2020

Yesterday I inadvertently came across two different stories of long-time married couples dying within days of each other. One on today.com (via Facebook) and the other in a book I'm reading about spiritual gifts . These stories aren't uncommon. Nor is the way they are portrayed: with admiration for a love so deep that two people literally could not live without each other. Perhaps I'm being cynical. Or have just never had that kind of marital love. But isn't it possible that they died because they were old (both 94)? Or maybe their purpose in life had been to care for one another. And with the passing of one so passes the purpose of the other? Not that I'm trying to downplay their love for each other. Not in the slightest. But doesn't that kind of love make you want more for the other person? More life. More adventures. More opportunities. More love. My grandparents were married for over 45 years when my grandpa died suddenly and unexpectedly. I know

Sometimes a cough is just a cough. And sometimes it is something more. There have been plenty of times in life when I've misdiagnosed my symptoms and situations. Either out of ignorance, wishful thinking, or due to look-alike symptoms. And not just when it comes to my health. How often has a situation made me explode with anger, when my anger actually has nothing at all to do with today's situation but something that happened last week, last month, last year. How often have I justified someone's actions because I didn't want to see the truth. That he was violent. Or manipulative. An addict. Or simply not meant to be in my life. How often do I judge others, not because they are wrong or different but simply because I'm afraid of being judged myself. How often have I felt sick and in need of a doctor, when really I just needed to eat better, exercise more, get enough sleep, and reduce the stress I've put on myself. And how often have I said I wasn&

Recently I've noticed how lacking my medicine cabinet is when it comes to "practical" needs. You could attribute this to my not being a parent. But I was also the step-mom who didn't own a thermometer until the poor little guy got a fever for the first time. So it is likely that I'm just not the foreword-thinking type when it comes to medicinal needs. Over the weekend I cut open my finger on a dog food can. I keep hydrogen peroxide on hand since our run in with the skunk . And luckily my grandma had left band-aids in the cabinet when she moved out. Unfortunately she didn't leave any neosporin, so I had to make a trip to the drugstore. Later I had a reaction to the garden when I was picking green beans. My arms turned red and blotchy from wrist (I was wearing gloves) to elbow. And all I had in my medicine cabinet was neosporin, hydrogen peroxide, and band-aids. Why would I have hydrocortisone, "just in case"? So it looks like I'll be taking an

Two smile stories have come to me this week. First, from Ruth. Ruth's granddaughter was born with bilateral microtia . In other words, she was born without ears. This sweet girl is 11 years old and just had surgery. She now has a left ear! In December she will be getting a right ear as well. With a hearing aid she can hear out of her right side, and she speaks normally. But what really got me about this amazing story is that she also needs a facial nerve transplant so that she will be able to smile. Can you imagine, not being able to smile? I'll bet she never wanted to smile so much in her life as she did when she looked in the mirror and saw her ear for the first time. I'm guessing she has learned ways to show a smile without actually smiling. With her eyes. Her words. Her hands. Through laughter. But can you imagine laughing without smiling? I'm excited for this sweet girl to one day get a smile on the outside that matches the one she wears inside. *** T

Next week I will be leading a workshop on spiritual gifts during an annual gathering of Quakers . I love discovering and rediscovering my gifts, what I'm good at, and what brings me joy and energy. But as I've been doing the prep work for this workshop my ego has been repeatedly reminded of this fact: " Spiritual gifts are not for us but for our service to others ." My dear friend Jonathan gave me an overview of the book Discerning Your Spiritual Gifts , which helps you discover what gifts you possess and how you put them into practice, but also asks what your deepest concern is and how your gifts can be applied toward that concern. I wrote down in my journal the question: What is my deepest concern? And easily, as if guided by a Ouija board instead of my own hands, wrote: APATHY .  I am deeply concerned that people don't care about one another, don't care about the church and the world, and don't care about God. I'm equally concern

While waiting for the oil to be changed in my car yesterday, I picked up a recent copy of Fast Company . I don't typically pick up magazines in waiting areas because I once read they are the filthiest, most germ infested things you can touch in a public place. But this one called to me (besides, I already had a cough). The article was about a man whose whole life was digital: e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and a few outlets I had never used or even heard of. He used them for work, pleasure, and because he's a total ego-maniac (ie. gets his validation from how many people "like" when he checks in to an airport or takes a photo of his dinner). Until his secretary told him he was getting grouchy and needed a vacation from the Internet. (Ironically my oil change was complete before I got through reading so I had to finish the article online at home.) During his 25 day Sabbatical, Baratunde's revelations included: It is incredibly difficult to disconnec

Lessons I learned from my dad this week: The hardest working man I know. July 23, 2013. Me : "The raspberries on the bush aren't very sweet." Dad : "That's because they're blackberries." Dad : "Watch out for poison ivy." Me : "What?" Dad : "That stuff in your hand." Me : "Oh." Dad : "Calamine lotion." *** My dad is all about letting me find my own way. Make my own mistakes. Follow life wherever it takes me. When I wanted to move to California from Ohio he drove all the way out with me. When I got homesick in Ecuador he bought me a plane ticket home. When I married a man with a child he immediately began bragging about his grandson. Asking me as a teenager to be nicer to my mother is probably the closest he has ever come to telling me how to live my life. He's never been the type to sit me down and give me a "father knows best" lecture or claim to have a hold on some &qu

Yesterday I took my nephew Kasen to see  Turbo , a movie about a snail who dreams of being fast. Kasen said his favorite parts of the movie were when the lawnmower and the kid on the tricycle were trying to run over the snails and the snails had to "tuck and roll." He is very much a boy. :) My favorite parts were the moments when they talked about not giving up on your dreams. Turbo kept telling his brother (a fat, cautious snail who was unable to tuck, let alone roll) that giving up on his dream was impossible because "it's in me." The snail brothers meet up with two human brothers who had a dream of owning a successful taco stand together. One is a dreamer, like Turbo, and the other a "realist", like Turbo's brother. There are other dreamers in the movie. A female mechanic. A man who owns a hobby store. Indy 500 drivers. Some with forgotten or failed dreams. Others who've never let themselves dream. I don't think I've ever bee

"I wonder how many times she's been married," he said casually. "Three I think," I said. Then added, "I guess it just takes some of us a few times." I could tell by the look on his face that it hadn't occurred to him that, were I to get married, it would be for the third time. *** "I went to a wedding last night," she said. "I hope this one lasts." Then by way of explanation, "The last two weddings I've been to have ended within the first few months." It made me wonder, if I were to get married again, if people would say, "I hope this one lasts," or "I wonder how long this one will last," or "Third times a charm?" *** I can dwell on my mistakes. Or deny my past. I can feel ashamed and embarrassed. Or worry and wonder about what people might think. I can pretend that divorce isn't a big deal. Or convince myself that it was my only choice. Or I can EMBRACE WHAT IS .

On Sunday, while at her aunt and uncle's pool, my sister-in-law Kari told Tessa, the oldest of her quadruplets, that as soon as she learned to swim Daddy would build her a swimming pool. Tessa immediately removed her swim floats and jumped into the water. By midweek she was swimming back and forth across the pool, underwater, coming up just once or twice for air. In her above-water life Tessa never stops talking so she has an incredible lung capacity. Perfect for swimming underwater. And her natural buoyancy positions her body perfectly so that she can grab a quick breath whenever she needs one. She is one amazing child. Our Tessa. July 18, 2013. I was thinking about buoyancy yesterday morning when Michael B. gave my brother and me some swimming pointers at our local YMCA. He told me I was a great swimmer. And by "great" he meant I needed to learn to breathe, stroke, thread, pull and reach, BUT my body position (ie. keeping my hips level) was perfect and that

Last week my clothes dryer quit working. And, it turns out, requires $200 worth of repairs to fix. Luckily I'm not one of those people who gets mad over such things. Sure, it is an inconvenience to my budget. And will require doing laundry at my parents house for a week. But getting upset about it isn't going to change anything. Instead I decided to take this opportunity to thank God for all the appliances I have that DO work: God, thank you for my washing machine which still runs after 7 years and my dishwasher which is probably closer to 10. Thank you for the refrigerator which keeps my yogurt cold and the freezer that keeps my popsicles from melting. Thank you for a stove top so I can make eggs in the morning and a toaster oven to brown my Ezekiel bread. Thank you for a lawnmower to keep my grass trimmed and a vacuum cleaner to pick up the dirt I track into the house. Thank you for my crock pot, my iron, and my microwave. Thank you for central air conditioning so that I

Last month I shared with you my experience at church camp, including the story of one little girl who asked me  why God would let her great-grandma get cancer . That week was also the early registration deadline for the Caesar's Creek triathlon I just participated in. My brother signed up a week before the deadline but I was having serious second thoughts:  Do I really want to do this? Can I do it? Do I really have to sign up now, a month in advance? I can always pay the late registration fees if I decide to compete. And then Carly asked me why God would let her great-grandma get cancer. I could see in her face how terrified she was when she asked the question. Cancer was scary, hard, and the end result unknown. Competing in a triathlon is also scary, hard, and the end result unknown. Except on a completely minuscule scale in comparison to cancer. At least I knew it would be for me. So I told Carly that if she would be strong and fearless and face cancer with her great-gr

Yesterday as I was entering a store, a man wearing flip flops held the door for me. "It's cooking out here," I said, by way of thanks. "It's weather like this that led to the invention of margaritas," he said. I like the way he thinks. I would add convertibles to the list of genius inventions resulting from too hot days. And kiddie pools. Flip flops. And those little hand-held fans that spray water on your face. And popsicles. Back in January a friend of mine put a box of popsicles in my freezer. He was drinking a root beer at the time. "What are you, 12?" I asked. We laughed. He ate one of the freezer pops and I just shook my head. One, it was January. And two, weren't we too old to eat frozen juice out of plastic sleeves? Besides, what adult drinks root beer? But this week I realized he knew something I'd forgotten, and I've been so grateful for that box of flavored ice. There is nothing like 90 degree weather, wit

With my brother Tim after we'd both finished! Caesar's Creek Triathlon, July 14, 2013. I would love to offer you a motivational blog post about all of the obstacles I overcame during Sunday's triathlon. Or share an inspirational story about what I learned from my epic failure. I had actually anticipated embracing "last place" today. Because those are the stories we love. Rooting for the underdog. Encouraged by positive attitudes in the midst of life's worst. Holding our breath for a photo finish. Hearts broken by adversity, yet simultaneously uplifted by the invitation to empathize and walk alongside others in their hurt. But I don't have any of those stories. At least not from this race day. This day was perfect. The air and water temperatures were both in the lower 70s. No one was wearing my outfit. I was well hydrated and breakfast stayed right where it was supposed to. The people were wonderful. Helpful. Having fun. Cheering each other on.

If I had any more physical or mental energy after completing yesterday's triathlon I would say more. But for now, I will simply, and happily,  EMBRACE EXHAUSTION . Because I worked hard and I deserve it.

I mentioned on Tuesday that I was reading The Weird Sisters , by Eleanor Brown. The premise of the book is the relationship between three sisters -- Rosalind, Bianca, and Cordelia -- named after three of Shakespeare's characters (to Shakespeare "weird" meant "destined" or "fated"). The personalities of the three characters are based on their birth order. Rosalind, the eldest, is a natural caretaker, an achiever, controlling, and the most cautious of her sisters. She wants everything in her life to be, and to appear, perfect -- perfect husband, perfect career, perfect home -- and she is her own worst critic. Bianca, the middle sister, is a people pleaser. She is also a good listener, pushes boundaries, has lots of friends, and is a natural peacemaker. She does, however, feel left out, lost, replaceable, and wonders, "Who am I?"   Cordelia, the last born, is a free spirit. She is fun and playful, uncomplicated and outgoing, spontaneous a

I've been fighting migraines for the past two weeks. Stretching, sleeping, Excedrin, ice packs, exercise, they all help for a little while but nothing has "solved" the problem. So yesterday I decided to try a deep tissue massage. While Sara was working the knots out of my neck, shoulders, back, arms, and hamstrings, I fluctuated between deep relaxation, pain, and extreme tension. The relaxation and pain I could handle. But tensing up was awful, because the more I tensed up the more Sara focused on that area, and the more Sara focused on that area the more tense I became. Halfway through the massage, at a particularly tense moment, I felt the word "submission" wash over me. I immediately forced myself to relax, to submit to the pressure, and Sara made quick and easy work of the knot she was focusing on. It was amazing, actually, how much more comfortable I was and how much more effective the massage was after that simple act of submission. I remembered the

Last week while we were at the beach my sister-in-law Jennifer offered her daughter, my 13-month old niece Riley, a handful of variously colored Fruit Loops. I watched as Jenn held out her open palm. Riley selected three purple loops, one at a time, and placed them in her mouth. I laughed. "I guess we know what her favorite color is," I said. Jenn reached into the box for a new handful. Again Riley selected only the purple loops. Jenn reached for a third handful, this time hiding the one purple loop under the other colors in her hand. Riley sorted through the loops until she found the purple one. When Jenn continued to hold out her hand full of loops, devoid of any purple options, Riley grabbed indiscriminately for a handful of assorted colors and put them all in her mouth at one time. While Riley has been exposed to every color of the rainbow, from books to clothes to cartoons to the landscape around her, her bedroom in Oklahoma and now in Texas has always been pur

Pauline's visitation was yesterday. There was a tea cup and saucer sitting near the casket. I asked her son about it. "She loved her tea," he said. "She always said she would switch to coffee when she grew up, but she never got that chance." Pauline would have been 96 next month. I was reminded of a line from a book I read recently, The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown. The character Cordelia says: "I keep waiting to feel old, to feel like a grown-up, but I don't yet. Do you think that's the big secret adults keep from you? That you never really feel grown-up?" I agree with Cordelia that I don't feel grown up, but I also agree with Pauline that I don't want or need to if growing up means conforming to a standard of what that means (even though I do enjoy a good cup of coffee!). Pauline was buried wearing all pink. Her daughter-in-law told me that she was even wearing pink house slippers. Because that's what she wanted.

My earliest and fondest memories are of going on vacation with my family. Five of us piling into a station wagon before the sun came up in order to drive all day from Ohio to Iowa, Ohio to Myrtle Beach, Ohio to Gatlinburg or Branson or Bella Vista. Not stopping until we came to a Shoney's or a teepee hotel. Laying down the backseats so my brothers and I could pile on top of our luggage for naps, reading, eating cheese out of a can. We sang along to Kenny Rogers and Garth Brooks, Jim Croce and Tom Petty, and made up our own lyrics. We played the license plate game and travel yahtzee. Repeatedly asking if we were there yet, more out of orneriness than boredom or anticipation. When we arrived at our destination we would play with our cousins -- fish, hike, 4-wheel, cave, swim, sled, play detective, whatever -- picking right up where we left off 6 months or a year before. Eleven of us would share one bathroom. Grandpa would tell jokes and teach us to play cards. Grandma would cuddle

Eight years ago I went on an Emmaus Walk . In short, the "walk" is a three-day stay at a local church where "pilgrims" learn more about God and His great grace, and can have a personal encounter with Christ, just like the disciples did on the road to Emmaus in the Gospel of Luke . An amazing group of women were on the "walk" with me. I have never laughed so much in my entire life. And also learned so much, cried so much, sang so much, and opened my heart so wide to God. One thing that I have never forgotten is that my "table group" (a small group of women who I was paired up with for the weekend) adopted the word "freedom" to describe ourselves. I have no recollection as to why we chose this word, but it came to mind yesterday since the word is so freely used to define our Independence Day in the U.S., the fourth of July. When I think back to the Emmaus Walk, I imagine we were feeling a variety of different types of freedom. Fre

Who wouldn't want another night with this sweetheart? I was scheduled to fly home last night, but "something" told me to put an extra set of clothes and a bag of toiletries in my carry on. The added weight was a burden, but I'm learning to trust my instincts, so I shrugged it off. When I checked in I wasn't allowed to select a seat assignment. In fact, all the seats appeared to be taken. So I wasn't completely taken off guard when I was left standing with three others while our plane taxied away. The woman at the end of our "left behind" line cut to the front and very casually said to the gate agent, "I was on standby." The rest of us were actually supposed to be on the flight. The older man in line with us stormed off after sharing a few obscenities with me. I tried to smile at him to make him feel better, but he was having none of that. He came back a few minutes later, looking even more enraged. The other man didn't speak

My brother and I both work from home. Riley at Crazy Cajun, Port A. Thanks to technology, "working from home" means I can work in my home office in Ohio or his spare bedroom in Texas, in the airport in Atlanta or the Edward Jones Dome in St. Louis, on my laptop or my phone. For my brother it means walking down the hall and closing his office door in the morning and coming out to join his family for lunch at noon. It often involves sales calls and deliveries, but, like yesterday, we combined one of those deliveries with a Cajun dinner in Port Aransas . There are downsides to working from home, like the expectation that you are available 24/7 by phone, text, or email. The potential for distraction. And, contrary to popular belief, it doesn't mean being able to set your own hours, since many of our clients and coworkers do have traditional office hours (and may be in various time zones). But the fact that I was able to work yesterday, in Texas, while my niece too

Six months have passed on this journey to EMBRACE . What began as an excuse to write every day has turned into a way of life. A life that feels deeper because it is lived with intention. Because it not only involves me, but also you. It would be sufficient for me to embrace fears and fun, confidence and conversation, boy bands and beaches. To learn these lessons for me. Just me. But I don't want to settle for sufficient. I want a life of extravagance and abundance. A life worth embracing. A life worth sharing. A world that is brighter and better. For you. For us. A life full of risk and opportunity. Emboldened by grace and forgiveness, love and adventure. I am called to communicate. To teach. To create. To participate. To be authentic. All these lessons. These changes. And I'm only halfway through the year. EMBRACE HALFWAY . Here's to the next six months. May they be larger, fuller, deeper, richer. For you and for me.