Tag: Memories

Thankful For Facebook Memories

This note came up as a memory on my Facebook page. Perhaps you need to know you’re enough…I did today.

M: MVNC, Michigan, Misfits, and Maturity

One of the greatest enemies to my relationships is thinking I’m not worthy or I don’t belong.  I have spent my life battling with “I-don’t-belong-syndrome.”  So, the irony that M should land on this day is not lost on me.  Today has had plans in it for a very long time, plans that God made that superseded anything that could have been done by me.  Today is the 30th class reunion of my college graduating class.  I was excited to go and see people and reminisce at my Alma Mater.   Trouble was I didn’t write the dates on my calendar.  I read material from the Alumni Association, but the dates never penetrated my brain.  In the meantime, a friend from high school came up with a wonderful idea to travel to Michigan to see another one of our high school friends.  When the miracle happened that we all had a Saturday off together I rejoiced and marked that date on my calendar.  A final piece of material came from MVNC that was meant to remind me of the reunion and it hit me that I had made the mistake of not marking my calendar.  Now what a mess that was!  Or was it?  Today seems to be a day to deal with my own demons of feeling like a misfit and wanting instant maturity.  

Feeling like a misfit goes way back into my childhood.  I recognized it most at Christmas each time when I watched the Rudolph Christmas special.  I would sit and listen to the misfit toys sing their woeful song and then get all excited when in spite of their differentness they were able to find joy and love when they were reunited with the other toys.  Even the “Bumble” found usefulness and meaning.  As I grew I seemed to always find ways to lock into the group where I never felt like I fit in: I was never quite smart, talented, pretty, rich, or loveable enough.  Those were terrible monsters to battle and  I know that those feelings are a part of teenage angst and from a developmental psychology perspective I was struggling to find my identity.  Throughout the process I felt like David in Saul’s armor: nothing seemed to fit.  But unlike David, I didn’t know how to throw it off and find myself.

The other component that made life that so difficult for me was that I wanted instant maturity.  I remember standing on the stage at the end of the Miss Teenage Columbus Pageant.  I had actually made the top five.  I was now going to have to answer a question that would determine my place among the winners.  I was given a list of characteristics and told to chose the two I felt were most important and why.  I distinctly remember that one of my answers was wisdom and I think the other was happiness.  I wanted wisdom because I knew it was knowledge well used.  At seventeen I wanted to have all the answers and the ability to function wisely.  Now perhaps that seems like a good thing, but in my answer I see my propensity to want to short-circuit the process.  It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that someone finally helped me realize the importance of process, the need to value the process not just to strive for the end result.  So now in my fifties, I feel like a kid just sucking the life out of the process and it feels weird and people look at me even weirder.

As I was thinking about all of this I was prompted to pick up my copy of Warren’s “The Purpose Driven Life.”  I was required to read this at work several years ago and while I found pieces of it interesting, I was at such a different place spiritually than my co-workers that it wasn’t a good experience for me.  I chaffed against it to be quite honest.  So this morning I was flipping through some of the pages and I found a section on the misfits of God—imagine that! 

Here’s what Warren writes:

“What matters is not the duration of your life, but the donation of it.  Not how long you lived, but how you lived.  If you’re not involved in any service or ministry, what excuse have you been using?  Abraham was old, Jacob was insecure, Leah was unattractive, Joseph was abused, Moses stuttered, Gideon was poor, Samson was codependent, Rahab was immoral, David had an affair and all kinds of family problems, Elijah was suicidal, Jeremiah was depressed, Jonah was reluctant, Naomi was a widow, John the Baptist was eccentric to say the least, Peter was impulsive and hot-tempered, Martha worried a lot, the Samaritan woman had several failed marriages, Zaccheaus was unpopular, Thomas had doubts, Paul had poor health, and Timothy was timid.  That is quite a variety of misfits, but God used each of them in his service.  He will use you, too, if you stop making excuses.” (p. 233)

Speaking of maturity, Warren also refers to the process of maturing fruit and vegetables.  He writes: “When you try to ripen fruit quickly, it loses it flavor.  In America, tomatoes are usually picked unripened so they won’t bruise during shipping to the stores.  Then, before they are sold, these green tomatoes are sprayed with CO2 gas to turn them red instantly.  Gassed tomatoes are edible, but they are no match to the flavor of a vine-ripened tomato that is allowed to mature slowly.” (p. 217)

So what does this all have to do with going to Michigan instead of MVNC?  I’m glad you’re still with me to ask the question.  Today I’m spending the day with the woman who was class president and so popular I didn’t realize she even knew my name.  She has a life that I used to dream would be mine.  And today by the grace of God I call her my friend.  And we’re going to visit the woman who won that Miss Teenage Columbus Pageant when I was fourth runner up.  She is one of the smartest, most gifted women I know and God has blessed my life with her friendship as well.  Today I’m marveling in a process that has taken way more than 30 years to effect.  Three of us will enjoy the day together, but there are multitudes who have made it possible for me to do so.  I can’t name you by name here, but know that you will be in my heart there.  Today there is no misfit.  Talk about maturity.

Home Part 2…Memories

I’m getting settled. Husband and I have worked together to make our one room (large family room) function as bedroom, living room, office, and exercise space. Cozy. Putting the bed (twin with trundle) together was actually a fun experience. Sleeping in it even better.

Today in Arizona my siblings will be scattering my mother’s ashes across the desert she loved so much. Because of limited finances (neither husband or I have jobs or income), I decided not to fly out and participate. Part of me is sad to miss out, but the practical side of me won out. I will close my eyes and see her smile as she spoke of her love of the desert, and I will be okay.

Many years ago, after my dad died, we scattered his ashes on the 18th fairway of one of his favorite golf courses. At first this seemed odd. I had served as a pastor in several states, performed many funerals, and each one ended in a cemetery. Dad wanted to be cremated: pragmatic and cost effective. No services: too emotional, not his style. So, casting his cremains where he would be happiest made sense. Enough that it then became my mother’s wish to follow suit.

Here’s what makes that extra special in my mind. Every time I pass a golf course (and I did that daily on my way to work for the year after Dad died) I would think of my dad. I would remember his smile and stories of good games and lousy outings when he got home and put away his clubs. My husband golfed with my dad and it has been a special source of memories for him, too. That’s how we remember Dad. Not e don’t have to go to a certain cemetery and stare at a rock. We see him alive and happy.

So today, Mom will become one with the desert, and that makes me smile, but it will forever be owls that will trigger my memories of Mom. Like this little guy, perching on my coffee mug. It will be endless games of Scrabble, or Words with Friends…and I’m sure she would have loved Wordle.

This morning, I’m immensely grateful for the past two years (see previous posts that explain this life change). The cost was enormous. The discomfort, loneliness, distance, and loss immeasurable. I can’t thank my husband, daughters, and grandchildren enough for supporting me and loving me through this.

Once when I was in the throes of a teenager angsty tantrum, Mom and I had words. Exasperated, I went to the garage where my dad was creating beautiful pinecone wreaths. I had barely left the steps when the angry words came tumbling from my mouth, “How do you put up with her?”

He slowly removed his work gloves, set them on the table, and turned to look at me. I swear the moment was developing in the slowest motion possible. I stepped onto the garage floor and waited for him to speak.

“She’s your mother and you will respect her.”

That’s it. That’s all he said and then he went back to work.

I thought about that scene several times over my two years caring for Mom. Her rigid schedule and OCD behaviors could make me crazy in a blink. Her quirky rituals and superstitions most times made no sense…but that’s how she was. And I learned that I not only respected her, but loved her fiercely. And I would do whatever it took to make sure she was happy and well-cared for…to the very end.

I miss daily Scrabble. I miss knowing what day it was and exactly when it would be time to eat…and what. Nine pineapple chunks for breakfast with sliced banana—12 slices and exactly the same size. How to make a half a deli ham and sliced swiss cheese sammich with just the right amount of mustard. Dinner: Monday hotdogs; Tuesday boca burger; Wednesday mashed potatoes with Lloyds bbq; Thursday Gorton’s panko fish portions; Friday pizza; and Saturday grilled cheese. Sunday was up for grabs, but her two favorites were jumbo shrimp from Culvers, or a quesadilla from Chipotle.

I miss so much, but more than things…I have memories.

Tracing and Anticipating

I wrote this in 2009 and posted it as a note on Facebook–it came up as “memories” reminder. I’m reposting it and will edit it later. I needed the message.

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Our three year old grandson, Asher, started pre-school this fall. From the get go, we knew he was a bright child. He even came on his due date. We watched Baby Einstein videos with him until we all knew them by heart. Very early, he knew his shapes, colors, letters, and numbers.

At Pre-school they are teaching the kids their letters and numbers and having them trace them. Asher walks around with his left hand in the air, at the ready for the next thing to trace. If he isn’t tracing the letters, he’s counting how many characters or letters are in the word or string of words. He traces letters on the TV, on boxes, on books, from the newspaper, or on the shirt someone has on. One day, I found him sitting on the floor in the dining room. We have a shelf there with accident/spare clothes for him. He had all his spare shirts lying out and his own shirt off. When I asked what he was doing he looked at me with that “isn’t it obvious, Mema” look. Then, as matter of factly as he could, he informed me that he was tracing. Every letter around him screams to be traced!

Reflecting on Asher’s tracing, I began to see three components that made Asher such a good tracer. First, he walked through his day, minute by minute and room by room, anticipating, no expecting, that there would be letters to trace or count. What do you eagerly anticipate? A quick read of Romans 8 paints a clear picture of what we need to be anticipating.

Anticipating that God is at work, that he has a plan and it includes us, drives us, spurs us, motivates us to be ready. Asher walks around expecting to find something to trace. His little hand is often in the air, making circles, like an airplane getting ready to land. The word tells us we are to be ready, to always have an answer when someone asks us what are hope is about.

Could you do that? I’m not asking if you know some specific plan or canned presentation. I don’t care if you have scripture memorized, but can you (from a sincere heart) tell someone, “This is where I was. This is what God in Christ did for me. And this is where I’m headed.” It’s your story, are you ready to tell it?

And finally, I have been so impressed by Asher’s focus. His questions reveal his passion to learn more. He listens to all our conversations. I know this because often my words come back to me through him. It has caused me to be more conscious of what I say and how I say it. We’ve even had to resort to spelling things we want to keep above his head. Everything he sees is an item to trace. If he’s not tracing letters, then his finger runs around the circumference or perimeter of an item. Some days he carries his step stool from room to room so that he can be sure to catch whatever you’re doing.

Right now Asher seems to be practicing the fine art of learning. It reminded me of Brother Lawrence’s continual practice of the awareness of God. And I started to wonder: what keeps me from anticipating God at every turn? Do I have preconceived and limiting notions about who God is and what he can do? What keeps me from being ready? Is it fear, or busyness, or ignorance of the urgency, or God help us: lack of love? What keeps me from being focused? The enemy is the expert at divide and conquer. If he can get us to thinking in terms of sacred and secular, he knows it’s just a short distance disconnecting our head and heart.

When I was in seminary the second time around, a Sunday School teacher asked our younger daughter, Beth (Asher’s mom), what she wanted to be when she grew up. Beth’s answer struck the teacher enough that she made sure to tell me. Beth’s answer was, “a student like my mom.” There is always a need for us to put into practice what we know, but oh, that God would rekindle in each of us the insatiable desire to learn.

Then we would, like Asher, be anticipating, ready, and focused.

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