Together

 

I recently returned from the beach with my family.

We were all able to be together for a few days,

To slow down and feel the ocean breeze and hear the waves crash,

To cook together and eat together,

To play games together and laugh together,

To observe life together and talk together,

To just be together.

 

As I sat on the shore and watched my nephews play sports ball,

I watched as they communicated with one another in hand gestures that I’m thinking they were making up yet somehow understood.

I thought to myself,

I wish this for everyone—

This knowing someone so well that they just get you,

This playing with someone so closely that you are understood.

 

Not all families have this.

Not all friends have this.

But when it exists,

Together,

It’s a such a beautiful thing.

A blessing.

Something about which to be thankful.

And I am so thankful.

 

Today, on this Independence Day,

I pray that you will find the freedom of being together,

If not physically,

Then emotionally,

Or mentally,

Or spiritually.

And if you do, I pray you will share the blessing with others,

For everyone deserves someone with whom they can be together.

 

Amen.

I Wasn't Expecting That...

I recently told someone that my weeks had fallen into such a steady routine and that if anything gets off schedule then it could completely throw me off.

Mondays are work (first go at the week’s lessons and updates as needed, continued work on the week’s announcements), meetings, home for TV with my parents, and note writing. Also, beginning on Monday, each work-week afternoon includes setting up coffee for the next day on my way to afternoon duty.

Tuesdays are work and counseling or dinner with friends.

Wednesdays are school work, brief rest, and church work (worship service planning, choir practice, worship team e-mail).

Thursdays are work (compiling school-wide incentive data, e-mailing PTO, updating the incentive bulletin board, judging a school-wide writing challenge), home for TV with my parents, and note writing. The last Thursday of each month is dinner with a friend.

Fridays are work (handing out school-wide writing challenge prizes, changing the writing bulletin board, making a writing book, working on lesson plans) and either home or time with family and friends.

Saturday is my Sabbath--with as much rest and as little work as possible.

Sunday is church (two worship services), cleaning/nap, church (praise team practice), and weekly morning announcement preparation.

If I get off schedule, then, well, sometimes I get behind. Or if I don’t get behind, then I sometimes find myself ill that something has intruded upon my schedule.

Today, I found myself both behind in my work (from getting off schedule last week) and feeling ill that something had intruded upon my schedule.

Tonight was the Little River Baptist Association Annual Meeting. It was also the night that my dad was planning to announce his retirement (effective March 2016).

As my dad’s daughter, I knew that I needed to be at the meeting. As a teacher fighting a cold and feeling like poo, I knew that I had little desire to be at the meeting. But I went. And I’m glad that I did.

Not only was I there to support my dad (and mom), but I was also there to see a couple near the top of my “nicest people in the world” list.

We met many years ago when B and I started teaching and the wife of the couple, Betty, became our favorite volunteer.

As we talked tonight, and caught up, and I shared my heart for JES, I confessed my desire to be a chaplain in the schools—to support and encourage the many teachers who do and give so much to their work and students. I also confessed my wish for Betty to come volunteer at JES. She really was/is an amazing volunteer!

As I started to leave tonight, I mentioned that I was going to go to Starbucks to get some coffee. Betty agreed that that was a great idea and then reached into her purse to get something. I thought that she was reaching for a card but instead she was reaching for $10 to pay for my coffee.
As I was saying thank you, she continued reaching in her purse. Still thinking that she was reaching for a card, I was shocked when she handed me $100 and told me to use it however I felt led for my ministry—at school.

Speechless, I hugged her and said, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”

She said, “I wasn’t either. This was a God-thing. I just felt led to do it.”

Then we both cried.

Folks, Betty comes from humble means. She does not have $100 to spare. And yet, hearing my heart tonight and having a heart for the public schools herself, she sacrificed out of the goodness of her heart.

Because she believed in me.

And my ministry.

And to think that I almost missed it because it wasn’t part of the schedule…

God: Thank you for structure. Thank you for schedules. Thank you for giving us the opportunity and ability to organize our lives so that we can make the most of our days. But God, when that structure and those schedules become so confining that they cause us to begin missing life, forgive us. Help us always to remain open to you and your leading—even when it interrupts our plans—and even when it doesn’t seem to make sense. And, God, help my dad as he begins to transition into retirement. I love you, God. Amen.

Don't You Remember?

In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the [angels] said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” Then they remembered his words.

“Do not fear,” is the phrase that the angels usually spoke to those whom they visited. But as Patrick pointed out at the sunrise service yesterday morning, “Do not fear,” is not what Mary and her friends heard when they arrived at the tomb on Easter morning. Instead, they almost received a reprimand—“Don’t you remember?” they said. “Don’t you remember that Jesus told you that he would be killed but that in three days he would rise again? Don’t you remember that he told you not to fear—not to worry? Don’t you remember that today is the third day? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember?”

“Of course they didn’t remember,” I said to myself as Patrick finished asking those questions. “Of course they didn’t remember.”

I didn’t remember that a student had promised to bring me a sandwich until he pulled the sandwich out of his book-bag the next day.

On Thursday, I had a sandwich conversation with one of my 4th graders. I have no idea why we were talking about sandwiches, but he asked what I liked on my sandwiches. I said, “Not onions.” He said, “Do you like ham?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Do you like cheese?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Then I’ll make you a ham and cheese sandwich.” I said, “Okay!”

Then I thought nothing more of the conversation. I even forgot that we’d had it…until the next morning when he said, “Oh! I have your sandwich for you.” Then I remembered.

Figuring that he’d pull out a squished sandwich in a sandwich bag, I had to fight back tears when he pulled out a full lunch box. “I packed a little dessert for you, too. And a napkin. And a bottle of water. And I put one of those little lemonade packets in there so that you can mix it with the water and have lemonade.”

Did I say that I was fighting back tears?

I’ve told this story quite a few times since Friday. I even announced the student’s kindness on the morning announcements that day. Yet if I had remembered the student’s words from the day before, then I wouldn’t have been so surprised…not that being surprised is a bad thing…but…

If I couldn’t remember a simple sandwich promise from the day before, then of course Mary and her friends didn’t remember Jesus’ promise of resurrection from weeks before.

And if I can be moved to tears and be led to share a simple sandwich story with the world, then how much more should I not be moved to tears and led to share the amazing story of life that comes through Jesus Christ.

Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed.

And I bet he’d bring each of us a sandwich.

Did I Mention?

I love the little guy, but I declare sometimes Bullet is an idiot.
Albeit a healing wound, the dog still has a wound on his head.
He has a wound on his head from fighting or playing with other dogs.
On tonight’s walk, he decided to mark his territory in the yard of a Scooby-Dog.
He went around and peed on everything,
dug his feet into the ground and kicked his legs back as if to say,
“Yeh, dog. That’s right. I just peed in your yard. Take that,”
then went up to the Scooby-Dog,
did the butt-sniffing circle dance, taunted him a bit, and chased him into his backyard.
Did I mention that Bullet does not know this dog?
Did I mention that this dog is four times Bullet’s size?
Did I mention that this dog could have easily added more wounds to Bullet’s head and body?
Yet…I’m pretty sure that Bullet wasn’t thinking about any of these things.
And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any idea how lucky he is that
the Scooby-Dog just wanted to play…
and that I stopped him from running into the road just before a car zoomed by.

…

I was the last person to leave school today. Literally.
And I was even given a thirty minute time extension by the assistant principal.
As I hastily tried to finish getting my room ready for summer break,
I thought to myself, “I think I may have a spot of OCD.”
Then I thought to myself, in the spirit of Barb, “You think?”
I’m almost always the last person to finish packing my stuff.
It was this way at Governor’s School, Summer Ventures, camp, and all of my previous schools.
It was also this way in SC when I was last person to finish packing my office for an inner building move.
The problem is that I can’t just pack up.
My brain tells me that I need to pack with the intention of unpacking
and that I need to leave the space as good as or better than I found it.
So I end up packing in past, present, and future—
all at once—and
I end up being really particular and taking a lot of time—
Hence my being the last person finished.

…

A year ago this month, I had no idea that I’d be the last one leaving the school where I’d just completed my ninth year of teaching.
I wasn’t planning to teach again.
I was busy finding my territory in the world of chaplaincy,
Planting my feet on the ground and opening my heart as if to say,
“Yeh, world. That’s right. I’ve been struck down but I’m not destroyed.”
Did I mention that I really didn’t know the school—and that what I knew wasn’t good?
Did I mention that the school is twice the size of my previous schools?
Did I mention that the job could have easily added more wounds to my heart?
Yet…I’m pretty sure I wasn’t really thinking about any of those things when
I walked out of my interview in tears,
feeling as if the light of God were shining upon me while the voices of angels sang.
And I’m pretty sure I’m still realizing how blessed I am that
God led me back into the classroom.

…

I guess life isn’t fully life without taking risks—
without exploring new territory and approaching Scooby-Dogs—
without wandering away from a career for awhile and coming back to the voices of angels.

…

Maybe Bullet isn’t an idiot after all.

Sing, Baby, Sing

My sister and her family came to the house today. Dana’s first task was to go through the two dressers that were in “her” room (even though she’s never lived in this house) so that she could move her childhood furniture into her daughter’s room at their house. After she and my mom completed that task, Finley and I moved the empty furniture down the stairs and onto the truck, where my dad helped secure it. Griffin held open the front door. Amelia served as cheerleader and encourager.

As I worked with Finley to get the furniture down the stairs, I heard this little voice saying, “Step. Step. Step. Be careful, daddy. Step. You’re doing a good job. Step. You’re almost there. Step. Step. You can do it. Step. Step. Hooray! You made it!!”

When I asked Amelia why she hadn’t cheered for me, she said, “Because you could see where you were going.”

A few minutes later, following her big brother’s helpful lead, Amelia attempted to carry a drawer down the steps. Seeing that she was struggling, I volunteered to hold half of the drawer. “I’ve got it!” she said. “I’m going to make it! I can do this because you’re helping me and carrying the heaviest part.”

Earlier today, Amelia and Griffin had a discussion about where one of their grown-up friends works. Griffin said she didn’t work at Belk. Amelia said she did. Griffin said, “I thought she quit.” Amelia said, “She did quit. But she went back.” Finley confirmed that Amelia was correct. I asked Amelia how she knew what was going on and she responded, “Because she told me. And I listened.”

As my mom and I put the kids to bed tonight, I had the privilege of reading the bedtime story. I read Sleep, Baby, Sleep by Maryann Cusimano Love. With Amelia nestled in my arms reminding me that she’s not a baby but that I should still read “baby” because it’s what the book says, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love for her and her big brother (who was pretending not to pay attention but really was). I read:

Sleep, baby, sleep, snuggled like a sheep. Be always like the lamb so mild, a kind and sweet and gentle child. Sleep, baby, sleep…

...Grow, baby, grown. From our arms you’ll go, unfurling like a butterfly, cocoon opening to the sky. Grow, baby, grow.

Hush, baby, hush. Growing can’t be rushed. Be always like a newborn foal with whispered wind songs in his soul. Hush, baby, hush.

Shine, baby, shine, graceful child of mine. Be like the firefly who glows no matter who the darkness grows. Shine, baby, shine.

Peace, baby, peace. All your cares release. Be always like the snowy dove who spreads her wings and sings of love. Peace, baby, peace.

Dream, baby, dream, rising like moonbeams. Be always like the dragonfly shimmering in the misty sky. Dream, baby, dream.

Sleep, baby, sleep. Our promises we’ll keep. Be the miracle you are, a wish come true on shooting star. Sleep, baby, sleep.

Some people say that we learn all we need to know in Kindergarten. Sometimes I think they are right. Amelia certainly is on to something in wholeheartedly encouraging her daddy who could not see, accepting help when she needed it, realizing that she can’t always do everything alone, and taking the time truly to listen. Little does she know that, even though I could see, her words and spirit encouraged me as well. At age 5, her life is already making a difference well beyond what she intends or knows.

Sing, baby, sing. Or should I say whistle, baby, whistle. As you are going back and forth between both while I finish this note. Do as you are singing and “sleep in heavenly peace…” For you truly are a miracle. And I am lucky to be inspired by you.

Contrary To Popular Belief, Silence Is Not The Enemy

I’m beginning this note in between music lessons with my niece and nephew. We’ve been having weekly lessons for the past few months, and while I’m not 100% sure how much I’ve taught them, I am sure that we’ve enjoyed our time together. Sometimes we play piano, sometimes we play music games on the computer, sometimes we do movement activities, sometimes we listen to instrumental music with the help of Fantasia or a video version of Peter and the Wolf. I’ve been working with them for the past few months…

(Insert writing silence for a pre-K piano version of “Merrily We Roll Along.”)

…and I’ve been reminded of a very important lesson in life: Music is the organized combination of both sound and silence.

Did you catch that?

Music is not music without silence.

When I was teaching school, I realized something: when students get in trouble at school, one of their worst possible punishments is silence. Silent lunch. Silent carpool. Silent free time. Silent anything. In school, more often than not, silence is equivalent to punishment.

Yet.

Music is not music without silence.

There is a time for everything under the sun. Ecclesiastes 3 may not say that there is a time for noise and a time for silence, but there is. Silence is under the sun.

Yet.

We seem to do everything we can to avoid silence these days…especially if we grow up learning that silence is a punishment.

Try singing without stopping to take a breath. Trying playing an instrument without doing the same. Even playing the piano, there must be moments of silence—of rest—lest fingers get tied up and pitches become blurred.

Music is not music without silence.

In fact, music without silence is only noise.

And so it is with life.

The next time you’re driving to work alone, don’t turn on your music, book, podcasts, or talk radio. Drive in the relative silence of your car and truly pay attention to the world surrounding you.

The next time you have a moment between classes at school or meetings at work, don’t fill the moment with chatter and activity. Sit in the silence of your classroom or office. Breathe deeply. Feel the oxygen filling your lungs. You are alive. It’s really quite amazing.

And the next time there is a moment of silence in church, don’t freak out. Whether it’s planned or accidental, silence is okay. No. Silence is more than okay. Silence is good. Silence is crucial to being healthy and hearing God’s voice. Actually, I challenge you to plan a time to visit your church sanctuary alone. You will be amazed at how holy silence will surround you if you let it.

Silence is not the enemy. In fact, silence is our friend.

(Selah)

Sushi and Sardines

I met a homeless man named Lawrence tonight. We crossed paths at a crosswalk outside of Sushi Blues in Raleigh. I had just celebrated my friend Angela’s birthday (two days late). I gave her two of the members of the Hallmark Angel band. If you’ve never seen Hallmark’s Holiday bands, then you should. They’re actually really cool.

Anyway, Lawrence told me I looked cold, which I was. Then we started talking. His wife had recently died of lung cancer. He had fallen in love with her as an older adult and then chosen to stay by her side until the end of her life. He said it was really hard to watch her die. And that it was hard to give up his place after he used all of his money for her funeral.

I asked Lawrence if he had a place to sleep. I knew we weren’t near a shelter. He said that he’d tried to go to the shelter but that the other men there could get kind of crazy, so he preferred to stay on his own. He said he had a blanket and couple of places he liked to lie down for the night. He was wearing a toboggan and sweater and sturdy coat, boots, and jeans. I told him I was glad that he was dressed warmer than me.

I felt completely safe with Lawrence.

I asked him if he needed any food. He said he always appreciated food. I told him to walk with me to my car, that I had a bag for him. I gave him a homeless bag (the reusable shopping bag kind) and told him it had in it a roll of toilet paper, a roll of paper towels, some hygiene products, and some things to eat. I told him I hoped he could find something in the bag that he liked. He said he would.

Then he hugged me and said, “God bless you.” I hugged him back and said, “God bless you, too.” And I smiled…because he had a faint hint of cologne on him .

We talked for a few more minutes. He told me to keep the oil and fluids checked in my car and that it should keep going for a long time, even if it was hard to keep clean. “White and black cars are hard to keep clean,” he said. I assured him that I’d keep the oil and fluids checked and that it was okay that it didn’t stay clean. I don’t care so much about the outside of my car as long as the inside doesn’t get too dirty.

After we said our goodbyes, Lawrence took his bag to some nearby stairs. He unpacked it to see what was inside and I heard a little exclamation of excitement as he pulled out the sardines and canned meats. He looked at me, held up a can, and smiled. I gave him a thumbs up and drove away thinking that maybe I should try canned sardines sometimes. A lot of people seem to like them.

On nights like tonight when I didn’t listen to my mother and dress warmly yet know that I have a warm car to take me to a warm house where I can sit with two parents who love me while working on a computer that has been good to me and then go upstairs to take a hot shower that I don’t really need and then snuggle into a cute little bed that has held my dreams for many, many years, I can’t help but be overly grateful that even without a job and even while carrying a lot of heartache and grief I still have the ability to eat sushi with lifelong friends and give sardines to a man named Lawrence who, also, was created in God’s image.

God. Thank is you is not enough. But. Thank you. And God? Please bless Lawrence and keep him safe and warm tonight and throughout the winter and beyond. Amen.

---------

What is one thing about your college for which you are grateful? If you haven't yet been to college, then what is or was it about your school? I’m thankful that Meredith College provided me with a super education that prepared me for teaching and introduced me to professors who care enough to friend me on Facebook and friends with whom I can eat sushi while sharing memories from 17+ years of life together.

What is one thing about the 80+ year old persons in your life for which you are grateful? I’m grateful for their stories and wisdom and resilience to live through so many decades of rapid change. [This question came after a two hour conversation with a woman with whom I used to go to church. As of yesterday, I have begun cleaning her house…only…I didn’t get to cleaning because we talked for my whole visit hours instead! She was once an officer in the military. I find that fascinating.]

What is one company/business whose products, services, and/or values you are thankful? I am thankful for the US Postal Service, UPS, and FedEx. I know sometimes that they receive a bad rap, but when I stop and think about what they do—how quickly they move products around the world—I’m amazed…and grateful. Not to mention that this year’s USPS Christmas Stamps are really pretty!

These Crying Eyes

As I write this note tonight, my eyes are crying quiet, steady tears. I just told my bowling team goodbye, and that goodbye signaled the true beginning to the end of my time in South Carolina. I’ve been saying goodbye for the past few weeks, gradually packing things up and letting things go, but the whole time I’ve known that I’d see my bowling team again tonight.

For almost every Thursday night of the past three years, I have bowled with Bob, Mel, and Laurie. Our team mom, Mary Ellen, has been with us most nights, cheering us on, and our team brother, Kevin, has been our faithful substitute when we could not bowl. We have had good nights and bad nights. Nights of laughing so hard that we could not speak. Nights of finishing early and nights of finishing late. Days in tournaments when our only goal was to bowl “average or above.” Days of wins and days of losses. Days of wearing out bowling shoes and wearing in new balls. Hours of watching bowling form and naming our opponents with appropriate names. And tonight, for the first and last time ever, we had a frame in which the whole team got a strike. I presented Coach Bob with an antique pewter bowling plaque after this moment occurred!

My eyes are tired. They are tired from two good days. Days where they have seen:

A surprised look on the McDonalds drive-thru worker’s face after I told him he smelled good.
A group of children enjoying a well-done children’s play that starred one of my dearest friends.
A sincere car appraiser whose goal was to make my post-fender-bender experience as pleasant as possible.
One of the best zoo visits of my life, during which the animals were super active and I ran into Christine the 77-year-old zoo volunteer with a cool British accent. Christine and I walked together for at least an hour and talked about the animals and life and how she lived in Africa for 12 years, writing for documentaries. She also worked for NPR for a few years. The brown bears swam, walked, jumped, pooped, peed, and sat up. The koala bears were awake and one of them was eating. The gorilla was splayed out for the world to see. And the siamongs were singing. It was all quite amazing.
A confused massage therapist’s face when I told her that my right butt cheek could make my left arm-pit numb.
Two beautiful friends for coffee.
One disorganized mess of finances become organized.
My counselor for the last time.
One amazing friend and her loving husband in a lovely park on her birthday.
The difference in the Moe’s dinner crowd between 5:15 and 6:00pm.
The rundown comfort and familiarity of AMF Park Lanes.
The final Thursday night journey home from the bowling alley, at the end of which I greet my beautiful lake.

I think I will put my happily sad, joyfully mourning, gratefully grieving eyes to bed now. The end of my time in South Carolina is drawing near, and the mixture of emotions coupled with the physical labor of moving is going to leave me needing all the rest I can get.

God, thank you for eyes to see, ears to hear, and a bed in which to rest. Help me, now, to rest. Amen.

Tiny, Salty Tears

On most weeks, I couldn’t do this because I usually cry at the drop of a hat. But this week, I’ve only gotten teary eyed three times, so I’m going to share about each of those moments, all of which are very different.

Moment One: I conducted SC WMU Youth Panelist interviews yesterday. The entire morning was an encouraging experience—talking with teenagers who really have things together—but one particular moment quietly moved me to tears. As I spoke with the last girl we interviewed, I asked if there was a particularly missionary who stood out to her. She responded that the missionary who stands out to her was one of the speakers from Blume last year—a young woman whose life was profoundly and dramatically changed by an Operation Christmas Child shoebox. She said, “I just really liked her story because Operation Christmas Child is my thing. I try to pack twelve boxes a year and keep my eyes open for things to put in the boxes throughout the year.” She went on to say that she used to try to pack one box per month, but since she learned about couponing and store sales, she tries to get supplies when she can save money.

Even now, as I write this, I am moved to tears. A teenage girl. Culturally expected to be focused on herself. Has the vision and desire to single-handedly stuff 12 shoeboxes per year. Using financial skills that exhibit wise stewardship. Completely, but quietly, living outside of herself. Twelve shoe boxes per year is one box per month AND one box for a girl and boy of every age level bracket that Operation Christmas Child serves. Twelve shoeboxes per year has the potential to change twelve lives per year. And this is coming from an American, public-school educated girl. This is coming from an Acteen.

Moment Two: I was watching the Olympics last night when I saw a human interest feature on John Orozco. While I’m a sucker for all of the human interest features—I love the dramatic music and video footage from the past—I hadn’t been moved to tears until the end of John’s piece last night. One of John’s main goals at the Olympics was to somehow make life easier for his family—to help ease their financial burden so that they wouldn’t struggle anymore. At the end, as John was talking about how important his parents were in his life, he said, “I just want to make them proud.” With tears in my eyes, I said aloud, “You already have, John. You already have. It doesn’t matter how well you perform. You have made them proud by just being you.”

Again, I find myself with tears in my eyes. There he was, an Olympian who had accomplished so much in his life, still just wanting to make his parents proud. We put so much pressure on ourselves to perform—to be accepted—to earn approval—to be loved—yet, really, we are already loved…not because of our accomplishments but because of who we are. I wanted to remind John of that last night. [Shoot. I've wanted to remind all of the Olympians of that.] And I’m sure his parents wanted to remind him, too.

Moment Three: This morning, Facebook suggested that I become friends with someone who used to be a really good friend (in real life). As a form of self-discipline, I rarely allow myself to send friend requests, rather I wait for the requests to come to me. She hasn’t sent a request, so we are not FB friends. Yet. Like a dufus, I broke my other rule of self-discipline and went to this friend’s page to see if anything was public. It was. And I found myself looking at pictures of a terrible car wreck that almost took both her and her children’s lives. The wreck happened last week. I had no idea. I cried. I cried for the wreck, yes. But I also cried for how time, distance, and life can pull persons apart.

Isn’t it amazing how tears can come from so many different feelings and emotions?
Inspiration, Hope, and Encouragement.
Love, Respect, and Belief in others.
Relief, Loss, and Grief.
All in the form of tiny salty tears.

Deanna's Day Off

At some point during the night, Gunther the GPS decided that he wanted to see the hazard lights blinking on GiGi The White Ant. So he leapt off of the windshield, cut on the lights, and laid in the front seat watching them until they got tired and stopped.

As a result of Gunther’s antics Gigi didn’t have enough energy to start this morning, so she sat in the garage and slept while I drove my aunt’s car to the dentist. Eventually, Gigi underwent surgery and received a new battery. After the battery transplant she was feeling so good that she took my aunt and me to the community garden to pick vegetables. She came back with a tired aunt and an itching Deanna and one bag of beans and tiny little vegetables and one bag of not-so-good corn. Later this evening, she’ll head down to the SC and stay for the rest of the week.

Here’s the neat thing:

My dad’s friend Howard came to town this morning to visit his daughter and do some work at her house. When he got here, though, she wasn’t home. Since he was in town, Howard stopped by my dad’s office to visit. Since my dad was at home with me, my dad’s assistant called the house so that Howard could speak to my dad. During that conversation, my dad asked Howard to come help us with the car, so Howard came to the house, fully tooled, and performed the necessary surgery on GiGi. Afterwards, my dad and Howard sat and talked and both of them declared the entire event a gift of grace and serendipity. I agree.

Meanwhile, my aunt was slaughtering my mom and me at Boggle, my grandmother was relaxing on the couch, and my teeth were hurting from the firm flossing they received this morning.

Such has been my day off with teeth, batteries, Boggle, tiny little vegetables, and grace.

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.

May There Be Peace Within Your Soul

Today, may there be peace within your soul.

May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you be content with yourself just the way you are but may you always strive to grow deeper in wisdom and knowledge.

May you remember the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself, God, and others.

May you use the gifts you have received to bless others and may you pass on the love that has been given to you.

Today, may you let truth settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.

Today, may there be peace within your soul.

Today, may there be peace within your soul.

Amen.