Smell your way

Smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. I’ve written before about opening storage containers or trinket boxes, breathing in, and instantly being transported to a time or event in my past, good and bad. Quite possibly, my very favorite sensation is waking up during the night before Thanksgiving and smelling the roasting turkey. Even in semi-consciousness that smell always reaffirms that something wonderful is to come, and I’m certain I fall back to sleep with a smile on my face. Memories of this are present throughout my childhood, as my mom almost always did the turkey for family Thanksgivings. The smell of the turkey comforts me. It means I’m at home, surrounded by the people I love most. Home from college at Thanksgiving, it was a reminder that I was home. An added treat was hearing the soft footsteps of my mother at various times throughout the night as she went into the kitchen to baste. Now I cook the turkey at Thanksgiving, which some might argue I do just so I can wake up and smell it cooking.

I’m on a half-vegan kick with my amazing new roommate right now. (Make no mistake, there will be turkey at Thanksgiving. I haven’t lost my mind.) I made slow-cooker oatmeal last night with fresh strawberries, coconut milk and almond extract. All night I woke to this unfamiliar, but sweet aroma, and when I remembered what it was, I think I may have giggled in excitement a little before closing my eyes again.

Over the years, I’ve gone to bed at night afraid, worried, stressed, doubting … I’m sure we have all spent a sleepless night or two experiencing one or more of these emotions. I pray before I sleep, especially when I am experiencing any of the above. But, as any mature believer will tell you, sometimes the peace, the resolve, the answer, doesn’t come before I slip into a strained and troubled sleep.

“Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands.” Deuteronomy 7:9

Many times, my prayers have immediately brought peace, restful sleep, and a clear direction to take the next morning. Other times my questions go unanswered.

Nevertheless, I serve a faithful God. The answer may not come when I want it, and certainly not when I feel I need it the most, but it’s always right on time, because it comes on His schedule, not mine.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4

For several weeks, maybe longer, I’ve been plagued with a trial. It has appeared in many forms and has involved many different people. I haven’t even known what to call it. How do you pray about something you can’t define?

I spent time with friends last night, had some good laughs, started my slow-cooker oatmeal, and went to bed. Somewhere in the night, I didn’t look at the clock, I woke feeling a question or some form of dread associated with this trial. I tossed and turned for a few minutes and mulled the circumstance over. I looked for a way around the problem it presented, because I’ve tried for weeks to go over the mountain and get it under my feet and haven’t been able to. As I worked to calculate my own solution, God finally whispered in my ear. Just a few words put it all in perspective so simply.

I woke up one or twice more last night before getting up for oatmeal and church this morning. Each time I did, I remembered those few words. How comforting it was to have a plan and a definition, to have guidance from the author and finisher of my faith. It was better than the aroma of a roasting turkey, or slow-cooker oatmeal.

The Four P's

It’s April, and therefore graduation planning is under way. I find myself with an all-female senior class of young ladies who are very smart and very promising. (And I’m not just saying that because my little sister is one of them.) I have secured our keynote speaker, and this morning while drying my hair, found myself mentally writing her address. Of course, this very capable person will be writing and delivering her own speech, but I figured I’d blog my ideas anyway, send them into the universe for someone else to be (hopefully) inspired, and then remember to graft some of them into my introduction of the speaker in June.

Purpose. Perseverance. Patience. Progress. These four words have more in common than their first letter. The last is rarely achieved without the application of the former three. As graduates stepping into the adult world, the following will be good advice to follow. Planning a future is not simple, and neither is taking on the challenges (and there will be many) that will bring your plans to fruition.

I detest an ambiguous task. Nevertheless, when faced with one that I just can’t seem to get my head or arms around, it is always best to sit back and think of the desired end result and try to get a feel for the big picture. After all, if you don’t know where you’re going, how do you expect to get there? Purpose. Determine it.

However, the end objective is often intimidating, and seems unattainable. That is why once the purpose is determined, logical steps to fulfill it must be outlined. Then that outline must be acted upon even if it is an uphill battle the entire way. Perseverance.

Certainly the order you try to keep these steps in will be tossed, and the schedule in which you wish to achieve them will not be kept. People get in the way. Life gets in the way. We get in the way of ourselves. Plans change. Cheese gets moved. There are few great things in life that don’t require some form of waiting. Patience. I hear it’s a virtue.

Finally, progress. The funny thing about this one is that we never realize when it occurs. It’s only when you look back that you realize you’ve achieved it. An added reward is that the hard work and victories won have made you a better and stronger individual, one ready to grab the next challenge by the horns and start all over, but with earned confidence.

Accompanying all of these steps is the most important advice I can leave with a graduate, or anyone, including myself. Remember it is all in God’s hands – if you put it there. When you can’t see the light at the end of whatever tunnel you’re in, look up at the Light. Knowing this is simple enough, living and walking in it is slightly more difficult. I have to remind myself to do so approximately once an hour.

With that said, we can boldly take on the circumstances life throws at us, whether they are professional or personal. We don’t have to be intimidated by any perceived limitation or ceiling, except the starry one we sit under at night, and only then because we are humbled by the mystery and wonder of its Creator.

If you’re reading this and plan to attend Calvary Way’s commencement exercises, I suppose you can plug your ears when I take the podium to introduce the speaker and present the graduates, because these thoughts will be represented again. But, I promise I’ll phrase it differently, throw in a cheesy joke, and you’ll witness the added spectacle of me tearfully handing an Honor’s Diploma to my baby sister.

Recycled post ... sort of

I haven't been blogging. I'm sure you've noticed. The truth is, I haven't slowed down long enough to ponder my thoughts. Tonight, I finally did. I was playing a song before Bible Study began. It's one I play often, and it was definitely on my heart. Everything went fine, until the final note. I just played the wrong chord altogether. It made me laugh, it made me think of the post I have reposted below, and then it almost made me cry. I'll tell you why in a minute.

--- Originally posted on August 6, 2010 --- 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.

------------------------------------------------------------------

... and back to present day.

It is so easy to lose sight of our purpose. I fear I've gotten off track as of late, I've felt that way for a while. I've been praying about it, God knows what's up and I trust Him to make the crooked ways straight. Tonight, He once again, in an awesome but gentle way, showed me that He has heard. He reminded me that He uses the foolish things to confound the wise, and that in my weakness, He is strong. My wrong note is still music to His ears, so long as it is played for the right reasons. Therefore, I know my life still has purpose in His kingdom, as long as it is lived in a way that points to Him.

Snow Notes

It's a good day to be a writer. I am sitting before my patio door and staring out at a snow-covered landscape (see it above). My laptop is open, an article was just edited, and I have a cup of Starbuck's Salted Caramel Cocoa within arm's reach. Coffee and a crackling fire would raise the day to a level of historic perfection, nigh nirvana, but alas, I must sleep tonight, and I don't think the fireplace in this house has been used or cleaned in over a decade.

East Texas had two legitimate snow days last winter, so I didn't dare hope that it could happen again this year, but it has. Too often, I allow preconceived notions of the possible and impossible to dash my hopes. I forget to keep those Disney-inspired aspirations alive.

"God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us." Ephesians 3:20-21 (The Message)

I think we all hear and live under the "don't get your hopes up" line too much. While I know life is not always a bed of roses, it's nice to look out the window and know that all the naysayers (also known as snow haters) are eating their words.

Today's wintry beauty is just a small reminder that God likes to surprise us every now and then. We are His children, and He does love us immeasurably, so why wouldn't He pull out all the stops just to make us smile?

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.