It’s been a rough week, folks. Not necessarily at work—though I’ve had my fair share of rough patches. But inside my head and on the shards of my broken heart.
Those of you who have been reading my notes for awhile will know about whom I speak when I mention Kay. I write about her each year around the second week of November, yet this year’s writing is early because of how heavily she’s been on my mind this week.
It started Sunday night. As I prepared to go to my dad’s associational meeting that evening, I found myself filled with unexplainable anxiety. I wasn’t late. I wasn’t on the program. I wasn’t scheduled to see anyone new. I was just deep down, butterflies in my stomach, back quivering anxious.
As I stood in line to register, though, I realized where the feeling was coming from: The last time I went to an associational meeting at that church and stood in that same line, I was standing in line behind Kay.
The first wave of deep grief hit on my way to praise team practice that night. In addition to remembering Kay’s death, I realized that most of the people who were in my life at that time are gone, too—not to physical death but to time’s natural passing.
That wave of grief colored much of my Monday, and then another, much deeper, wave of grief overwhelmed me on Tuesday. I remembered every vivid detail of the last moments I saw Kay, the phone conversation that told me something was wrong, the hours that I stood outside her apartment waiting for the rescue squad prepare her body for transport, the minutes after I got home, the days I spent helping clean her apartment--the sights, the smells, the confusion, the hurt. I sobbed on the way to counseling. I sobbed in counseling. I sobbed on my way home from counseling. I sobbed as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. And I woke up yesterday feeling like I’d been run over by a truck…
Sunday is homecoming at church. The choir is singing “Find Us Faithful” for our choral anthem:
We're pilgrims on the journey
Of the narrow road
And those who've gone before us line the way
Cheering on the faithful, encouraging the weary
Their lives a stirring testament to God's sustaining grace
Surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses
Let us run the race not only for the prize
But as those who've gone before us
Let us leave to those behind us
The heritage of faithfulness passed on through godly lives
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone
And our children sift through all we've left behind
May the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover
Become the light that leads them to the road we each must find
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
For some reason, the choir has struggled with this anthem. As we practiced last night and I listened to their hesitation in singing, I thought about the message of the song—the message of single-minded devotion to God that I’ve been trying to get the choir to share—and I thought about…Kay.
I thought about her cheering on the faithful and encouraging the weary. I revisited those moments of literally sifting through all she’d left behind. And I stopped rehearsal and leaned against my podium and shared some of the burden that I’d been carrying all week.
My choir listened. My choir heard. And then they sang the anthem the best they’d ever sung it shortly afterward.
I imagine Kay would have been happy had she been sitting in the sanctuary with us last night. I imagine she would have sat on the front pew with her eyes closed, hands in receiving position, smiling as she listened—just as she listened to my band play on the last morning of her life. And I imagine she’d be smiling with me now—the day after the day after completely falling apart—celebrating just how far I’ve come and just how much farther there is to go.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
Monday, October 27, 2014
Defining Moments: I Think I'll Ride A Bike Now
10 Nesmith Street
Tabor City, NC 28463
910-653-2216
Such was my address and phone number for most of my childhood.
And what a wonderful place to grow up:
A dead end street lined with beautiful live oak trees,
Not much traffic,
Children laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns,
Running to the railroad tracks to wave at the conductor…
Nesmith Street began with railroad tracks and ended with a forest.
While I realize, now, that this probably wasn’t a great idea,
We—the Nesmith Street Gang—spent a lot of time racing on the railroad tracks and leaving coins to be squished by the train.
We also made it a point to race for the train tracks when we heard the conductor blowing his whistle.
We had a childhood fascination with seeing the conductor wave at us,
So I suppose it only makes sense that on the day that
Everyone else hopped on their bikes and raced to the end of the street,
Leaving little Dee running behind in their dust,
Little Dee decided that it was time to learn to ride a bike.
At the boundary of my childhood paradise,
where the railroad tracks hugged Nesmith Street,
having missed the conductor’s wave,
I, Little Dee, began learning to ride a bike right then and there.
It didn’t take long.
I picked it up like a childhood pro.
(Or at least I think I did?)
And before long I had my very own BMX-ish-like bike and
was riding with the rest of the gang.
As I got older and my world expanded beyond Nesmith Street,
My bicycle took me there.
I rode to the church.
I rode to the school on workdays.
I rode to see friends.
I even rode to the next town over.
My bicycle gave me flight
Until my car expanded the world beyond two wheels.
My favorite professional artist, Fabio Napoleoni,
Has a painting entitled “Sometimes I Miss My Childhood,”
And sometimes, dear friends, I do:
Not much traffic,
A lot of laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns, and
Riding bikes to the railroad tracks with the very best of friends.
Tabor City, NC 28463
910-653-2216
Such was my address and phone number for most of my childhood.
And what a wonderful place to grow up:
A dead end street lined with beautiful live oak trees,
Not much traffic,
Children laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns,
Running to the railroad tracks to wave at the conductor…
Nesmith Street began with railroad tracks and ended with a forest.
While I realize, now, that this probably wasn’t a great idea,
We—the Nesmith Street Gang—spent a lot of time racing on the railroad tracks and leaving coins to be squished by the train.
We also made it a point to race for the train tracks when we heard the conductor blowing his whistle.
We had a childhood fascination with seeing the conductor wave at us,
So I suppose it only makes sense that on the day that
Everyone else hopped on their bikes and raced to the end of the street,
Leaving little Dee running behind in their dust,
Little Dee decided that it was time to learn to ride a bike.
At the boundary of my childhood paradise,
where the railroad tracks hugged Nesmith Street,
having missed the conductor’s wave,
I, Little Dee, began learning to ride a bike right then and there.
It didn’t take long.
I picked it up like a childhood pro.
(Or at least I think I did?)
And before long I had my very own BMX-ish-like bike and
was riding with the rest of the gang.
As I got older and my world expanded beyond Nesmith Street,
My bicycle took me there.
I rode to the church.
I rode to the school on workdays.
I rode to see friends.
I even rode to the next town over.
My bicycle gave me flight
Until my car expanded the world beyond two wheels.
My favorite professional artist, Fabio Napoleoni,
Has a painting entitled “Sometimes I Miss My Childhood,”
Not much traffic,
A lot of laughing,
Building forts in the woods,
Jumping in pools and on trampolines,
Playing basketball and football,
Having wars with cap-guns, and
Riding bikes to the railroad tracks with the very best of friends.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Just Two Haiku-like Thoughts About Working In The Helping Professions
One
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Service changes lives.
Two
This important work:
Not by choice alone. Call leads.
Mustard seed of faith.
------
If you have dedicated your life to helping and serving others, thank you.
If you know someone who has done the same, tell him/her thank you as well.
Not because it’s a special week.
Just because.
This challenging thing:
More than a job. Jobs pay bills.
Service changes lives.
Two
This important work:
Not by choice alone. Call leads.
Mustard seed of faith.
------
If you have dedicated your life to helping and serving others, thank you.
If you know someone who has done the same, tell him/her thank you as well.
Not because it’s a special week.
Just because.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Defining Moments: If You Go, I'll Go
Third grade.
Here’s Hope, Jesus Cares For You national revival.
Associational worship service in Whiteville.
The invitation.
Butterflies in stomach.
Heart pounding.
A powerful, new feeling fills me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says to me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say again to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says back to me again.
I went.
My pastor—my dad—was praying with someone.
I prayed with a stranger pastor.
My best friend did the same.
On the bus waiting to go home.
Bouncing from seat to seat.
Laughing.
Filled with unexplainable joy.
Baptismal pool.
Long silence.
Look up.
“Daddy, hurry up.”
His baby.
He was crying.
“I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Now.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to God.
“As you, I’ll be with you,” God says to me.
“I’m going,” I say to God.
“Day by day. One step at a time. I am with you,” God says.
“Always?”
“Always.”
Amen and amen.
Here’s Hope, Jesus Cares For You national revival.
Associational worship service in Whiteville.
The invitation.
Butterflies in stomach.
Heart pounding.
A powerful, new feeling fills me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says to me.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say again to my best friend.
“If you go, I’ll go,” she says back to me again.
I went.
My pastor—my dad—was praying with someone.
I prayed with a stranger pastor.
My best friend did the same.
On the bus waiting to go home.
Bouncing from seat to seat.
Laughing.
Filled with unexplainable joy.
Baptismal pool.
Long silence.
Look up.
“Daddy, hurry up.”
His baby.
He was crying.
“I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Now.
“If you go, I’ll go,” I say to God.
“As you, I’ll be with you,” God says to me.
“I’m going,” I say to God.
“Day by day. One step at a time. I am with you,” God says.
“Always?”
“Always.”
Amen and amen.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Defining Moments: Harry Potter
It’s all Jack’s fault.
I’m currently reading The Blood of Olympus, the fifth and final book in Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus series. But before I started The Blood of Olympus, though, I was reading Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets for the third time. I’ve seen all of the movies, too. They kept me company while packing my apartment in SC.
Like I said, it’s all Jack’s fault.
What Nephew Jack reads, Aunt Dee reads. Sometimes we get to talk about the stories. Sometimes we don’t. Either way, it’s opened a whole new world of story for me, and I’m very glad.
Harry Potter used to intimidate me. I saw the books and how many pages they held and I thought to myself, “I’d never make it through that.” Even after I started listening to books on CD, I still considered Harry Potter a task too daunting to undertake.
I’d heard how wonderful the books were. I’d had numerous people recommend them to me. I was with Angela when she bought the sixth book on CD many years ago. We were on our way to a wedding in Connecticut and she was so anxious to hear Rowling’s latest installment that we stopped at a Wal-mart for the purchase along the way! She listened while I slept, and I remember waking up, listening, and being completely lost. Little did I know that a few years later, I’d be listening to that exact book, no longer lost, and totally thankful that Angela had purchased it.
She purchased all of the other books, too, and had them in a shoe box at her house when I decided to read the series (with my ears). Jack had started it (with his eyes). He loved it. I wanted to be able to speak with him intelligently. I had plenty of listening time as I drove around SC for work. It was time.
I think that the fact that I’ve started the series for the third time is testament to the fact that I liked it. And not only did I like it, but I also accidentally allowed it to change the way I think.
Don’t worry, folks, I haven’t allowed witchcraft and wizardry to take over my mind.
But I do often wish I had an invisibility cloak and the ability to disparate.
I do find myself comparing painful experiences and places to dementors.
I often imagine myself in Hogwarts and desire to meet Dobby.
I ponder the series’ themes of light and darkness, good and evil, friendship and family.
I marvel at the creativity that God has placed in the human mind.
And I connect with the notion that love has the power to withstand evil…lightning scar or not.
After all, it’s Love that I’ve built my life upon…and it’s love that leads us to read books and opens hearts and sets us free…
I’m currently reading The Blood of Olympus, the fifth and final book in Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus series. But before I started The Blood of Olympus, though, I was reading Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets for the third time. I’ve seen all of the movies, too. They kept me company while packing my apartment in SC.
Like I said, it’s all Jack’s fault.
What Nephew Jack reads, Aunt Dee reads. Sometimes we get to talk about the stories. Sometimes we don’t. Either way, it’s opened a whole new world of story for me, and I’m very glad.
Harry Potter used to intimidate me. I saw the books and how many pages they held and I thought to myself, “I’d never make it through that.” Even after I started listening to books on CD, I still considered Harry Potter a task too daunting to undertake.
I’d heard how wonderful the books were. I’d had numerous people recommend them to me. I was with Angela when she bought the sixth book on CD many years ago. We were on our way to a wedding in Connecticut and she was so anxious to hear Rowling’s latest installment that we stopped at a Wal-mart for the purchase along the way! She listened while I slept, and I remember waking up, listening, and being completely lost. Little did I know that a few years later, I’d be listening to that exact book, no longer lost, and totally thankful that Angela had purchased it.
She purchased all of the other books, too, and had them in a shoe box at her house when I decided to read the series (with my ears). Jack had started it (with his eyes). He loved it. I wanted to be able to speak with him intelligently. I had plenty of listening time as I drove around SC for work. It was time.
I think that the fact that I’ve started the series for the third time is testament to the fact that I liked it. And not only did I like it, but I also accidentally allowed it to change the way I think.
Don’t worry, folks, I haven’t allowed witchcraft and wizardry to take over my mind.
But I do often wish I had an invisibility cloak and the ability to disparate.
I do find myself comparing painful experiences and places to dementors.
I often imagine myself in Hogwarts and desire to meet Dobby.
I ponder the series’ themes of light and darkness, good and evil, friendship and family.
I marvel at the creativity that God has placed in the human mind.
And I connect with the notion that love has the power to withstand evil…lightning scar or not.
After all, it’s Love that I’ve built my life upon…and it’s love that leads us to read books and opens hearts and sets us free…
Monday, October 13, 2014
Come To Me...And Rest
One of my biggest accomplishments of all of my years at camp was laying the foundation for my friend Humphries to learn to play the guitar.
A couple of years after we first played together, I drove to Humphries house to visit. Naturally, we busted out our guitars and began to play. A little while later, we’d written a song.
It’s a simple song. The words come from scripture. I honestly don’t remember why it emerged that day. But it did. And it’s a song that I often find myself singing…especially when I’m tired…which is a lot…because working two very public jobs while also trying to be a good friend and family member, responsible citizen, and healthy self is tiring.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the importance of rest—for both the body and soul. We are our best selves when we are our rested selves. We are only able to project peace and joy when we are our rested selves. We need rest. After all, God created rest through the very act of resting.
And so…during yesterday’s early service…I sang that little song that Humphries and I wrote…and it’s been the calming earworm in my mind ever since…and while you can’t hear the music right now, I pray you take comfort in the words…and remember to rest.
Come To Me
7/3/10
Matthew 11:28-29
with Amy Humphries
Come to me
All you who labor and are tired
Come to me
And I will give you rest
Take my easy yoke
And learn from me
For I am gentle
And humble in heart
Yes, you will find rest
For your weary soul
Just come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
Come to me
A couple of years after we first played together, I drove to Humphries house to visit. Naturally, we busted out our guitars and began to play. A little while later, we’d written a song.
It’s a simple song. The words come from scripture. I honestly don’t remember why it emerged that day. But it did. And it’s a song that I often find myself singing…especially when I’m tired…which is a lot…because working two very public jobs while also trying to be a good friend and family member, responsible citizen, and healthy self is tiring.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the importance of rest—for both the body and soul. We are our best selves when we are our rested selves. We are only able to project peace and joy when we are our rested selves. We need rest. After all, God created rest through the very act of resting.
And so…during yesterday’s early service…I sang that little song that Humphries and I wrote…and it’s been the calming earworm in my mind ever since…and while you can’t hear the music right now, I pray you take comfort in the words…and remember to rest.
Come To Me
7/3/10
Matthew 11:28-29
with Amy Humphries
Come to me
All you who labor and are tired
Come to me
And I will give you rest
Take my easy yoke
And learn from me
For I am gentle
And humble in heart
Yes, you will find rest
For your weary soul
Just come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
Come to me
Monday, October 6, 2014
Defining Moments: Envy My Massage
If I were independently wealthy, I would purchase lake, beach, and mountains houses for use by my family and friends and I would invite teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry to use the houses for either super cheap or free. I would also hire a counselor to offer super cheap or free counseling sessions to teachers, and I would hire a massage therapist to do the same. Teachers, social workers, and persons in the ministry are notorious for selflessly giving themselves to others while doing very little for their own bodies and souls. I’d like to see that change. If only I were independently wealthy…
Whether she meant to or not, Boss once let me know that I was wealthy enough to provide myself with one monthly luxury: a massage. I remember her telling me that she was a member at Massage Envy. She said that with as much driving as she did and the stress that she carried, she needed it. She liked the flexibility of the franchise. She felt that the monthly membership was a good deal. And she felt that taking care of her body was something God-honoring.
So I joined, too.
I did well at scheduling and keeping monthly my massage appointments for most of my time in South Carolina. I saw a few different massage therapists and enjoyed talking with them while they loosened the tension in my body.
During one particular massage with a non-Christian massage therapist, as I was talking through a breakout session on compassion that I was scheduled to lead the next day, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people who intentionally hurt and judgmentally damn other people. I confessed that I don't understand how God can be okay with this and then I heard a statement that I’ve remembered ever since:
"Maybe God has compassion on them."
Maybe God has compassion on them—on each of us, really—in the same way that I have compassion on my students who come from horrible home lives and act out of the only brokenness they know. Maybe God believes in each of our abilities to rise above our limitations and shortcomings and maybe that belief is God’s ultimate compassion.
After work today, I called my local-ish Massage Envy to see if they had any appointments available tonight. They did. As I lay on the table feeling today’s massage therapist work out the kinks and knots that have becoming increasingly more painful in the past few months, I had to make myself relax. I found my thoughts wandering back and forth between things I need to do, people for whom I desired to pray, and this line from a Sara Groves song:
“I’ve remembered the body and the mind but dissected the soul.”
I love this line. I love that it sings of the importance of a holistic approach to life. I’m mindful of it every time I get a massage, and I’m mindful that, for me, the line should read, “I’ve remembered the soul and the mind but neglected the body.”
I decided today that I’m going to attempt to be more intentional about not neglecting the body, mind, or soul. And I’m going to do this by making an effort to actually use the monthly Massage Envy membership that Boss encouraged me to get. I don’t make a lot of money and I can’t afford to buy vacation homes—but I can afford this. Thanks, Boss, for helping me realize that sometimes there are things we can’t afford not to do.
Whether she meant to or not, Boss once let me know that I was wealthy enough to provide myself with one monthly luxury: a massage. I remember her telling me that she was a member at Massage Envy. She said that with as much driving as she did and the stress that she carried, she needed it. She liked the flexibility of the franchise. She felt that the monthly membership was a good deal. And she felt that taking care of her body was something God-honoring.
So I joined, too.
I did well at scheduling and keeping monthly my massage appointments for most of my time in South Carolina. I saw a few different massage therapists and enjoyed talking with them while they loosened the tension in my body.
During one particular massage with a non-Christian massage therapist, as I was talking through a breakout session on compassion that I was scheduled to lead the next day, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people who intentionally hurt and judgmentally damn other people. I confessed that I don't understand how God can be okay with this and then I heard a statement that I’ve remembered ever since:
"Maybe God has compassion on them."
Maybe God has compassion on them—on each of us, really—in the same way that I have compassion on my students who come from horrible home lives and act out of the only brokenness they know. Maybe God believes in each of our abilities to rise above our limitations and shortcomings and maybe that belief is God’s ultimate compassion.
After work today, I called my local-ish Massage Envy to see if they had any appointments available tonight. They did. As I lay on the table feeling today’s massage therapist work out the kinks and knots that have becoming increasingly more painful in the past few months, I had to make myself relax. I found my thoughts wandering back and forth between things I need to do, people for whom I desired to pray, and this line from a Sara Groves song:
“I’ve remembered the body and the mind but dissected the soul.”
I love this line. I love that it sings of the importance of a holistic approach to life. I’m mindful of it every time I get a massage, and I’m mindful that, for me, the line should read, “I’ve remembered the soul and the mind but neglected the body.”
I decided today that I’m going to attempt to be more intentional about not neglecting the body, mind, or soul. And I’m going to do this by making an effort to actually use the monthly Massage Envy membership that Boss encouraged me to get. I don’t make a lot of money and I can’t afford to buy vacation homes—but I can afford this. Thanks, Boss, for helping me realize that sometimes there are things we can’t afford not to do.
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