad had a friend named Mr. Butts (giggle, giggle) who, periodically on Sunday afternoons, flew us in his little private plane just around Nashville. I enjoyed any activity with my dad so I always went when asked, even though I was terrified, and barfed every single time upon landing. So, not being very aviation savvy, I had no idea how a big plane stayed in the air, and I was certain we were going to die on the trip. When we were called to board, I felt like a "dead man walking."  I think that emotion is a contributor to the visceral reaction I have to the death penalty.  All was fine, but 35 years later I still feel queasy when I recall that departure.

I remember our departure when we left MP at UGA.  We moved furniture, rearranged pencils in her pencil holder, folded, re-folded clothes, any task to delay our departure. I literally, and I do mean literally, felt physically ill as we said our good-byes. I thought I would not be able to actually walk out of there to the car. Somehow, I managed, and Mr. L and I, through many tears, drove home. 4 years later I sat in the car in a Publix parking lot about to experience yet another departure from MP. She had graduated college, worked a year, and was embarking on a new adventure in the Everglades working with at-risk boys. She would not be home for Thanksgiving, and possibly not Christmas. It was, if memory serves, a three year commitment. She and I both remember it as one of the worst days of our lives.  As an aside, the job and lack of safety were severely misrepresented, and she reluctantly and wisely quit and came home. Now that was a joyful reunion!!!

About three weeks after MP left for UGA, Marshall left for Colorado to work on a ranch. We took him to the airport. That was when you could still accompany loved ones to the gate and wait until they departed. We asked all the questions over and over, " do you have this, did you remember that, do you need any more money, etc..."  At last, the dreaded announcement that his flight was boarding. I believe we waited until his plane taxied away from the gate. I am fairly certain that anyone who passed us in the airport thought we had just put the dead bodies of all our relatives on that plane for no one would be weeping so if they had just sent someone on an adventure to Colorado.  Not long after he returned from Colorado, Marshall went to Atlanta. Oh, why must there be so many departures?  Just come home and stay!  Well, in a manner of speaking, they both have, and I am very happy about that.

When the Davises moved to Minneapolis. Oh, my goodness, I was so blue. Their last 4th of July here, we went to their house to watch Richland Country Club's fireworks. They lived in the perfect spot for heightened enjoyment of the spectacle. Their house was full of boxes. All the things that made that house their home were now packed away. Beth had great snacks for us. I choked them down past my sadness. Every minute seemed so precious as the time of departure was upon us. I rode to Minneapolis with Beth and the girls because Rick was already there working. I remember when they took me to the airport for me to return to Nashville, I told Beth, "do not get out of the car, do not hug me. " I tearfully departed.  We have had many great reunions and somber departures since then. It always helps when we have a date set in the future for our next reunion.

So, departures of all sorts are very difficult. Departures have been on my mind today. Now, onward, for the next four days, I have a wonderful little sidekick to keep me busy. I will probably cry when he departs and goes home...across the street. I know, I know. That is ridiculous. I am forever grateful that my precious ones live in the same town as Fizzie and I.

For today, I wish you a reunion for every departure, and I wish you

Blessings

Of Little or no Interest to Anyone....But Those of us Who Were There

Wednesday....the best day of the week.  Wednesday...the busiest day of the week.  This past Wednesday is the last one this summer that I will have both boys together.  Some schedules have changed so I will have Simmie Pie on Tuesdays or Thursdays instead.  They will still see each other, for Simmie always visits when Max comes to play. 

Nunny came by for a short visit.  The boys love Nunny, and always ask where Do' Do' is when she comes.  Nunny and Do' Do' come as a "set" in the boys' minds.  While here, Nunny said something about the boys remembering these days spent with me.  I queried as to whether she remembered anything from when she was two. She was not sure, but thinks she remembers an event when she was three involving her older brother, Anderson, who shortly afterward died of leukemia.  Simple moments that surround significant events are often forever etched in my memories.

 Four years old is about where my memories begin ~ the traumatic year spent at "Miss" Ruby's daycare.  So many things I remember about that.  Never one to be a squeaky wheel (unless I am in pain, then I can drive the Lord God Almighty bonkers with my complaints - I am dealing with neck pain at the moment) I did not tell my mother how much I hated being at "Miss" Ruby's.  She learned it the day when I was 5, and she was gathering together all my new little dresses for day care and I burst into tears.  After much prodding, she learned that "Miss" Ruby's was NOT my favorite.  I spent my five year old year going to work at the television station with my mom, having lunch at the Krystal with mom and Mae (my grandmother), and just generally having a grand time. 

So, I do not think the boys will remember Wednesday, specifically, but I hope the feelings of love and fun and safety and acceptance will be woven into their beings.  Neither will I remember many of the specifics of the day, but I, too, will have the joy of the time spent together woven into my being. 

I actually planned for the day.  By the time Fizzie arrived with Simmie Pie ~ Fizzie goes up to Simeon's house around 6:25 and waits for him to awaken before he comes down to our house for the day.  What a spectacular grandfather Mr. L is!  The boys adore him.  I sort of do too :-)  By the time they arrived, I had high chairs on the patio, ghost snow made (microwaved Ivory soap, toilet paper and water - it is, in the words of Max "aweshum!")  Tiny, sweet, table grapes were frozen ready to eat.  Yogurt popsicles made.  Homemade banana ice cream (frozen bananas, vanilla, heavy whipping cream put in the blender until smooth, and then frozen) ready for dessert after lunch, Whole Foods' animal crackers and cheddar bunnies ready for rewards (bribes?) when they came inside when asked, wading pool filled, sprinkler suspended to make a sort of "boy wash" in the vein of a carwash.

Max arrived with all his enthusiasm for life, and at 8:30 am our day together began.  It was a great day.  Max loves the sprinkler.  Simeon is a bit more reserved in his enthusiasm for it. 

 

Simeon really prefers to have control over where the water goes rather than just willy nilly running through it.  This picture was not actually taken this Wednesday, but it is indicative of the different approaches to the sprinkler.  The wading pool is a fascination for both boys, however they do want to transfer pea gravel from Rocky, the purple dinosaur,  to it.  I highly discourage this activity, which results in either tears or defiance.  I try to kindly deal with both.  Max was not sure if it was okay to sit in the pool, but once I assured him it was fine, he would stand up and jump in the "deep end."  Our yard is on a slope, which makes a shallow end and a deep end for our little wading pool.  How perfect is that?  This impromptu hug just melted my heart.

 

 

So, this specific hug will not be remembered by these boys, but I pray the feeling of love and "this is my buddy" will.  After lots of time in the pool and sprinkler, it was craft time ~ working with our ghost snow.  It was a bigger hit than I expected.  Not much was molded from it, but the relaxation derived from just squishing it and throwing it was priceless. 

 

 

 

We ate, we played, we watched Daniel Tiger on TV and Winnie the Pooh on the IPad before bedtime.  Max was a champ climbing into the crib on the ladder (my neck).  It has become a great game, but of course the door has to stay shut tightly so they do not climb up the ladder unsupervised.  We water colored, spilled purple star glitter all over the floor, one of us may have had a drink of paint water (oops), we sang and danced and giggled and cried a little.  We shared and we fought over certain things.  All in all, a really great day, that I do not take for granted.  I am very fortunate to be able to have a work schedule that allows me to spend time with the boys.  I am most fortunate that these precious children live where I live.  Again, I do not take any of it for granted, for I know it could be so much different.  Oh, and one thing I learned on Wednesday ~ not just boys can pee in the backyard when desperate.  Seriously, did I, raised by Mary Williams, just use the word "pee" in a blog?

 

For today, I wish you time in the presence of children, and I wish you

 

blessings





Bible Bangin' People Haters

This blog is not based on theology.  I do not have a Ph.d. in anything.  I am not a learned Bible scholar.  Frankly, I am not really all that observant, but I do observe some behavior that both puzzles and convicts me, for I am guilty of most every thing about which I am going to complain.

I am most aware of Bible Bangin' People Haters on Facebook.  Recently, I was like a crazed lunatic trying to remember how to block some one's posts.  I mean it was like my computer (or I) was going to go up in smoke if I did not get this person off my daily news feed......IMMEDIATELY!   Being, the propah Southern girl that I am, I could not just unfriend them, because then they would know and it might hurt their feelings (as if) so I had to hide their posts without them knowing it.  Wow, how direct and brave am I?  But, I have convinced myself that it was to spare their feelings, not because I am such a coward.  Actually, it is because Facebook, in my opinion, is not the place for the airing of grievances.  Obviously, I think a blog is.  Go figure.

This may come as a shock to many of you, but God is not a Republican (nor a Democrat, nor a member of any other political party).  Can that possibly be true?  Yes, yes it is.  Many Bible Bangin' People Haters would vehemently disagree with me, because if God is not a Republican, how can they justify their complete, bordering-on-hatred dislike of Democrats?  Let me be the first to say, that I am not a big Barack Obama fan, and he seems to be the one most despised at the moment by Bible Bangers.  I have also come to not concern myself with "respecting the office" because so many of those who have held the office have disrespected it in ways beyond mentioning.

Sorry to report, but God is not a U.S. citizen, and to further offend, he is not a Southerner.  He is not white.  He is not black.  He does not only live in the affluent suburbs.  He actually may be even harder to find there.  He lives in ghettos, and prisons, and mental hospitals, and under bridges, and in drug rehab centers.  He walks beside the offended AND the offensive.  He has all the answers, but he does not beat us over the head with them, but rather coaxes and loves us to find them.  This is very much unlike those of us Bible Bangers who do not have all the answers but think we do, so we bang people over the head with scripture, when in fact what we might better do is hold them with the love of the Lord. 

Forgive me if I sound ignorant, but isn't this Bible we read so diligently a means for teaching us the true nature of God?  Wasn't the meaning of Jesus' life to show us the face of God?  Bible banging and people hating are incompatible.  They should not be able to coexist.  In my opinion, and my opinion is all I have here, we cannot be a lover of the teachings in the Bible and hate people.  We cannot.  I may not be a Barack Obama fan, but God is, and not because he is president of the United States.  God is a fan of all his children, and make no mistake, every living human being is a child of God, not just white, protestant, middle class, Southern Americans.  So, I better get about the business of being a fan of every person I meet no matter how frustrating I may find them. 

This does not mean that I have to agree with their politics, their conduct, their lifestyle, whatever, but it does mean that I am called to love them, wholly and completely.  Not warm fuzzy, oh-they-make-me-feel-so-good love, but the down in the trenches, hard choice of treating others with respect and dignity, and yes, love even when I do not feel like it~perhaps, especially when I do not feel like it. 

If you are a FB friend who is a Bible Bangin' People Hater, I love you, but I will block you.  I am fairly certain that your life will continue just fine without being on my news feed, but I hope all of us will think twice before we blast away at one person, or a whole group of people, especially, if we call ourselves lovers of The Word.  It is unseemly.

For today, I wish us all opportunities to choose love, and I wish you

blessings 

Why I Don't Do Church

I do not do Church because of the scripture Hebrews 10:25 concerning not "forsaking the assembly."  Growing up, I believed that was a threat, and if I failed to attend a service, there was a fiendishly delighted god just waiting to take his wide-tipped Magic Marker and put a giant black mark by my name in the Lamb's Book of Life..., or worse, a grieving, sorrowful god, saddened by the fact that he must turn his face from me for my lack of obedience.  Let me say right now, for those in my youth who by word or deed made me view Hebrews 10:25 in a frightful way, I appreciate your diligence and your ethics and your desire to please the God you serve.  I know your words and actions were from a genuinely loving heart, seeking to help me "get to heaven."  I appreciate you, but I do not do Church for that.

I do not do Church because I am looking for a good, moral, Biblical lesson taught with great oratory skill.  I can stay home and watch a preacher on TV or drop in any of some 1,000 places of worship in my home town.  I do not do Church for that.

I do not do Church to keep myself unspotted from the "wicked" people out there "in the world."  It would be a woeful misconception to think that is possible anywhere, including Church , because, guess what, I am there.   I do not do Church for that. 

I do not do Church because I need more friends and a social life, and that is a good place to find them.  Actually, the older I get, the more I realize that I am not really looking for a "social life."  I do not do Church for that. 

BUT.....

I do Church because of Hebrews 10:25.  I now think of it as a gift.   For me, and I can and am speaking only for myself, the assembly is very important.   I have come to believe that these assemblies we are encouraged to not forsake are for our good, and give us the opportunity to be of some good to others.  I find that those who assemble can do so much more together than they can individually.  The particular community with which I work asked us to give $60,000.00 for a Habitat for Humanity build.  We raised over $100,000.00.  I gave a miniscule, I mean teeny tiny, part of that.  Others gave less (maybe), still others gave much more.  None of us could have done it alone, but together we were able to do mighty deeds.   I do Church for this. 

I do Church because I need to hear what learned people are saying.  I am blessed in my particular church community by young people who challenge me with their study, their wisdom, their humility, and, yes, their skill in articulating lessons of great value. I am grateful for their introduction of people of other faiths and beliefs and thoughts.  I am forever grateful to them for freeing me from believing that I have to have all the answers.  What a blessing. I need their encouragement.  I do Church because older, wiser people share the lessons they have learned along the way.  I do Church because there are people who can actually in 3 minutes or less, give a synopsis of Paradise Lost.   I do Church for this. 

I do Church because it reminds me that I am wounded and flawed and that the only response that is appropriate for me to offer those who are also wounded and flawed is the grace and mercy I solicit from them.  I do Church because together a place like Next Right Step shines a light on God's love for those struggling with addiction.  Everyone is  held accountable - but held accountable in love and community, and when one grows too weary to deal with another's pain, someone else stands in the gap.  Not all of us are called to work in this area, but all of us together can encourage and love and support in myriad ways the work.  I do Church for this.

I do Church because there are people there who love my grandsons, and do not hesitate to tell them and me.   I do Church because on one blessed Sunday morning I was given the privilege of hugging a young friend just about ready to deliver her first child.  We, alongside others, walked through dark days of loss and deep feelings of hopelessness that a baby would ever come to this family.   Now, we share the joy of expectation.  While hugging that young woman, another young friend came up with whom I have walked through similarly dark days, gorgeous baby boy in tow.  It was his first Sunday for the assembly.  What a joy and a gift to assemble with these glowing examples of.....I don't know....Church?  I stood and talked with another friend who recently lost her father.  She is grieving so, but that assembly bolsters her spirit for another week of living her new normal with her father gone - well, physically gone.  He will always live within her, her siblings, their children etc.  I do Church because of the relatively new friend, the ever-serving, new friend,  who shouts across the foyer to tell me hi and give me a hug.  She, just a week before had lifted a burden from me, in her usual efficient, selfless way.  I do Church because it gives me the opportunity to walk hand-in-hand with those who struggle, as others have walked and continue to walk with me.  I do Church so we can claim the victory together.  I do Church for this. 

For today, I wish you blessings,

Is God a Dropout?

Recently, I have seen on FB things like "put God back in schools," "let's get God back into our schools etc.."  I get the meaning, I do. I love to hear a prayer before a sporting event asking God's protection on players, and soliciting good sportsmanship. I make no apology for believing in the power of prayer, though I must be honest in admitting I have neither explanation nor understanding why some prayers seem to be answered and others do not.  I don't know, yet I still believe, and, frankly, I am not sure why my faith is unwavering. Certainly, I have been disappointed on numerous occasions when my prayers seem to have gone unheard.  Maybe that is a blog for another day.

My contention is that God has not dropped out of our schools.  I think He is present in ways far more powerful than a worded prayer. God is in the student who chooses to be inclusive rather than exclusive, and makes a point to be kind to classmates in spite of their popularity or lack thereof. God is in the student who stands up for those being bullied.  God is also present when that same student understands that the bully is hurting and scared. God shows up when a student realizes he forgot to study for a test but chooses to take a bad grade rather than cheat.  God is in the student who makes the hard choice to not go along with the crowd.

God is in the teacher who diligently prepares for class in order to give her students her best effort. God is in the teacher who guides and corrects and does not belittle and berate. God is in the teacher who taps into his or her creativity to develop different ways to teach so that unique learners have a chance at success. God is in that teacher who comes early and stays late. God is in teachers who teach students, not subjects, who understand the whole point of this thing is to create an environment where kids learn to be productive adults. God is in the teacher who demands excellence but recognizes effort when excellence is not achieved.

God is in the cafeteria worker who puts a little extra food on a plate for a child whose only meal that day will be at school. God is in the janitor who cleans well so that children have a safe environment. God is in the principal who holds teachers, parents, and students accountable. God is in the coach who knows it is not about the game, it is about life. God is in the school bookkeeper who can be trusted to handle funds properly.  God is in the school nurse who lovingly tends to runny noses, vomiting children, and those who just need a little attention. 

God is not a dropout.  God does not need an invitation back into our schools. He does not need an act of Congress to be present, nor can laws keep Him away. He is there. 

For today, I wish you an awareness of God's presence and I wish you

blessings