Red car and William

 This week is holding on to me. In some ways it was typical-busy. Since I am a planner, my calendar and my to-do list are my steady friends. I had must-attend meetings, I had routine job expectations and deadlines, not to mention a strange day off (July 4^th) thrown in the middle; it was a busy week before it even was given a fair chance. It is not the usual hectic pace that still has its grip.

Two encounters though, the red car and William, have me flipping back and forth between the pages of my week and just won’t let me rest. It’s like when you finish a good book, and you keep going back through the parts that affected you the most. The paragraphs, the thoughts - the carefully chosen words that changed you… This is where I am this morning while the rest of my house sleeps.

The red car. It is Sunday afternoon. We are on our way home from “The Walmarts” as we jokingly say. We are the first car waiting to turn left across a busy intersection on a familiar journey home. I confess my life feels rushed at the moment. When I am not at work, I am planning a wedding, selling a house, buying a house, talking about repairs and inspections, planning a move, and it goes on. It reads like a lot of work. However, at this moment we are in no particular rush. We are enjoying the afternoon together and thinking of our life ahead. It is a precious and ordinary moment.

Our light turns green. Scott begins to pull forward into the intersection. I am on the phone, talking to my daughter and paying zero attention when this red car comes blasting through the intersection from the left. We are hit! No! We brake hard! We lunge forward! I can feel the impact of the near miss as though we crashed, but we somehow escaped! We look at each other to process the event – We can’t. It was heart-stopping, unfathomable instant that was totally out of our control, and we both realize something else as we catch our breath. We were almost killed. We really almost died. Had we rushed into the intersection, had the events happened a moment in time sooner or later it would have changed everything. It would not have been just a scrape and an insurance claim. There would have been glass, the smell of air-bags and the sound of metal and sirens. We have no doubt. But we are amazingly and totally okay.

I am fine, but I am not okay. I know. I have stood at the grave enough. I know. In an instant. No more to-do lists. No more weekly meetings. No more wedding to plan. No more. We don’t realize how close we walk to the edge daily. We don’t realize the power of a random encounter.  

William. It is now Friday. I am slowing down. My daughter, Hatty, wanted to hang out and get pedicures. We meet at our favorite funny, little salon – squeezed between the sub-shop and the liquor store – it is perfect. There are no frills. There is only room for friendly banter and efficiency within this tiny entrepreneurial space, and we feel like regulars. Tony is busy, but he gives us each a chair flanking a gentleman who is soaking and waiting.

I still have one more email, and since we can’t talk across the man in the middle, I busy myself with it.  But, Hatty meets William. And, before long we are hearing his story. He speaks softly and smiles as we learn that he is a Chaplin and works on college campuses with male athletes. He teaches them many things about life that men should know. He says that many of them grew up without fathers and they just didn’t learn how to be “gentlemen”. Before that, he ran a half-way house. Before that, he was in prison. William was saved and forever changed when a stranger came to the prison and looked him in the eye and told him that Jesus loved him and he didn’t need to commit suicide (he could not have known that William was planning to end his life later that night). He spends his life impacting the lives of others because he knows. He knows how close he has walked to the edge. He knows the profound power of a random encounter.

William went on to bless us as we talked and he spoke of his love for Jesus, and his passion, and his hope of finding a good woman who was under 150 pounds.  J  As we left, he told us to pray for him. Which we did at dinner an hour later. We were both altered by our encounter with William.

Thank you for the red car that was a half-second too early. Thank you for William who was right on time.

#justwrite #choosejoy #daughtersofjoy

Grief, Growing Up, and The “Stew” of Life – Looking Back at a Hard Day with Gratitude:

Ten years ago today will mark all the days that follow… but I will not know that until late in the evening. In typical fashion, I had crowded the day with worries that would soon seem small compared to the tsunami heading toward my front door. We were facing some tough decisions about a business venture gone wrong, and we had planned to have a hard conversation when Brian came home from his trip. I dreaded it. However, we never had that talk, because Brian never came home.


 I lay in bed the night of May 3, 2008, occasionally checking the clock and waiting for the familiar keys to hit the desk in the home office a floor below. Instead of the keys-on-wood sound I expected, I eventually heard the sound of the doorbell.  In the door, dear friends stood with a police officer to announce Brian’s death earlier that evening in a plane accident shortly after takeoff on his way home.


All of the concerns of a few minutes before were cleared in a wave that blew through my heart, mind and soul. Time stopped and rushed forward simultaneously, and my life began to spin like a crazy ride in a dream. I wanted out. I wanted off. I wanted to go back to before I heard the news.

I guess I began to grow up that May. I use that phrase now because someone said it to me a few months later. Something like, “I bet you have grown up a lot since it happened.” I thought that was such an odd thing at the time. Later, however, I would find truth in the notion that such tragedies are when we truly grow up. It is when we are stripped bare, that God can begin to make us into our truest self.  When all the security of the world has let us down, and we know we are completely lost, we are ready to learn and grow. "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" 2 Corinthians 2:9a. Wow.

I learned many truths through profound grief. I quickly discovered that suffering is everywhere. It is sort of like the experience of buying a car. You never notice how many Silver Honda Accords are on the road until you start to shop for one. It’s the same with a loss. Your grief makes you keenly aware of the pain of others. It is like a TV with only one channel; you can no longer look away or avoid the pain by flipping past it. In short, you are suddenly dialed in. 

I learned that no matter how independent and capable we believe we are, God created us for community. He intended us to travel this journey with others. Unlike my nature to handle my problems on my own, I knew I would not travel well through this valley unless I could lean in and accept assistance and tell others what they could do to help. It was my journey, but it was not just about me; God’s goodness was revealed through the love of his people toward our family. 

I realized that my journey was not the same as that of my daughters’. They also had a grief journey to travel. As a mom and a problem solver, it was hard to trust their paths to God. I could not carry the burden for them. But, God proved faithful in so many ways and provided just what they each needed. I had to trust Him. I am still learning this. Growing up is hard. 

I eventually found that Brian’s death was not an end; it was a beginning. God had many things left for me to love, learn, do and be. He would plan a move for us to Tennessee to be closer to old friends and family. The unimaginable would eventually lead to blessing upon blessing that I would have never dreamed or agreed to ahead of time.

I read somewhere that it is the “Stew of Life.” All of the good parts and the hard times are essential ingredients. We often want to undo the hard parts. But, I know that to change something now would change the whole recipe. And, I wouldn’t want to do that. Many of you are a part of this stew as well. We have been so blessed with amazing friends and family who stepped in to help in some way. I will be forever thankful for you!

What is left after ten years? The same that will be left for any of us I think. The lives we impacted, the way we loved our people, and the good we did or at least tried to do. Brian is remembered through the many ways he touched others with kindness, humor, and service. I occasionally hear from someone who will tell me of his impact in their lives when they were a teen or some good deed he did for them. Through the blue eyes and laughter of my girls, I see his spirit and feel his zest for life. I still hear my voice repeat funny things he used to say, and I can almost hear him laugh with me. He reminds me by his example to play-hard and love-hard and enjoy the precious time I have left.  On this May 3, I think of Brian and his memory reminds me to be grateful for today, and every day.

#justwrite #daughtersofjoy

Good Things Come in Threes Too.

Good Things Come in Threes Too.

I was talking with some friends last night over dinner. We were discussing some crazy luck of a mutual friend the week before. It was one of those days where it goes from bad to comical and you either laugh or cry. You know, you spill a drink at dinner and ruin your clothes, then go buy a new dress to change into but get out your car and realize it will not start, and in investigating it, you ruin the new dress you just put on. All true for this friend and thankfully she laughed. One of my friends said as he was remembering the events, “Bad things come in threes!” It does seem that way often.

I was thinking about that this morning while talking to a colleague, Kim, about what an awful week she has had. I mean the work she does is hard even when it is good, but this week has been HARD. She has been on the front-lines, she is battle-worn, and she is weary and when I looked at her today, I could see it in her eyes. She is hurting for all those she has tried to help this week and asking herself, “Why couldn’t I do more? Why couldn’t AGAPE do more? Why is life so hard for so many?”

In her week, there was certainly three ‘bad things’ to list and more. There were mishaps in the systems causing delays and pains for her regular tasks. There were court appearances where the ruling went against our prayers (and we fear for the future for the kids). There was unexpected death leading to much sorrow, heartache and uncertainty for the child left behind.

She just left my office with tears in her eyes ‘cause it keeps getting worse. As I watched her walk away, I said a prayer of thanks. Not for all the hard things, but for the good things that are in the midst of the hard. I said a prayer of appreciation because God brought my new friend and colleague to AGAPE to work with us. Kim brings laughter in the door with her every morning and she brings joy to her calling of helping children and their parents. She is wise like a mentor, but giggles like a girl when she is having fun. Kim is a good thing.  

There was a foster family prepared to step-in immediately and help a young child during the most devastating time in his life-the death of a parent. He is without family, but a temporary family will care for him until he is reunited with his extended family. Foster Parents are a good thing. 

Kim has a job in Nashville where she can be near her grand kids, and Christians serve our community as foster parents because of an organization like AGAPE that exists to help families and children in the worst of circumstances and fills in the gap for many when there is no one else. There is hope, help, and healing because for 50+ years AGAPE has been doing this HARD-WORK. 

AGAPE is a good thing.

Good things come in threes too. 

#justwrite #thisisagape #goodthings

A Memory- My Mom and What I Learned from Her Tuna Salad.

Janice Shockney May 4, 1937- July 18, 2012

It is the 4th Anniversary of my Mom's first day with Jesus, and I miss her. It is not as it has been said along the way, that we don't appreciate our parents until they are gone. It is just that we can never fully know all the ways we will long for them over the years. As our life changes and we face new unknowns and challenges, we just need them. We knew we would. We just didn't know in how many ways and the ways just keep coming it, don't they? Sometimes in the silence of the uncertainty of life, I strain to recall the comfort of just hearing her voice on the phone. No one has ever been on my team, quite like my Mom, and I miss her today and wish we could talk.

I have been thinking lately about the lessons I learned from my Mom. It is hard to boil down into a list all the things your parents teach you along the way, but this memory keeps coming up lately and the lesson it taught me unaware sums up my Mother's philosophy on life: And it is simply this:

We can't control everything. Plan for Joy. Expect some problems along the way. And, most days are salvageable.

My Mother was a planner. My Mother was resilient. My Mother was fun. And, if we made plans for a fun day, somehow we were going to have a fun day. On this particular day in the Summer, I woke up with excitement because Mom had planned to take the day off for a picnic and swimming for my brother, Gary, me, and my Grandmother too. My Mom worked, and during summer break, I was home all-day-everyday just waiting on something to do. There was camp, swim lessons, VBS, and sometimes, Mom would take a day off to take us swimming. Those days were the best!

 I could hear her in the kitchen before I was fully awake. I knew she was working on the Tuna Salad sandwiches we would eat for lunch. The mixture was a bit weird, but she added enough sweet pickles that I got over the mayonnaise, and after a couple of hours in the pool, a kid would eat anything. She made a pan of brownies the night before and Kool-Aid Lemonade we would carry in a Tupperware pitcher and drink in styrofoam cups as we sat on our towels with hair dripping trails of water and happiness down our backs on a brief break in the fun of the day. I could not wait!

Mom, Dad, Gary and Me in the 70's

The anticipation would build on the long car ride from the country into Goodlettsville to Pleasant Green Swimming Pool. When we were finally winding our way through the pool's neighboring houses, I would roll down my window, because you could actually smell the chlorine several minutes before you saw the gated entrance. We would find a picnic table under a tree, and mom would stake it out with a red checked tablecloth and our Blue Coleman Cooler. Towels were piled on the bench and chairs unfolded as Gary and I would run down the grassy bank and head for the pool. My Mom would sit on the hill in the shade with a paperback novel until lunch time when we would eat the sweet tuna salad and lots of chips and brownies and Double Cola over ice. It would be great.

As we were preparing to leave our house that morning something unexpected happened. My mother was walking up and down the stairs to load up the trunk of our blue Ford Granada when she called down to Gary (our kitchen was in the basement - weird I know) to bring up the Double Colas, an 8-pack of heavy glass bottles housed in a divided, paper carton. Apparently, there had been something wet near the drinks so that when my brother picked them up the bottom released and glass hit the concrete floor of our old country kitchen. The glass flew in all directions like shrapnel and a piece lodged in Gary's calf. He hit the floor crying in pain, and chaos seemed to take over. 

My Grandma started screaming for Mom and in a few minutes, we were all in the car, heading not for the swimming pool but for the ER. I was crying for a different reason now, but not so that anyone could see.

After what seemed like hours, we left the ER with my brother's leg bandaged and under the bandage 6 stitches in exchange for the glass that the doctor removed, with instructions to keep the wound clean and dry. DRY. Great, I thought. There would be no pool. No picnic. I must have said something out loud about by brother's part in ruining the day because I remember that MaMa (pronounced "MawMaw") scolded me.

I sat quietly in the back of the car with my eyes closed, and when the car finally stopped, I realized we had indeed driven from the emergency room to the pool. Just like we planned! I was thrilled! My Grandma was flabbergasted. My Mom was matter-of-fact. It seemed to her that we planned to go the pool for a picnic and a half-day was still more fun than not going at all. She reasoned that Gary could wrap his leg in a plastic bag, sit on the side, and at least get the other one wet if he wants to. And, we all needed lunch anyway, and it was already in the car. So a picnic it was!

I remember my Grandmother retelling the tell later. "Anyone else would have canceled the swimming day if a trip to the ER became necessary," she laughed, "But not Janice, she never lets anything get in the way of what she wants to do."

I loved that about my Mom. She just made the best of things (like adding extra sweet pickles to the Tuna Salad). She readily admitted that she couldn't control a lot of what happened. She taught us to plan with joyful anticipation, to accept problems or challenges as part of the deal, and not let anything ruin the fun if it is within your power. And most of the time it is. Thanks, Mom. That advice has always served me well.

No wonder this was one of her life verses.

#pleasantgreenswimmingpool #missingmom #philippians413 #justwrite

Friday Thoughts About Good Gifts

A few weeks ago on a remarkable fall afternoon, I sat with family and friends, in folded chairs semi-circle style, as an adorable mom-to-be unwrapped a mountain of gifts. Most of them from her registry, things she had pre-selected for baby boy. She, like most jubilant first-time moms, has endured the pre-partum countdown by thinking, planning and SHOPPING for his every need. This most loved and anticipated bundle will never know cold wipes on his bottom (why didn’t I think of baby-wipe warmer?), non-organic bedding, or naked, germy shopping carts without anti-microbial, designer, protective covers. His clothes will be the cutest little-man outfits ever, and she will carry him in the most stylish slings and carriers that will multi-task in ways my babies never knew. This is a special child, and he has had been carefully planned for.

What marketers and I know about my species, the parent, is also pointed out in Mathew 7:11; we “know how to give good gifts to [our] children.” And, we delight in thinking about and planning for their future. As flawed as we are, we usually ere by loving our kids too much if anything. God can relate; His love for us is “deeper than the oceans and wider than the sea,” and He has been planning for and dreaming of our future long before our birth announcements (Psalm 139:16). 

I thought about God’s love again last week while watching a mom adoring her smiling baby. Moms (and Dads) are crazy about their children’s smile. Not long ago, I came across my third grade school photo, and I remembered how embarrassed I was that my mom had placed it in a frame on the mantel back then. My hair must have stood up in every direction! But, she would always say, “I just love that sweet smile.”  I think God looks at us and says something similar. We know we are goofy and a mess, but He claims us and adores us because we are His. 

And about those “good gifts” from God, He sent His own son, Christ, to die for a sinner like me (Romans 5:8). What a gift! Just like the baby boy above, I didn’t even understand my need, but God, my Father, did. From before the first sunset and long before my baby shower, God was thinking and planning for me, and you too.

#Goodgifts #Daughtersofjoy #justwrite #babyshower

The Wedding

We wound our way through the hardwoods along the drive to The Barn at Shady Lane  on Saturday for the big day of my step-daughter and her soon to be groom. This was the day to be married.

I mean if you are going to look in the big Wish Book of Wedding Days, you would order a day like this perfect Fall Saturday in October. The sky an endless arena of proud blue with only distant reminders that clouds existed at all, the air just warm enough for comfort and just crisp enough to keep our attention focused with every breath that this was not an ordinary day. This was the day to be married.

Lovely people gathered not in ordinary fashion but with a special attention to dress and order, with music to escort this company who would affirm and confirm the rightness of this ceremony.  Soon the stage was set for the Groom as his Dad, Granddad, Uncle and many other family and friends joined him to await his bride.

The drama of the moment was held tightly like an archer preparing to release, and as if we needed an extra cue the music changed to announce the moment. As the Groom turned, witnesses held their breath. We knew we both observed and participated in a hallowed moment, one that would forever change all the moments that would follow. As her dad held a steady course, the bride approached her future as she approached center-stage.  The words spoken next were significant and important and binding. Though barely whispers through restrained emotions, the weight of the pledges could be felt, if not heard, by all as yesterday’s hopes and prayers became covenant before God and family and friends.  This was the day to be married.  

In our ever changing world where “insta” is not fast enough, and all that is special seems lost on a culture that weighs the value of days by clever status updates, it appears weddings have become a competition for the best Pinterest boards. The rest of us have become a bit skeptical as we calculate the rising cost and wonder how we can keep up with the expectations when our children's day arrives. I have recently heard and debated the sanity of such events. I have a wedding planner, who is a daughter - thankfully, and believe me, our perspective on weddings has evolved with her expertise.

But tonight, on the eve after, I am struck with the beauty of it all. I am changed. I am reminded. It was not Pinterest or the Supreme Court, but God who dreamed of weddings. God had the first crush. He loved us first. We are his. He wrote this story for Laura and Luke because he is the God of romance and he throws the biggest banquets and he invites us all to the feast. Through the wedding day, we see who He is. God is love. And, He reminds us on Wedding Days; true love is worth a great cost. It should cost –but not just for the Caterer.  It should be a day that alters our calendars and is anticipated as carefully as are the planned invitations and menus. It is a crossing over that must be marked and remembered because who we were before is not who we have become. We are changed by the day. By the love. By our God who loved first and made plans for us.  This was the day to be married. This was the day to remember the love.

#Weddings #Justwrite 

A Good Day – Always a Choice

A day that begins with the stumbling up and crawling out as many mornings do. A morning that begins with beams of light through slats tightly closed to the outside. 

Ah, sunshine and hot water and caffeine and routine. Traffic lines and frustrations build for morning-folk in transit, but that is only the start and still there is time for us all. Many hours yet. Time to contribute to the world. Time to decide.  To choose to give. Give of gifts given. Must choose. There will be need and the option to give. Wants that will interrupt the flow. Desires that will intrude without apology. Differences in personalities, backgrounds, preferences. Differences that can frustrate and separate.  

Or, we find common ground with the world today - we choose to see ourselves in others and others in ourselves. Can we who have unwrapped grace, offer the same to the day filled with striving, awkwardness and angst? A privilege. A choice. When we choose to bless by our blessings, we make room, we dignify, we honor, we notice. Then we invite and entreat and encourage what we wish to see in the day by living it. Like the morning routine, we can crawl and resist, or we can embrace and bless. Either way.  

#Daughtersofjoy #justwrite #embracetheday

Making Your Own Footprints, and What Do Opportunities and Concrete Have in Common?

Walking along the sidewalk on my way back to my office, I noticed some concrete footprints (that is footprints made in the sidewalk as it dried). Well, they didn’t start out as concrete footprints – they started out as an opportunity. Some hardy-footed fellow happened along at the perfect time to impact this six-foot section of walkway and “made the most of his opportunity” (as they say). Others may have passed by that day and chose an altered path, but not my mystery friend with the boots. He stepped up and in and made his lasting mark. I cheer for him with a smile as I walk.

That got me to thinking about opportunities. One of my go-to life verses is in Galatians 6:10a, “Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good…” This verse reminds me of two things:

• We all have opportunities to make an impact.
• Opportunities come, but like drying concrete, they might not last long.

So, while we can, we should make the most of our time and use our opportunities to impact others for good. But a secondary message I understand from Galatians 6 and the stony footprints is that my opportunities are not your opportunities because your journey is not my journey. I can stand in front of the walk and wish I could have made my prints in the mud that day, but it will never change a thing. That was not my opportunity. And, if I spend my days lamenting over opportunities of others, I might just show up too late to my own.

I Corinthians 7:7 helps me here by telling me I have been given my “own gift.” And Romans 12:5 reminds me I am uniquely created and have a role to play in the body of Christ, “So we, who are many, are one body in Christ”. When I put opportunities in the context of my gifts, it makes perfect sense that I will be given unique opportunities to serve and do good so that I can use the gifts God chose for me. I play my role well when I understand this. Uniquely Gifted. Uniquely Commissioned. I get it!

One thing I know for sure, I don’t want to miss an opportunity to show up big and make an impact (however small)…if it was an opportunity meant for me. I want to be ready with my boots on to jump in with both feet!

#justwrite #opportunities #footprints

My Honduras Trip Brought Up More What-Ifs than Answers

My mind races from image to image as I mentally catalog the week in Honduras (My Global MBA experience). What an exceptional experience to come and use all our senses to learn about these, not so very, distant cousins of God’s creation in a world so removed from my daily reality.

Everyone who travels to a developing country will certainly be impacted by the contrast to our culture. My thoughts of Honduras will not only rest against the backdrop of the differences I wake to Monday morning in Brentwood, Tennessee, they will rest against extremes in life I found in the proximity of the city of Teguce itself. Yes, my memories of Tegucigalpa will come in pairs of extremes: from surplus to scarcity, from modern to ancient, from sophisticated to simplistic, from corrupt to benevolent, from whim to vision and hope to hopelessness.

As I think back on my pre-trip perceptions of Honduras, I admit I was expecting to be impressed by poverty we would encounter having experienced the culture through mission trips tales of my daughters on several occasions. I was expecting to see children whose eyes would steal your very heart because they have been so neglected and abused by conditions not of their own choosing but of hopeless circumstance. I was expecting to smell unpleasantness and taste the cruel reality of a world in malfunction. What I did not expect was to feel such a connectedness to the people we met in local businesses and the faces of mothers and children in rural locations.

We started our week with a visit to Jovenes en Camino, to tour the boy’s home and I was immediately impressed with the facility and structure and with those committed to providing for 57 boys who live in the home. I kept thinking these boys, who live in community with their playmates and share a surrogate mom and dad with 20 others, are the lucky ones. As much as I am thankful a place like Jovenes exists in Honduras, I was overwhelmed with the enormity of need for hundreds of places just like it that don’t exist. I felt a contrast of emotion, of hope for the 57 boys living within the safety and blessing of Jovenes and hopelessness for thousands who will never have a chance to be safe and blessed. I felt a connectedness with Annie Brown, our 25 year old missionary host, because I had just waved goodbye to my 18 year old daughter to begin her own missionary journey. I wondered, if in a few months she will find herself in a place that will capture her mind and heart and want to stay beyond her internship… As impressed as I am with Annie and her love for Jovenes, my soul is not settled at this thought for my middle child…and yet I know the world needs more young women and men like Annie.

Our next adventure would prove to be the most unsettling, for me at least. Just as we struggled to gain access to a community some two to three hours over nearly impassable roads, I struggle to make sense of the remote and unjust conditions of such a place. We first visited a dark room in a small house where moms, many in their teens, gathered to learn parenting skills from volunteers. Children in their arms, they sat in a circle and waited until each child was weighed and growth was recorded.

I thought to myself, this is a scene that plays out in every corner of the globe. Young moms, trying to do what is best in order to secure a sound future for their children. Do any of us really know what we are doing before we are handed such awesome responsibility in the form of our babies? Don’t we all hope someone will give us some guidance? These sweet volunteer-women were neighbors, but also pediatricians and counselors, teachers and mentors, in a community without professionals with such titles.

We then rode to the preschool and public school in the community. The preschool was run by a sweet lady, who basically worked for free because the $35 a month she was supposed to receive from government funding rarely came and never on time. Child Fund, our hosts for the visit, supported the preschool as well as many programs in the regular elementary and high school next door. I was impressed by the enthusiasm and passion in the voice of this teacher, who for 15 years had poured herself into these children so they might have a better chance.

As we walked to the high school, we could tell something exciting was happening. We would soon realize the excitement was us! The whole school and teachers were present on what was supposed to be a holiday because we were coming. We were greeted by boys on stilts and balloons and dancing and songs. Each group had projects to present and showed us their efforts. Another contrast occurred to me as I watched kids with bright faces full of excitement and potential perform for strangers. How could this be a place where most will only go to third grade? They were amazing and talented. Shouldn’t they get a chance to be just that?

In contrast to these scenes of rural life, we visited several companies and were hosted by some of Tegucigalpa’s leaders in business. What impressed me about our hosts at these companies was their willingness to speak candidly about problems and issues they faced as a nation. They spoke bluntly about crime, corruption, poverty, and perceptions of Honduras, but finished by explaining all the reasons they loved and were proud of their country. No one tried to gloss over issues we all knew existed, but all wanted to make sure we did not miss the many positives about life in such a country of beauty and history and family-culture. At University visits, we were greeted by educators eager to show us their facilities and speak of the future of Honduras through lens of educating its youth.

The remainder of our week we enjoyed some good food, local scenery, and near misses as Miguel, our guide, skillfully (though frighteningly) drove us around. One sight I will not forget will remain a symbol of challenges faced by those who wish to move the country and people of Honduras toward a new day. In the middle of the main thoroughfare is a brand new lane built for bus traffic. It was paid for with political capital and promised to provide an ease to the current traffic nightmare. Instead, it has never been opened and may not be operational for another year, if ever, due to lack of urgency in post-election time. Such a waste of effort and funds! Instead of an improvement, the infrastructure is much worse. This is a symbol in my mind of the inefficiency and lack of vision of the leaders of Honduras.

Finally, I think about the children who asked us repeatedly for money as we climbed in and out of the van. If given an opportunity for a good education, would such spunk to approach a stranger boldly translate into drive and determination in the classroom and then in the business world? I think about the men walking in-between cars at traffic stops, selling canvas prints and fruit, or the boy juggling machetes for cash. What could their lives be, in another setting? I believe at the end of the day the lesson I will hold close from this experience is how I will never know the what-ifs for those men and boys or the what-ifs for myself in their shoes. But I believe I can know for certain that I am not as smart as I am fortunate. I am not as hard-working as I am blessed with resources and opportunities. I was born into circumstances almost guaranteeing my success, if I don’t prosper in this life I have no one to blame but myself. I am so thankful, and I should be.

8/1/14

#whatif #Honduras #justwrite

Remembering Mom

My Mom on right with her beloved sister Darlene on the left.

Janice Theola Simpson Shockney was born in a time that seems very far from here. Far from cell phones and email messages, Mom recalls the first telephone in her home when she was the age of 9 or 10. Not only a time without TV but without air conditioning and hot water heaters as well. Her childhood was a time when milk-men made deliveries instead of UPS men. It was a time when stories were told for evening entertainment and doctors made house calls. When no one was afraid to leave doors unlocked or worried over children disappearing outside for hours because that’s what kids did, played outside. Until dark!

Mom was the middle child of Theola and John Roscoe Simpson. Darlene her older sister was her best friend and they both adored and spoiled their younger brother Donald. My mom’s simple upbringing in Nashville Tennessee would prepare her for the life she lived with my Dad, Nelson Gary Shockney, Sr. She and my Dad were neighbors as kids in East Nashville but did not begin dating until after High School. My dad told her almost immediately, “He wanted to make her his bride.” But they didn’t marry until Dad returned home from his service in the Army because Mom wanted to be sure and not make a mistake that might lead to divorce like her parents.

Mom and Dad lived in Atlanta and then settled in Goodlettsville with my brother, Gary, and then later me. Our little house on Moss Trail was destroyed by fire in 1970 which led to a move to Robertson County where we tried to blend in with the locals and learn to be country folk! The house where we lived was remodeled around us and over us and we endured calamity and chaos including a flood in the basement, a barn that burned, and a well that constantly needed re-priming to insure enough water.

We tried hard to become farmers but we weren’t fooling many onlookers in those early attempts at planting and harvesting. It was much closer to an episode of Green Acres than a panoramic view of Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara in Gone with the Wind. I assure you. But we all enjoyed living in the country with fruit trees and fresh produce. Mom became an expert at canning our bounty and we raised a few ponies and cows which Gary and I thought was pretty cool. Mom worked at the Social Security Administration until taking early retirement in the late 80’s. When Dad’s health declined to the point he could no longer work, they moved into Gallatin and enjoyed what Mom would say were the happiest years they had together until Dad died in 1996.

We are all shaped by our parents and I am no exception. I hear my Mother‘s voice when I remind my girls to take a sweater or they will be cold in the movie.

Mom believed in being prepared.

As a teenager, like mine today, I would head to the door in a hurry to leave only to be stopped by my Mom’s warnings to buckle up, have plenty of gas, drive safely, lock my doors, etc. And, like my teenagers today I would roll my eyes at the familiar speech. But that was my Mom always ready and trying to prepare me as well.

Similarly, Mom began Christmas shopping in January and would proudly announce being finished sometime in late summer. She had the presents all wrapped of course too! In December we smiled as we opened slightly ragged gifts with flattened bows that had been stored away in tight spaces. There was the occasional Easter when a forgotten or well-hidden Christmas gift was found unexpectantly and appeared in our Easter Baskets instead!

I remember when a much discussed and anticipated Y2K really got my Mom in an uproar. She saved milk jugs and filled them with water and lined the storage shed with provisions so she would be ready for the weeks of survival that might accompany said Apocalypse. The funniest part of this memory is she decided if all life as we know it were ending it would not matter if her house was dirty, so she stopped cleaning as the impending time approached, and vowed not to clean again until the threat had passed.

She loved planning for Holiday parties and special events as well. I can see her cook books in a pile on the floor of the den as she made her menu weeks in advance. Mom was a great cook and she loved to make big meals for family gatherings. My cousins Brenda, Linda and Gina would rave over her fried corn on Easter lunch. Nothing made her happier than to prepare a good meal and have all the family come to enjoy it.

Mom also loved to travel. The most fun though was the preparation. Her trips she would plan by researching her destination and then writing and typing the information later cataloged in a photo album like a copy of National Geographic. It was impressive.

One of the greatest joys of her life was her Journal writing. In them she recorded weekly and sometimes daily the seemingly ordinary events of our lives. By doing so she gave herself the gift of many precious memories otherwise lost in the folds of time. In her last years she would revisit them like old friends to help with her fading memory being depleted by the cruelties of dementia. She wrote these memories down for herself and all of us as well because she knew one day they would be precious to her children and grandchildren as a record of our family.

But more than the sweet, funny memories of my Mom and her ever-ready habits, Mom lived everyday making the most of her words and time. She began everyday in bible study and prayer. She looked after everyone that needed her attention. She always ended a phone conversation with “I love you”. She always let us all know how proud and thankful we made her. She wrote letters to loved ones to make sure important things were said and not forgotten. She told us that she prayed for us every day and she did.

A few weeks ago she had the chance to spend a day with my daughters, she spent the day playing games, telling stories of her childhood, laughing, and telling them how important it is that they marry a Christian man and raise a Christian family. She didn’t know it would be the last day they would have to spend this way but she made the best use of the day because it was a day she would never get back like every day that we live. That was my Mom. 

If July 18, 2012 caught her family and friends a bit ill-prepared and not ready to say good-bye, Janice Theola Simpson Shockney and been preparing her whole life for this day. She was ready that night as she lay down to sleep to wake up as she wrote me in a parting letter, “I am not afraid to die”, “I have lived a good life”, “God has guided me in his counsel and now he is receiving me in His glory.” She had been preparing every day for the day she would wake up in Glory.

She was ready for July 18, 2012. 

I am so proud that she was my Mother. We will miss her loving presence from our lives. She was our greatest cheerleader and advocate before God’s throne. We love you Mom, Your daughter.

June 18, 2012

#warroom #justwrite #missingmom

We Don't Always Get What We Want, and Other Vacations Thoughts

We are officially home from our week of Spring Break today, and I am thinking about our trip. This was the first big trip for us, just us girls. We did go to the beach with friends in June. We also went to D.C. with the family in November. But this was just us getting away as a family, and it was new terrain for me. On a whim, I booked a trip to Universal Studios in Orlando. We had wanted to go back since we first went in 2005. It was not as I imagined it, though. I never imagined going without Brian.

The girls were pretty excited as we headed out the door. At the airport, I instructed them to stay by the bags while I checked us in. The Delta employee gave me the first bad news of the evening. “Because of storms in the area, your flight is delayed and it might not leave at all tonight." She then suggested I might actually be better to drive to Atlanta than to wait in Birmingham. I don't know about you, but any solution that begins with a three-hour drive to Atlanta sounds a bit hasty to me. So I told her I would check in and take my chances. That's when she delivered the next round of bad news. I booked our flight online through Travelocity and there were "problems" with the reservation. These were not problems that she could solve and I had to call Travelocity Customer Service. In a nutshell, it was my mistake (Yes, It was my first rodeo flying with the kids). I booked myself and Alex a ticket, but when it came to Kristian (13) and Hatty (10) I misread the instructions. I thought I needed to book them under my name because they would not have I.D., and it clearly states that all passengers must have an ID. Just so you know-NEVER do this. There was no way to fix this problem, but it took two hours for me to understand this. I'm a bit slow. After two hours of hoping no one in the airport actually knew me (it was not my finest hour), the Delta employee found me behind a potted plant waiting on hold for my next attempt at saving the trip. She told me they figured out a way to let us on as 3 Traci Kings and 1 Alexis King. So I looked at my daughters #2 and #3 and said "if anyone asks your name is Traci. Got it?" They got it. "This is my daughter Traci and this is my other daughter Traci!" Hey, we're from Alabama, what did you really expect? That made for a good laugh for the rest of the week.

When we were finally able to board, they separated us and we all had different seats all over the plane. Hatty had these big puppy eyes that made think I would just tell the person beside her and they would have to understand and switch places with me. But in the end I told her she would be okay, and I went off to find my seat. I felt so bad for her having to sit by herself, and it had already been a long day. As I made my way to my seat, I told myself what I would do differently next time. Should have double checked the rules, stick with Southwest for customer service, etc.

Well, it’s Monday; so the trip happened. We had a great time. When the first flight landed in Atlanta over three hours late, I still didn't know if we would actually make it to Orlando. We were booked on three connecting flights hoping that we could catch one of them. As soon as we landed, I rushed up to make sure Hatty would not be looking for me (mother-hen). She was deep in conversation with her two new best friends, a couple in their 40's, she-ex marine he-marine. She beamed at me when she saw me and told me all about them. They had played Sudoku, and talked politics, and school. Hatty was sporting a bracelet given to her by the Marine made of special rope and clasped with a military button. My youngest has a way of making instant friends. It’s a gift. If we could bottle it...worth millions. As we ran to our connecting flight which had also been delayed by the weather, Hatty looks up and says "I had the best time." Then, "I'm actually glad I had to sit by myself."

We made our flight to Orlando. The trip from there was fun. As we waited for the first flight to leave Birmingham we all realized about the same time had it been on time, we would not have been on it because of the identification debacle. The delay was a blessing for us-we just didn't know that at first.

I thought about the trip today, I thought of all the fun we had "fast-passing" through the lines all the way to the front. The best was riding the front row on Dueling Dragons (Screaming the whole ride!), calling my girls "Traci-Ryan" and Traci-Ellen" all week, and Hatty reminding us - “It could be worse. We could have no arms and no legs!" more than once. But, what kept coming back to me today was how we don't always get what we want. We want everything to go smoothly. No Red lights when we're running behind. No long lines in the express lanes. No Flight Delays! No seat changes! No sickness. No disappointments. No sad goodbyes. But what happens when that is exactly what we get? - We have to take a detour. We regroup. We learn patience. We make new friends and create new memories. And...We gain perspective. And...We go on. And we find out that we can. And Hatty is right it could be worse, we could have no arms and no legs - or no Jesus.

March 2009

What Do 6 to 8 Year Olds Know, That I Forget?

When I grow up, I want to be a kid. Somewhere between 6 and 8 will do. I could spend my weekends in a princess costume (without causing the neighbors to talk), or summers pool-side perfecting my cannonball, not to mention the joy of VBS and skipping to class holding hands with my BFF. I think the ripe old age of 6 to 8 is when a person knows all he/she needs to know to be happy and well-adjusted. In fact, it is all downhill in my opinion much later than eight. Six to eight-year-olds are so much cooler than your average adult. At 6 to 8, I had never carried a sweater around just in case it was cold in the movie; I had never looked forward to ‘soup weather’; and I could not understand why parents would sit in a chair when you could lay down on the comfy floor instead.

If I grew to only 6 to 8, I could tie my shoes, and learn to read. But, I would like to stop growing up before Santa becomes just a nice idea, or I believe someone when they tell me I can’t______ – whatever it is. Yes, I would like to stop growing up before I let others' opinions darken my soul. Wouldn’t you? Would you like to go back to the day before you starting apologizing for yourself and your lack of self at every turn? The day before you became aware of every imperfection and forgot about how awesome you were just the day before. That would be just cool beans- I think my eight-year-old self might say cool beans. I mean let me show you my new yo-yo trick or look how fast I can count backward from 100. You need someone to read out loud? I might stumble over the big words, but I’m your girl!

How many times have you put on your favorite dress, and instead of feeling pretty and smart, you thought about how you will measure up to the world that day? I have, too many times. I am also in the habit of lying. I say things like, “I don’t always look like this,” or “My house is not always this messy.” Why do I say things like that? What I should really say is, “You have caught me in my usual clothes, looking about as good as I usually do, in my house which is usually just about this messy; I always love to see you, but I would rather you told me you were coming so that I could have stressed myself for hours working on my looks and my mess to make you think I am something better than this. “

And, I often don’t feel like I am the one for the job, regardless of my ability. I can usually think of another who can do it better than me even though I would do just fine. It cheats me out of joy and cheats others out of my service, and I need to be no more the eight again.

An eight-year-old would find me silly.

I was thinking about something that happened several years ago, and it made me think of one of my girls who at the time was about 6 to 8. We were on our way home from an out-of-town-family-thing, coming home ragged and dirty and tired.  And, someone called unaware of our weary state and wondered if we could rescue a young couple who had no place to stay for the night. I immediately thought of a dozen reasons why I was not up for the challenge. The house was a wreck when we left, we had no food, I didn’t know if I had clean sheets to make up a guest bed, my mind went on…but then it stopped when my daughter, who had overheard, offered her room to the couple, her twin bed with pink polka dotted sheets and Polly Pockets on the floor, ‘They can stay in my room. ‘ I knew the Holy Spirit was calling me out at that moment, and I was ashamed. Of course, they can stay at our house for the night.  They met us at our house in their ragged car, and they were tired and dirty. I manage to say hello and show them inside without apologizing for my home or its messy appearance. I realized at that moment what I should have known without our unexpected guests; it was a perfect refuge, and it was all that was needed at that moment. And, I was completely up to the task at hand. In fact if you need to be rescued, I might not be as good as I was at 6 to 8, but I am your girl!

Do I Have a Ready Answer for the Most Important Question?

I sat across from my new friend Xiaoyu ('Zow U') from China. She is my first student in my new adventure with the FriendSpeak program at church. We meet on Wednesday nights because many like Xiaoyu are new to the U.S., and want to practice their English, make a new friend, and (sometimes PTL!) study the Bible and learn more about God.

Xiaoyu sent me a picture of a church she visited in China

Her home is 7500 miles from Nashville, yet we sit just inches apart. We are alike: we are women who care about husbands, daughters and responsibilities. We laugh easily as we settle into our visit. Her dark eyes and sweet smile bolster my courage and warm my heart. I know she has been reading her Bible and wants to know more. I am so eager to dig my hands into spiritual soil with Xiaoyu that my excitement overrides any trepidation.

As we begin to read in Luke, she looks up with a question. The power of this moment was in its simplicity, and I could feel the words as much as I could hear them. A question asked by maybe millions throughout time and one that must be both asked and answered by everyone who professes Christ. I am sure it has been asked in doubt, cynicism, fear, and frustration. On the contrary, Xiaoyu's face and her tone implied a mix of hope and wonder. She waved her hand over the text and asked just three words, "Is this true?” "Is this true?" I could feel my heart in my chest as I looked into her eyes. How do I answer in a way that will make a difference? I know there is apologetic evidence that I am in no way prepared to present. But then, I realize the answer she seeks is not a tangible one. Woman-to-woman and mom-to-mom, she wonders do I believe these are more than just stories in a book? Is the Bible true to me? In my life, is this true?

I know at that moment I have exactly what I need…an authentic answer. Yes, my friend I believe this is true. In my heart, I know it is true. God had a plan for you and me from before the first sunset. Jesus was not only a man who lived; He is my God who lives still. Praise God, He is real - Everyday. Praise God for those who seek the truth with all their heart, for He will be found (Jer. 29:13). Praise God for Xiaoyu!

#Godisreal #Jesuslovesyou #justwrite