The Birthday Post

It hit me yesterday that my birthday is looming. After a few minutes of calculation, I discovered that it would be my 43^rd birthday. (That is not in any way a request for email, texts, or Facebook messages saying, “Happy Birthday”, but if that should happen, I wouldn't be too upset either. :) ).

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...” came to mind. The Charles Dickens novel often makes an appearance in mind in large part because I hated it. It was assigned reading in Mrs. Banks' 9^th grade English class. I didn't understand so much of it. Only later did I realize I didn't understand it because I lacked the context for much of it. I keep telling myself that I'll go back and re-read it with the wisdom and knowledge of an adult but I'm afraid I'll always have a sour taste in my literary mouth concerning this one.

But those opening lines are apropos of the way I look at growing older. In many respects it is the best of times. Being more comfortable in my own skin is definitely a good thing. Knowing more—yet understanding the value of how little I really know—excites me for the future. Having the security of a nearly 19 year marriage trumps the insecurity and angst of dating any day. Watching my child grow and mature is a joy to me.

And the worst of times? Well, I don't know that they are the worst but...

There are the obvious signs of aging, which eventually no amount of hair color, make up, plucking, and denial changes. Things simply happen. While I have more time to read and study, I also find myself having to take more notes to remember that which I have studied. Watching my child grow and mature reminds, with frightening regularity, that I too am, ahem, maturing.

Added to all of this is the fact that I recently read some of my journals from ages sixteen to about 18. Can someone please, by all that is good and just, have mercy on everyone and please burn those when I die—if I haven't already?

Finding those caused me to think, not what would I go back and tell myself if I could because of course I can't, but what do I do differently to insure that the 43 year old version of myself doesn't repeat the same mistakes the 16 year old made. Because, the decision making process (or lack thereof) begins with the heart and, we all know, that sometimes the heart doesn't mature at the same speed the rest of us does.

At 16, I never thought I'd see 40—let alone 43. I was lucky that cancer didn't kill me, even luckier that I wasn't killed by my own stupidity.

As I try to be a fairly simple person (and at my age, simpler is actually better—there's a much better likelihood that I'll actually remember it), I'll keep this short.

It all matters. Everything, from clothes to books to movies to music and beyond, matters because it is all reflective of what you think about yourself and your God. For some, the two may be nearly the same. If I claim the name of Christ, then everything in my life is worthy to be thought of under His direction. There is nothing in my life that can be classified as “neutral”.

Don't think too highly of myself (or my intellect, humor, station in life). In doing so, I necessarily think less of others. I devalue them whether that is my intention or not. I fail to see their worth as image bearers of their Creator because my own worth is shining so gloriously in my eyes.

Grow up. One would think this would be self-evident and happen whether we are actively thinking about it or not. It doesn't. How many 40 somethings do you know that are trying to recapture some lost sense of their youth? Very often, in our quest for that which we think we want most, we end up selfish, bitter, and alone.

Be thankful. It sounds so simple. It is, in fact, the hardest thing. As we grow and mature, we recognize that some of the things we are most thankful for were the hardest, most heart-wrenching things. Why are we thankful for that? Because it drove us to think past ourselves, to dig deeper into that which we believe—or maybe it changed what we believed altogether, in a good way.

Read. Listen. Read wide and much. Listen, really listen, to what others say. You'll learn something, I promise.

Anticipate. Look forward. Growing older may not be a cake walk. Rest assured, there will never be enough money, time, health, or energy. There is still much to be gleaned from the middle to late years. God's grace is sufficient for (and even in) this.

These are just a few things that I hope I do better at 43 than I did as my younger self—even just a year or so ago!

And I hope that I have the good judgment to share these things with the young version of my daughter with grace, knowledge, and trust that God will teach her in His own ways.

In Which I Finally Understand..

Yesterday, in the stupor of pinched nerves in my neck and medication, I watched a piece from a documentary with Jeff. It was Paul Simon's Graceland Journey: Under the African Skies.

For a bit of background...I am a child of the 80's. I grew up rocking to the sounds of Def Leppard, Loverboy, and Van Halen with a calming dose of Chicago, Journey, and Phil Collins thrown in. I listened to that which was popular and had a good beat. Often I would have entire lyrics memorized with absolutely no thought to what was really being said or implied.

My only connection to Paul Simon was hearing his name as a musician at some point in my life and recently Jeff had gotten a book which contained all the lyrics Simon had written. Jeff devoured it, as a book of poetry. I so didn't get it. Why read the lyrics? After all, I was pretty sure—though I hadn't checked the spreadsheet—that Jeff owned much of Paul Simon's music. Why not just listen?

“It's poetry,” he said. Still, I didn't get it.

So, when he asked me to watch a particular section of the documentary, I was probably less than thrilled but in too much of a pain induced stupor to protest much.

Apparently (for anyone as ignorant as I was—and this is an extremely simplified synopsis), Graceland was an album that Paul Simon put together in the mid-80s.

He used music and musicians from South Africa, which was at the time knee deep in apartheid. He brought a particular group, Lady Smith Black Mambazo to New York from South Africa.

The clip was two members of Lady Smith Black Mambazo talking about a particular song that they recorded with Paul Simon. As I watched these two men tell of their desire to get the song just right, practicing many hours and praying for guidance, I began to realize that much, much more was happening than just music being made.

This group of Africans were experiencing freedoms that most in their home country could simply not fathom. They were bonding with a white man, to the point of actually calling him “brother” because of music. Their common language. It transcended the parts and created a beautiful, enduring whole. And all of that came through in the music they created.

I saw the beautiful spirits that these two men possessed as they told their stories. But, something else happened. I “got” my husband a little bit.

You see, I knew that his idea of hearing music and of what music means is totally different than most people. Most people are like me. They listen to that which is popular and has a good beat. We are very individualistic consumers of tunes. Very few of us stop to think about music and to really listen to how it is put together and what the lyrics actually say. Music, for most, is background noise, a cheap commodity that changes as quickly as Lady Gaga changes her outfits.

But as I watched his eyes tear up, I kind of got it. I know that I'll never hear music the way he does. He hears the intricacies of the music, the thoughtfulness (or lack thereof) in the lyrics. He understands the difference between “fun” music and music with purpose—and gets that there is a time for both.

Within all of that, he also hears the stories. He hears the history, the people, the gift. He hears it in popular music, classical music, hymns, and worship music. Because he hears music the way that he does, his gift shines through.

He can help others hear music the way that he does. He can help them know the stories. He can help them be more than consumers.

Music is, or at least should be, more than a quick listen. Good music, that is. Music is to Jeff what food is to a hard-core foodie. Life is simply too short to gorge on popular, largely nutrition lacking food. Life is simply too short to fill our ears solely with that which is popular, with no thought to what we are actually hearing.

The lyrics and the music in the Paul Simon/Lady Smith Black Mambaza song worked in perfect harmony. To have had one without the other would have resulted in something less than. And to take one and put it in a different context would have resulted in losing the story, the history—the very message the song was created for.

Music is a creation. It is a creation in some small way reflective of our Creator. Those who can create music have a unique and special gift. Those who can listen to the creation with ears that hear the entirety have a different, but equally special gift. Those who can do both—are rare, I think.

They are the ones who teach the rest of us.

A Reminder

Sometimes I need a reminder.

I wrote this a while back and needed to re-read it.

I need reminding to keep doing what I know is right and true even when the easier path beckons.

One of the things I find myself repeating a lot is "I love you enough..." Some things Gracen understands and some she will come to understand and will hopefully appreciate one day!

I love you enough...

...to tell and show you when you are wrong. No excuses, reasons, or seeming provocation can erase the fact that you are a sinner and you will do wrong.

...to expect, demand, and model acceptance of discipline and/or punishment in the face of said wrongdoing.

...to remain your parent, not your friend, as you navigate the world of pre-adolescent and adolescent emotions.

...to demand that you take responsibility for your actions and your words.

...to require obedience and respect.

...to make you work for some things that we could give you.

...to tell you no sometime.

...to show you that, as cute as you may be, you are not the center of our world.

...to support the teachers and other adults under whose authority we have chosen to place you.

...to protect your innocence even as you grow up.

...to guide and encourage you to think deeply and Biblically in an increasingly shallow world.

...to let you be the you God designed--not an imitation of your parents or anyone else.

...to apologize to you and ask for your forgiveness when I am wrong.

...to guide you through disappointments that will come your way.

...to enjoy your growing up years as much as I did your baby years.


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The Clothes, The Mannequin, and Me

Hello!

I've been trying to decide whether to blog here, set up a new blog on Wordpress, or not blog at all.

Truth is, I enjoy writing. There are times when the only way for me to process something is to write about it. I've long since given up on being a very regular blogger though!

I had the joy of spending some quality time with my 13 year old daughter yesterday. I took her shopping--clothes shopping. The past two times she and I have gone shopping together have ranked right up there with having a root canal. I loved spending time with her, even though there were some rocky moments.

However.

My apologies (not really) to clothing designers, manufacturers, and retail stores--much of what I saw yesterday while shopping for an Easter dress should have had P*RN PRINCESS scrawled somewhere along the mostly non-existent top. At best, the clothes would have made my 13 year old look like a 20 year old dressed for business (and I use the term loosely) during the day and hard core party girl at night.

Somewhere, I was sure I heard my Grandmother who had an affinity for the classic, tailored, feminine look huff and wonder "what in this world they are thinking?" followed by a good, Southern "bless their heart".

Shopping for clothes has never been my favorite thing to do--I'd much rather shop for books, house stuff, or technological gadgets. But, my girl is a bit of a clothes horse. I try to meet in the middle most of the time. Decency and coverage are non-negotiables. But, yesterday there wasn't much middle (or top or skirt) to meet in.

Finally the skies opened and angels sang. For there was a skirt/shirt combination that she really liked and that I felt was actually worthy of being called clothing. She ran to the rack to look for her size. I prayed.

Her size was not on the rack. I pleadedprayed some more.

The mannequin was wearing the outfit--maybe, just maybe.... Sure enough the mannequin was wearing the size my girl needed to try on.

I started to strip the mannequin myself but figured I would at least try to find a sales lady to help.

She took the arm off (I felt some degree of kinship). Turns out it was magnetic--I'm thinking my leg guy needs to work on this idea! I offered to hold the arm and told the lady that I was an amputee and, therefore, used to holding body parts.

So after stripping the mannequin, we headed back to try on the outfit. It fit! She liked it. I liked it. I felt like I had found the Holy Grail.

My other non-negotiable is that whatever we get should be on sale.

This wasn't on sale. I gladly paid for it.

I threw a scarf around the naked mannequin on the way out and thanked her for her help.









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Merry Christmas

I always say that this time of year is going to be slower than it has been in years past.

This year, that has been partially true.

In November, I found a crack in my leg. Cracks in prostheses are NOT a good thing. Skin gets pinched, stability gets compromised...in short, just makes walking a fairly painful affair.

The process of making a new leg began. It isn't a short process because it is so much easier to make changes before making the final socket (top part of the leg). After several test sockets and much gratefulness to my leg guy for working so hard to get the right fit, I have a new leg as of yesterday.

There were some issues that will necessitate some tweaks--there always are. I'm currently in the "living with it" phase to see just what tweaks need to be made. At the end of the process, I'm always amazed that something that isn't naturally a part of me somehow becomes a part of me. In fact, during the time I've been without a leg, I've learned again how much I hate just sitting!

Despite the trips to the leg place and Jeff's incident with the stairs (he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his collarbone--we were actually thankful for the broken bone; it could have been so much worse), we've managed to get the house decorated though not quite as much as usual. Lists have been made and gifts bought. Christmas plans have been made.

We are all ready for the Christmas break. Time with family, time with each other--just time!

In case I don't get back here before Christmas, have a very Merry Christmas!

Up All Night & Demises

Last night, Gracen had her first ever lock-in. She was very excited, needless to say.

She stayed up all night. She is currently staring bleary eyed at her computer, biding her time until it is deemed cool (by 12 year old standards) to go to bed.

And I realized, again, that if one member of the household stays up all night the other members essentially do too. They get to share by proxy.

This day has been a day of demises in our house. I lost what I thought was a pretty good skillet--at least it was a good size. Turns out, there are truly some things that just won't come off.

I also happened to catch sight of the hamster cage. I don't generally look in on Cookie--I appreciate her from afar. She was curled up in the wheel.

Closer inspection revealed that she was, in fact, dead. I don't know whether she was running on the wheel and just couldn't go anymore--hamster coronary, if you will, or whether it was just her time to go. I have a rather sinking feeling that perhaps her food bowl didn't get filled quite as often as it should have.

Cooking rice for supper resulted in another lost cooking vessel. Doesn't take long for the water to cook out and the rice to stick--especially when you walk outside for just a few minutes.

So we are down 2 pans and a hamster.

Two of those things will go on my Christmas wish list; one most definitely will not.

I think showers for about to be married people are ill-timed. Couples really need showers at about 15-20 years in. A celebration for not having killed each other :) and a replacement for all things household!

I'm off to do that southern Saturday tradition--hello, pigskin; Go Hogs! Think I'll also convince my kid that 7:30 is really a cool time to go to bed...

I'm Just Curious...

It is November 9. Halloween was about two weeks ago. Christmas is 6 weeks away.

Last I checked, there is a holiday between the two. That holiday for turkey and football lovers alike.

Thanksgiving.

But I've noticed something. It's become sort of tradition for stores to go from Halloween to Christmas with nary a thought to Thanksgiving, save for sales on the bird.

But this year seems different.

I don't watch a lot of TV but I've noticed that there are no (at least that I've seen) commercials for Thanksgiving. Usually there are some scattered about reminding us to stock up on green beans and french fried onions for the green bean casserole. Stores are completely decorated. Christmas music is playing round the clock on a local radio station. Christmas trees are going up.

So I'm curious--what about Thanksgiving? Is it a non-issue? Are we so ready to rush time that already charges at supersonic speed?

I guess I just wonder why Thanksgiving seems to be the step-child of the holiday season. Is it as simple as there are no gifts or candy give aways associated with it? Is it because there aren't really decorations associated with it? Has it been reduced to another long weekend that just happens to have an overflow of food and football?

Perhaps Thanksgiving isn't thought of much because it requires something of us. To have a day set aside for giving thanks implies that we actually are thankful, that we realize we have things for which we are undeserving. It implies that we recognize that those things, blessings if you will, come from someone.

So, yes, while I love Christmas and all the loveliness that it brings. I also deeply love Thanksgiving because it requires some reflection, some thought.

Giving thanks has a way of humbling us and grounding us so that the loveliness and meaning of Christmas can sparkle that much more.

And that is, indeed, worthy.

Happy Fall!

The pumpkin has been chosen and is awaiting its new face.

Leaves are just beginning to change and blush with shades of fall.

The air is beginning (finally!) to be more crisp and cool.

A costume has been designed--it all the hippie glory one can muster for about $15 and a hour at the thrift store.

The girl who shares my love of cooler weather seems to have grown another foot between this year's pumpkin picture and last year's.

It's beginning to look a lot like fall!

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