Last Wednesday night, I posted a status about a conversation with my mom that made me laugh so hard that I almost wrecked. Yesterday, as the congregation sang the song that sparked the conversation, I looked at Mom and smiled. We both understood the others’ smile. We both allowed our spirits to soar.
Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that matter the most—
The little things that make a big difference—
The smiles and laughter that propel our bodies through our days.
And so, dear friends, I post tonight’s note in hopes of making you laugh—solely at my expense!
On Friday afternoon, a friend and I went to get pedicures. While sitting in the pedicure chair, I did the same thing that I did over Spring Break: I decided to get my legs waxed.
Since that Spring Break adventure, I’d had my legs waxed two more times. Each time, I’d been taken into the official wax room and asked to lie on the waxing table so that the wax technician (not sure what else to call her) could do her job. First the back of my legs. Then the front. Then the feet. Then the tweezing of stray hair—especially on the feet and knees.
Though at a different nail place on Friday, I fully expected to go through the same process. I was wrong.
Instead of being taken into the official wax room, I was asked to return to my pedicure chair. The wax technician then brought out a sheet and a trash bag and placed them over the foot basin. A few minutes later, she brought out all of her waxing equipment…and then…rip!
Right there in front of God and everyone, the wax technician waxed my legs!
The ladies sitting beside me watched in both fascination and horror. They asked a lot of questions, and we discussed the pros and cons of leg-waxing. They all determined that it would hurt too much to get theirs done.
Meanwhile, I sat there trying not cringe too badly with every rip…and I twisted myself into some really odd sitting positions while trying to position my legs so that the wax technician could reach them. I didn’t realize I needed to stretch before having my lower legs waxed!
Meanwhile still, my friend sat across the room with her toes under the dryer and just laughed at me.
I’m happy to report that three days later, my legs are still silky smooth. But folks: I’m glad that I’m not overly self-conscious about my non-waxed legs because, well, they were on display for all the world to see on Friday…becoming non-hairy…one…rip…at a time.
Go and laugh. And cringe. You know you want to :-).
Monday, August 31, 2015
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Broken Dollar Bill Bullet Intervention
I went to dinner with my friend Amy after work tonight.
Then Amy and I went to get frozen yogurt.
While we were eating our frozen yogurt,
I saw a customer ask the cashier for some tape.
She had a broken dollar bill.
I immediately started thinking about that broken dollar bill.
In just a few seconds,
I wondered how the broken dollar bill had gotten torn,
how often cashiers were asked to mend money,
how long taped-up dollar bills would last, and
how a broken dollar bill could be turned into a metaphor for life.
When I mentioned that I was wondering about the broken dollar bill,
Amy simply said,
“It happens.”
I laughed.
Folks, there are very different types of people in this world.
And my friend Amy and I are two of those very different people.
When I got home from my outing with Amy,
Bullet met me at the door and took me for a walk—
Only, Bullet is not really supposed to go on walks this week because he has stitches in his right shoulder.
Bullet had a mass removed on Tuesday. We’re waiting on biopsy results.
Bullet doesn’t seem to realize that he’s not supposed to go on walks, though.
When his girlfriend Millie came to visit, he took off running behind her.
They go exploring together a lot. Millie is four times Bullet’s size. They are funny together.
Bullet was very happy to be out and about.
I, however, was not very happy that he was not doing what was best for him.
Concerned for the little guy,
Much further away from the house than we should have been,
I picked up Bullet’s twenty-one pounds and carried him home.
He happily let me carry him,
Licking my arm,
Glad, I think, to be off of the leg on which he was hobbling.
Folks, there are a lot of creatures in this world who do not know what’s best for them.
Bullet Williams-Deaton, along with countless youth and children, are some of those creatures,
And sometimes it’s up to those of us who know and love those creatures to intervene.
Thank God that there are very different types of people in this world—
With different gifts, different talents, different ways of seeing the world—
To intervene.
I know that I’m glad that Amy intervened with my broken-dollar thinking tonight.
Then Amy and I went to get frozen yogurt.
While we were eating our frozen yogurt,
I saw a customer ask the cashier for some tape.
She had a broken dollar bill.
I immediately started thinking about that broken dollar bill.
In just a few seconds,
I wondered how the broken dollar bill had gotten torn,
how often cashiers were asked to mend money,
how long taped-up dollar bills would last, and
how a broken dollar bill could be turned into a metaphor for life.
When I mentioned that I was wondering about the broken dollar bill,
Amy simply said,
“It happens.”
I laughed.
Folks, there are very different types of people in this world.
And my friend Amy and I are two of those very different people.
When I got home from my outing with Amy,
Bullet met me at the door and took me for a walk—
Only, Bullet is not really supposed to go on walks this week because he has stitches in his right shoulder.
Bullet had a mass removed on Tuesday. We’re waiting on biopsy results.
Bullet doesn’t seem to realize that he’s not supposed to go on walks, though.
When his girlfriend Millie came to visit, he took off running behind her.
They go exploring together a lot. Millie is four times Bullet’s size. They are funny together.
Bullet was very happy to be out and about.
I, however, was not very happy that he was not doing what was best for him.
Concerned for the little guy,
Much further away from the house than we should have been,
I picked up Bullet’s twenty-one pounds and carried him home.
He happily let me carry him,
Licking my arm,
Glad, I think, to be off of the leg on which he was hobbling.
Folks, there are a lot of creatures in this world who do not know what’s best for them.
Bullet Williams-Deaton, along with countless youth and children, are some of those creatures,
And sometimes it’s up to those of us who know and love those creatures to intervene.
Thank God that there are very different types of people in this world—
With different gifts, different talents, different ways of seeing the world—
To intervene.
I know that I’m glad that Amy intervened with my broken-dollar thinking tonight.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Reflections On My First Day of School
I started teaching-year eleven today. Had I continued teaching every year since college, then I’d be starting teaching-year seventeen. Alas, I took a six-year sabbatical. My retirement account does not thank me. But my general sense of well-being does.
I don’t remember when it started, but somewhere along the way my mom and I started shaking hands on the first day of school—and before all of my other major life events, truth be told. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I woke my mom to shake her hand. We shook hands. Then she un-mummied herself, got up, hugged me, and told me she loved me.
When I returned to teaching after my six-year sabbatical, my dad decided that he would cook me breakfast each morning. I don’t know why he decided this, but I’m glad that he did. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I came downstairs to a fully cooked breakfast. I told my dad thanks, gave him a hug, and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too.
I pray a lot. I pray for other people. I pray for myself. I pray for church. I pray for school. I pray for friends. I pray for family. I pray in the car, the shower, my bed, my classroom. I pray publically whenever someone asks. But rarely do I pray with someone, and rarely does someone pray with me. But this morning, at o’dark-thirty, a friend called and asked if she could pray for me as I began school today. She prayed. And I literally felt God’s spirit moving into and through me.
Power more than words.
Spirit breathes fresh breath to lungs.
Life courses through veins.
“Every day we wake up,” she said, “it’s a new day. A fresh start.”
Sunlight peaks through clouds.
Rise up on wings of prayer.
Today’s a new day.
“Remember,” she said. “I am proud of you for doing what you do. For standing in the trenches and fighting for your students and fellow teachers. For not giving up. For fighting the good fight. I know it’s not always easy. Keep fighting and persevering. You are needed. Your love is needed.”
A handshake.
A breakfast sandwich.
A hug.
A prayer.
A lot of love.
Encouragement.
Every day:
A new day.
A fresh start.
And not just for me, friends.
But for you as well.
I don’t remember when it started, but somewhere along the way my mom and I started shaking hands on the first day of school—and before all of my other major life events, truth be told. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I woke my mom to shake her hand. We shook hands. Then she un-mummied herself, got up, hugged me, and told me she loved me.
When I returned to teaching after my six-year sabbatical, my dad decided that he would cook me breakfast each morning. I don’t know why he decided this, but I’m glad that he did. So this morning, at o’dark-thirty, I came downstairs to a fully cooked breakfast. I told my dad thanks, gave him a hug, and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too.
I pray a lot. I pray for other people. I pray for myself. I pray for church. I pray for school. I pray for friends. I pray for family. I pray in the car, the shower, my bed, my classroom. I pray publically whenever someone asks. But rarely do I pray with someone, and rarely does someone pray with me. But this morning, at o’dark-thirty, a friend called and asked if she could pray for me as I began school today. She prayed. And I literally felt God’s spirit moving into and through me.
Power more than words.
Spirit breathes fresh breath to lungs.
Life courses through veins.
“Every day we wake up,” she said, “it’s a new day. A fresh start.”
Sunlight peaks through clouds.
Rise up on wings of prayer.
Today’s a new day.
“Remember,” she said. “I am proud of you for doing what you do. For standing in the trenches and fighting for your students and fellow teachers. For not giving up. For fighting the good fight. I know it’s not always easy. Keep fighting and persevering. You are needed. Your love is needed.”
A handshake.
A breakfast sandwich.
A hug.
A prayer.
A lot of love.
Encouragement.
Every day:
A new day.
A fresh start.
And not just for me, friends.
But for you as well.
Monday, August 17, 2015
I Give Up My Right
Yesterday during the children’s sermon, as I was explaining some of the words from the hymn we’d just sung, one of the preschoolers said, “I think you’re trying to make a point.” I realized I must have been boring the kids, chuckled, and said, “I do have a point. The point is that no one can act so bad that God cannot still love and forgive him.” We were talking about Saul’s conversion and how, after being blinded by the light of Christ, he received forgiveness and his life was changed.
During the actual sermon of the day, Patrick the Pastor took his points a bit further. In talking about Saul’s conversion, Patrick wondered what would have happened had Ananias not been willing to visit Saul in his blindness and to carry God’s message of redemption to him. What if Ananias had been too afraid because of Saul’s reputation? What if he had refused to go because of their differences?
As Patrick pondered these questions, he also spoke about forgiveness—about the importance not only of God’s forgiveness to humankind but of humankind’s forgiveness toward one another. If we are to be the church alive in this world, then we must be a people who forgive—a people who can look at one another and say, “I give up my right to be angry with you.”
…I give up my right to be angry with you…
Folks…I need to confess something. While it takes a lot to make me angry at anyone other than myself, it doesn’t always take a lot for me to struggle to be around certain people. I do my best not to show it, but there are people who challenge my capacity to truly be kind and there are people who I would prefer not to keep in my company. I am not proud of this reality and it is a reality with which I struggle, so Patrick’s statement about giving up my right to be angry with someone really struck a chord in me.
It’s not really anger that I feel most of the time. Oh. I feel anger at unfair and unjust systems and toward the figure-heads who promote those systems. But toward individual people in my life, it’s usually something else. Something different. Something that made me zone out of part of the sermon for a few moments and jot down these words:
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge.
Fabio Napoleoni, my favorite artist other than Barb the Best, has a piece called Jimmy’s Revenge. I’ll include its image with this note. The story with this piece is this:
To fully understand this title you have to understand the story of Jimmy. Jimmy is that odd little boy in school (the outcast) that sits there doesn't talk much and seems to be very shy. In reality Jimmy is very observant, witty and greatly dislikes those who lack compassion, those who feed of greed and most of all those who thrive of sorrow...
And what is Jimmy’s revenge? Love bombs. Jimmy throws love bombs.
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge. And I embrace my right to throw love bombs.
And that, dear friends, is the point.
During the actual sermon of the day, Patrick the Pastor took his points a bit further. In talking about Saul’s conversion, Patrick wondered what would have happened had Ananias not been willing to visit Saul in his blindness and to carry God’s message of redemption to him. What if Ananias had been too afraid because of Saul’s reputation? What if he had refused to go because of their differences?
As Patrick pondered these questions, he also spoke about forgiveness—about the importance not only of God’s forgiveness to humankind but of humankind’s forgiveness toward one another. If we are to be the church alive in this world, then we must be a people who forgive—a people who can look at one another and say, “I give up my right to be angry with you.”
…I give up my right to be angry with you…
Folks…I need to confess something. While it takes a lot to make me angry at anyone other than myself, it doesn’t always take a lot for me to struggle to be around certain people. I do my best not to show it, but there are people who challenge my capacity to truly be kind and there are people who I would prefer not to keep in my company. I am not proud of this reality and it is a reality with which I struggle, so Patrick’s statement about giving up my right to be angry with someone really struck a chord in me.
It’s not really anger that I feel most of the time. Oh. I feel anger at unfair and unjust systems and toward the figure-heads who promote those systems. But toward individual people in my life, it’s usually something else. Something different. Something that made me zone out of part of the sermon for a few moments and jot down these words:
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge.
Fabio Napoleoni, my favorite artist other than Barb the Best, has a piece called Jimmy’s Revenge. I’ll include its image with this note. The story with this piece is this:
To fully understand this title you have to understand the story of Jimmy. Jimmy is that odd little boy in school (the outcast) that sits there doesn't talk much and seems to be very shy. In reality Jimmy is very observant, witty and greatly dislikes those who lack compassion, those who feed of greed and most of all those who thrive of sorrow...
And what is Jimmy’s revenge? Love bombs. Jimmy throws love bombs.
I give up my right to be angry with you...angry, annoyed, hurt by, bothered. I give up my right to worry what you think of me. You only have the power I give you. You are not better than me. I am not better than you. I give up my right to think of myself more highly than you. I give up my right to judge. And I embrace my right to throw love bombs.
And that, dear friends, is the point.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
The Waiting
So I’m back in the place where these twice-weekly notes began.
I’m back in the place that seems like a distant reality.
Sometimes I wonder if my time here even happened.
The years came and went so quickly.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Life forever changed.
It’s been three years since I made the journey back North from South.
It’s been three years since I truly began to actively wait.
I went to the NC Zoo on Tuesday.
On Saturday, I’ll go to Riverbanks on Columbia.
I spent a lot of time with the otter and the bears on Tuesday.
I’ll spend a lot of time with the elephants, siamongs, and bears on Saturday.
I love watching the bears.
I love standing there waiting—
For them to open their eyes, to yawn, to stretch, to scratch, to walk, to swim, to play, to eat.
I love observing their fierce beauty and imagining how it would feel to hug them.
I love seeing children get super excited and adults put words to how the bears must be feeling.
And I love standing there longing than anyone else—
Knowing that the people who stop for only a minute are missing out on the fullness of what they would see—
If they would just wait.
In today’s society, very few of us like to wait.
We want everything and we want it now.
We expect food, results, internet connections, and answers instantaneously and when they don’t come instantaneously we complain.
And yet…
So much of life is in the waiting.
And so much of life’s beauty and lessons are in the same.
When I stand and watch the bears,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively observing, paying attention to what’s going on, knowing that more is to come, but okay if nothing different happens than the experience itself.
When I try to discern purpose and call or to dream new dreams,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively teaching, giving everything I have to where I am, believing that there may be something different to come, but okay if I’m led nowhere other than to where life catapulted me three years ago.
So I’ll keep on waiting
With the bears and my students and my family and my friends
And I’ll keep on singing with all that I am.
I’ll keep on watching one moment fade into the next
And I’ll keep on praying that God will make God’s presence known.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Lives changed.
It all happens in the waiting.
From North to South and back again.
I’m back in the place that seems like a distant reality.
Sometimes I wonder if my time here even happened.
The years came and went so quickly.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Life forever changed.
It’s been three years since I made the journey back North from South.
It’s been three years since I truly began to actively wait.
I went to the NC Zoo on Tuesday.
On Saturday, I’ll go to Riverbanks on Columbia.
I spent a lot of time with the otter and the bears on Tuesday.
I’ll spend a lot of time with the elephants, siamongs, and bears on Saturday.
I love watching the bears.
I love standing there waiting—
For them to open their eyes, to yawn, to stretch, to scratch, to walk, to swim, to play, to eat.
I love observing their fierce beauty and imagining how it would feel to hug them.
I love seeing children get super excited and adults put words to how the bears must be feeling.
And I love standing there longing than anyone else—
Knowing that the people who stop for only a minute are missing out on the fullness of what they would see—
If they would just wait.
In today’s society, very few of us like to wait.
We want everything and we want it now.
We expect food, results, internet connections, and answers instantaneously and when they don’t come instantaneously we complain.
And yet…
So much of life is in the waiting.
And so much of life’s beauty and lessons are in the same.
When I stand and watch the bears,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively observing, paying attention to what’s going on, knowing that more is to come, but okay if nothing different happens than the experience itself.
When I try to discern purpose and call or to dream new dreams,
Waiting,
I’m not wasting time.
I’m actively teaching, giving everything I have to where I am, believing that there may be something different to come, but okay if I’m led nowhere other than to where life catapulted me three years ago.
So I’ll keep on waiting
With the bears and my students and my family and my friends
And I’ll keep on singing with all that I am.
I’ll keep on watching one moment fade into the next
And I’ll keep on praying that God will make God’s presence known.
Goals realized. Dreams shattered. Purpose redirected. Lives changed.
It all happens in the waiting.
From North to South and back again.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
A Gem of a Day
I don’t think I’m a very fun museum companion.
I end up getting sucked into one or two exhibits and don’t make it to the rest of the museum—at least not in proper timing.
That’s what happened today at the NC Museum of Natural Sciences when I stumbled across the mineral rocks and gems exhibit.
I read every description of every display case and carefully identified the mineral rock that went with every number of the exhibit and went on to determine my favorite mineral of each box.
I discussed my thoughts with my friends and sometimes with strangers and when I got confused about my facts I went back and read the information again.
Then I discussed it again.
Then I located every mineral name that I could remember on the periodic table shirts in the gift shop.
I remember beryllium and chromium most vividly.
Here are the two most interesting things I learned today, though:
Gems aren’t gems until mineral rocks are cut and polished by a lapidary.
(I threw that last part in because I think the word lapidary is funny ).
Therefore: When one goes gem mining in the mountains, she is really not gem mining but mineral rock mining with the hope of having said mineral rocks transformed into gems.
Many mineral rocks are similar in their essence.
What makes them different colors are the different pollutants introduced into the systems.
Let’s take a moment to think about these two facts:
Mineral rocks sometimes get their identity and raw beauty from pollutants—things that we often consider bad.
Then gems become gems when these polluted rocks are made subject to a lot of work done by an outside force.
I may have stayed at the mineral rock and gem exhibit for a super long time today,
And my museum companions may have started lunch without me,
But I walked away extremely grateful that what man can do with mineral rocks,
God can do with us.
Obviously, I am a really big fan of gems and mineral rocks—
which, by the way, North Carolina is blessed with a plethora of—
But I’m an even bigger fan of the God who made both them and us
and then brought us all together.
I end up getting sucked into one or two exhibits and don’t make it to the rest of the museum—at least not in proper timing.
That’s what happened today at the NC Museum of Natural Sciences when I stumbled across the mineral rocks and gems exhibit.
I read every description of every display case and carefully identified the mineral rock that went with every number of the exhibit and went on to determine my favorite mineral of each box.
I discussed my thoughts with my friends and sometimes with strangers and when I got confused about my facts I went back and read the information again.
Then I discussed it again.
Then I located every mineral name that I could remember on the periodic table shirts in the gift shop.
I remember beryllium and chromium most vividly.
Here are the two most interesting things I learned today, though:
Gems aren’t gems until mineral rocks are cut and polished by a lapidary.
(I threw that last part in because I think the word lapidary is funny ).
Therefore: When one goes gem mining in the mountains, she is really not gem mining but mineral rock mining with the hope of having said mineral rocks transformed into gems.
Many mineral rocks are similar in their essence.
What makes them different colors are the different pollutants introduced into the systems.
Let’s take a moment to think about these two facts:
Mineral rocks sometimes get their identity and raw beauty from pollutants—things that we often consider bad.
Then gems become gems when these polluted rocks are made subject to a lot of work done by an outside force.
I may have stayed at the mineral rock and gem exhibit for a super long time today,
And my museum companions may have started lunch without me,
But I walked away extremely grateful that what man can do with mineral rocks,
God can do with us.
Obviously, I am a really big fan of gems and mineral rocks—
which, by the way, North Carolina is blessed with a plethora of—
But I’m an even bigger fan of the God who made both them and us
and then brought us all together.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
All People
I must confess.
As an adult, I’ve never been a huge fan of VBS.
Once I’m at VBS, I’m usually fine.
But getting excited about it has always been something I’ve struggled with.
This year was no exception.
Until Sunday morning when I was reminded of something:
When VBS is done right, it draws in people from the community—
some of which have never been to church before.
And Antioch does VBS right.
When people come in from the community,
they may not know the ways of the church—
the language, the actions, the unspoken expectations.
And when people come in from the community,
they may not look or sound like those in the church—
in color, in fashion, in speech.
But when people come in from the community,
it is our job as the church to welcome them—
wholly, completely, without question.
As Phillip demonstrated with the Ethiopian eunuch—
a man previously rejected time and time again
because his body could never be whole and
who he was would always be different than the expected norm—
The Kingdom of God,
through the love and life of Jesus Christ,
is a place for all people.
ALL people.
It’s our job, then, as believers in this Christ,
to make our churches the same.
If nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus,
then we must not do things that would try to separate persons from the same.
In that light, VBS began to shift a bit in my mind.
And I’m trying to see things a bit differently this year…
Although, I must admit that it helps that this year’s music is not quite as gimmicky as year’s past.
I’ll take “We’re on a journey…journey off the map” as an earworm over “Amazon Outfitters” any day .
As an adult, I’ve never been a huge fan of VBS.
Once I’m at VBS, I’m usually fine.
But getting excited about it has always been something I’ve struggled with.
This year was no exception.
Until Sunday morning when I was reminded of something:
When VBS is done right, it draws in people from the community—
some of which have never been to church before.
And Antioch does VBS right.
When people come in from the community,
they may not know the ways of the church—
the language, the actions, the unspoken expectations.
And when people come in from the community,
they may not look or sound like those in the church—
in color, in fashion, in speech.
But when people come in from the community,
it is our job as the church to welcome them—
wholly, completely, without question.
As Phillip demonstrated with the Ethiopian eunuch—
a man previously rejected time and time again
because his body could never be whole and
who he was would always be different than the expected norm—
The Kingdom of God,
through the love and life of Jesus Christ,
is a place for all people.
ALL people.
It’s our job, then, as believers in this Christ,
to make our churches the same.
If nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus,
then we must not do things that would try to separate persons from the same.
In that light, VBS began to shift a bit in my mind.
And I’m trying to see things a bit differently this year…
Although, I must admit that it helps that this year’s music is not quite as gimmicky as year’s past.
I’ll take “We’re on a journey…journey off the map” as an earworm over “Amazon Outfitters” any day .
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