Defining Moments: Alaskan Hot Tub Cruise

No. I’ve not been on an Alaskan cruise. But an Alaskan cruise still changed my life. Here’s how:

My best friend, Angela, and our friend Jacqui went on an Alaskan cruise a few years ago. While on that cruise, and while relaxing in a hot tub, Angela met Edi, and now Angela and Edi are married.

Angela and I have known each other for nineteen years. We’ve experienced half of each other’s lives together and shared both joy and sorrow.

Singing together has been one of our greatest joys even though we cannot successfully sing the correct notes of “I Don’t Need Anything But You” from Annie no matter how hard we try—and trying to sing it to Angela’s daughter, Isabelle, today was no exception!

Grieving the loss of Angela’s dad ten years ago and the sudden death of her son, Sam, on Saturday have been our greatest sorrows.

Today, as I sat at Angela’s kitchen table with Edi, I laughed after he said, “You can have that piece of cake, honey.” “Thank you, sweetheart,” I responded, and then we sat and talked.

A little while before that exchange, I sat at that same kitchen table with Isabelle and smiled as she painted my finger nails a very bright pink. She’s two-and-a-half years old and has a newly painted room thanks to the painting efforts of Deanna and Jacqui. She also has a new favorite bath-time activity thanks to Deanna—the bubble beard.

And a little while later, I sat at the kitchen table again and shared a delicious meal with Angela’s family. As I ate, I was overwhelmed by the reality that had Angela and Jacqui not gone on that Alaskan cruise then Angela would not have met Edi; and if Angela and Edi had not met and fallen in love then Isabelle wouldn’t have been born; and if Isabelle wouldn’t have been born then I wouldn’t know an extremely intelligent, full of life little girl; and if I didn’t know Isabelle then I would be sad…

And if I hadn’t known Sam, then I would be sad, too.

As Angela’s uncle said at Sam’s funeral last night, Sam’s death sucks. There are no words to explain it. There is no way to understand it. It is heartbreaking reality that will impact us for the rest of our lives. But so will Sam’s “classic” life that created sweet memories for those of us who had the privilege of holding him, singing to him, loving him, and making him smile…

One of the songs that Angela and I can sing is “Never Saw Blue Like That,” and we’ve done just that many times before. The thing that both of us really like about the song is that it does not resolve at the end. Instead, it leaves the listener hanging—wanting more—and knowing that there is more to come…

For many years, Angela and I refused to call each other “best friend.” Each of us had had bad experiences with “best friends” leaving after the title had been bestowed, so we avoided the title. But somewhere along the way, we decided to stop avoiding the title and to just call it as it was. And I’m so glad we did…because together we now know that while all things do not end as projected, all will be well and that there is beauty yet to come…and it lies in cruises and hot tubs and cake and pet names and newly painted rooms and laughter and pink finger nail polish and bubble beards.

Defining Moments: Texting Love and Heartbreak

I began texting on January 13, 2006.

I remember the day and those first texting moments because they occurred while I was waiting for Griffin to enter this world.

Even though I still have what most people consider a dumb phone, things have changed drastically in my texting life since those first moments of filling in the blanks. Yes. I actually wrote out 160 blanks so that I could maximize the messages that I was planning to send!

I now have unlimited texting and send thousands of texts per month. I no longer have to look at what I’m writing to write something that actually makes sense. And I no longer use my phone to talk to people on a regular basis; instead, for better or for worse, my people and I usually just write.

So I knew something was off when I received a text Saturday that said, “Call me. It’s an emergency.”
And it was an emergency.
So I called.
And in the days since that call, I have written countless texts that I never imagined I’d write—some of which have turned into accidental poetry:
I just keeping shaking my head.
I don’t even know how to think.
Like my thoughts don’t formulate.
I start to speak and nothing really comes out.
There’s nowhere to begin or end.
There’s just no making sense of this.

One of which makes me cry every time I think of it:
He’s dead.

Another of which is the most important thing you or I can ever say to one another:
I love you so much.

I suppose it sounds trivial to say that the day I began to text was a defining moment in my life. Yet right now, during one of the most heart-breaking times of my life, I am beyond grateful to be able to communicate to those I love, anytime I want, middle of the night included:
I’m with you.
You are never, ever alone.
We will make it through this. Together. Somehow.
I love you so much.
I love you so very, very much…

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My best friend’s five-month old son, Sam, died Saturday afternoon. This is the link to his obituary. Please pray for his family: http://www.oppfh.com/new_view.php?id=5341434

Defining Moments: The Birkenstock

It was my sophomore year of high school, 1992.
My brother was a freshman at NC State.
His childhood best friend, Heath, was too.
I suppose it was at college that Heath found Birkenstocks?
A large, urban college is much different than small, rural Tabor City where we grew up.
Or it could have been a fad of the times?
Either way, it was Heath who introduced me to the Birkenstock,
And it was Heath who let me know that imitation Birkenstocks don’t come close to the real thing.

I got my first pair of real Birkenstocks at the beginning of my junior year, 1993.
I had moved to a new school in a new town and I wanted some new shoes.
My new school had a no strapless shoe rule, so I had to get shoes with a back strap.
I chose a classic Birkenstock design,
Three strap sandals, brown leather, wide foot-bed with heel cup, raised arch, and toe grip, size 38.
I wore that pair of sandals almost every day of my junior and senior years of high school.
When it was hot, I wore them with no shoes.
When it was cold, I wore them with socks.
I had no idea that I was setting up my foot to become so used to the Birkenstock foot-bed that it would be difficult to ever find any other comfortable shoes.

Since buying that first pair of Birkenstocks (thank you, Mom and Dad),
I have purchased many others.
I may despise buying clothes for myself,
But I will pay for a good pair of shoes—
Even if most people think they are ugly—
And I will pray that God will use them for good things.

Wearing shoes in which my feet feel free is important to me.
My feet hold me up.
They carry me.
They make it possible for me to do the things I desire to do—
The biggest of which is to love those around me.

…How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation…

I still have my original pair of Birkenstocks.
They’re well-worn and may soon fall apart if I don’t take them to be repaired.
(I plan to take them to be repaired.)
They carry in them many years of life and memories…
To which the beginning my tenth year of teaching was added tonight
As I stood in the hallway and greeted hundreds of students and parents while wearing
My first pair of Birkenstocks, now 21-years-old.

Defining Moments: Yes, You Should Teach

By the time I reached my junior year at Meredith College,
I pretty much hated music—
which was a problem—
because I was going to school to be a music teacher.
Not only that,
I was going to school on a scholarship contingent upon my teaching after graduation,
so I found myself doubly stuck—
and it was a terrible feeling.

Throughout my time at Meredith,
I attended chapel services each Wednesday morning.
One particular morning,
while sitting alone in the balcony and
harboring particularly negative feelings toward both music and teaching,
I felt a punch in the gut and
heard a statement I will never forget.

The speaker, having worked various jobs and served in various ministries before landing on her ultimate call, said:

“God called me to the mission field of the public schools.”

And so God has called me.

Twice.

-----

Music is the passion that burns within my soul
The passion of God’s arms—the piece that makes me whole
But lately I can’t find the beat
Lately I just can’t sing
Lately I just don’t feel the way I used to feel
The way I used to feel
Help me, help me
Help me find the music once again
Help me, help me
I want to be your face and I want to share your grace
To those who might hear, to those who might see
So Lord help me

What May Be A Defining Moment In The Making: Sunday Morning’s Visitor

Discerning the difference between defining moments and poignant moments has been interesting over the past few weeks. Honestly, I’ve wondered if I’ve gotten some the moments wrong, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter to anyone but me. So today’s moment—which is a story still in the making—could quite possibly be a defining moment for me…or it could just be a poignant moment. We’ll see as I sort through the thoughts and feelings that have been brewing ever since receiving the following text on Tuesday morning:

Oh, Deanna. I think our visitor from church on Sunday morning was arrested yesterday. Or if it wasn’t him, then it was his twin.

As I was finishing worship set-up for Sunday morning, I noticed a visitor coming into the church. The ushers greeted him and gave him a bulletin. He happily spoke back. Then he walked into the church, did the sign of the cross as he entered, and found a seat midway up the right side of the church. The couple in front of him welcomed him and engaged him in conversation. I went to say welcome and found myself quickly engaged in a conversation about whether or not Crocs hurt my feet. Mine do not; our visitor’s do. I pointed out our visitor to Patrick. Patrick greeted him as well. He seemed very happy to be with us on Sunday, observing everyone who walked by him, smiling at everyone who smiled back.

For the past many months, so much of what Patrick has preached has been about the importance of sharing the love of Christ with everyone—even, and maybe especially even, those who are different—those from the community—those who did not grow up in our faith culture. And our visitor was different. I knew by his sign of the cross. I knew by his ragged shirt and shorts. I knew by how he made little noises during the service. I knew by the plastic grocery bag in which he carried his stuff.

After the service, I asked our visitor if he needed a sturdier bag for his stuff. He said that would be great, especially since some other members of the church were taking him to the food pantry. I went to my car to get two of the reusable shopping bags that I keep in my trunk, then I set out to find him. He was walking toward the exit at the far end of the parking lot when I spotted him again. I walked as quickly as I could to catch up with him, and as I helped him put his, now, two plastic bags in the sturdier bags, he was so grateful. He asked my name. I told him. I asked his name. He told me. We shook hands. We parted ways. I stopped to talk to a church member who asked our visitor’s name. I’m pretty sure the church member offered him a ride home even though he said he lived just down the road.

I was standing in the rain the entire time.

So when I received my friend’s text on Tuesday morning, I was somewhat shocked. Our visitor from church on Sunday morning was arrested on Monday for felony hit and run. I later found out that he’s been arrested for before for driving under the influence.

Yesterday, another of my friends sent me a statement that she’d seen on a church sign: You never know what’s going on behind closed doors. I read the statement as one of skepticism and judgment. She read it as a call to pray for those around us because we don’t know what people are experiencing behind closed doors. I like her interpretation much, much better.

I told her the story of our visitor on Sunday morning. She said, “Oh wow. I think it’s touching that a man in desperate need of help was actually seeking it at church. Maybe he was seeking a shelter of love.” I agreed with her. And she agreed with me that our little church actually did what a church should do. And yet…our visitor was arrested for felony hit and run the next day.

Like I wrote at the beginning of this note, this story is still unfolding. I haven’t yet been able to name why it is affecting me so much. But it is. I keep thinking about it a lot—wondering if there was more we could have done for Russell—that’s our Sunday morning visitor’s name—if there is more we can do—if having an AA group in the church/community would be viable—wondering about the people walk into church completely broken—both visitors and members alike—wondering what is going on behind closed doors—behind the eyes that we see—and wondering how we can affect change when sometimes we are presented with just one moment.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but I find myself wanting to find Russell and give him a hug. I find myself wanting to know his story and what led to him to where he is. Addiction is a terrible monster. It is not something easily controlled and it is littered sometimes with more failure than success. But I believe it is possible to overcome. And somehow, more than anything this week, I want our Sunday morning visitor to know that it’s possible, too.

So was that text a defining moment in my my life? Will it somehow influence or change the course of my existence? I don’t know. But either way, it is sitting heavy with me now and is something that I likely will never forget.

Not A Defining Moment: Just A Monday

Not A Defining Moments: Just A Monday…8.11.14

**I’m taking a break from my note series tonight because I don’t feel like thinking about how to craft one of those moments into readable words .**

It’s my last Monday of summer vacation.
I haven’t had a lazy day at the house, but I’ve been at the house all day nonetheless.
It’s been nice not having to leave.
My mom and I spent most of the day cleaning out the pantry.
We threw away some old stuff.
We bagged up some other stuff for donation.
We took inventory of the stuff that was left.
Then we cooked some of it.
We cleaned the kitchen.
We changed the vacuum cleaner bag.
I moved a dorm fridge from my room to the garage so that I could keep water and soda cold.
My mom scanned her computer for viruses.
I took a nap.
We both worked on a puzzle.
I heard the sad news about Robin Williams’ death.
I took Bullet for two walks in the rain, seeking shelter under trees to keep from getting too wet.
I watched Running Wild with Bear Grylls and really enjoyed it. His guest was Channing Tatum.
I cried while watching Master Chef.
I shook my head at a Walmart commercial that insulted the intelligence of parents.
I sat dumbfounded at American Ninja Warrior.
And…that’s about it.
Nothing overly profound.
Just a solidly good, rainy Monday for which I am grateful.

I think sometimes in life we look or wait for the defining moments—
the big moments that burn themselves in our memories or alter the course of our paths.
And while those moments are important—
I clearly think them important since I’m writing a series on mine—
I think that maybe it’s the normal, nothing overly profound days that make up life.
It’s Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.
It’s Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, and Sunday afternoon naps.
It’s spending time with the people we love.
It’s trying to make the most of the resources we’ve been given.
It’s doing our best at whatever we’re doing.
It’s being amazed at all the world holds and
thanking God for the opportunity to experience it.
It’s feeling sadness and joy and praying through them both—
for myself and for all those feeling the same.
It’s days like today.
And I am thankful.

Defining Moments: Stanley G. Deaton

Today is Stanley’s 6th Birthday.

He was born at the Build-A-Bear at Four Seasons Mall during late afternoon August 7, 2008.

My friend Krista was there for his birth and helped pick out his first outfit: a blue button up shirt with a cute little sweater vest. We were on our way home from my 2nd year at Candlestick.

For his first year and a half, Stanley lived an unassuming life. He slept beside me each night and spent the rest of the day playing with the other stuffed animals in my room/apartment.

Then came a trip to Birmingham in January 2010 and everything changed for my sweet little boy.

Riding in the backseat of Boss’s Honda Pilot, I found myself sitting beside Stanley and T-Bow, Boss’s brand new stuffed cat.

As we were talking about T-Bow and how her niece and nephew had given her to her—yes, T-Bow is a girl—I said, “You should start taking T-Bow with you everywhere you go and take a picture of her so that your niece and nephew know more of what you do as Executive Director. You could actually share it on Facebook so that everyone would know what you do. You do so many things that people don’t know you do. This could be a cool way to show people.”

While Boss may have quickly forgotten about the conversation, I did not.

In fact, just a couple of weeks later, Stanley made his public debut at a planning meeting in Wilmington, NC.

From that point forward, Stanley has gone with me to almost every special meeting, event, vacation, performance, and special occasion in my life. He traveled around South Carolina and made many friends there. He’s been to Birmingham, AL; Orlando, FL; Phoenix, AZ; New Orleans, LA; Jamaica; the Bahamas; the beach; the mountains; and many places in between. His wardrobe has more than quadrupled from that one shirt and sweater vest and he has both lost and gained weight through his years.

Since leaving SC, life has slowed down a bit for Stanley. He is still my constant traveling companion, riding with me to and from everywhere I go, but most days, I don’t do anything out of the ordinary—just go to school, church, or counseling or to visit friends and family members in the area.

Evenso, Stanley is still a well-loved monkey who I am honored to call monkey-son.

I had no idea that a passing comment to Boss would change the way I traveled and move a quiet, unassuming stuffed monkey into a position of popularity. In fact, at one point during my ministry in SC, I think Stanley was more popular than me! :-) Sometimes in life we choose our defining moments. Sometimes our defining moments choose us. This moment was a little of both, I think. And I am so glad.

Happy Birthday, Stanley G. Deaton. Here’s to many more years of life, work, and travel.

Defining Moments: Coffee, Coffee, Coffee

Tonight after making a somewhat embarrassing attempt to lead the Vacation Bible School theme song, I sat down near Patrick for the rest of opening celebration. During the missions video, after an image of a cup of coffee appeared, this conversation occurred:

Me: “Oh that looks good. I just realized that I haven’t had any caffeine today.”
Patrick, laughing: “I drank an entire pot of coffee by myself this morning.”
Me, taking in that information: “Wait. I’ve actually only had water.”
Patrick: “Wow. That’s impressive.”
Me: “I didn’t mean to!”
And then we both laughed.

Growing up, I always wanted to drink coffee. Coffee commercials made coffee look so good, and the smell of coffee was so appealing. And yet, I just didn’t like it. Even after going to coffee shops with my big sister in college, I still hadn’t acquired a taste for sophisticated liquid energy. I always went for orange soda or hot chocolate while inwardly wishing that I liked coffee.

Then I met Kyle.

Kyle was one of my youth when I was a youth minister a decade ago. When he was in high school, Kyle had this dream of opening a coffee shop. While the details are hazy now, I remember him talking about his coffee shop a lot and I remember thinking that I hoped he accomplished his goal because I could tell it would make him happy.

The second summer I took my youth to summer camp, Kyle couldn’t attend with us because he was North Carolina Governor’s School East. During free time one day, in Kyle’s honor, I decided to buy myself a frozen coffee drink at the coffee shop at Ridgecrest. Much to my surprise, I liked it.

And therein started my beginning in the delightful world of coffee.

Very slowly, I have moved from frozen coffee drinks to iced coffee to hot coffee—from drinks with only a hint of coffee to straight up coffee with only cream and sugar—I’m still not able to do black. Today, mostly because I’m very bad at drinking hot beverages—almost as bad as I am at leading choreography—I still prefer iced or frozen coffee—I don’t have to worry about burning my tongue—but I can drink light, medium, or dark roasts with or without flavoring.

I can now see coffee commercials and smell coffee brewing and sit with friends at coffee shops and be fully content. In fact, I cannot count the number of times that I have shared coffee with friends and family members since the day that I took that leap of coffee faith in honor of Kyle. Had I not chosen to try that drink that day, then I may have missed some of the best conversations of my life.

Thanks, Kyle, for being an all around great person and coffee ambassador. And thank you for unknowingly giving me one of the defining moments of my life.