My Sister's Birthday

 

Today is my sister‘s birthday.

A few weeks ago,

I posted a note about quotes that have made an impact on me.

My brother got two quotes, but Dana did not get any.

She joked with me about that,

And I felt bad about not including her, 

But then I started thinking about it, 

And I realized that when I think of Dana,

I don’t think so much about specific words,

Rather, I think about a life lived to the fullest.

 

Dana is happy soul.

She loves to entertain and throw a good party.

She and her husband open their home many times a year for gatherings and get togethers 

That bring together people from across all walks of life.

There is always food, fellowship, and laughter 

And a sense of community that comes only from someone like Dana who genuinely cares for and sees the best in people.  

 

On one hand,

Dana lives spontaneously,

Always remaining open to the moment and 

To seeing what goodness can be pulled from it. 

On the other hand, 

Dana is the party planner mentioned above,

A webpage designer and administrator,

And a communications guru for topics from education to politics to the Raleigh Recorder Society. 

Yes, recorders.

The little instruments that you most often think of as torturing music teachers and elementary parents across the country.

My sister is a recorder expert,

And she makes the instrument enjoyable to hear. 

 

Dana is also a proud beekeeper and honey producer

Who will talk about bees with and provide a honey tasting for anyone interested.

One of my favorite images of Dana is of her being late for a family function because bees were swarming. 

I don’t remember the details of the story. 

All I know is that it captures my sister perfectly: 

Living in the moment with a fluid sense of time

While passionately caring for others, 

Or in this case, bees! 

 

So join me in wishing my sister, Dana,

Whose very life encourages me 

Even when a specific quote does not, 

A very Happy Birthday! 

 

Dana: You are loved!

And seen. 

And valued.

Today and every day. 

Happy birthday!

Jack

 

Twenty-two years ago today,

My world changed.

Early that the morning,

We received a phone call saying that my sister-in-law, Gretchen, was in labor.

Having only seen labor and delivery on TV,

I thought this phone call meant that my nephew’s entrance into the world was imminent.

I immediately got up and advocated for Mom, Dad, and myself to go to the hospital.

We did.

And then we waited a long time…

Until my Jack was born.

Come to think of it,

I don’t think we knew beforehand if he was going to be a girl or a boy!

But he was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

I remember holding him,

As I did all my nephews and niece,

And my friends’ babies as well,

Telling him how much he was already loved

And praying blessings over his life.

 

I remember going back to school and pulling up pictures of him on the classroom computer in my mentor’s room and showing him off to my colleague friends.

My mentor was Marion K. Hudson.

She taught Kindergarten.

I used to walk through her classroom to get into the building.

She had a computer in her classroom.

I did not.

Computers were just becoming the rage.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without them.

Just like I can’t imagine my life without Jack.

 

A lot has changed in 22 years.

But my Jack is still the same

Smart, kind, easy-going, hair-twirling-when-he’s-not-thinking boy

That he’s always been,

Getting ready to graduate from college and enter the “real world”

Where his pre-frontal cortex will continue to develop and

He will continue to grow into the man we are so thankful he is and will be.

 

Jack is much taller than me now,

Handsome,

Muscular,

But if I could hold him in my arms again today,

Then I would whisper again just how much he is loved and

I would pray blessings over his life

Again and again and again.

Amen.

Happy Whatever-fraction-it-is Birthday

Today is one of my friend’s birthdays. It’s another’s half birthday. And it’s yet another’s 2/3 birthday.

Don’t ask me why I do this, because I don’t know, but I wish two of these friends a happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday every 27th of the month.

I always get excited when I realize it’s the 27th. I find myself calculating and reducing fractions, usually first thing in the morning, and sending happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday to my friends. They always smile and say thank you in response. Sometimes we chat for a few minutes. Sometimes they write me on my whatever-fraction-it-is birthday, and I smile and thank them in return. It’s a nice little exchange. And it’s something so very, very simple…

I’ve been doing okay with thoughts of returning to school. Even though mostly everything is uncertain—including what I’ll be teaching and in what space I’ll be teaching it—I’ve been practicing being present in these moments rather than letting the uncertainty take control of me. But this morning, while texting a friend, I broke down and cried at the overwhelming nature of it all.

And then I remembered that it’s the 27th. I smiled. It’s a friend’s birthday. It’s another friend’s half birthday. It’s another friend’s 2/3 birthday. There is reason for celebration today.

Don’t worry. I didn’t deny my tears. I let them flow until they were ready to stop. I fully felt the angst that I was feeling. But then I tried to do what scripture asks us to do: “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

Friends: May you find reason to celebrate today. And may you start wishing your people happy whatever-fraction-it-is birthday. Everyone needs to know that they are cause for celebration at different points throughout the year…because sometimes, a lot of times, the people in our lives are the biggest reasons we have to give thanks. Give thanks today, friends. Amen. And amen.

On Amelia's 8th Birthday

On Amelia’s 8th Birthday…2.4.16

Today is my Amelia’s birthday.
She’s 8.
I adore her.

Because of another obligation, I cannot attend Amelia’s family birthday party tomorrow night. Knowing that this would make Amelia sad—she still thinks I’m wonderful and loves spending time with me—I tried to figure out another time to visit with her this week but couldn’t figure out a time to do it.

Then something unexpected happened. My appointment at Massage Envy (I’ve been going in for therapeutic massages for the past couple of months) got bumped back from 8pm to 8:30pm. This extra thirty minutes was going to give me the time I needed to see my Amelia!

Then something else unexpected happened. When I got to Joe-The-Counselor’s office, it was locked. When I called his office, I learned that he was out of the office this week. I had scheduled my appointments so far in advance that I’d scheduled an appointment before he’d blocked off this week and then we forgot to talk about it! So. There I was. Five minutes from Amelia’s house. With an unplanned hour of time. I didn’t think twice. I went to see my little girl.

Shortly after arriving at the house and surprising the whole family, I found myself standing behind Amelia as she sewed a small pillow for Stanley. Amelia got a sewing machine for Christmas. Amelia learned to do her own bobbing and threading over the past couple of weeks. Amelia is quite the 2nd grade seamstress.

“So, Amelia. Is it true that you made everyone who attended your friend-birthday party a blanket and pillow for their dolls?”

“Yep,” she said as she sewed.

“And she helped me sew recorder bags for all of the students in my recorder classroom, too,” my sister chimed in.

“Yep,” Amelia said with a humble smile on her face—as if this was completely normal activity for a now eight-year-old.

Then later, as Amelia and I snuggled on the couch, I asked if she got any special presents for her birthday. She said, “I didn’t get presents for my birthday. I asked everyone to bring something to donate to the local animal shelter.”

“Oh,” I said. “So let me get this straight. For YOUR birthday, YOU made everyone gifts and then asked for donations instead of gifts in return?”

“Yep,” she said with that same humble smile as turned her sweet, freckled face up toward mine.

“Wow!” I responded, my heart about to burst with love and pride. “You really are my favorite girl in the whole wide world.”

Amelia’s life inspires me.
And on Tuesday night,
And every time I see her, really,
Seeing her was therapy enough.

Birthday Bowling

Growing up, I somehow learned to throw incorrectly. Instead of stepping forward with my left foot and throwing with my right arm (I’m right-handed), I stepped forward with my right foot and threw with my right arm. I did the same when “playing” bowling. Instead of sliding with my left foot and rolling with my right arm, I slid with my right foot and rolled with my right arm. I also thought that the word “playing” belonged in front of the word bowling, not realizing that “bowl” is a verb in and of itself.

As an adult, I’ve learned how to throw correctly even though I still throw wrong when I’m not consciously thinking about it. And, thanks to a bowling class in college and my bowling league in South Carolina, I’ve also corrected both my bowling grammar and rolling technique. Both come completely naturally to me now—so much so that bowling is my favorite sport.

It’s no wonder, then, that I immediately said yes when a friend asked if I wanted to go bowling for my birthday yesterday. For the second year in a row, I ate my birthday lunch at a bowling alley and broke out my bowling shoes and bowling balls to celebrate life with friends. For the second year in a row, I had a wonderful time—even if the woman at the food counter refused to give the birthday girl a birthday cookie when she realized that the birthday girl was turning 38—not 3 or 8.

During our second game yesterday, I decided that I’d be adventurous and use the available bumpers. In order to roll the ball to the spot where it needed to ricochet off of the bumper, I had to move over my approach a couple of boards. I found the place where I usually get in my bowling stance, scooted over two boards, and then bowled.

Did you know that the floor boards at the bowling alley aren’t randomly placed? Did you know that all bowling alleys have the same board lay-out and that you can and should use the boards to guide your bowling?

Did you know that it’s cheaper to buy your own bowling shoes than to rent them if you plan to bowl at least once or twice a year? And did you know that bowling shoes come in different styles with different bottoms that help you slide in different ways?

Did you know that lanes at different bowling alleys and in different competitions have different oil patterns laid on them? The machines that bowling alley workers oil the lanes with can be set to distribute different oil patterns, making it more difficult for bowlers to find their path to the strike pocket.

Did you know that bowling balls are not only different weights but are also made of different materials and can be weighted to curve at certain angles and certain times depending on the amount of spin that the bowler puts on the ball?

Did you know that the more a lane is used, the more its oils start forming pathways that balls follow—that this is why it is important to roll consistently and to understand how to make adjustments in approach and/or ball usage? Some balls roll better in different oil patterns on different days with different bowlers who roll different ways.

Did you know that unless you are someone who consistently throws strikes—and that’s not many of us—then you need to learn techniques to pick up your spares if you desire a higher score?

On the surface, bowling seems so simple: roll a ball, knock down the pins. In reality, bowling can actually be quite complicated.

I think this is how it is with people sometimes, too. On the surface, we seem so simple—so happy—so together—so “Christian.” In reality, we are actually quite complicated—with layers of thought and emotion—with layers of questions and doubts.

Sometimes, like I learned to throw incorrectly, we learn to deal with people incorrectly—we learn to be too passive, too aggressive, too involved, not involved enough. But sometimes, even when we learn proper interpersonal techniques—offering safe space, listening well, being non-anxious, embracing unconditionally—we revert back to our old ways like I revert back to my improper throwing.

May we be a people constantly learning proper ways of being in relationship with others—making healthy, selfless love so much a part of ourselves that we don’t have to stop and think—remembering that what seems simple may really carry great depth—knowing that there is always grace when we mess up—because we will—and that there are almost always opportunities for second chances.

May we learn to pick up the spare when the strike just doesn’t come…

As I Get Older

One of my friends turned thirty yesterday. When asked if she felt wiser, she said, “Oh yes. I feel much wiser. Very learned. Ready to lead the world to victory.” Then she laughed because she rarely uses battle terms and wasn’t sure why she’d chosen one in that moment. I guess she felt empowered by thirty.

On most mornings, when I first wake up, I look at the time and the date and then I say, “Happy Birthday whoever has a birthday today.” Then I roll back over and fall back asleep. Most of the time, I don’t know exactly whose birthday it is. Many times, Facebook will tell me. Sometimes I happen to just know—a family member, a childhood friend, a specific date etched in my memory. But yesterday, I simply offered a general birthday wish to the world…and then arrived at work to find out that I actually did know someone celebrating her birthday that day.

Every once in awhile, I go on a writing streak. During those streaks, I can birth poems like I have an endless supply inside my being. Have a stomach ache? I’ll write you a poem. Have a run in with a bug? I’ll write you a poem. Need encouragement? I’ll write you a poem. Have a birthday? I’ll write you a poem.

I’m not on a writing streak.
I had no Hallmark cards to save me yesterday.
So I deferred back to a previous writing streak for birthday inspiration.

I found the following poem. And I said this to my friend:

I wrote this when I was 30.
Once again, Happy Birthday, my beautiful friend.
My guess is that you don't like to make a big deal about the day.
But for this one day. Let us celebrate YOU.
May you smile as you grow younger and may you dance to your heart's desire.

I hope the same for you, friends. And I wonder: What are you learning as you get older?

As I get older…

…Popularity doesn't matter so much anymore,
the fear of rejection isn't as pressing on my heart,
I realize that most people aren't as gossip lustful as I thought,
I understand that there are many people who are forgiving, and
the routine passing of days makes the urgency of going somewhere
a little less urgent.

…Pessimism turns into a mild form of healthy complacency,
I slowly begin to accept that I cannot conquer or change the world,
I quietly plant simple truth into my life:
do the best with what I have, where I am, as who I am...and let that be enough,
and I begin to try, settling into the knowledge that there will always be information
that I do not know and situations that I do not understand.

…Peace comes in the form of rocking chairs on porches,
serenity transcends the thrill of roller coasters traveling on trombone slides,
the aches and pains of organs and bones gently nudge me
to honor the temple that I've been given, and
the world settles into brilliant color that spans the spectrum from red to violet,
passionate to sensible, chaotic to calm, hard to soft, black to white.

…Pulling grey hair only leads to baldness so each grey hair becomes
a signal of one step toward the wiser,
each wrinkle adds another story to life’s book,
each change is greeted with subconscious understanding that time lets go, and
I smile as I grow younger, and
let my hair down as I learn how to dance.

Worth Packing The Pew

Yesterday at church, we celebrated Ms. Hortense’s 90th Birthday. Ms. Hortense is a faithful member of Antioch and helps make Antioch the loving church that it is today. Ms. Hortense always greets people with a huge hug and smile and in so doing brings a smile to many faces.

Evidently, Ms. Hortense has deemed the song “Lord Don’t Move That Mountain” as “her” song, so during the 10:50 service the talented Marie Allen sang the song as part of worship.

I couldn’t see Ms. Hortense while Marie was singing, but my friend Danielle could. Danielle’s family has recently started attended church and they have chosen their pew midway back on the right. They sit with my friend Kelli whose family has also started attending…and my friend Laura who started the whole trend. They all sit on the same pew. At least 11 people. It’s a packed pew. But I digress.

Danielle’s commentary on the event was this:

Like total saps, when Marie sang, Ms. Hortense’s friend rubbed her back. The site of her friend’s old arthritic fingers rubbing her back struck Mike and I and we both started to cry.
The whole row of ladies could likely teach the world a thing or two.

I responded:

That’s a beautiful image—the old ladies’ hands…I started to cry at the end of the service when she was standing up front with Patrick.

Seeing a 90-year-old woman of faith, who indeed could teach us a thing or two, stand arm in arm with a pastor one third her age, whom she is allowing to teach her, was quite touching. Hearing her declare, “The Lord has guided me so far and I trust he will continue to guide me in the future,” and hearing him pray a special prayer of blessing over Ms. Hortense’s life brought tears to my eyes…which isn’t good when you’re standing in front of the entire congregation.

Arthritic hands rubbing hunched backs.
The young and old standing arm and arm.
A community of faith celebrating 90 years of life.
For all that the church is not,
For the many things we do wrong,
This is what the church is,
This is what the church does right.
And it’s beautiful.
And it’s good.
And it’s that which is worth packing the pew.

Birthday Downpour

In ’99, I spent the night of my birthday in a downpour. Literally. I was dodging lightening in a storm, driving the camp golf cart from one cabin to another, tending to scared campers, making sure a cabin wasn’t burning down after being struck by lightning. It was wonderful! Seriously. An experience I will never forget.

Tonight, I spent a few hours of my birthday in another downpour. An under-the-sink downpour caused by a corroding garbage disposal. This downpour occurred toward the end of a wonderful birthday celebration that started yesterday.

Yesterday. When…
• Amelia showed up at the house wearing an orange dress and temporarily named me Aunt Orange. She knows that orange is my favorite color.
• Henry told me that I was going to love my birthday present because he made it for me. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found a beautiful plate that Henry painted specifically for me. He could have chosen to paint anything at Paint Your Own Pot, but he chose something for me…complete with an orange Christian fish in the middle. He knows that I collect orange fish and the collection started with Christian fish.
• Charlie and Jack wrote me very sweet notes.
• Amelia picked out and wrapped up an orange pen. It was her special gift to me.
• Dana and Finley gave me a new orange fish print.
• My mom made me a birthday cookie and a peach pie.
• Griffin asked to climb on me so I could throw him around. That’s become one of our special things.
• Amelia led the family in singing Happy Birthday as she sang into the microphone.
• Griffin taught Jack and Henry how to do magic tricks so they could perform a birthday magic show during birthday dessert.
• Jack, Henry, Griffin, Charlie, Amelia, Dana, and I competed in a Minute-to-Win-It competition. We each tried to put six ziti noodles on a piece of spaghetti—with our mouths only.
• Amelia yelled up the stairs, “Aunt Dee?! Do you want to see my underwear?” and then pulled up her nightgown to show me the orange underwear she had picked out for my birthday.

Then today…June Gail (my aunt), Mom, and I spent the morning shopping and getting great deals…then eating at Coffee and Crepes…then visiting Gretchen and the boys…then visiting Journey the Dog and finding that he’d left me a laundry bag as a birthday present…then coming home to eat the world’s best pork chops as prepared by my dad…then opening lovely gifts…then thanking everyone who wished me a happy birthday on Facebook…

I don’t think I need to say: It’s been a wonderful birthday.

And I am so extremely grateful for the downpour of love.

Ninety One Years Later: The Card Underline

June 13, 1922.
The old house in the country of Hollister, NC.
Ethel Shearin delivers her first baby girl: Nina Louise Shearin.
Nina’s mom, dad, and doctor are present.

June 13, 2013.
The house in the Holiday Hill area of Jacksonville, FL.
Nina Louise Shearin Kidd celebrates her 91st birthday.
Nina’s three daughters, two son-in-laws, two of her grandchildren, and her great-grand-monkey are present.

Nina Kidd has lived a good life, seen a lot of changes—not the least of which was desegregation—and become affectionately known as G-mama to her four grandchildren and five great-children.

This grandchild is one of the ones present with her today.

In many ways, not having a job has been very challenging and recent weeks have been no exception. But in other ways, not having a job has been a blessing because I’ve gotten to spend extra time with the people I love—G-mama being no exception.

As G-mama opened her cards and presents today, I giggled when I saw that one of her friends had done the “card underline” on G-mama’s card. She had also filled the card with handwritten news, not caring that the cursive was shaky and lines of writing crooked.

You see, that’s what G-mama always does when she sends cards. She does the “card underline”—the single, double, or triple underlining of certain words as a means of highlighting them—and then includes a handwritten message of news and/or good wishes. She also usually sends a dollar inside the card.

Many years ago, when I was sending 7-10 cards per week—I actually had a spreadsheet to keep myself organized!—G-mama and I sent each other a lot of dollars and cards full of the card underline. G-mama collected her dollars until she had enough to pay for a pedicure. I left my dollars in their cards so that I could go back and find them later.

In recent years, I’ve been terrible at sending cards. I have a whole bunch purchased. I have forever stamps. I like sharing the card underline with friends and family. Yet. Birthdays and holidays and random days come and go while cards don’t get sent. From me. But from G-mama?

With 91 years of life behind her and a very shaky left hand, G-mama still sends cards. She doesn’t send as many as she used to because so many of her friends have died. But she still sends cards, complete with the card underline, to friends and family whenever the occasion arises.

I admire that about G-mama. I always have.

I probably won’t have 3 children and 4 grandchildren and 5 great-children and sending cards through the mail may be obsolete by the time I’m ninety-one, but still…I hope that after 91 years of living, I am still thinking about those whom I love and doing whatever I can to brighten their days.

Thank you, G-mama for your example and for introducing us to the “card underline.”
You are loved.
And we are blessed.
Happy birthday!
And amen.

Potty Talk And The Flying Boy

Six years ago this week, my sister, Dana, was very pregnant. In fact, she was so pregnant that she went into labor at the end of the week, on Friday the 13th.

After school ended that day—I was still teaching elementary music at the time—I drove to the hospital to wait. I waited through the afternoon and evening, greeting friends and family members who stopped by to visit, but I didn’t go back to see my sister until later that night.

Sometime after dark, when hospital traffic had lessened, my best friend, Angela, came to visit the family and me. Desiring some fresh air, I walked Angela to her car, and when I tried to return to the hospital through the door from which we came, I couldn’t! The doors had been locked.

I found an unlocked entrance in just enough time to make it to the waiting room, get a visitor’s pass, join my mom, and go back to see my sister moments before the doctor came to check her progress. My mom and I waited at the curtained delivery room entrance while the doctor examined Dana and determined that she was ready to start pushing. Fascinated by everything I was hearing, I didn’t budge, but my mom was so nervous about what she was hearing that she returned to the waiting room .

A few minutes later, my sister asked if I was still there. I said yes. She said you can come in. I went in. And that’s how I ended up glued to a hospital chair, watching in both horror and awe, as my nephew, Griffin, came flying into the world—literally. Once Griffin’s shoulder was freed, he flew out and the doctor had to catch him and I remember thinking, “Wow! He looked like a blue rag doll flying through the air!”

Six years later, Griffin is a highly intelligent, lego-loving kindergartener with an active imagination that does things like name the trees in his yard “The Far Tree of Knolls” and “The Near Tree of Knolls” and create his own company called Gromex.

Yet even highly intelligent young lads cannot resist potty talk and bathroom humor. Recently, at the Museum of Science and History in Jacksonville, FL, Griffin (and his sister Amelia) grinned from ear to ear and giggled uncontrollably as I read aloud the exhibit on flatulence.

Making fart noises and using potty talk is the source of much of Griffin’s humor, and while I know that I’m not supposed to laugh at it, I must admit that I sometimes do...especially when I receive a picture message from my sister with the caption, “Your daily dose of potty talk,” created by a sick almost six-year-old whom I adore and that I once watched fly into this world.

My Biggest Fan (written 1.5.12)

When women go into labor on TV, they have their babies rather quickly. This is precisely the reason that I thought my mom, dad, and I should shoot out of the bed in the wee hours of the morning on April 1, 2002, when my brother called to say that his wife was in labor. Little did I know that Gretchen’s labor would last many hours and that the wait for my first nephew would be so long. I remember watching Daniel and Gretchen go for walks to try to speed along the labor, and I remember the moment when Daniel came out of the delivery room with a triumphant look on his face and announced, “It’s a Boy! Jack A. Deaton.” He was so radiantly happy in that moment that tears filled my eyes.

Ever since he was born, Jack has been special to me. Just as I’ve done with each of my nephews and niece, I held Jack as a baby and prayed blessings upon his life. I prayed that God would allow him to grow into his fullness and that his life would be used to impact many people in a positive way. I prayed for health and happiness, courage and respect, safety and no bullying, knowledge and the freedom to pursue whatever career path he wants. I prayed that Jack would know that he was loved unconditionally and that God would help me do everything I could to be a steady, welcoming, and encouraging presence in his life. [I still pray these prayers today even though Jack’s feet are already larger than mine and holding him isn’t as much of an option anymore!]...

So when my best friend Angela offered to let me read (with my ears) her Harry Potter Collection, I finally decided to do it. I’d heard about the Harry Potter series for years, but I’d never read them. Yet Jack has read them—a couple of times—and he wanted to be Harry Potter for Halloween—and I wanted to be able to talk with him intelligently about the story line—and so I read them. And I’m so glad.

Jack and I have had many HP conversations over the past few months, and those conversations have led to talks about the creative process of writing, character development, imagination, good vs. evil, how stories move us, how stories move from page to screen, and much more...

During one of our literary discussions, Jack told me he was writing a chapter book based off of the Lego game Heroica. No big deal. All fourth grade boys use their time in the car to write chapter books, right? 

Evidently, Jack completed the book, typed it, selected the fonts for it, edited it, wrote a sleeve cover description for it, and published it, because when I opened my Christmas present this year, I found a book entitled, “Draida,” by Jack Deaton.

When I sat down at the kitchen table to read it, my niece, Amelia, was having a little snack, and asked if I’d read the story aloud. By the time I finished reading, all of new nephews had joined us and were thoroughly enjoying the story! It was well-written, interesting, and engaging—so much so that my nephew, Griffin, couldn’t believe that his role-model, Jack, had written it!

Before Jack left that day, I asked if he’d autograph my book. He did. He first signed his name—in cursive—then put the date—then I asked him to put, “To Dee.” So he did. And then, completely on his own, he put, “My biggest fan.”

Yep, Jack. You got it. Your Aunt Dee is your biggest fan. On the day you were born. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Always...