The Hopelessly Romantic, Big-Picture Seeing, Long-Term Remembering, Single Me

I am a hopeless romantic. I’m a sucker for a good love story and I always pull for love to win.

I am a helpless big-picture see-er. I fast forward situations to all possible ends and have to work very hard to stay focused on the present.

I am a long-term remember-er. I recall sights, sounds, smells, and emotions long after they have passed and I can be swept back through memory by a simple breeze.

And I am a 34-year-old single woman. I want to love and be loved…yet I fear not finding that love…and I remember Kay, who gave her life to others in ministry, but died alone. [Kay Simpson was my mentor and friend.]

I know you may be thinking that I’m still young. That I must not give up on finding love—that we never know what God has in store for us—that God’s plans and timing are perfect—that God is preparing someone just for me. And those thoughts could be true. But what if they’re not? What if, like many women in ministry that I know, love—as in monogamous relationship, marriage love—is not in the cards for me? What if that desire of my heart is never fulfilled? I guess time will tell and I’ll learn to adjust. But it doesn’t stop the wondering…and it doesn’t mean that I, and many people like me, don’t sometimes feel very lonely.

A good friend’s dad died unexpectedly last week. He went for his morning run and never returned. His heart that he had been trying to keep healthy just gave out. He died immediately. His family is devastated. They weren’t prepared to lose their husband, dad, granddad, brother, and uncle. Are we ever prepared for death? But he’s gone…Yet he’s not fully be gone because he lives vividly in his family’s hearts—especially his wife’s—his partner—the person he cared for above all others—the person who knew him through and through, inside and out. His family is held together with love. They will take care of his estate. They will sort through his life. They will intentionally and deeply grieve his loss. They will not be too busy to close his life well. He physically died alone…but in life, he died surrounded by a partner and family—and church and community—who adored him dearly.

I am a daughter. A granddaughter. A niece. A sister. An aunt. A friend. I am loved. I know that I am loved. And I do not discount the fact that I am loved. But I am no one’s partner—I am not the most important person in the world to anyone—the apple of someone’s eye—the first person to be greeted in the morning and the last person to be spoken to at night. And sometimes, on rainy days like today, on days when we remember those who have gone before us and whose lives have been lost to give us the freedom to love, my hopelessly romantic, big-picture seeing, long-term remembering, single self gets the best of me and thinks thoughts like these…thoughts that I rarely share…but that are always there.

I wrote this poem over twelve years ago after a hospital visit. I walked past a lot patients who were lying alone. I found it today…

Alone
In a small, drab room
Head propped up
Gown draped open
Lying the hospital bed
She waits

…Body crippled
Mind weakened
Vanity stripped
Humility forced
Fear induced
Loneliness sets in…

Being single is okay?

Complete freedom to do
What I want
When I want
How I want
Where I want
(Following God’s call
Of course)

No wedding woes, honeymoon horrors, or first year fits
No birthing pains, runny noses, dirty diapers, or constant spit

Financial freedom, freedom from fights
About where to eat, where to live, who to visit, who is right

Fly by the seat of my pants,
Up, up and away!
Not falling to the ranks of marriage shows strength
Independence!

Being single is okay!

Alone
In a small, drab room
Head propped up
Gown draped open
Lying the hospital bed
She waits

But no one comes
Friends gone away
Family doesn’t exist
Being single is okay?

I don’t want to suffer alone.

I don’t want to die alone.

I don’t want to live alone.

Oh God…for all who are lonely…from fear, longing, missing, remembering, out-living, lost love, a wandering heart, distance, hurt, grief…I pray this prayer of love and peace and wholeness today. Give us strength. Give us purpose. Give us the wisdom to love and support one another. Help us to make the most of today, every day. Amen.

Is It Really Like Falling In Love?

The other morning as I stumbled around my apartment in the zombie-like state into which I awaken almost every day, I caught myself singing along to the song on the radio.

When I first moved to Columbia, the radio at Mary’s house (where I first lived) was set to the Christian music station. Even though they play the same songs over and over again, I got used to the morning show and have listened to it ever since—subconsciously learning the words to a whole bunch of songs that I otherwise would not know.

So there I was singing, “It’s more like falling in love than something to believe in. More like losing my heart than giving my allegiance. Caught up, called out, come take a look at me now. It's like I'm falling, oh, It's like I'm falling in love,” when I suddenly thought, “Wait a minute. No it’s not. Let me listen to more words.” So I did. And I thought, “I don’t really agree with the words to this song…” but I kept singing anyway because the chorus is catchy.

I think the point of the song is that religion alone does not sustain us—that we must have a relationship with God in order to live a life devoted to God and God’s redemptive work through Christ—and I can agree with that point. We will fail religious doctrine—we will cross inappropriate lines, misuse words, break obligations, abandon creeds, and just flat out goof. If doing everything right by doing nothing wrong is our ultimate goal, then we’ll never achieve our goal. However, if feeling as if we’re in love with God and on an emotional and spiritual high all the time is our ultimate goal, then we’ll never achieve that goal either. God does move in powerful ways at various times in our lives, but mostly, I think, God is just quietly with us, day in and day out, guiding us and working with us as we seek to live into our understanding of who God has made us to be and how we can best share and live God’s message of love and redemption in this world.

There have been many times when I haven’t been able to feel God. I knew God was with me. I knew God loved me. But I couldn’t understand God. I couldn’t understand life. And I couldn’t feel anything other than the hurt and sadness that surrounded my heart. I don’t know about you, but if I don’t feel something when I’m falling in love—if I don’t understand it and coast on it in a state of elated bliss—then I think twice about how I’m falling. If, after long enough, I don’t feel anything in return, then I begin to walk away and toward another love. If, however, I believe in the love—if I believe in where it’s been and where it’s going and I’ve committed to seeing it through and there’s nothing fundamentally wrong or unhealthy about the love—then I will stay—because I believe in something more than the warm fuzzy feelings and elated laughter and tears of joy that I feel in that initial period of falling in love.

In those times when I can’t feel God, it’s not because I’m not trying. It’s not because my life is racked with sin. It’s not because I’m doing anything wrong. I pray. I read. I write. I keep seek. I try to stay grounded by Christian community. I ask for spiritual direction. I sit in silence. I talk to God all day, every day—sometimes even praying for characters in books I’m reading!—and I know that God is with me. I know that I am loved. But it’s not because of a feeling. It’s because of a quiet, gentle presence that is steadily living, moving, and breathing into my life… even when I cannot see or hear or feel or understand.

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted one simple word: Balance. I jokingly responded with the word: Beam. But in all actuality, I thought, “Yes. Balance. Balance is what we need so desperately in this world.” And balance is what we need in faith, too. Like I said, I agree that religion cannot sustain us. But I also believe that relationship based off of feeling alone cannot sustain us either…and I fear that too many of us are relying on our emotions these days—on our feelings—and that we’re doing the body of Christ damage to the body of Christ. As I finish my Cookie Mocha Frappuccino lite, I liken feeling-based relationship to living solely off of caffeine and sugar. It’s really good while it lasts…but what happens when it wears off? What happens is that we must keep eating vegetables and fruits and proteins to sustain us every day and allow Starbucks to be a special treat.

Chances are good that I’ll sing along the next time I hear, “It’s More Like Falling In Love.” Thanks to the Christian music station, the lyrics and melody are firmly planted in my mind. But chances are good, too, that I’ll think twice about what I’m singing and possibly even change the words to more accurately reflect my belief.

What about you? What do you believe? And have you heard a song lately that made you stop and question the words—Christian or not?

[What is Christian music anyway? If being a Christian means being a conscious follower of Christ, then how can music itself consciously choose to follow Christ since it doesn’t have a brain? Shouldn’t it be music written by Christians instead of Christian music? And can’t music written by Christians be music that doesn’t make it to the Christian radio station? And how did the radio station become Christian if it doesn’t have a brain? Isn’t it a radio station managed by Christians? Isn’t Christian a noun instead of an adjective? But that…that’s another note…thanks to another friend who posted a blog by Derek Webb :-).]

Rewards, Rewards, Rewards!

I spent the latter part of my day on Friday and the first part of my day on Saturday at Associational Leadership Training at Camp La Vida. For this year’s training, I was responsible for planning Friday night’s worship service, helping lead a conference entitled, “How To Lead A Conference: Displays, Visuals, PowerPoint Presentations, and Handouts,” and leading the Student Consultant conference on Saturday.

As I was setting up for Friday night’s worship service and practicing PowerPoint with Cindy—in preparing for our conference we learned that practice is important :-)—our state president, Lil, zoomed into the building to deliver her conference materials for the next day. As she was zooming back out to her car, Lil told me that she had a present for me. When she returned, she presented me with three gallon sized bags full of Coke rewards points. I’ve never seen so many Coke rewards points in my life! (See today’s picture for the three bags, one of which accidently exploded in my office.)

When we were together last, I rescued a bottle cap from Lil. [Lil always has a little bottle of Diet Coke with her.] I told her that I saved Coke rewards points and that I’d gotten a food carrier that I use to bring treats to the office and a garden set that I use to tend the office plants. Lil said she’d been saving the points, too, but that she’d never done anything with them.

I didn’t think anything more of that conversation until Lil presented me with those three stuffed bags on Friday. Evidently, she’d gone home and decided to give her collection to me so that I could use it to get something for camp or the office or myself. I told her thank you at least five times over the weekend and then began putting in the points today. At only 120 points per week (which is 40 bottle caps), I’m thinking it’ll take me a few months to complete Lil’s collection…and then I’ll have more to add from my other collection agents: June Gail (my aunt), Shearin (my aunt), Mom (my mom), Donna (my coworker), Christina (my friend), and Neighbors on the corner (my neighbors on the corner).

As I’ve reflected on this Coke Rewards Extravaganza, I’ve realized two things:

1)I’m very blessed to have people who are willing to collect rewards points for me because I decided they shouldn’t go to waste. It seems like such a simple thing to collect a rewards number—and I suppose it is (unless you’re trash diving)—but thinking about it makes me truly grateful because it makes me realize that in the moment that someone consciously chooses to keep a rewards point rather than throw it away, then she is, at least for a second, thinking of me…not to mention giving me a gift instead of keeping the rewards for herself. I find this very touching and do not take it for granted.

2)The fact that Lil remembered our Coke rewards point conversation when I didn’t think twice about it both humbles and frightens me. I have a lot of conversations with a lot of people, and I, of all people—the textbook definition of the love language of Words of Affirmation—should be constantly aware of the power of words…yet I forget…and I undoubtedly say a lot of stupid things that stick in people’s minds long after I’ve forgotten I’ve said them. Talking about Coke rewards wasn’t stupid. Don’t hear that. I’ve just been reminded that people remember my words longer than I remember saying them and that I, therefore, need to be more mindful of this fact and seek, even more earnestly, to use my words for good…just as I will use the Coke rewards points for good!

What have you realized or been reminded of lately? Who has done something nice for you? What conversations have you recently had that have either come back to bless or haunt you?

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart (and the clicking of these keys and the using of life’s resources) be acceptable in your site, O Lord, my Redeemer. Amen.

The Little Cardboard Sign

The summer after my junior year of college, I had the privilege of visiting the Blue Bird Café in Nashville, TN. While I was there, either Allen Shamblin or Steve Seskin (I can’t remember which) debuted their song, “Don’t Laugh At Me.” When I first heard the song, it moved me to tears. To this day, I find it very powerful. The concept of each of us being a person of dignity and worth is a concept that I stand on, yet how easy is it to forget this fact.

One of my favorite verses of, “Don’t Laugh At Me,” says:

“I lost my wife and little boy when
Someone cross that yellow line
The day we laid them in the ground
Is the day I lost my mind
And right now I'm down to holdin'
This little cardboard sign...so…”

Every time I see a homeless person now, I think of these words and remember that I don’t know his/her story and that underneath the dirt, grime, and cardboard sign, there is a person just like me.

And so…after suggesting the idea on both the Acteens and SC WMU Student Facebook pages (one year apart) and feeling very convicted that I had not taken my own advice, I finally purchased the supplies for and made five bags of food to keep in my car so that I’d have something more than random change to give the homeless men and women whom I see standing by the street.

As I walked the aisles of the grocery store, I asked myself what I would like to have if I did not have a home. Because I don’t know when I’ll give away the bags, I couldn’t fill them with perishable items, items that would melt, or items that couldn’t easily be opened, so that limited my options…yet I tried to find things that I might want. I must admit that I’ve never had potted meat or sardines but I knew they would last, so I bought those. I bought Vienna sausages, beans and weenies, green beans, fruit cocktail, granola bars, raisins, and juice boxes. I thought something sweet might be good, so I bought peppermint and Starbursts and threw in those little flosser things with peppermint flavor. Finally, I bought plastic ware, rolls of paper towels, and rolls of toilet paper. I figured that eating can be messy…and I know that I don’t like for my hands to be dirty when I eat.

As I purchased those supplies on Tuesday night and placed them in reusable shopping bags—I thought a reusable bag might come in handy—I prayed for the people who will receive them and filled the bags with blessings of God’s love. I also filled them with a separate Ziploc bag stuffed with personal hygiene items because I’m so fortunate to have them lying around. I prayed that for at least in that one moment when I hand him the bag, the homeless man whom I will call sir will feel as if someone has seen him and deemed him worthy of the time and effort that it took to make the bag.

We’re all in this world together, you know…and we all deserve to be seen and respected…because we really are all the same in God’s eyes…

Determined Dreamer

I spent a majority of my childhood at Tabor City Baptist Church. To this day, I dream about the halls and rooms of TCBC and feel certain that I could draw a floor plan if I were architecturally gifted.

I spent a majority of my early adulthood at Gentry Primary and Erwin Elementary Schools. I dream about each of these schools—my classrooms and huts—my students—and my Barb. Barb was my art teacher. We ate together, moved a lot of furniture together, produced performances together, made thousands of tie-dye t-shirts together, handed out fruit-cake together, ran down the halls of Gentry together, and pretty much lived our working lives together for 8 years.

I suppose that my dreaming about TCBC, Gentry, Erwin, and Barb could have a deeper meaning of unresolved issues and feelings or something else. I feel certain that if Dr. Brock is reading this, then he’s thinking beyond the surface of my dreams. But that’s not my focus today. My focus today is that I’ve been working in my sleep for the past few months and I’m therefore exhausted.

Take this morning, for example. I woke up late because I was determined to keep educating my students at Erwin about capitalism and human exploitation. There’s no way to write out the entire dream, but, in short, we had had an assembly—during which Barb and I sat in the back, giggled, and I wore no shoes—and I had decided to have my students write a poem or song about what they had learned. When we got to the classroom, however, we ended up debriefing the assembly and I tried to help my students visualize things, know how to use their imaginations, determine options for solving problems, compare something to a roller coaster, and understand capitalism as it related to dry erase boards vs. chalk boards.

In my dream, I guided the students to realize that the inventor of dry erase boards had created the need for them and thus wiped out (no pun intended) the need for chalk boards. In doing this, he forced schools to purchase new white boards, erasers, cleaner, and pens—the latter of which would easily run out, demand that schools constantly purchase new ones, and thus create hazardous trash that would fill landfills for thousands of years to come.

Each time I’d come close to making the connection to how this relates to human exploitation and what the students could do to stop it, a teacher would come get her class. During one period, entire families came with their students, but one family had left their baby at home because each parent thought the other had her. I assured them that the baby would be okay, that she was probably sleeping and didn’t even know she’d been left alone. So they went to get their baby, escorted by a childhood friend. And I taught. Through all six periods of the day, I taught. When I finally woke up, I realized that the teachers had been my alarm clock trying to get me out of bed.

There are days when I miss teaching. I miss the students and I miss the teachers. I miss the classrooms that I worked so hard to make quality learning environments and I miss the diversity of persons whom surrounded me. I miss singing and I miss music. But mostly, I miss my Barb.

I think it’s interesting that I spent last night teaching about human exploitation. It’s been a hard week. It’s been a week of heartache, division, slander, exposed lies, sadness, questions, judgment, and weaponry—God’s name being the biggest, most misused weapon of them all. I have doubted what I’m doing with my life and if my work and passions make any difference at all. I’ve felt overwhelmed and defeated more moments than not, and I’ve wept painful tears of brokenness and lost hope.

And yet…I dreamt of enduring friendship and the unwavering determination to educate about human exploitation—to educate about standing up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I dreamt of persevering when it would have been easier to give up. And I dreamt of jumping high enough to literally touch the ceiling and being surprised when my students told me that they didn’t start each day trying to do the same. I told them that they should—that it was fun!

Sometimes I struggle with the faith that was planted and nurtured at Tabor City Baptist Church. And sometimes I struggle with my call out of the public schools and into full-time vocational ministry. This week has been full of struggle. But I guess, at the end of the day, when I couldn’t see anything but four walls of limitation, my dreams showed their power and released me and gave me the strength—but not the peaceful sleep!—to go on.

Amen.

A Family Thing

I knew that they collected Breyer Horses, but I didn’t really know what that meant or have any clue how big the collection was until last night. Hundreds of horses were placed all around the house—all three daughters’ bedrooms were full to overflowing and the dad’s office was evidently the same. Neatly arranged and carefully taken care of, the Breyer Horse collection that I saw at the Legendre house looked like something you’d see in a collectible store. I didn’t dream about Breyer Horses last night, but I’m surprised!

I had the privilege of helping with a commissioning service at Pleasant Hill Baptist Church last night. [In case you’re wondering, Pleasant Hill is in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a lovely church outside of Hemingway, SC.] I was asked to attend the service by one of my former SC WMU Youth Panelists, Sarah. She told me that she and her sister Elizabeth, also a former panelist, were being commissioned for a full summer of summer missions work and that her mom, Johnna, was being commissioned as well. What I didn’t realize was that her other sister, Hannah, also a former panelist, was being commissioned for a week-long missions trip with her college and that her WMU Director was on the program, too!

As I sat on the Legendre family pew and listened to each of the girls, their mom, and the WMU director—who, incidentally, has had a huge impact on their lives—speak about the work they would be doing this summer, I couldn’t help but feel honored to be there. It was a beautifully humbling experience to be able to show my support to the girls and stand with church members and Johnna’s dad in unity and prayer. It was also a funny experience to hear the entire Legendre family say “Amen” after the special music with the exact same timing and voice inflection!

On Saturday, I spoke at a Mother/Daughter banquet that hosted women from four generations. I spoke to 4-year-olds and 84-year-olds and various ages in between. I spoke of love and Christ and missions and giftedness and not being alone and I watched as God’s spirit moved among generation to generation.

This faith we hold…it’s a family thing. True. We must individually choose faith for ourselves and sometimes people choose to walk away. One of the women at the Mother/Daughter banquet came to the banquet alone. Her son has refused to speak to her for years and will have nothing to do with the faith in which he was raised. Yet the woman came. And she ate with and had her picture made with a young lady who “adopted” her as mom for the day.

I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful for this family of faith—for those who have gone before me like my G-Daddy who died 23 years ago today but who made an impact on so many lives—for those who walk beside me now, for those who will walk beside me in the future, and for those who will continue walking long after I’m gone. I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful that I’m not alone on this journey.

At the end of the service last night, Pastor Jim, the girls’ dad, asked me to say the benediction. I remembered that the benedictions that speak the most to me are the ones that my dad takes straight out of scripture. I’ve always loved how he blesses and charges the congregation as he walks down the aisle with his hands raised upward, in an open, sending forth posture. I didn’t walk down the aisle as I spoke last night, but I did say raise my hands and say this:

I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. And may God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.
Amen.

As I Struggle Through This Faith

A preacher in Fayetteville, NC, preached a sermon that went viral this week. As part of a campaign to encourage persons to vote “protect marriage” in NC—there is an Amendment up for vote—the pastor explained his views on the hot topic of homosexuality, including his view that a dad should crack his son’s wrist and give him a good punch if he ever starts acting a little girlish. The preacher also preached that the reason we rely so heavily on products from overseas is that we, in America, aren’t reproducing enough children to work, because of homosexuals, and that we need to start having more children lest Muslims take over.

To me, this sermon was awful. I must confess that I didn’t listen to the whole thing—it was over 45 minutes long—but I listened to enough of it to know that it went against my understanding of God’s redemptive story. And even if I could agree with parts of what he was saying, the manner in which he delivered the sermon—yelling and with what came across as arrogance—shut me down. While I know that there are some who uphold this pastor's views and like his style of speaking, I’m blessed that the majority of people that I know and spend my life with do not agree with this pastor and that his yelling teachings do not reflect our comprehensive understanding of the bible and God's story. I’ve come to learn that, quite often, persons like this preacher are living out of a fear, judgment, and hurt that are not cornerstones of Jesus' teachings or the whole of God's redemptive story…

It is true that Christians have done some stupid, damning, things over the course of history. Persons have used their religion as a means of gaining power and control more times than I care to think—and not just Christian persons but persons from other religions as well. I've read Christopher Hitchens' book, “God Is Not Great.” I know what he is saying—that humanity has done a lot of damage in God’s name. It's human nature to fight for power and control—to fight to survive. And religion is made up of humans. And humans do stupid things in God’s name. Yet God’s name is love.

Breaking your children’s wrists and punching them for being who they are, to me, and to even the conservative Christians I know, is not love. I know. There's the spare the rod, spoil the child verse that so many people use. I’m not arguing the merits and anti-merits of spanking. But the rest of the verse says that a parent who loves his child is CAREFUL to discipline him. I can't help but believe that being careful in discipline is being wise in helping a child learn when his/her actions are right and wrong as they influence other people...not trying to beat a child into submission by forcing him/her to change the very core of their being…

I've come to believe that we humans are looking for something to believe in—something to give our lives meaning and purpose—something around which we live, breathe, and make our choices. Religion is the formalized system of belief in a higher being. Humanism is the formalized system of belief in humanity. Sports teams are the formalized system of belief in athletics. The American Dream is the formalized system of belief in financial prosperity in America. Charity. Community service. Family. Anything can become the driving system around which we build our beliefs. Even if that anything is nothing. Nothing is still something.

And so...I decided at the end of Hitchen's book that I'd rather believe in God than fall back on nothing. And I go from God to nothing because my belief in humanity is so entrenched in my belief in God that they cannot be separated. I believe that God is alive and working in and through humanity—that we humans are co-creating with God and partnering with God for the good of the world and redemption. I believe that everything good comes from God because I believe that God is good. God is love. And that as part of that love, God allows us to work out our junk and make stupid decisions and suffer the consequences without always swooping down to interfere. I say always because I think that maybe God sometimes does swoop down and perform miracles—although that confuses me a bit so I try not to think about it too much. I believe that there is power in humanity's words and actions, just as there was power in the Word that spoke creation into being. I believe in a loving, alive, steady God whose existence gives me life, whose Spirit reminds me to breathe and spreads peace, and whose humanity in Christ gives me a loving, rebellious, strong, humble, sacrificial example to follow.

How in the world this God can accept "praises" from someone like the preacher whom I wrote about at the beginning while accepting them from someone like me while seeing people suffer around the world, I have no idea. It's so far beyond me that it hurts my thinker and pretty much shuts me down when I think upon it for too long. The best I can do is something I learned from my non-Christian massage therapist. In talking about compassion, I admitted that I have trouble having compassion on people like this pastor and that I don't understand how God can be okay with them and she said, "Maybe God has compassion on them." Maybe like I had compassion toward my students who came from horrible families and acted out of the only brokenness they knew, God has compassion on each of us—including this man who makes me so angry that my heart-rate increases—because it's the only thing we know...until...with time, and self-awareness, and the example of other people who teach a new way, we finally "get it." And "it," to me, is love...

Life is Breath

The speaker in chapel on Monday spoke about the Titanic. As he was talking, I found myself struggling to catch my breath. I cannot hear about the Titanic—or write about it even—without struggling to catch my breath.

Breath is life.

Drowning is not breath.

And to think about so many people losing their lives by drowning is just, well, suffocating.

To make matters worse, I have this image from the movie Titanic stuck in my head. It’s not of Kate Winslet or Leonardo DiCabrio but of a little old couple lying in bed beside one another as the ship was sinking. I’ve only seen the movie once—because it’s not wise to intentionally spend three hours struggling to catch my breath—but from what I remember, the couple was gazing into one another’s eyes with deep love and affection. Their bed was sliding as the ship was sinking and the couple had chosen to hold on to one another and die together instead of trying to escape the ship.

And then they drowned.

It wasn’t in the movie that they drowned. The director did not depict that scene. But it’s clear that the drowned.

And…that thought makes me struggle to breathe.

Breath is life.

Drowning is not breath.

A lot of people drowned when the Titanic hit the ice burg.

I don’t like to talk—or think—or write—about the Titanic.

I like to breathe.

Because breath is life.

And I’m thankful for life.

M&M Casserole

At my final spring meeting last Monday night, the associational ministry assistant made a plea for those who hadn’t already done so to buy a Pee Dee Association Cookbook.

[Yes. I shared with the good folks in the Pee Dee Association how my brother, sister, and cousin used to torture me when we drove across the Pee Dee, or should I say Dee Pee, River.]

Out of the 800 cookbooks they’d ordered in 2006, there were only 11 left, and as soon as those 11 were sold then members of the association wouldn’t have to hear about them again. The assistant encouraged persons to buy a cookbook even if they didn’t know how to cook—to read it for the associational history printed inside and to use it as a reminder of the saints who have gone before us and still surround us today. She also encouraged persons to buy cookbooks for wedding or graduation gifts—since it is that season after all.

After the meeting was over, I was presented with a cookbook. I thanked the assistant and shared with her how my favorite cookbook is the one from where I grew up. I told her I’d be sure to look through my new one…and I did…and it’s a recipe from that cookbook that I want to share with you today:

M&M Casserole

Ingredients Needed:
• 1 one-pound bag of plain M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of peanut butter M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of almond M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of pretzel M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms
• 1 one-pound bag of any other type of M&Ms

Empty M&Ms into a large bowl. Mix together. Serve.

Now…aren’t you grateful that I was given one of those Pee Dee Association Cookbooks?! [Even if this recipe is not endorsed by the Project Help police :-p.]