Teardrops on the MacBook

The holiday season is officially here. That announcement usually ushers in a great deal of excitement. Naturally, I am looking forward to celebrating old traditions, making up new ones, spending time with family and friends, and of course, always present on my mind is the bleak hope of snow. However, I find myself holding back this year.

I am happy to report that since writing the above sentences nearly two weeks ago, holiday cheer and general merriment have begun to take hold. Ninety-five percent of my shopping is done, presents purchased are wrapped and sitting under a fabulous tree, and our yard should be on par with the Griswold's sometime this afternoon. But, I digress ...

Loss lays dormant. It becomes an uncomfortable, but familiar stitch in the side. Then one night, while putting up a Christmas tree, the thud of reality hits again. The world has kept spinning, somehow, without a certain person on it. Memories are in place, but the possibility of making new ones is gone.

Holidays are full of memories for me, as I'm sure they are for every person reading this. My favorite memories of childhood Christmases involve Krystal. I laugh out loud when I remember our special operative-style plans to meet Santa. I cringe when I recall our wading through waist-deep snow until being abruptly stopped by the jagged rim of a culvert. Under my tutelage Krystal learned and sang the wrong words to many a Christmas carol, but our parents never corrected us. Instead, they listened patiently as we drove through the streets of Boise or Burley looking at lights, and then silenced us with homemade hot cocoa once we were home. Our childhoods were simple, and filled with love.

This year, life has not been as simple. Nevertheless, laughter seems to be our choice of illumination when we find ourselves in a tunnel. It's not the same carefree giggling we shared as girls. Instead, it is a deeper, I'll even say healing acknowledgement of the joy and contentment present in the simple pleasures God provides. Despite our constant wishes for Kenny to be here to laugh for himself, his absence has taught us to look for his special brand of humor in every situation -- now we laugh more often, a little harder, and a little longer, and we laugh at ourselves, to make up for not hearing his goofy chuckle echoing with our own.

Exhibit A: Kenny was a faithful follower of Christ, but was less enthusiastic about the commercialism of the Christmas holiday than Krystal, whom he affectionately dubbed "Krystal Christmas" from roughly November 15-January 2 of every year. With that in mind, I heard a fiendish chortle mix with the north wind last night when we discovered that the lights we had carefully wrapped every tree with would not connect with the extension cords we had purchased. Evidently, these extension cords were manufactured on Mars.

Transplanting past memories, grafting them into the fabric of the present, makes loss easier to handle. Sometimes it plays a trick on the mind, one that is followed by tears or just moments of silence. As I've said before, a fresh moment of heartbreak is a small price to pay for a minute or two of vivid, joyful memory.

I know the same love and strength that has always been a part of Krystal's life will continue to illuminate a path for her. Kenny is not here, but the memories of his love and devotion are. He can't physcially be a part of our celebrations this year, or next, but he is with The One that we celebrate.

Box Tops and Lies

“Solve for ‘y’.”
“Benjamin Franklin.”
“You have to complete the Punnett Square to get the percentage!”
“Multiply by the inverse and simplify.”
“London and Istanbul were both conquered by Romans.”
“Rubber and quinine.”
“Tuck your shirt.”
“Where’s your belt?”
“You need a haircut.”
“Austin, stop fidgeting.”
“Posture for prayer. Posture. For. Prayer.”

Those are just a few of the phrases that have left my mouth today. Some are statements, others are commands. Most are answers to the 47,000 questions I respond to every day. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t be a standard day at CWA if I didn’t say one or more of those things 15 times, didn’t come home with my pockets full of Box Tops, my hands covered in red ink messages to myself -- reminders that still didn’t remind me -- and at least a few comical anecdotes.

This morning in pledges we voted on our Christmas service project. I found five children’s charities to choose from. My logic was that a hand vote would be quicker and easier than distributing paper ballots to each class. I described each charity and then asked students to vote. My exact words were: “Raise your hands high, and DO NOT put them down until I say so.” (Donna, are you reading this?) Like nailing Jell-O to a tree, my friends. On the first round, I counted to about 12, then 14 more hands went up. I started counting again, and 11 hands went down. This was repeated in similar fashion five times, and our voting process resembled something like a game of Whack-A-Mole. Eventually, we selected a charity, and bless their hearts they chose a good one. I’m proud.

Later in the day, I was on my way into a parent meeting. I noticed a young man (I’ve written about him before, he’s a suspicious fellow) lingering behind me in the commons.

“Do you need something?” I asked.

He oddly nodded his head “yes” and “no” at the same time.

“What is it?” I repeated.

He went on with some question about science experiments, and without having all the background information, and in my hurried state, I gave the answer he undoubtedly was seeking. Three minutes later my meeting was interrupted by the student’s teacher. Said student had originally been given the exact opposite answer. He then proceeded to lie to his teacher about needing to ask me a question for his mom. He was excused from class and found me, and the rest is history. Oh, to channel this resourcefulness into something truly useful ... and honest.

I remember being a teenager and having far more important things on my mind than following instructions. Although, most of the time I did follow instructions, to the point of being nerdy, because the idea of not doing something right frightened me. I also remember not liking the answer I got from my mom, and subsequently going to my dad. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: God gives us experiences that not only teach us, but give us wisdom and grace to deal with people and situations further down the road. Fortunately, I remember what it was like to not quite have it all figured out. I still don’t quite have it all figured out.

I’m glad I can not only laugh at my students’ antics, but also turn them into endearing memories. Wherever I end up in life, when I look back on this chapter it will be filled with humor and joyful memories, and that’s exactly how I want it.

Carnival Contemplations

Last Friday, I enjoyed a massage and fantastic night out with one of my best friends and former roommate, Andrea. During our outing I noticed a carnival was set up near the mall. More on that later. Andrea and I hadn't spent any time together in a while. Even when we were roommates our schedules were so hectic that we rarely saw each other for more than a few waking hours at a time. But, spending time with her last Friday, I realized just how used to her companionship I had become, and I hadn't thought to miss it until it was reintroduced. Funny.

The following morning, I hopped out of bed and got to cleaning, then went to lunch with Krystal, enjoyed the Art Walk in downtown Kilgore, which I was unexpectedly pleased with, and got a fabulous haircut. Following the new do, Krystal and I headed to Longview to shop and met up with my sister and her boyfriend. We went into Ulta, where Nathan learned about the importance of good conditioners and choosing eye makeup shades that complement one's eye color. Then we ambled through Kohl's, where my blood sugar reached a dangerous low. Not dangerous for me, but profoundly hazardous for those around me. We went to dinner at El Sombrero, also known as heaven on earth. On the way to the restaurant, we passed the carnival again. Krystal insisted that we go after eating ... Mexican food. I agreed. The under 20 crowd we were with (i.e. Nathan and Rebekah) seemed hesitant, and for good reason it turned out.

Let's talk about traveling carnival workers for a minute. I began to feel uneasy when we purchased our tickets. On the booth was a sign that read: "Workers needed for tear down, $7/hour." I wondered if the people that set the rides up were paid $7 an hour, and recruited via yellowed and crumpled fliers. My adult mind began to analyze, scrutinize and visualize. Do these people receive safety training? Are they certified by some kind of carnival authority, if one exists? Where's the quality control? I found myself searching out what might push me to join the ranks of a traveling carnival and none of them were good things, nothing say, driven by ambition. Where's the motivation to tighten that bolt, lubricate that gear, double-check that safety latch?

Mind you, none of this kept me off the rides. Unfortunately most of the above entered my mind while I flew through the air 40 feet above the ground with my precious baby sister out of arm's reach. After "La Arana" and the "Tilt-a-Whirl," Rebekah had endured all the high-speed spinning she could. Krystal and Nathan ran for the "Scrambler" and Rebekah and I went to the "Fun House," which ended up being no fun at all. We approached the ticket-handling professional, and he gave us a look that can only be described as "Really?" After meandering our way through a littered and smudged room of mirrors, we ascended stairs and found ourselves at the top of a precarious twisty slide. We landed safely on the ground. The ticket-handling professional's expression now made sense.

It seemed the carnival's charm was spent, until we were walking to the car and Nathan held up his hand in warning. He abruptly shoved Rebekah away from his side, and was sick. If that was the worst that happened to any of us during our brief visit, I'm happy.

When I was a child, I was fearless. As a teenager and young adult, I was reckless. Now, I dissect everything. Just like with Andrea, I didn't think to ponder my dormant apprehension of carnival rides until I was committed. I think I like it that way. There are definitely some life issues that need to be evaluated, and fears that need to be heeded. But, for the most part, I'd like to shut my analytical side up most of the time. Turns out I can manage that pretty easily when in the company of good friends.

Work Day(s)

"Every day should be a day we allow God to work on us, but there are some days that we need to be totally gutted and rebuilt. Today is one of those days."

I wrote that before leaving for church on Sunday. I then left and went to prepare a Sunday school lesson. Ironically, or eerily depending on how you look at it, I taught my kids about Zacchaeus and how he changed after meeting Jesus. I came home that afternoon and tried to complete this post using Zacchaeus as an example and couldn't make the pieces fit. Finally, at 5 a.m. on Wednesday, I seem to be on the path to finishing it. I guess I needed more than one workday.

If any of you work in ministry, you know it's not a bed of roses all the time. Foolishly, I sometimes think it should be. As a freelance writer, I write about many very large churches and get to know members of their staff. I trick myself into thinking that the day-to-day work lives of these individuals must be easier than mine because they work for these massive, well-organized ministries. Then, I read Acts chapter 6. Even the first church was disorganized and chaotic. In spite of eager and fervent workers and a number that increased daily (two things I very much want and need for our ministries), there were many problems. Problems with people. How 'bout that?

I began my workday on Sunday, and over the past three days God has illuminated many things to me. It took more than one day for Him to get me to a place where I would hear it, absorb it, and begin to work on it. I didn't even realize that the recurring struggles of my day job were such a weight on me until I read in Acts this morning. But as soon as I did, I instantly felt relief because God showed it to me, and now we can work on it together.

I continued in Acts and read about Stephen, the first martyr. In the seventh chapter, Stephen recounts the history of the Israelites. No matter how many times I read or reflect on this portion of Biblical history, I am always amazed at the long-reaching plan of God. What began as a somewhat dubious promise to a childless Abraham was completed over generations in Isaac, Jacob and Joseph. In the lives of just those four individuals are trials I can't begin to list. Trials I've never endured, but every one a component in God's ultimate plan for His chosen ones. Isaac was almost killed at the hand of his father; Jacob was swindled into marrying the wrong woman; Joseph was sold into slavery by his own brothers ... and all of these events had their place. Joseph's presence in Egypt laid the foundation for Moses to arise and deliver the Israelites out of captivity.

I read all that this morning and rested. God always ties it up with a neat bow at the end. Something that happens today might be a precursor to an event ten or two hundred years down the road.

I am making a conscious pledge to have workdays more often. God is a wise father who knows exactly how much we can handle at one time. I didn't learn every rule of English in one day (still haven't perfected them all). It was a process that lasted many years and required many forms of teaching. I can't expect learning to be a good ... everything ... to be any different. I believe God measures out the wisdom, instruction, and guidance we need as we need it, and as we ask for it. Asking is the key (James 1:5). And, when that wisdom hits you on the head at 5 o’clock on a Wednesday morning, don't be overwhelmed by it -- trust in the strength you have in Him. (Philippians 4: 13).

Rejection: The castor oil of emotion

It looks as though I'll be a publishing a book. I repeat: It looks as though I'll be publishing a book!!! The opportunity I've been waiting on for two years has finally arrived. This brings me to today's topic: Rejection.

I've been rejected on the publishing front quite a few times. No surprise there. It comes with the territory, and with the economy as it is, nobody wants to gamble on a first-time author. However, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I really feel that my writing is exceptional, and that I am worth the gamble because I am an abnormally hard working and diligent person. Thinking in this manner caused me to feel dejected at some times, and kept me going at others. I guess my reaction at any one point in time depended on my blood sugar. But finally, my belief in my skill as a writer (of novels) has been validated.

It can be said that my book was rejected because I didn't approach the right publishers at the right time. Perhaps my presentation wasn't quite perfect. Maybe the publisher's perception of my work was skewed due to something in that individual's past. Who knows? I find it interesting that these same issues can be applied to all different types of rejection. Not making a team, not being hired for a job, not being asked on a second (or a first) date.

The lesson to learn is this: When it comes to rejection, some variables are just beyond our control. I could never have predicted that a gatekeeper at a publishing house would gloss over my work because they are adverse to New Orleans, hypothetically speaking. Conversely, I could never have known that a hiring manager would pick me because I wore a pinstripe suit and the candidate ahead of me wore a solid.

In the grand scheme of things, it's all already been worked out. But, that's difficult advice to swallow while reading rejection e-mail #84. Nonetheless, I kind of feel that rejection is just the universe's way of helping us to weed out the unworthy so we can end up with something truly wonderful and worthwhile.

The Waiting Game

Ever had a hankering to do something really stupid? I mean really stupid - I'm not fooling around here. I have. Mercifully, God has granted me with enough wisdom over the past few years that I have avoided, or talked myself out of, most of these foolish ventures. I'm thinking of two instances in particular. One popped up some months ago, the other crossed my mind more recently. Both were spawned from the discontent that seems to spring up even in the most pious Christian lives. At least I hope I'm not the only one that gets antsy and human. Let me know if I am and I'll work harder.

I get in a hurry every now and then - I get impatient and worried. For brief moments I completely and totally take my eyes off God, forget His promises, and con myself into believing I need to take matters into my own hands. This rarely (read: never) works out to my advantage. Thank goodness for that. What a shame it would be to craft something of my own and miss out on whatever He has created for me. How sad to settle for what I can accomplish on my own, instead of waiting for His design to take shape.

In several chapel lessons I have used puzzle pieces as an example for God's will. We only have one piece of the puzzle, and it's probably just a blob of meaningless color. We can't possibly know our place in the big picture because our perspective is too limited. God has the box. Not only does he see the whole picture, He also has the rest of the pieces. I lose my piece every now and then, and God has to show me where I left it. Sometimes I argue and refuse to pick my piece back up. Fortunately, I always do, and more fortunately still, He waits while I make up my mind to do so.

Probably one of the hardest things to do as a Christian, as a human, is to wait. Babies take nine months to be born - that's a long time - but isn't it worth it? What do a mother and father do during that time? They prepare a place for their child, and they prepare and educate themselves to be parents. Can't we do the same regardless of what we're waiting for? Prepare and educate. I can do that.

Waiting is hard for me because I am an active person that always wants to be accomplishing something toward a goal. So, while writing this blog today I have learned that instead of losing my puzzle piece, or pawning it, I should probably study it a little closer. I should prepare and educate myself for whatever God is working on for me.

My Life as a Vagabond

I am a failure on the blogging front. Not that it’s an excuse, but I have been in the process of helping to renovate a house, and moving into said house. The experiences related to the aforementioned have inspired this very post.

I moved back to my parent’s house in the spring while I was in a time of transition. Soon thereafter my cousin, Krystal, decided to buy a home and asked me to live with her, so I stayed put at mom and dad’s through the summer. Krystal closed on her house in September and we spent the rest of the month painting, changing floors, ripping out sinks, filling a pit, and all of the other fun tasks that go along with making a mid-70’s home respectable for twenty-somethings.

On one such renovation-related occasion, Krystal and I had been painting for several hours. All other family and help had abandoned us. We finished a bedroom and moved on to the pantry and utility room closet. The floors were (supposed to be) being put in the next day, so in view of my extremely messy painting skills, we wanted all painting done beforehand. I went to work cutting in at the ceiling of the pantry while Krystal rolled the walls. I was high on a ladder in the dark pantry when Krystal jumped backward out of the small space and spoke a phrase. I heard only one word that mattered: spiders. How I removed myself from the ladder and closet without serious injury will always be a mystery. After spastically shaking my head to make sure there were no arachnid stowaways, I returned to the pantry doorway with Krystal where we beheld not one, not two, but a “herd” of spiders. We knew if we killed just one, the rest would come after us, so we went in search of some tool that could kill several at once. In an empty house, our choices were limited and we returned armed only with Windex. It didn’t work, other than to ruin what painting we had gotten done. Next, we made a desperate phone call to a nearby friend. He wouldn’t help. We gave up on the pantry and decided to paint the utility room closet, but found it in the same shape. So, we went home.

We officially moved in last Friday, sans beds, dishes, working shower, etc. It made for a fun evening. On Saturday, I moved my furniture from my parent’s house, which is about thirty miles away. I followed my dad in my own car and watched for signs of loosening ropes and such. About a quarter of the way, a billowy white mass flew at my windshield. Snow? Manna from heaven? No. It was my perfect-in-every-way Sealy pillow top mattress and box spring flying out, followed closely by the beautiful headboard and footboard of my canopy bed. I swerved to dodge the mattress and pulled over. I didn’t know what to do next. I climbed out of the car and, with hands raised in some warped form of surrender, walked the three or four yards to my mattress. Unsure of protocol in such a situation, I tried to pick it up. I was unsuccessful. My dad and cousin were at my side by this time and picked it up. I began the search for the pieces of my life … err bed. I saw my headboard at a distance and believed it to be unscathed. I rushed toward the grassy place it rested in only to see the main support beam busted in half. It was facedown, so I lifted it and discovered the lustrous dark wood was now slightly distressed and rustic. We reloaded and drove the rest of the way to the new house. I had put on a brave face for my dad during clean up, but cried once I was alone.

Despite my disappointment over the bed, it is just a piece of furniture. My thankfulness over my family and I being safe and healthy far outweigh my chagrin. I am grateful to be in a place where my contentment and peace come from an intangible source. God works in all things, and He works them for the good of those who seek Him. I know this move, this change, is a fresh start of sorts - definitely a new chapter. Maybe, just maybe, a new bed is part of that.

September Thoughts

It is now the third week of school, therefore the honeymoon is officially over, the gloves are off, et al. Nevertheless, as my students settle in and begin to show their true personalities, I’m overcome with how much joy they bring me. I am so grateful for all the lives that are a part of my life. Below are a few laughable examples of why I don’t mind the sound of my alarm clock … most days.

I have assigned my high school students the task of recreating the constitutional framer of their choice’s journal during the time of the Constitutional Convention. One such student shared their work so far with me yesterday. I learned that Thomas Jefferson not only had an alarm clock, but also rode to the convention in a taxi. The following day, he ate cereal and borrowed a suit from a neighbor, naturally, since he forgot to drop his own suit off at the dry cleaner’s. No complaints – the student is making a noble and imaginative effort.

At lunch Tuesday, I confiscated a switchblade comb from an elementary student. Before I realized it was a comb, visions of a crumpled bleeding body on the floor of our lunchroom aged me a few years. The owner of this novelty item crossed my path again later in the day when he left his classroom and appeared to be choking. I was immediately concerned, but soon discovered he was breathless with laughter, and also noticed he was carrying his chair. I got distracted, but went to investigate a few minutes later. I assumed he had been sent to the hallway because he was misbehaving in class. However, I couldn’t find him in the hallway. Soon, I heard stifled laughter, and found this young man behind the door in a dark bathroom. He was sitting in his chair with books open - accomplishing nothing as it was dark - but quite pleased with his cleverness.

We enrolled four siblings this year, one is in the elementary class, but the other three are mine, and they are magnificent. I wish I could clone them. However, the endearing mischievous nature of my veteran students is starting to rub off on them. This was evidenced by the oldest boy in the family repeatedly setting the alarm clock on another student’s desk. I couldn’t get mad, because it was funny – especially when the student whose desk it was couldn’t begin to comprehend why or how that radio was coming on all by itself.

Finally, a student came running into my office at lunch time on Thursday (I love that they are undaunted by the “principal’s office”) to inform me that he decided to change his name to whatever country his finger landed on when he rolled the globe. Unfortunately, that country was Iran. I counseled him against this decision.

Do I often want to beat my head against a wall after I’ve gone over the same instructions 15 times? Yes. But, a long time ago I asked God to put love in my heart for the young people I work with, and He’s done just that. At the end of the day, whatever mishap, mistake, or misunderstanding may have occurred, I count it all joy. I have the privilege of showing them how to get it right tomorrow … for the 16th time.

Free and undeserved

"You can't outrun grace." Yes, it's a lyric from a song. I heard the song the other day and those four words resonated with me. It probably means a thousand different things to a thousand different people. To me, it just means I am loved unconditionally and my mistakes are not only forgiven, but also forgotten. Remembering that truth is the best part of my day. So why is it often so hard to offer it to others?

I received an apology from someone today. I knew what they had done, but didn't care. I can honestly say they were forgiven when it happened, and long before they thought to ask for forgiveness. I can also honestly say I have not always behaved in such a gracious manner.

How many movie plots are based upon one character not forgiving another over some small mistake or misconception? This is the situation Hollywood is built on - the skeleton in the closet, I dated your sister 13 years ago, accidentally ran over your cat, missed chance, miscommunication, just add B actors, instant plot.

We sit in the audience and watch the break up unfold, and we cringe. We think how ridiculous it is that they're not together. We are astonished over the foolishness of the individual holding back their forgiveness. However, are there people in our lives we haven't forgiven for far more trivial, although non-fiction, things?

As I write this I am scouring my life, looking for hidden grudges. I am expanding my search to people I don't see or hear from on a regular basis, and now I'm on to people I've never even met. I admit I'm not always pleased with the decisions made by our nation's leaders, I may even become angry with them. Chances are, not one of them will be sending me an e-mail or picking up the phone to ask my forgiveness for their shortcomings. It's unlikely these individuals will ever admit to having shortcomings. So, why don't I just sit back, unload my worries on the one who's offered to carry them for me, and forgive people before they even have the chance to know they're wrong. It's not my job to sit back and judge their actions anyway.

I write this now, I'm sure I'll forget it soon enough. But, if I remember to practice it here and there, it could make a difference. Think how short romantic comedies would be if forgiveness was just poured out up front.

We can't outrun God's grace, so why make others chase after ours?

It must be love ...

I have numerous very good reasons for not posting for almost two weeks. School started this week, which is the root of most of the reasons. It is also the reason I'm multitasking tonight. By that I mean that I am blogging and preparing a chapel message for tomorrow at the same time.

I'm confident most have heard the story about the young man that dropped all his books while walking home from school. Several students laughed and pointed, and none of them offered to help - routine behavior for his peers. However, one boy did eventually cross the street and helped pick up the books. They walked home together and were friends throughout junior high and high school. On graduation day, the boy who dropped the books stepped onto the stage to give his valedictorian address. In his speech he recognized his best friend, and confessed that the day they'd met six years before was the day he'd planned to kill himself. I don't know if this account is based on actual events, but every time it finds its way into my inbox, I am reminded of the magnitude of importance our actions, or inactions, possess.

My chapel message for tomorrow will come out of Romans 12 - we'll be talking about love. It is simple, but complex. Desired, but not always deserved. You can see that my challenge in relaying love's importance to young people is making them understand the depth of what love actually is.

I can scoop up a toddler and put a bandage on a scraped knee easy enough, but can I smile and be patient with the chatty individual ahead of me in the check-out line? I can help a family member through a trial because I love them and I'm invested in their future, but can I do the same for a stranger whose circumstances and personality I am not familiar with? Simple, meet complex.

I can accept the graciousness and generosity of my family and my Savior, but I can't earn it. Desire, meet undeserving.

When I was young, I thought love was a Disney movie. I thought it was a hug. Not until adulthood did I see that love is not an emotion or action we save for just those closest and dearest to us - it is how we are to act toward every single person we come in contact with, and it is usually expressed in the most casual ways.

Romans 12 instructs us to honor others above ourselves, practice hospitality, bless those who persecute us, be willing to associate with people of low position. Here's a tough one: Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. Everybody. Not just your pastor, not just your grandma on Sundays when she takes you to church. Everybody. All the time.

I've been really busy lately with good stuff, but as I sit here at 10:00 on a school night (gasp) I wonder how much of my business includes following all those instructions in Romans 12. When I'm in the middle of some seemingly crucial task and the phone rings, am I being patient and exuding love to the soul on the other end? Am I being careful to do what is right? If not, what kind of impression am I leaving?

Simple actions make bold statements.

Pioneers: The first purpose-driven lives

I am a morning person. I meant to write a post on this topic yesterday and never got around to it. I'm so glad I didn't. I woke up this morning, started a pot of coffee (Savannah Seduction from the Paula Deen collection - you should try it), and looked out the back door. It's been mercifully cool here the past two days, and this morning the temperature was just low enough to pull a swirling mist out of the lake. The wind was blowing gently, pushing water toward our dock and causing the tall reeds on the far shore to sway. The same breeze permeated the branches of the oak trees, putting a million leaves in motion and even sending some fluttering to the ground and water beneath. Generally speaking, my backyard was on par with a scene from a Nicholas Sparks movie.

I opened up our day care yesterday morning. We open at 6:30, which means I was up at five and out the door by six. The drive into town got me thinking on this subject: As much as I love to sleep, I love a quiet, still morning that much more. There is a confounding mixture of peace and majesty right before the sun comes up that I love to be a part of. Add to it the aroma of strong coffee and I'm blissfully happy.

I have mostly fond memories of the wee morning hours. Growing up, our family vacations always commenced in the pre-dawn darkness. Likewise, our Christmas mornings have never seen the light of the sun. Even while working long summer days at the National Interagency Fire Center after my first year of college, the 6:30 a.m. clock-in time was met with laughter and in the company of one of my best friends.

There's more to it than positive associations, though. Mornings are filled with possibility. Everything is new. Those are qualities not shared by other times of the day. Historically speaking, mornings were most important – the entire day’s success pivoted on what was accomplished before the sun was even up. Failure to literally seize the day resulted in catastrophe and waste on a farm or other primitive place of commerce.

Every branch of my father's family tree made the trek from the eastern United States to the mountains of Idaho in the late 1800's. His maternal grandfather lost his first wife and three children along the way. Harsh winters can last eight months in that already rugged country, which was at that time (and now, come to think of it) sparsely populated. Nevertheless, my ancestors hacked out homes, started families, and became successful founding citizens of what would become our nation's 43rd state (1890). I consider my day's productivity to be wrecked if the Internet is running slowly.

In spite of that fault, I do hope my a.m.-adeptness is something passed down from my pioneer ancestors. On childhood camping trips I would wake in the tent or camper that was damp with dew. I would smell the fire right before recognizing its crackling sound mixed in with clanging pots and pans. My dad would already be up working on his "Mountain Man Breakfast." Stepping out into the crisp and pure mountain air of Idaho - you have no idea - you literally feel your lungs being cleansed. The rustle of pine needles underfoot, the burble of a meandering stream nearby, the call of birds, the smell of coffee percolating in a tin pot, and the sight of distant rocky peaks that tell you just how small you are. This is purely my assumption, but those have to be the small joys cherished by the hard workers I came from.

I sit back and picture a great-grandfather stepping outside a cabin of rough-hewn timber. It's early, their body is sore, but they have a hot be it meager breakfast in their stomach. They look to the east and see the faint promise of sunshine making its way up the backside of what I believe to be the most perfect landform created by God. They button another button on a coat or pull gloves onto chapped hands and then take a deep breath and start out. Inside they have a knowledge that whatever they accomplish that day, little or much, it's that much more done and it's a measure of work they can be proud of because they started early and with purpose.

Clever Title

Accomplishment: Something that has been achieved successfully.

Today is my 27th birthday. I'm in full swing analytical mode looking back over the 23 years I remember well. I've succeeded at a lot of things, I have failed at others. I ran my first 5K race this past weekend. It was something I had wanted to do for some time, and I feel really great about having done it. I finished college, a degree hangs on my office wall. I attempted to adopt children and backed out. I tried to buy a house, several actually, and never made it to closing. I've written a book, but haven't had it published. I could continue to list successes, near successes, and failures, but no more is necessary to make my point.

Above my bed hangs a sign: “Blessed is the life that finds joy in the journey.” Life's mixture of attempts, missed chances, triumphs, and let downs are what make up a lifetime of rich memories. They are what make a person. Forced experience never ends up being all that rewarding or memorable, but a chance encounter, an unexpected experience, a stolen laugh, the unmerited opportunity to be a light for another soul, those make up the well-woven tapestry of a life.

When Krystal, Rebekah, Cynthia, and I were in New York in January, it wasn’t the expertly planned and executed moments that were the most enjoyable. Instead, a second trip to Junior’s for cheesecake and a table full of diabetic coma-inducing desserts in Little Italy are my favored memories … and it’s merely a coincidence that they happen to revolve around food.

1 Peter 2:9: But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness and into his wonderful light.

When push comes to shove, every accomplishment and every moment of life are gifts from above. We are allowed to have them because of his grace. We are a “chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God” for the sole purpose of glorifying him. I live in the light! And not because I found it on my own. He led me to it, and when I stray into darkness, he plugs in a nightlight for me. How can I not live my life for his glory?

I dub myself an overachiever, and I am a person satisfied by work well done. I have goals and plans, among them are running a full marathon, publishing books, marrying a man who loves me, having children of my own and adopting more, making a home, growing a school, and seeing the world. But before any of these, I have the goal of molding and shaping a life that is in keeping with the commands and will of my Lord.

The most comfortable clothes I own are the ones that are stained and frayed, and have been in a dresser drawer for a quarter or more of my existence. Similarly, the people I most enjoy being with are the ones that have been walking beside me, and I by them, through the food fights and mountain tops of life. In this vein, I hope that the accomplishments I treasure most are the ones that point to Him. Like paint-splattered jeans and old friends, they might not look like much, but they mean a lot to me, and one other person.

Spiritual Geography

“It's in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.” Ephesians 1:11

Mountains and valleys, friends. Mountains and valleys. Every human has both. Looking back over a few of the valleys I've been in, I see an image of myself with a shovel in my hand. Do we dig our own at times?

I've always considered myself to be an "up by the bootstraps" kind of gal. However, when I really hold a light close, I see that I have occasionally managed to kick myself while I was down. Who needs enemies when you have yourself? How do I manage to do this? I have several favored methods, but here is a prize-winning example.

When presented with an opportunity I often jump to the most preposterous negative circumstance I can imagine and will let it intimidate me. I am proud to say, I do usually go through with said opportunity, but not without a lot of unnecessary anxiety. A hilarious example of this occurred just this past weekend. I was looking for a 5K and found a trail run in Austin. I haven't trained for trail running (yet), so it was a poor choice anyway, but ahead of determining that, I was actually wasting brain cells worrying about mountain lions. That's right. Mountain lions. There have been four attacks in 100 years, none of them fatal, in this particular park in the Austin area. Pretty slim odds, right? Doesn't matter, my mind left all actual logic behind and was 1,000 miles ahead fashioning a weapon out of a fallen pine branch to protect myself from the feline beast, which is sure to uncharacteristically show up and choose to attack me out of 300 runners. If I were ready for trail running, I would have talked myself down and gone to this race. But, why do I even go looking for these fears?

I find the worst valleys are the ones where we have forgotten the truth in Ephesians 1:11. My mountain lion fear was not a valley, but it is an instance where I took my eyes off Jesus. Peter did that once, too.

I know myself pretty well. God knows me better, which is why I should listen to Him more, and others less. When I feel myself on the slippery edge and can look down and see a descent in front of me, it’s never His voice I’m hearing, it’s usually not my own, either. Instead it is the imagined, or real, judgment from others. Their thoughts on my choices, my plans, my actions – the perceived disapproval of others is how my journey through a declivity of self pity always begins.

I stumbled on the above scripture in Ephesians a few days ago and began writing this post. I couldn't finish it ... until now. I stumbled on more scripture a few minutes ago that I feel complete the thought. 1 Thessalonians 5:16 says: "Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

Always be joyful - God's given you joy. Exercise it. No matter what's going on, if you know Him, you've got a reason to be joyful.

Pray continually - Even in the rare event that you and everybody around you is experiencing a blissfully perfect life, somebody somewhere doesn't know Him. Pray for that person.

Give thanks in ALL circumstances - This one is hard, but when things are looking glum, when you feel the cold fist of a bad mood, the best thing to do is start praising him. Count your blessings, not your sorrows. (I borrowed that from a church sign.)

It's safe to say that the next time I find myself in a valley, or on my way down to one, if I'll utilize these tools instead of that old shovel, things will get better a lot quicker.

Rebuttal to myself

I never intended for the blog I wrote earlier today to be negative in any way. Nevertheless, I think it was, and I wasn't comfortable leaving it up for the whole universe, or my 10 followers to read. If you already have ...

I'll write a regular-length post in the next few days. In the meantime, let it suffice to say that I am blessed beyond measure. I love my family - I could praise God forever over the wonderful people He's given me to love. Most importantly, I walk in grace, holding the hand of a Father who loves me more than I can even begin to comprehend. It's not my plans or goals that count - when I start letting those (me) steer the boat too much, I have to step back and surrender my will once more. Oddly enough, after I do, the clouds part and I'm back to being me, hanging out with my best friend.

Hindsight and Touchstones

When I was a kid I went to sleep with every stuffed animal I owned piled up on the bed around me because I didn't want any of their feelings to be hurt. I had my favorites, but none of the animals needed to know that. It was best if they all felt equally loved. I also remember a new refrigerator being delivered to our home, and the old one being hauled off. I felt terrible for the old refrigerator.

Of course, I grew out of that mindset, but even as an adult it has at times been hard to let go of "things." I feel disloyal when I trade in a vehicle that's been loyal to get me around safely for a new, shiny model. I even felt bad getting rid of my old Dell laptop in exchange for the fabulous MacBook Pro I am currently typing on. That old laptop was with me through many of my life's biggest moments. It was with me at the University of Idaho and rode with me in the old Chevy Cavalier when I moved to Texas for good. I completed my final semester's projects on it, and it was at home waiting while I walked across the stage at Stephen F. Austin to accept the diploma we had earned together. Why do we form attachments to the inanimate?

Naturally, the answer is in the emotions and memories attached to the objects, not the objects themselves. I keep a wooden box of mementos from an old boyfriend in my closet, not because I care about a macramé bracelet he made for me, and not because I harbor feelings for him ten, wait eleven, years later. The contents of that box are artifacts from my life at that point in time. I might open it up once a year, and every time I do a certain smell hits my nose and I am instantly taken back - to high school hallways, a theater class, and a house off Maple Grove in Boise, Idaho. Memories like those are vivid, and they keep me grounded. Every person needs touchstones in life to show them where they were; I believe that makes it easier to stay focused on where we're going.

The year I spent alone in Idaho forever changed me. I lived in the panhandle college town of Moscow, my parents and sister were in Texas, and my childhood home was in Boise. Whenever I made the 300-mile jaunt down Highway 55 to the City of Trees I always visited my house. Before it sold, I would still go inside. I would walk into our den and remember slumber parties with my best friend, whose name is also Rachel. Every Saturday for probably three years we slept on the two couches in that room. I would walk to my old bedroom. The holes from the tacks that secured posters and other relics of my youth were spackled and painted over, but every memory was crystal clear. I would leave the house and remember the excitement I felt two years before taking the same steps toward the limo that would deliver me to my senior prom. That was my past, and the tangible structure tied to the memories involved sat empty on Sandhurst. There were remembrances plenty, but my future was 1,800 miles away in Texas. The vacant house I visited every few months that year was the touchstone that revealed to me where I needed to go.

When some "thing" must go, or must change, how can we hold on to the essence wrapped up in it? If I were to throw away the wooden box on a shelf in my closet, how would I recall so vividly the memories stored inside it? By remembering the person, or the people, not the "things." By looking forward to making more memories down the road. By using lessons learned as the touchstone for growth and guidance in the future.

I wrote my first book on the Dell. But I'll write my second one on the MacBook. I grew up in a house on Sandhurst. I'll grow old in the one I choose a little time from now.

Major Minors

At times, when goals still seem so far from being met, it's easy to think you haven't accomplished much. I'm not talking about a pity party, although I still have those. It's more of a drill sergeant-type self lecture: "Allen! You have got to pick it up!" or "Do not make this mistake again!"

Fortunately, when I have those moments, it's never too long before some positive little memory from the past floats to the surface. I may run across someone who brings it to mind, I may be going through student records and recall an occurrence, or it may just come to me in a silent moment. It's not important how it arrives, but that it does.

Our church is small. Our ministries are big. We aren't a Latin-instructing preschool, or an Ivy League preparatory high school, but we do change lives for the better - always with His help.

A memory came to mind today while I was thinking about needing new floors in the commons area, and tricking myself into believing that my students are somehow disadvantaged by the mustard shade of linoleum that is there at present. Suddenly, I remembered a single mother who was at a crossroads I hope I never stand at. She was on her own with a 10-month-old, and she had to be honest about something in order to enroll her child in our day care center. I could tell she was cringing inside because she was expecting to be judged.

I believe God allows each and every one of us to experience things for the express purpose of having the right mindset to handle some event in the future. I am so grateful He did that for me. Otherwise, today I would cringe at how I handled that woman's confession. Instead, because of what His grace did for me, I was able to look her in the eye and offer reassurance, and care for her baby while she earned a living. Our facilities might not be as shiny and new as my human self would like them to be, but that day God was able to use our day care ministry to make a difference in two lives.

Since having that remembrance early this morning, my day has been peppered with recollections. Some have made me laugh, and some have brought tears to my eyes. All of them have shown me that my God is a composer, a weaver, a master artist.

I love music that incorporates minor chords. The sharp change from a bright, full chord, to the one that seems slightly incomplete gives me chills. When I play, I love to hold out a suspended chord. Even though I'm seemingly in control of what I'm creating, my ear waits at point for the resolve.

When we step off track. When we lose our way completely. When we take something complete and full and choose to change it. In those instances, I believe God just sees that He's going to have a little more interesting finished piece. He'll use the minor chords of our own creation to do something beautiful and unexpected further down the road.

The school house rocks

The air is filled with possibility. It has to do with a looming school year start. I love the line in "You've Got Mail" where Meg Ryan talks about New York City in the fall and says it makes her want a bouquet of sharpened pencils. She also mentions loving the smell of Scotch tape. I also love the scent of sharpened pencils and Scotch tape, and New York, even when it smells bad. As well, I love "You've Got Mail" and watch it every single time it's on TBS. Every time. But, that's another post.

There's an unmatchable motivational factor involved with an approaching school year. This has always been true for me. In elementary school it started whenever mom and I went back-to-school shopping. When new clothes and shoes went on layaway, my stomach swelled with butterflies, and I would thereafter ask her to take me to the school every day so I could see if the class lists were posted yet. They never were posted before the third week of August, but I'd ask anyway. Once the lists were posted and I knew who my teacher was, it was time to go school supply shopping. Oh, the weight of importance I placed on Lisa Frank pocket folders! Unicorn or dolphin? It was a decision of some magnitude. I would pack and repack my backpack in preparation for the first day. About two weeks before the first day, my clothes would be brought home and I would begin the process of selecting an outfit for the first day.

The excitement continued in similar fashion all the way through junior high, high school, and college, but once I finished with school it dissipated. Working for a newspaper, and then an architecture firm, I saw the same people every day of every month. Then, I chucked it all and decided to become a freelance writer and teacher. And today, I find myself excited once again. I'm not picking out outfits or practice-packing my purse, but I did clean my office. The supercharge behind me these days is all about the potential of this year. It's my second full year as administrator and I think I finally have my feet under me, I fully own the position. Some staff members have left, and we have new people in place. Some students have graduated or moved, and we have a crowd of new ones coming in. I'm downright anxious to see how all this new blood will reshape our school.

I can't say enough what a privilege it is to work where I do among my family and closest friends. More than that, I'm blessed beyond measure to have, at the very top of my to-do list, the responsibility of teaching young people about the love of Jesus. Didn't go to college for that one, but it's an acquired skill.

Some years ago, when I was working for the paper, I wrote a blog on my MySpace page titled "Back To School Blues." At that time I was down because I realized there were certain milestones and rites of passage gone forever. I would never buy gear for a dorm room again, not for myself. I found myself borderline depressed because I had graduated and found a job and my life was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I had worked hard (I use that term loosely) for four years to get a good job - it had been my goal and motivator. Now I had a job, and it was a total let down. The most disheartening part was there was no change on the horizon. No end of semester, no new classes, no graduation. I was supposed to sit at that desk for 40 years.

Well, that didn't work out. I changed desks a few months later. I entered a new job, a better job, and I tried to reinvent myself. I failed. The people I worked with were wonderful. The job was wonderful - a pretty easy gig. But it still wasn't right. Then, I wound up where I am now, in a position no way related to my education, save the writing I do. And, it's perfect. It may not be the most prestigious or glamorous of positions, I wipe noses and change diapers here and there. But, I have an awesome long-term goal - one that has very little to do with me.

Life's a Trip

Isn't it funny how things turn out? Facebook, as I'm sure it does for many people, keeps me in an almost constant state of retrospect. Five or ten years ago, ahead of social media, it was easy to forget people (read: experiences) from the past. Now, by my own choice, I daily see names and faces of people I haven't seen in years. Chances are, I won't ever physically see them again, barring the extremely unlikely event that I attend my high school reunion.

Depending on the name, I am taken to the halls of Borah High School in Boise, Idaho. Occasionally, an experience tied to a certain individual will take me further back, even to West Junior High (shudder). Others cause a flashback to the University of Idaho campus and the Pi Phi Palace. Some are more recent, like the SFA campus in Nacogdoches, Texas, and just yesterday I communicated with someone I interned with at cue:creative in Tyler, Texas. Some associations are positive, others move me to the serious consideration of lobotomy. Regardless, they are all people and experiences that are a part of who I am today. Every memory shapes me, and I find it so interesting to look back over these chapters in my life and try to get into my own head back then. I never would have imagined I'd be where I am today, not geographically, professionally, socially, or spiritually.

I was an extremely selfish, stupid, and insecure individual in high school. If I could go back, I would do it just for the sheer purpose of being nicer to people. There's a lot to be said for a smile. Oh, how offering one to others at crucial times might have changed things a bit. Wisdom like "show yourself friendly" or "keep your mouth shut" were wasted on me then, but now I see so clearly what they mean, and how the advice is best and most simply applied. If I'd obeyed the latter, I might not have lost a car window and an insurance suit during my freshman year of college.

I was an extremely selfish, stupid, and insecure individual in college, too. I was a mess - the first two years anyway. Made excellent grades and bad decisions. Reputation was something I didn't think much about, I felt it didn't have any weight of importance for the long term. God took care of me, though. He gave me a fresh start in a new place. I couldn't be what I am today in proximity to that past life, and He knew that. I have absolutely no control over what people think of me, but I do have control over what I think of them. I figure forgiveness and a non-judgmental attitude balance the scales. Just this minute while writing this it's so clear to me what God was up to. What an awesome and wise Heavenly Father I have.

Once I got to Texas I started getting some sense talked into my dense head. Still messed up on a daily basis for roughly five years in a row. Now I mess up, but I generally realize it pretty quickly and make it right. "Success is a journey, not a destination." We've all heard that, right? The same rings true for a walk with God. I didn't cross the Texas state line and instantly turn into a saint. Living for Him is a process, and I learn new things every day. My first years at it were a mess, because I was young and still wanted to fit in somewhere else. I made mistakes, ruined opportunities to witness, and tried to earn my salvation, instead of just receiving it. But, time and love were applied to my confusion, and although I have questions and trials all the time, I now have this wonderful open line of communication with my Creator. Even when the answer doesn't come right away, I know He's working on it, and I have peace - the kind of peace that only comes with full trust in, and surrender to someone else.

I can't explain in words to anyone what true liberty is like, but I hope my life is an explanation. My God is so good to me. Whatever is between the lines in the paragraphs above, it’s erased. I may remember it, you may remember it, but He doesn't. And His opinion is the only one that matters in the long run.

An emotional rhapsody

I'm listening to Matt Redman. Right now "You Alone Can Rescue" is playing, and I plan to listen to it again. Every single time I sit down to write a blog, I take a few moments and search, and listen for a still, small voice to tell me what I need to say. I try my best to be obedient. I never know if what I write will touch someone who reads it, but I'm always blessed by the thought I'm given. It's humbling and awe-inspiring to hear the voice of God. I can't come up with most of this stuff on my own. "To you alone belongs the highest praise" - that's the final line of the song, which just ended. Talk about timing.

Music is so powerful. It can put us in another place, another time, it can make a fading memory burn bright and invoke an emotion or desire thought forgotten. It can inspire a person, bring them joy, or drive them to tears. It can bring praise to someone's lips, or influence them to make poor decisions. I believe music has had all of these effects on me at one time or another.

I love music. I assign a lot of importance to it. I can look at the long list of songs in my iTunes library and identify a memory or emotion with just about all of them. I've listened to three tonight, in the past hour or so, that all point to my two very good friends.

One friend is actually my cousin, and probably the human being on this earth I'm closest to, although I wouldn't have always admitted it. The other is her Marine husband who was killed in Afghanistan this past May.

My music library is organized alphabetically, and oddly enough that places the first and second songs that reference them right next to each other. One is uplifting, and the other (although it's an awesome and beautiful song) I have no business listening to because I know it's going to open the floodgates. In consequence, I will sit around bawling and sniffling for an hour, like I'm doing right now. I repeat: Music has a profound effect on me.

When the couple was first dating in high school I don't know if any of us thought it would turn into what it did. The relationship lasted a year, and then two. When he enlisted in the Marines, there were some that believed the relationship would peter out due to time and distance. But, they lasted through basic training, then through the first tour in Iraq, and then the second. What started as flirtation in the band room, turned into a commitment between two of the most independent and iron-willed people I've ever met.

I remember vivid details from their wedding. Not just because I was the maid of honor and had a front row seat - if anything nervousness would have blocked some of it out. I remember because it was like no wedding I've ever been to. It was so personal, and illustrated in numerous ways the absolutely unshakeable bond of love, honor, and dedication that was present between the bride and groom. The first song I listened to tonight was the song she walked down the aisle to. If I remember correctly, he discovered it some length of time before he ever proposed, called her from Camp Pendleton, and played it for her over the phone. It's like it was written just for them.

I am positively heartbroken every time I listen to it, or even think about the lyrics. Marriage is about loyalty, companionship, and commitment. The one you marry is supposed to be the person you love and cherish above all others next to God, the one you would have an arm severed off for. Sadly, it's a covenant that has been cheapened by modern society. It's mocked, and seen as a way to get new appliances and bath towels. It's even viewed as temporary by some. Not the case with these two.

This is where the other two songs come in. One was played at the funeral - "Promised Land" by Fee, the other is just a song I know. "Promised Land" reminds me that she hasn't "lost" him at all, she just has to wait a little while to see him again. In the meantime, he's "gone up to glory land, he's gonna see his Lord, he ain't gonna cry no more." That song is for him. The other is for her, it simply reiterates that God is love, and perfect love casts out fear.

This is for her, too. You've always been so supportive of me, even when I wasn't of you - and that's why I know you're reading this right now, so let me say this: You are a remarkable, strong, intelligent, Christian person, and I am so privileged to know you, and honored that you call me friend.

Midnight in Montgomery

It’s been a long time since I’ve regaled my readers with a comical vacation anecdote. If you’re unfamiliar with these tales, let me educate you. Throughout my brief lifetime as an Allen, we have embarked on many adventures. Often, our lodging choices have been less than, ahem … desirable. My most popular recant of a hotel pick gone bad - horribly bad - is a New Year’s Trip to Galveston Island and a stay in a chain whose name I’ll change to protect their reputation. Let’s call them, La Stinka. This stay can be summed up with three words: bugs in bed.

We left this past Sunday for the Georgia Coast, which is a long way from East Texas. We originally had reservations in Meridian, Mississippi, but got there earlier than expected and decided to push for Montgomery, Alabama, so our drive wouldn’t be as long the next day. We arrived in Montgomery after dark, making our approach from the south side - always a good idea. After driving for more than eight hours and we were tired and hungry. We meandered through the coveted pawn shop and seedy bar district for some time before locating any kind of remotely acceptable lodging. The choice was between a (names changed) Motel 9 and a Fantastic Ocho. Neither are on my Top 1,000 list of places to spend the night, but we were out of options. Onward to Fantastic Ocho!

We checked in and walked to our room, which was exactly ten feet from the lobby. I think the guy at the counter took pity on us and put us somewhere we’d feel safe. Or, it’s possible he knew something we didn’t and really was trying to keep us safe. The room across the hall from us had recently lost its door handle. Six jagged holes remained.

We entered our room, where the lights and television were on (?). From there, the evening unfolded. We left to get something to eat and on our way back to the room asked for more towels. These towels never did arrive and we went to bed. Just as we were drifting off, there was a knock on the door. Towels. Back to bed. Another knock. More towels? No, this time a 7-foot man was on the other side. I’m thinking Michael Oher, but this was Montgomery and not Memphis. Did I mention the door did lock, but there was a gap between it and the frame that a small child could wiggle through? The chain had also been torn off, same unfortunate accident the door across the hall experienced, no doubt.

Gigantor was the final visitor of the night and I finally relaxed and slipped into a shallow sleep, a sleep disturbed by a distant rumble. Thunder? No, it was constant and getting closer. The COPS theme began playing in my head, and I concluded it was a police helicopter. I’ll never know for sure.

When I awoke the next morning I needed internet. I was 99.99% sure there was no Wi-Fi but tried anyway, and tickle me pink, there was! It belonged to the Motel 9 next door, but I didn’t think piggy backing fell below the high ethical code of the establishment. The final golden nugget of humor is this: There was an ironing board, but no iron.

All in all, the room was clean, the staff was friendly and helpful, and we got a decent night’s sleep. It also serves as a great story, and fuel for my unfair “Bama” stereotyping.

Vacation!

I am leaving on vacation in a few hours. I find trips are a whole lot better when you've been progressively busy prior to taking them. Not stressed out busy. There's a difference. If I'm stressed out busy, then I just stay stressed while I'm away. But, when it's progressive, accomplishing busy, and I get to go away knowing I'm leaving behind a job well done, oh man, that's a good break.

This week has been spectacular. I couldn't think of a better note to leave on. Vacation Bible School was a wild success, and despite running around like a crazy person a lot of the time, I still managed to get a lot of actual work done. I've got several new students in the wings for the upcoming year, we have a confirmed foreign exchange student, I got some excellent news on a personal front, and I discovered that my biceps look amazing. Anybody want tickets to the gun show?

Have I done anything to make all this come about? Maybe a little, but I know better. I'm wrapped in His blessings. On a sad note, my very good friends Tiffany and Jordan are leaving Sunday night to take a position in a church in Indiana. They will be greatly missed, but I know this is an opportunity for them to grow as individuals, as a family, and minister to others. In Jordan's last lesson, he defined grace as "divine favor." It's a good thing to have, especially when I consider how undeserving I am.

How humbling it is to sit and think af all the blessings I already have, and then think ahead to the promises God hasn't fulfilled yet. He's already done so much, and I know I've only begun to know Him. Still, serving God isn't just about the mountain tops. He's with us in the valleys, too, and we are to praise Him in every circumstance. He is always worthy. So worthy. If it's ever difficult to find something to praise Him over, try telling Him you can't find anything. I bet He'll bring something to mind.

I'm going to try and post while I'm away this next week, but I make no promises. It's going to be a full week. I'm driving to Meridian, Mississippi, today (6-hour drive), then on to Brunswick, Georgia, tomorrow with an excursion through the Okeefenokee thrown in (10 hours). Tuesday through Friday I'll be in Savannah, Georgia, a place I've wanted to go to since ... forever. Friday, I head to Chattanooga (8 hours), and Saturday I'll wind up in Memphis with an aunt and uncle, and two awesome cousins. It's going to be fun!! I'll post pictures if nothing else.

The best laid plans. . .

My baby sister is looking at colleges. She knows what she wants to do with her life, she's already secured one scholarship and is actively pursuing others, and she will graduate with honors next May.

Ah, to have plans. Although I hope she doesn't, statistics support the possibility that she will change her major; I changed mine half a dozen times. The differences between the two of us are plenteous: I chose my first major to choose one, almost out of vanity, she has chosen a field she is passionate over; I viewed college as my ticket to a non-stop party, and she is actually pursuing education; when I received my acceptance letter I wasn't thinking past the first week after Sorority rush, and Rebekah is already thinking about where she wants to start her career after college graduation.

I haven't been around very long, but boy have I made some rash decisions. It's easy to sit back and let regret slip in and allow myself to be inundated with "If only. . ." statements, or the good old "If I'd known then what I know now." I say that a lot, but maybe I wasn't supposed to know then.

At lunch yesterday, a friend of mine talked about wanting to become a flight attendant, but she was too young at the time. By the time she was old enough, she had a young family, and when they were old enough for her to pursue the dream again, September 11 occurred, and her husband put his foot down.

I'm teaching vacation Bible school this week and the kids have a memory verse for each day. Monday's was a favorite of mine - Jeremiah 29:11 "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Did God intend for me to live in debauchery for several years? No, I was out of His will. But, decisions I've made about career, schooling, geographic location - those are choices I've tried my best to turn over to Him, and I have to trust that He has me right where I'm supposed to be, doing just what I'm supposed to be doing. One of the awesome things about God is, He's in control no matter what, and even though we have a free will, He's more than capable of stepping in and cleaning up after us and getting us back on the right track when we're ready.

So, best of luck baby sister. Keep Him in the center of it and all your plans and dreams will turn out just the way they're supposed to.

What's a human to do?

I work hard to make this blog positive and uplifting (you never know who is reading it), which is why I try to avoid posting on days that I've been irritable. Like today. But, here I am. Sometimes you just have to get things done, even when the circumstances are not ideal.

Irritability: Having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed or made angry.

Checking symptoms. . .it's affirmative. I have been irritable today. Not that it's an excuse but I had a LOT of caffeine yesterday and therefore did not get a LOT of sleep last night. I literally felt electrical currents pulsing through my body all night. Then I took a sleep aide way too late and woke with a grogginess that can only be chemically induced. Way to mix the uppers and downers, Rach.

I've also been building Egypt for three days (in preparation for vacation Bible school next week) and generally ignoring all other responsibilities. Today, those neglected tasks started to weigh pretty heavy. That, combined with little sleep, made for the irritability.

As a follower of Christ, it's my job to be constantly aware that others watch how I act and react. As a leader, it's my job to just handle stuff. I feel so foolish when I look back on a situation I handled poorly and realize it was nothing to have lost my cool over. I feel disgusted when I show my temper to others. Praise Jesus, the latter doesn't happen very often. Anymore. Evidence of His work in me.

Conversely, there's something very Stepford-like about people that never show their humanness. I find it hard to trust, befriend, and not be intimidated by people who have it together all the time. Ironically, many different people have told me that I have my lid screwed on too tight. What's a human to do?

Life is a balancing act in so many ways. When we get wobbly, we have to reach for our touchstone. I can't always keep from being irritable and saying or doing something rash, but I can sure ask Him to help me, and forgive me when I fall. I can't find answers and solutions for every bump in the road, or explain every seeming injustice or disadvantage, but I can search His Word until I find peace.

I can't take a heart that's broken make it over again, but I know a man who can.

I can't take a soul that's sin sick, make it make it white, whiter than the snow, but I know a man who can.

Some call Him Savior, the Redeemer of all men.

I call Him Jesus for He's my dearest friend.

If you feel no one can help you and your life is out of hand, well I know a man who can.

"I Know a Man Who Can"
As sung by George Jones.

New, old things

There is no new thing under the sun. King Solomon did some painstaking research to prove that point. But, isn’t it refreshing when we can look at something we’re used to with a new, fresh perspective, and gain a whole new appreciation for it?

Last week I had family visiting from Idaho – my sister, Susan; her husband, Larry; and daughter, Kristie. Larry had never seen Texas and Susan and Kristie had not visited in more than three years. We went through all the usual stops, which include a nearby antiquing town, a Cypress swamp, and of course, the amusement that is my large extended family.

While trolling through Caddo Lake, under its mysterious centuries-old Cypress trees, I listened to the tour guide, who by his own omission was not an educated man, but the wealth of knowledge he possessed about the land and water he grew up on made me proud. Additionally, I’d forgotten the beauty and uniqueness of the place that is a mere 50 minutes from my driveway. I wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for family visiting, and I found myself anticipating what they would find impressive, and at the same time, remembered how impressed I was with it myself. To make things more interesting, my father has become nearly an expert on the history of our region, and listening to him recount the significance of brick buildings and dirt roads along the way made me stand a little taller.

A little later, we were at a dinner attended by almost all of my mom’s family. Not one of them failed to shake my sister and brother-in-law’s hands, welcoming them and assuring them that they were family. That just doesn’t happen everywhere. Again, I beamed with pride and appreciation.

It’s easy to get wrapped up in what other places have to offer, but I’m glad I had the chance to see through another’s eyes how much I have just a few steps from my front door.

Likewise, it seems almost effortless to slip into spiritual indifference, even numbness, and forget the beauty of what God has done in my life, or any life. Anyone can get comfortable with a routine and begin to go through the motions. For me, it only takes studying a familiar passage that well illustrates the saving grace and passion of Jesus to make me fall in love all over again with renewed vigor and purpose.

Every time I put forth the effort to grow, and pull myself off that spiritual treadmill, He always gives me a 200 percent return, revealing to me something new, although it’s not new at all. It’s really a gift, a piece of wisdom, a new closeness, that’s been waiting for me the whole time.

Humble Pie

"It's hard to be humble when you're as perfect as I am." Surely most of us have seen this clever caption, or some derivative of it, on a bumper sticker. I laugh at it most of the time. At other times, I probably judge the driver of the vehicle to be arrogant, not humble like me. In doing the latter, I am showing arrogance myself, not humility. It’s a vicious cycle.

"Humility and the fear of the Lord bring wealth and honor and life." Proverbs 22:4

God loves, defends, and provides for the humble. He loves, defends, and provides for all of us, if we let Him. But, the person who daily and knowingly works at serving Him in humility has a degree of peace, contentment, and joy, that I would like to tap in to. I'm not there yet.

Before I began writing this today, I checked Chip MacGregor's blog. He had posted a list of errors in writing that drive him crazy. I read the list one by one, my ego growing by the second.

"I don't do any of those things."
"Thank goodness I know better than that."
"Who would do that?"

Those are a few of the thoughts I had. I even began to get frustrated because I realized there are serious writers out there that submit work with those types of errors, and they get published! I go over every piece of my writing with a fine-tooth comb. I literally practice parallel construction in my sleep. I can spot a misplaced apostrophe or dangling modifier a mile away. I correct billboards while on vacation. But, I can't get an agent or editor to do anything other than send me a form rejection letter. Or, no letter at all.

That was my thought process. Then I read a rule I didn't know. This rule has been a point of confusion for some years. Chip made it very clear, though. I realized I'd probably been w-w-wr-ong. Probably.

Humility. "When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom." Proverbs 11:2

I have a lot of little issues flying around in my head right now. I think the answer to most of them is: God, it turns out I don't know everything. I need you to keep showing me and leading me. I put my life in your hands. I want to serve and please you. You know what's best for me. In Jesus' name, amen.

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves." Phillippians 2:3

The First Four

The grandchildren on my mom's side of the house came in groups. After two a little older, I was the third grandchild, followed closely by Krystal and David, then Allison. It was just the four of us for about eight years. Then, David and Allison had a younger brother, Krystal had a younger brother, and before too long, I had a baby sister. Somewhere in there an uncle remarried and we gained two step-cousins, and a few years ago, our family grew by three more via adoption. Despite nearly a 16-year spread between the youngest cousin and myself, we're all pretty close and get along.

My mother has three brothers and a sister - Glenn, Sherlene, Larry, and Joel. They grew up a stone's throw from their aunt and uncle's home, where there were five more children of the same age - Marion, Jan, Glenda, Evelyn, and Wayne.

When I first moved to Texas and started meeting my mom’s cousins I was so intrigued by the relationships between all of them and my mom and aunts and uncles. After so many years of geographic separation, they could still walk into a room and in a matter of minutes, be swapping old stories and rolling on the floor laughing about something that happened 30 years before. I swelled with pride over being a part of such a big laughing family and always looked forward to gatherings so I could hear the same stories and be a part of it all.

I will say, it's started to wear off a little. I still love being with my family, but the newness of it is gone. I've been in an awkward position for a few years. Krystal moved to California, David married and splits his holiday time with his wife's family, and Allison lives in Mississippi. A lot of the time I'm the only one around out of the "First Four." Despite my closeness with the second set of grandchildren, I miss my three original companions.

However, the best things are worth waiting for. I have the privilege of spending a lot of time with my family - even extended family. There aren't many days that go by that I don't share a laugh or make a memory of some kind with one of the “Second Set.” So, even though things seem a little mundane, even monotonous at times, every day my second-set of cousins and I are bankrolling memories - stories for the future.

Austin is a second set, and he’s an artist and so quick-witted, I can’t help but respect him, being a pretty witty gal myself. Dylan is a hard worker who makes friends wherever he goes – who knows what kind of characters he’ll bring home for Thanksgiving one day. Brent came right before Rebekah and is my unofficial baby brother. He’s soon to be married, and as fortune would have it, his bride is my little sister’s best friend – a very welcome addition to our family table. Nathaniel is all the way over in Mississippi and I’m sad to say I don’t know him as well as I’d like to, but I know he laughs the same way David does, and that’s worth a whole lot in my book.

In a time when brothers and sisters barely make time for one another, it’s a great comfort to know that I have a place in all these different lives, and they certainly have a place in mine.

Already, on the occasions that a few of us end up in the same room, we inevitably find something to have a good abdominal-workout laugh over. A few more years of living and some great-grandchildren thrown into the mix should prove priceless.

I would say I'd like to be a fly on the wall at Christmas in about ten years, but I think I'll have an even better seat.

A Kenny Moment

**This post is dedicated to Sergeant Kenneth B. May, Jr. - Marine, coffee lover, and friend.**

A part of my renewed writing motivation is a set of goals. Within that set is a goal to post to this blog three times weekly. I've been fumbling through this day waiting for my inspiration. A few moments ago, it came.

It's summer, and I'm in a summer state of mind. I still have work to do, but the urgency is absent. I ate lunch and then remained still, which leads to grogginess. Ordinarily, I don't allow myself to have coffee after noon, as I'm very sensitive to the caffeine and it will release its power on me just as I'm trying to settle down for the night. But it's summer - and Tuesdays are my day off during the summer. Therefore, I can stay up past my self-imposed bed time on Monday nights, which means I can have coffee on Monday afternoons. And, we've come full circle.

Since I drink my morning coffee at home, I seldom have any at work unless one of the other teachers has made some. I never make it myself at work for sure. So, today, when the afternoon drowsiness came calling, I was horribly unprepared. I first went to the very front of the building I'm currently in and found a coffee pot, but no coffee. I went to a second building to get coffee and a mug, then went to a third building to search for some "fu-fu" creamer. I returned to the coffee pot with these items and went to work. The coffee pot at my disposal was a one-cup Mr. Coffee model, whereas the filters were for a full-pot model. I, of course, in my hasty greed for caffeine, ignored this fact until I had coffee in the filter and was trying to close up and hit 'on.' The oversized coffee filter was hanging over the edges. This had to be corrected. I found a pair of dainty, children's safety scissors and began to trim away at the coffee filter. I was in a moment of great concentration when Kenny arrived.

For a second he was still here, and momentarily I thought ahead to when I would have the opportunity to share this little anecdote with him. I won't be able to in this lifetime. But I know he saw it all the same, and not only is he getting a kick out of it, he might be impressed with my resourcefulness. I was always impressed with his.

In the summer of 2004, I had just moved to East Texas. I had left my whole childhood and social life behind me in Idaho. My cousin and best friend, Krystal, and her boyfriend, Kenny, were my new social circle. I don't recall why, but the two of them were at my house early on a weekday. Kenny was working nights at the front desk of a local hotel and had just gotten off work. The three of us decided to make breakfast. Out came biscuits, hash browns, and whatever else the bounty of my parent's well-stocked pantry and fridge offered up. I wasn't a regular coffee drinker yet, but Kenny definitely was. My dad drank instant (goo!), but we did have a coffee maker and coffee, but no filters. Kenny, who also worked in the restaurant business, went to work crafting a filter out of paper towels, and I remember thinking how clever it was, and it worked, too!

Too often, people put away the things that remind them of those they've lost, they neglect the activities they once shared. Maybe they're scared to have a moment as I did while brewing coffee today. As for me, I'd rather have a candid split second of vivid, poignant memory, followed inevitably by tears, than a lifetime of premeditated recollections ushered in by flashbacks to a funeral.

Krystal, who in time became Kenny's wife, received very wise advice from her pastor in California following the news of her loss. Paraphrased, he told her to carry out the plans she and Kenny had made - they might have to be altered a little, but they didn't have to be cancelled altogether.

I eventually started the coffee and came back to my office to start writing this post while it brewed. When I returned to pour a cup I habitually picked up the bottle of creamer and gave it a good shake. The lid wasn’t closed tightly and creamer flew from one end of the room (incidentally, the pastor’s office) to the other. I cleaned it up with another oversized coffee filter and set my mug behind me on the pastor’s desk. Of course, there was more creamer on the bottom of the cup and it was now congealed in a nice ring atop the pastor’s desk. One more coffee filter, and a chuckle – it was just the sort of domino-effect comedy of errors that Kenny would appreciate.

Our loved ones live on when we remember to enjoy the things we enjoyed with them. They stay with us when we allow ourselves to laugh at something they would have laughed at. And, they are honored when we strive to be a little better person because of the things we learned from them. These are all evidence that the person lived, and left a legacy.

Kenny, I look forward to many more cups of coffee with you.

Look at the ant

I don't know what to write this morning - I only know I want to write. That's refreshing, as it's been some time since I felt words pulsing in my fingertips. My natural creativity often slinks back and stays silent, intimidated, even exhausted, by the seeming importance of parent letters, web revisions, board meeting minutes, and ho-hum e-mails.

Several months ago, my pastor taught a message about keeping your personal walk separate from your ministry. God always knows what we need. I always knew I needed to take care of my personal relationship on some level, but I wasn't practicing it. A pretty important part of living for God is helping, serving and ministering to others. That's indisputable. However, it's very difficult, nigh impossible, to help others if we don't seek strength for ourselves daily.

I was praying and studying, of course, but the time I spent for my personal growth always seemed to be done in preparation for praying for someone else, or teaching a lesson. Should we pray and study in that manner? Absolutely. But, should we also make time every day to just have a personal talk with God about our own growth? Yes. That's what I was missing.

I find the same is true for my writing. I use the talent and skill I have for a bunch of other things, which is fine - I'm supposed to. But, I let those tasks fill my writing shoes. I have four goals every day (minimally): pray, study God's Word, write, and exercise. For too long I have let my mundane daily writing tasks, those listed in the first paragraph, slide by as "writing." I go to bed at night and mark things off my mental to-do list and allow "parent policy revisions" to ease my conscience over not nourishing this precious gift from my Creator. This is not acceptable.

You lazy fool, look at an ant.
Watch it closely; let it teach you a thing or two.
Nobody has to tell it what to do.
All summer it stores up food;
at harvest it stockpiles provisions.
So how long are you going to laze around doing nothing?
How long before you get out of bed?
A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there,
sit back, take it easy—do you know what comes next?
Just this: You can look forward to a dirt-poor life,
poverty your permanent houseguest!
Proverbs 6:6-11 The Message

I'm not claiming to be lazy, but I'm not working as hard as possible every day for my writing, either. "You have a full-time job, Rachel!" Yes, I do, but there are a lot of writers with full-time jobs that still make time for their passion. That's what this is about - whether I ever publish or not, writing is my passion, my outlet. I owe it to me to make time for it every day.

Crazy Awesome

It’s just shy of two months since my last post. Shameful. What a busy, busy two months it's been. I have felt every emotion, it seems I've done every job. It's been crazy, which brings me to my topic: Crazy Love - the book by Francis Chan. I started reading it about Thanksgiving and just this morning found the time to pick it up to finish it. (Granted, I got Sarah Palin's book for Christmas and read it voraciously, putting all other literature, save the Bible, on the back burner.)

Crazy Love is an amazing look at the depths we allow our faith to fall to, and at the crazy justifications we latch onto in order to live our lives how we choose and still be "Christian." I have been in a state of confusion for some days now, completely dependant upon God to give me direction. The questions in my mind were unprecedented, and have brought on doubt in every area of my life. Usually, I seek out some human as a sounding board. In fact, I usually seek out a person that I know will tell me what I want to hear. This time, however, I needed truth, even if it was going to cut me and send me back to square one. But I couldn't find the right person. I realize now, God designed this trial with that very feature. He desired for me to talk only to Him. To seek guidance only from Him. And I did. It's awesome and almost humbling when you are in a place that only God understands. I didn't even understand where I was, and I simply told Him that. I asked Him to figure it out and let me know. Then I went to sleep in peace.

What an immeasurable gift!! To have a friend, father, and savior, all rolled into one. One who enthusiastically listens to our problems and takes on our burdens. One who works it out for us, gives us a plan, and lovingly walks beside us - just to be there to catch us when we inevitably mess up and fall down!

That was last night. I woke up this morning with the desire to finish reading Crazy Love. Not every question has been answered, but I definitely have a direction to pray in. I truly believe God used the book to make me see where I was missing Him.

God is so mysterious! Foolishly, the past few months, maybe even a year, I thought I had Him figured out. (Pause for ridiculous laughter.) Of course, I don't. God is the same yesterday, today and forever, He doesn't change! So why did I believe He had? It is so clear to me what I have done. I changed. I changed my approach and my attitude, and God didn't change at all.

We can't make an eternal God melt, mold and reshape Himself to fit this century. His rules and plan remain the same. Love Him with everything in you, and love your neighbors as you love yourself. It's so simple, but so hard when you put yourSELF in the middle of it. Nothing is about me, it is all about Him.

Thank you, God, for being patient with me, loving me, and showing me so gently how to get it right again.