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

Living in the AFTER on a Tuesday - "Through it All My Eyes are on You"

 It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video) - YouTube. 

This weekend my husband and I were invited to attend a marriage thing. Our lives were hectic last week and the invitation came at the last moment. We honestly didn't want to go. I mean we sorta wanted to go, but the stress of our pace has left us with little bravery. We knew we needed to, but the mountain before loomed large. His schedule, my schedule, the dogs, the teenager, other things needing us. Apathy brought on by fatigue. I think we both heard the small but growing call, "You should go." So, somehow we did.

There are lots of words I could use to relay the purpose of  the weekend all beginning with "re":

Restore
Renew
Rest
Refresh
Reconnect
Reset

All good words. All much needed. But, today I keep hearing a couple of things over and over. One was a point made during a Sunday morning devotional as a group gathered from our church to remember our savior and commune as one body.

The First point was this (in my words):

There was a difference in the apostles' boat that day on the lake before and after Jesus got there (Matthew 14 22-33). There was panic, despair, and doubt in the storm, but the moment Jesus steps in there is calm, confidence, and peace. There is always a before and after with Jesus. 

How often can others tell I live in the AFTER? My life should reflect the calm, confidence, and peace of Jesus' presence. Amen?

The Second point is this song:

It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video) - YouTube. This is a new take on the old hymn, and I hope you will close your eyes and just listen and rest.

The words wash over me like the "wind and waves [that] still know his name." I grew up listening to the hymn "It is Well" in my country church. As a girl, I had no idea what the words even meant.

I now know what it takes to sing those words, and it is not a fearless thing. I look up and the mountain just seems so overwhelming. Whether it is the mountain of responsibilities that don't want to move so that I can spend a weekend with my husband or a mountain that has broken my spirit as I view the devastation left in the wake of the realities of this life - there is struggle, loss, and crisis all around. And, sometimes there is just too much.

Still, Jesus climbs in my boat and invites me to trust in him. And, I don't have to know how he is going do it, but I just need to believe that he will calm the storms in my life. I just need to keep my eyes on him, through it all. "The wind and waves still know His name...[Who am I] not to believe?"

Let me live in the AFTER.

#justwrite #itiswell #throughitall #daughtersofjoy

Homecoming

Today was homecoming at the church we attend in Nashville. It didn’t really feel like homecoming, to newcomers like us, but it was a wonderful uplifting atmosphere nonetheless. Our speakers recalled church history and spoke on the meaning of home. There were hugs from old friends found again and a barbecue lunch for all with music and games. Whether visitors, new members, or friends from afar returned, all were welcomed as a part of the coming-home.  I felt blessed to be a part of a church where coming home held special meaning and it left me thinking about home.

I haven’t been home in a long time. There is a saying that “Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.” I left Birmingham to come back to Middle Tennessee almost five years ago. I thought moving back so close to where I grew up would mean I would find easy belonging. I was wrong. The familiarity tears wide open a longing that the place itself cannot provide. It is universally true and yet it feels so personal. The country roads still lead to the same house of my youth and people still gather inside, but they are not my people and it is not my home.  My childhood home no longer exists.  In my favorite Billy Joel song, “You’re My Home” he relates that home can be anywhere as long as he is with the one he loves. I believe this and it gives me hope and I make a new home and fiercely love all that gather here. But, they keep growing up and are leaving more than they are coming lately, and I feel like a Christmas tree left up until Easter. Everyone is celebrating a new season and I am a bit droopy and out of place. And again, I search for home and look forward to homecoming.

As our speaker said this morning, home is not a place any more than the church is a place; a home and the church are its people. And what I realized today in worship, is that if God’s family and its people are my home as Billy J. says, “I will never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone…cause home is just another word for you  church” And, lately I have been feeling more and more like I come home every Sunday. I see smiling faces of new friends and remember the details of their journeys I am beginning to know and cherish. I visit today with the new mom behind me who was once just a pregnant stranger. Today, as she pats her baby’s back to the rhythm of life all around us, we exchange baby stories and relate as only mothers can.  The couple to my right buried a brother this week and I hug the wife after service because I know; I have stood at the grave too many times myself. The elderly man (whose seat we may or may not have taken by accident) misses his wife who is in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s disease, and he loves to tell us stories about the many people he knows and has known. He blesses us every Sunday with his memories and love of life. In the world where we make people our home we are tossed about – never knowing what news and change will batter us next. In God’s Church, we are anchored- whatever the storm. Fragile and in transition separately, together we are a stable home – never changing. Together we are a people called with a common purpose, tied together by a common love, and held together by a common hope in Jesus. We can come home every Sunday. Because we gather. Whoever is left. Until he comes.

#homecoming #wearethechurch #justwrite 

Masterpiece

Excited friends to paint our materpiece

In October, several years ago, I went to one of those paint-it-and-take-it-home-canvas studios with some eager friends on a Saturday night. It was a new craze then, and we were excited to be together for a fun night of painting and laughs. I was not alone in my anticipation of a canvas-trophy worth displaying in my home. We had purposely chosen this night because the colors in The Red Door painting we would create would work well in all our homes.

With blank canvas as our stage, smocks donned and our chosen Starbucks drink at our side, we were ready for our night of art and friendship. Susie, the master-painter, stood at the helm ready to instruct and guide in proper brush technique and paint application. We were enthusiastic students with noble intentions..."Yes we will do exactly as you say Miss Susie because we want to paint a picture just like you."

Me and Martha Brown

When Susie told us to use the big fat brush we all picked it up and dabbed here and there. Then, we tried the smaller brush. Next, we were mixing colors and applying techniques. It was so much fun being an artist! Before long my confidence in my abilities was high and I looked over at my friend Tyra's picture and was disturbed to realize, it looked nothing like my own! My friend Lisa's picture looked nothing like my own!! I got a little stressed. Then, I got behind. Before I could catch up Susie was two steps ahead and I had no idea what to do. So I found myself looking at my friends and asking, "What did I miss?" Thankfully, they told me. But my friends were not experts like Miss Susie, they were, like me, canvas painting novices. I still felt a little stressed.

Susie kept saying, "Don't worry about what it looks like now. Just wait until we add the foliage at the end and it will all come together!" She said this a few times, so at this point I was not so sure. But she was right, it did come together at the end. I did get a picture to take home (maybe not a masterpiece), and so did everyone in the room.

It was so interesting to see the differences in the art around the room. There were no two alike. But somehow, they ALL looked like Susie's. We were all proud of each other as many compliments and smiles were exchanged between old and new friends.

Several things struck me as we ended our journey together that evening:

• We all started the evening without knowing how we would finish.
• We all realized each woman tried their best and the individual result was praise-worthy.
• We found common bond in our imperfection.

Women are so cool sometimes!

I drove home that evening with a wish for our daily journeys to resemble that evening in the painting studio. I wished that we would collectively realize none of us really know what we are doing, but we are in this together. To know we are so different because God made us this way for a reason. He knows some of us will get distracted and fall behind. This is why he gave us a friend who is working toward the same goal. A sojourner following the master painter like us, only a bit farther down the road. We can look to them for help. I just needed some helpful hints to get back on track with my masterpiece. If Tyra had said, "You need to pay attention," I might have never finished my picture. If Lisa had said, "No you are doing it all wrong," I might have gotten discouraged. We need each other, not for reprimand but for a helping hand. And at the end of the evening, my picture is not supposed to look like my friends', it need only resemble the Master's.

I prayed then and do today: "Let me lighten your load, not make it heavier. Before I do anything else worthy: bake a cake for the bake sale, drop off more donations, sign up for the next volunteer slot, let me show mercy to my sister where ever she is on her journey. Amen."

#masterpiece #wearealldaughters #weneedeachother

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

Indian Corn

From 2009

Some of the best times the most golden moments are the ones that happen right before "lights out" at our house. I wonder at how quickly the bedtime routines have gone from reading the well-loved and worn story books to "just thirty more minutes on the computer, please?" But for today my youngest, Hatty, still wants to share her bedtime thoughts and prayers with me...as they say "priceless".

It was one of those nights a few months ago, Spring maybe, and I was on the ladder that leads to Hatty's loft bed where she lay. Standing on the ladder I am face to face with my sweet girl as she pours her heart out in prayer to God. Oh my, I wish you could hear the things that are on her heart, I am amazed at her tender words.

But anyway, this night as she looks me over as we are so close she plays with my hair. And after "Amen." and before "I love you." she says..."Mom your hair is so beautiful! It has so many pretty colors...just like Indian Corn!" (she should be a diplomat or at least in PR) She was right my hair has many colors (dark brown, red, gray, blonde, gray)..just like 'Indian Corn'-Priceless!

#warroom #justwrite #bedtimeprayers

Things Change

It seems I always come back from a vacation with thoughts that will not leave me alone until I sort them out. I must organize them, label them, and leave them in order so I can reference them from time to time. That’s the way it is today…as I upload pictures from our beach trip, two words keep repeating themselves “Things change.” I’ve both said and heard said hundreds of times…”Things change.” Travel down a stretch of road you’ve not visited in a year or two – Things change. bump into a friend you remember from college – Things change. Compare photos of your kids from one beach trip to the next – Things change. Our attention is diverted with tasks and obligations until getting through the day turns into years. We are reminded by the obvious of our negligence to be in the moment, and all we can offer in defense is…”Things change.”

But really that is natural-those changes we confront because time passes and progress happens. But whats washing up like waves competing for my attention against my stacks of laundry tonight are the changes I don’t make allowances for-the ones that really catch me looking the other way.

This week while on vacation, I received a phone call from a dear friend about a tragic death in her family. I also recently received other email telling of a cancer diagnosis. Both of them were a shock to me. Have I not learned my lesson yet? Guess not. Things Change. Yes, they do – but not in years or months, sometimes daily. Not in manageable doses, but in unimagined pronouncements. Its not always on the calendar what the next day will bring-we should all know this by now.

So I have to ask myself should I just live in dread? Always expecting bad news? The answer can’t believe I asked the question.

Do not live in anticipation of the next crisis – Just Live! Just Live!

But really live. I mean don’t just live hoping to survive the next unexpected phone call…Live expecting to Thrive, to Bless, to Inhale Deeply, to Love Hard, to Move Forward, to Forgive everyone, to Cherish today. Because really what is the alternative “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (not me, not you).

I choose what to do with this day, this wild and fragile moment. Whatever I choose I can say for certain It will pass…Things change.

(Summer 2009)

#vacation #justwrite #thingschange

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

Gaining Fresh Perspective from a Ranting Twenty-Something

Don’t you love it when one of your offspring calls to chat about life? I know how busy they are with school and work, so when they take time to poke my picture on one of their iPhones to check in and share the activities of the day, I just get happy! On this particular day, as I rushed from work to my grayer-than-I care-to-ever-know monthly hair appointment, I see the face of my oldest cherub and although harried, it pleases me to spend a few moments while in transit to catch up with my girl. But her tone let me know quickly, like Santa’s visit in The Night Before Christmas, this call had a purpose.

My mind skipped from hassle to crisis like a stone across the lake… It’s too early in the semester to have failed a class…Is she out of cash? Did she have a wreck? Is her car broken down on the side of the road? Another ticket? How fast were you going? Wrong, wrong…none of those…whew!

“What can I help you with?” “I need to order checks!” she rants.  “Okay,” says I obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation, “Order some.” “I have been trying to for an hour and I can’t get it to work! What address did you give the bank for my account?! Whatever it is, I don’t know it because I have tried everything, and I can’t order checks without knowing my zip code!” declares my precious.

Well, this is not quite the “Hi, Mom, how are you? I am fine and I appreciate the free education,” kind of call I was expecting. I was slowly becoming aware that the purpose of the call was not for my banking expertise. None of my suggestions were welcome. “Do you need me to drive five hours from Nashville to Auburn to help you with this?” I finally offered, becoming agitated. “No thank you, I can handle it and bye,” were the final words to our friendly chat. Wow! So glad I could help! And, what did I do to deserve that? I declared to the sky as I drove on to my hair therapy.

On the way home, I thought about the call with my kid. She was my kid, for sure. She had items on her to do list and felt frustrated with the lack of progress. She should have been halfway down the list, not still stuck on top of the list. She needed to vent; I was safe. I get that. I do the same thing.

I have a mental to-do-prayer-list that I occasionally wave to my Father in frustration. “Why is this one so hard?” “Why is this one not working?” I rant to God in prayer. He smiles and says, “It’s good to hear from you. I was just thinking about you!” I let him know I have a specific purpose for our talk and I don’t have time just to chat. He listens patiently, unlike me the parent. He doesn't respond in agitation. I deserve it, but I do not make him mad. He is safe place for my ragged to-do-lists. He gets my frustration, because he knows me. I am his.

To be a Mom and to be a child. Such perspective.

Remembering

When the time of telling and asking are done,
All that is left is the remembering…
I can no longer tell you of my love.
I can no longer ask your opinion.
The halls of your life lived here are silent.
But the memories speak to me softly,
And linger to remind me, “ Learn from this teacher.”
Death is never finished with the living.
In our disregard, it steals without reprimand,
Until the still halls of our soft remembering are made again alive in a joyful gathering.

by Traci Barton
(Inspired by the poem Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant)

#poetry #justwrite

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