Grateful Introspection

Sometimes when a person is expressing gratitude, others call their words a "humble brag". Ty explained this to me. The person is actually bragging but contriving to make it appear as simple, and humble, gratitude. 

This phrase, "humble-brag", while it may be accurate, has a negative effect on other people. One cannot be truly grateful for something and express that joy without fearing how it might appear. This, in turn, leads to much less gratitude in the world. FOMO (another word from my children meaning "Fear of Missing Out") paralyses gratitude. Or at the very least, the expression thereof. 

There are moments in life (mine, at least, I cannot speak for others), when the thankfulness wells up and spills over. My friend, Quinn, told me these are moments of Shalom, when things are as they should be. 

I stood outside tonight as the sun was setting. I stood under the Party Tree, now well over twenty feet tall. I stood under this oak tree where the birds were flitting from branch to branch, where the shade was just so, where the small iron chairs from Uncle Don are positioned, and let the peacefulness of the moment soak into my heart. This is the tree I ordered from the Arbor Day Foundation and Chris planted when it was 12 inches tall. This is the tree that started growing when there were no other trees in the man-made hilltop of our front yard. This is the tree my kids used as their pivot point when riding their bikes. This is the tree we hung lights in for Brendan and Rhema's reception. This tree marks the starting point of our life in this house; a measurable, significant, assessable gauge of time. 

My childhood was chaotic and lonely with moments of tranquility. This is probably because my mother was chaotic and, I suspect, lonely, but with moments of tranquility. As I near my 49th birthday next week, I am introspective. I can't help but draw comparisons between my life and my mother's life. I cannot say what she felt on her 49th birthday, but I know it was only three years before she died in a way that gave me PTSD. I know she was mentally ill and angry and almost destitute. I know she exhibited a frantic obsession with leaving us a legacy. 

Today as I stood under our tree I looked at my house. The house Chris, with the help of others, built with his sweat and exhaustion. The house that is now over twenty years old. The house that Maggie said the front of was "#goals". And as I stood and looked around me, I couldn't stop my words.

Thank you, Father, for this house. Thank you for the gift of a home for my family.

Thank you for the flowers that you taught me to grow.

Thank you for the tree that towers over me and gives shelter to the birds.

Thank you for Uncle Don and the generosity of his heart in giving us these sweet chairs. 

Thank you for the cats and the dog who want to be near me.

Thank you for the grass that grows without prickles and is soft under my feet.

Thank you for the woods that surround me and shelter me from the world.

Thank you for the gift of family close by, volitional and other.

Thank you for the sidewalk that my grandchildren will one day draw on with chalk.

Thank you for stillness of the air and the blueness of the sky.

Thank you for this... life. This sweet, precious, peaceful life. This life that I could have never envisioned when I was young and lonely and confused. This life that is also filled with worries and cares and fears and opportunities to trust You.

Thank you, Father, for this taste of heaven until I can be with you in the true and complete Shalom. 

I am so grateful.

A Different Kind of Grief

 My friend has died. I have tried to convince myself that he was just a resident and that our relationship was firmly within the boundaries of old person/caregiver. But that is all rot. He was my friend and it was not his time.

It is strange to so deeply grieve a person no one outside of work knew. To wade through the molasses of grief on my own, with no one to comfort or to be comforted by. When the grief snatches my breath, I push through because the ones who love me best did not know him, do not grieve him.

He was so funny. He was clever, witty, smart, snarky, and sassy. He had a habit of forgetting to glue his dentures in and having to talk around them while they flopped. He was known for his dancing. He snickered and shook when trying to tell a story he thought was particularly entertaining. With one raised eyebrow, he expressed his horror or disbelief or mischief. One quick side-eye and I was hard pressed to keep my composure. His sarcasm was my delight.

He shared his sorrow over never having children and his relief at never remarrying after his one disastrous attempt. He told me about the red-haired woman his grandfather ran away with and the beauty of his mother who died when he was just a teenager. He was dismayed by his own snobbery and impatience with people, and he was quick to apologize when he lost his temper. He was fiercely proud of his twin, even while trying to seem detached. 

He spoke his mind. He spoke only the truth and displayed what it looked like to not shrink back. He loved Jesus and sorrowed his own sin and failure. He had a teddy bear he named "Dumb-ass" who made sure to remind him of all the Dumb-ass things he had done in his life. He lived with his pride and his repentance held openly and firmly for anyone to see. 

I will miss helping his remake his bed every week because the housekeeper never did it to his liking. I will miss the conversations while he sat in his favorite chair and I sat on his blue velvet sofa with CrimeTV blaring in the background. I will miss his encyclopedic knowledge of Birmingham's Southside.  I will miss his sarcastic comments under his breath during every concert. I will miss his go-to phrase of "Oh, hell". I will miss him trying not to smile at my antics and costumes and bad puns. I will miss his tenderness towards his friends, the way he helped them out of their depressions. I will miss his smile and the twinkle in his eyes. 

We were three weeks away from him getting to meet Chris. Three weeks away from the Covid booster that would have probably have saved his life. Three weeks from Halloween when he would have laughed at my Wonder Woman costume. Three weeks. Just three small weeks. 

I fell in love with him. Never romantically, but the way a daughter falls in love with her dad, or the way two friends with like-souls fall in love when they finally meet. I loved him and cannot wait for the day when I walk into heaven and hear him say with his hand on his hip, "Well it's about damn time." 

It is strange to grieve so alone. It hurts a little extra for it. 

I will miss my friend. What a gift he was.  

Don't Listen, Then Listen

 I listen too much to what other people say about me and expect from me. 

I've been told so many times that I'm not a baker or that I'm not crafty or that I can't cook. I remember being told that I'm not athletic. Or that I'm messy and disorganized. I heard it, absorbed it, and believed it. I have said those things about myself many times. I even named one of my Pinterest boards, "Yummy Food I Will Never Cook". 

The truth of the matter is that I'm not as good a baker as many people are. There are people I know who are craftier than I am. I don't have high levels of body awareness and athleticism. Etc, etc.

But...

I have discovered that by eschewing those judgments I can achieve things I never dreamed. 

In the past few months I have:

1. learned to bake bread 

2. baked cookies and made pies

3. decorated entire areas beautifully and to other people's delight

4.  allowed myself to try new things

5. created art 

6. organized a huge work area that makes life easier for my co-workers

7. found exercise to be fun

8. made lots of Christmas bows

9. designed and made more than a dozen centerpieces for the holidays

10. begun to learn to not listen to negative voices, whether those voices are in my own head, or in the form of jokes and put downs. 

I don't have to put disclaimers on myself. I don't have to tell anyone. I can just do the things I love and try things I've never tried. Without shame. Without fear of failure. Without worry. I have learned to ask myself, "What do I want?" It is exhilarating and exciting and freeing. Chris has been trying to tell me this for two decades. I'm slow, but I'm catching on.

I'm learning new languages. Trying new recipes. Baking cookies. Painting. Running. Trying new things. It took being very alone for a long time to finally wake up and look around. I truly don't need anything from anybody. I have everything I need in Christ. I have approval (there's no shame here). I have delight (no disappointed looks or put downs). I have the smile of Creator God (why not try something new?). I have his constant presence (I am not rejected.) I have forgiveness and freedom in every area of my life. What have I to fear?

"Don't fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine." Isaiah 43:1

Do I mess up the bread or burn the cookies or misplace the photo backdrop? Yes. When those things happen are they confirmation of all the things said about me? No. Those things cannot touch me. Not the real me. The loved me. I am still broken, screwed up, sinful. But I am so loved. So very, very loved. He has called me by name. By. My. Name. I am his. And his voice is louder and truer and closer and more real than the  others. What have I to fear?

A Snapshot of My Evening

Tonight is the night before Ty's wedding. We spent most of the day at the Bartz's house, putting up the tent, setting out the candles, getting ready. We stayed over for supper of Election Lunch. 

Now we are home. Chris and I prepped thirty potatoes to bake tomorrow. Chris ironed dress shirts for Ty and Zac while I prepped all the brunch food for the wedding morning. Now we are sitting in the living room. Chris leaning on the white couch. John sitting on the white couch. Ty in one wing back, me in the other. Zac and Gracie are on the orange couch and we're watching the SEC Championship game (Alabama vs Florida). Well, we're actually chatting while keeping up with the game. Every time someone says something funny, Brody laughs from his room where he's playing video games and "participating" with us. Zac says it's like a having a laugh track. 

It's a sweet night. Only missing Mags and Scott. 

Tomorrow The Boy gets married. What a sweetness.

A Day in the Shady Sunshine with My Friend

Today started as a bad day. A hard day. A day that tears kept leaking out against the will. Today started as a sad day. But today, this afternoon, I sat in the shade of lovely trees and the scent of flowers and held the hand of a gentle and kind elderly woman who misses her family and was also having a hard day. Today, we walked outside, sat in metal chairs (me with a cushion, blue, and her without a cushion at all) underneath an oak tree and held hands. It was perfectly silent. Perfectly peaceful. We looked at the clouds, with my friend pointing occasionally to a particularly fluffy one and we smiled at each other when the wind would pick up and cool us off. Today started as a bad day, but today ended on a peaceful, hushed note of perfect soul communion and I was reminded of my Savior looking down at me and smiling because I am His and He is mine. 

Faithlessness and Faithfulness

I've been thinking a lot during this quarantine about faithfulness...

What faithfulness means and what it looks like. The faithfulness of God and the faithfulness of friends.

I think faithfulness and loyalty often get muddled up together. Someone can be disloyal with a single action or careless word, but it takes time to determine if they are no longer faithful. (I'm referring to friendship and not marriage - I can be disloyal to Chris without being unfaithful.) We all have broken, fallen moments of unkindness, of turning away from someone's pain for whatever reason, of saying something thoughtlessly. But those moments do not have to define the relationship. Not necessarily. The true test is if you ever go back, ever re-enter into the mess, whether it's of your own making or not.

Some of the synonyms for faithful are: dependable, devoted, loving, constant, resolute, steadfast, true...

The faithfulness of God is mixed up with loyalty as well. But God is never going to be loyal to me. He is loyal to himself and his own glory. It's the only thing in the universe worth being loyal to. BUT he is always, always, always faithful to me. He will always love me and resolutely, steadfastly lead me onto a path that leads me to himself.

What this looks like most of the time is that my heart gets broken, my knuckles get bruised, my faith gets shaken... because I think I know what is going to happen and then it doesn't. Or I think I'm trusting God, but then he takes something away that feels vital and I don't know what to do. I recognize his disloyalty to my desires and it's so confusing. Until I realize that his disloyalty IS his faithfulness.

Confusing, right?

I still don't understand why people I love and respect are the ones to break my heart. Maybe it's their sin, or just their weakness. Maybe they weren't intentionally trying to be evil. But God uses evil for my good and his glory. So what have I to fear, really? As God wounds, he also heals.

More than ever before I do not understand the Father. I don't understand his path or his means. I don't understand why it hurts SO MUCH, but I suspect I was trusting in the wrong thing all along. I also don't understand where my own fault may lie. Evil whispers in my ear through the harsh words of others, and sometimes by their silence and averted eyes, that I am useless and I've brought it on myself. But the words of Scripture, and faithful friends, and a wise therapist say otherwise. Christ bore the brunt. Their reproaches have fallen on Christ (PS 69:9). There is no condemnation for me (Rom 8:1). When others, people, friends, treat me faithlessly He will never forsake me (Heb 13:5). Others will fail me, my own strength will betray me, but I have a faithful High Priest who never cease advocating for me (Heb 2:17).

One thing I do understand as never before: my weakness. My faithlessness and unbelief. My fear. I am afflicted. I am perplexed. I am struck down. But I am not, and will never be, crushed, despairing, forsaken, or destroyed (2 Cor 4:8). I have never felt more unsure of myself, except maybe when I was about eleven and my whole world had fallen apart. I don't know how to talk. What to say. What to do. How to relate. How to return to a normal that no longer exists.

But one thing I do know: Jesus Christ and him crucified (1 Cor 2:2-3).

He took my sins and pride and unbelief and failings on himself on the cross. And there, my sins died with him (Rom 6:11). I am no longer identified by them. I have a new spiritual DNA. No matter the condemnation and accusations thrown at me, it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me (Gal 2:20). It doesn't matter who tells me otherwise, Paul says "whether angel from heaven", they're wrong. 

The Father is steadfast in the midst of the storm. He is my hiding place (Ps 32:7). My flesh and heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever (Ps 73:26). And even though I am faithless, to him and to others, He is always faithful.

"if we are faithless, he remains faithful - for he cannot deny himself." 2 Timothy 2:13 - that's beautiful.

It is because of this that "we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed" (Heb 10:39). Immediately following that verse is a chapter on faith, more specifically, the faith of our forefathers. It is because of God's great love, loving-kindness, faithfulness, that we are not afraid or destroyed or put down. We see only his kind face, only his approval, only his delight in us (Zeph 3:17). No matter what is happening around us or to us.

In the end, my prayer is that I can more quickly distinguish between God's faithfulness and loyalty. And that I will accept whatever comes from his hand. And that I will forgive others faithlessness to me as He forgives my faithlessness to him. I pray that my heart will be tender for the right reasons and not for selfish ones. I am so glad he never gives up on me and that he pursues me relentlessly. What a mercy.

New Found Feelings

I am sure there is a post on this blog about laundry. I'm positive. I haven't looked for it but I'm sure it's there. I am equally as sure that it is not a happy post. It is a complain-y one. Bet your bottom dollar on that, my friends. My loathing for socks is well documented.

Today, my feelings are very different. I love a good laundry day. I love that my laundry days are Monday and Friday. I love emptying the hamper. I love hanging the clothes on the drying rack. I love the smell of the detergent. I love walking past the clothes and giving them a quick turn and check. I love the ease of folding them straight from the rack. I love the smell of fresh, clean sheets. I love putting them away.

But most of all, I love being at home long enough to complete this process and having the space and time for it in my life.

Gone are the days of a full load of laundry EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. I finally got into a habit years ago of the kids throwing their dirty clothes in the wash every night at bedtime. I would wash, then throw them in the dryer before I went to sleep. The morning would start with them folding their outfit and pj's. But mostly, I hated it.

I hated the sorting, folding, putting away.

That's probably because there were so many clothes. So many socks. So little time. My life was one long rush from one task to the next. It never ended.

My how different my life is.

I know you may be expecting me to say, oh how I miss the days... nope. I do not miss the laundry. Or the weird objects in the pockets. Or the torn door gasket from the pencils, etc. Or the constant pain of finding sock pairs. Not even a little.

Y'all. I even stain treat now. It's amazing.

I am adjusting to this new phase of life and finding the small joys in it.