H: for How Long Will I Spend on This (or Honestly It's Felt Like Decades)

It's been a while.  I have nearly started this so many times over the last 2 1/2 years, but then I didn't know how or I got busier or I forgot or I was scared. 

But writing is in my heart.  It's how I process.  So here I am.

This was meant to be "Month 4: My Peeps" in my journey through Loving My Actual Life.  It started that way back in October 2016, and then I failed miserably.  So I gave myself another month.  And I really did try.

Month 4:
Boy oh boy, do I need this.  Husband and I have both been stressed with work--that makes us both withdraw.  So I have barely spent time with him, Daughters and I are doing a great job arguing, I miss my friends, there is a sweet babe I know who was born sick . . . all I want to do is read, and all I feel obligated to do is work.

So.  People.  The ones I love.  The ones God gave me to do life beside--to love my life with.

Quantity time.

Quality time.

I planned to schedule time in my calendar to be with specific people, send handwritten notes to people, be present with eye contact and no phone, and watch for moments when God put someone in front of me who needed me in that moment.

Y'all, that's where I got stuck.  Once I started looking for them, they were everywhere.

That month started with a phone call from a dear, dear friend I love with a mix of younger sister and niece and daughter telling me her baby boy had been born . . . and hours later had slipped into respiratory distress as a result of a brain bleed.  They were states away, and I fell to my knees.  I spent days staring at my computer monitor watching him in the hospital and praying, pleading, willing him to take one more breath.  Wondering if I should get in my car and drive to them.  Wondering if I'd ever get to meet him. 

That month was November 2016.

Day Nine: Today we sat the girls down to tell them about the election.  We also discussed our family rules and how that means we connect with people.  We look for people on the buddy bench, and we engage with them.  Because we're human.  Because love trumps hate.  I've always known that, but in the faces of my girls I see it.

Day Eleven: I am grieving.  This connecting means actually seeing where people are--actually seeing them.  And sometimes it means grieving.  So I am.

Day Sixteen: It's never-ending, the talking and the thinking.  And apparently the crying.  It's not lost on me that in this month of connecting I am finding myself withdrawing.  This election has truly built a wall . . . It's not lost on me how I am connecting with humanity as a larger part, even while pulling away from people around me.  It's a pity it takes this for us to see how much we need each other and be grateful we have each other.  I am praying that as this month progresses I continue to see and pursue those connections.  Also that I remember the hope and connections President Obama encouraged in his State of the Union: "I believe in change, because I believe in you."
May that be true today.  May I believe in change and in goodness and in love because I believe in myself and my sisters and my kids and my husband and strangers on the train.

Day (thirty)One: I think I need a redo.  None of my intentionality happened this month.  So December will be my peeps...again.  Today I spent largely by myself, with one major exception.  I drove to Kalamazoo in the sleet to place a Cubs pennant by Uncle Johnny's grave.  He would have been so happy they won.  And that made me think.  Part of being present--and loving my actual life--means truly knowing the people around me.  What is their thing?  What is the part of them that will seem important enough to their being that would make it worth standing in a cemetery an hour away from home forcing a baseball pennant into the semi-frozen ground at the base of a 30-year-old headstone in 30-degree sleet?  I want to know that about my people.

And so.  For the past 29 months I have been living a redo.  I've been failing and succeeding and then failing again at putting my phone down and being fully present.  I've written exactly one handwritten note and approximately one zillion text messages.  I've created hashtags and adopted colored hearts and started watching the Bachelor and eaten way too much ice cream and shared too many bottles of wine. 

Along the way a college friend's mom was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, and she died.  Another friend-like-a-father has seen the levels of cancer in his body dwindle and come back with a vengeance, even while his sister died from a years-long battle with cancer and his wife was diagnosed.  A friend from elementary school has courageously fought breast cancer--finally getting to ring the bell at the end of treatments and in remission--while also going through a divorce.  That baby boy nephew/grandson/friend turned two and is running and playing golf and hockey and making us all laugh with his sweetness, perfectly and miraculously healthy. 

I've walked part of these last 29 months with a friend through an eating disorder that left her in residential treatment and continues to call her name, another friend through realized childhood trauma that has eaten away too much of her adult life and threatened to steal her spirit, and the coming out and settling in to who God made them to be of friends and family.  I have been a confidant and a cheerleader and a late-night text and a hug.  I have grieved.  Oh, have I grieved.

I have watched my daughters navigate the end of elementary school and the beginning of middle school.  They have said goodbye to friends and welcomed new ones.  As a country we have endured too many school shootings to remember all their names, and as a mother I have sent my daughter to school because school officials and the school police officer insisted our kids were safe despite a threat of violence. And then I did it again.  And I stood on the sidewalk surrounded by middle schoolers at a March for Their Lives rally my 7th grader helped organize. 

My heart has wandered away from church as I've watched and listened to too much hate spewed in the name of a God who commanded us to love.  And then, in the end, I've wandered back in . . . because people.

I stood on a corner in beautiful Charleston, SC, in disbelief as my husband told me--through the phone and my protestations that I had just sung a song with him the day before--that a vibrant man, the backbone of hospitality in our church, had died that day at work.  I have been to funerals, I have been to support groups, I have intervened in harassment of a sleeping homeless man on a train, I have mothered a drunken college student on a train platform, I have stopped a drunken hair-pulling fight between strangers at a concert, I have born witness to countless stories of trauma and mental illness, I have fought with words and actions for marginalized people, I have marched...and I have loved.  I have loved.

And I have failed miserably at loving. 

I have allowed myself to love those I deemed worthy of my love.

And the others I have judged with a harshness and a disdain and even a disgust.

And, oh, God, I have so much to learn. 

So how long will I spend on month four?  It's become Groundhog Day or Before I Fall for me, a month I'm destined to repeat until I figure out how to get it right.  In truth, these 29 months have been the longest decades of my life.  They have been heartbreaking and challenging and beautiful and life changing.

These 29 months I've spent weaving in and out of intentionality around loving the people in my actual life--in person, via text, over social media--ended in two remarkable and contrasting ways.  Both with death, and, in a way, both with life.

Easter.  It's the dawn after the darkness.  It's the promise that the grave doesn't win and that sin doesn't win and that somehow, some way, what has been turned upside down will be made right again.

And then, days later, Rachel Held Evans died.  How many lives have I pleaded for in these 29 months?  How much healing have I banged on the Throne of Grace for in these 29 months?  Rachel's is included.  My wandering back into church--and the staying power, if I'm honest--began with the words of Rachel.  Like so many others, I am in church #becauseofRHE.  In the hours and days after Rachel's death, I came across this Tweet from @jamieleefinch:

"#BecauseofRHE tweets today I'm struck with the awareness that the greatest thing Rachel may have given all of us was each other."

I replied with this: "#BecauseofRHE I know I am not alone...in my doubts, in my convictions, in my hopes, in my longings.  She gave me Church."

But she gave me more than that.  As I've read so much of what's been written about her, now that we won't get anything more written by her, I have been struck by the grace with which she treated those who belittled and attacked and hated her.  She saw in everyone one truth: the image of God. 

I haven't seen that.

I've allowed myself to decide that certain people have decided to ignore the image of God in themselves and in others they don't like or are afraid of and have therefore made themselves unworthy of love and grace from me.  As if I'm the one who gets to decide any of that.  I have done the very thing I have accused them of doing.  I may choose to let in those traditionally locked out, but I'm no different if I'm pushing others out the door in order to do it. 

Y'all, I want to be loving.  I want to be safe.  I want to figure out how to embrace even those with whom I disagree.  God, let me see You in them.  All of them.  I want to figure out what is important enough to their being that I would stand in the sleet or stay up half the night or storm the Throne of Grace on their behalf. 

"But the gospel doesn't need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out.  It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down the walls, throwing open the doors, and shouting, 'Welcome! There's bread and wine.  Come eat with us and talk.' This isn't a kingdom for the worthy; it's a kingdom for the hungry."    - Rachel Held Evans

At the end of the day, we're all the wrong people.  And we're all the sinners saved by grace.  And we're all welcome, because we're all so, so hungry.

 

 

 

B: for Blessing; C: for Car

Admittedly, those are strange words to put together.  But "B" and "C" come right by each other, and both played key roles in our last two weeks.

A few weeks ago Meg, who sits in the far back corner of our van on the passenger side, told me she would prefer not to ride in our car anymore if the tires were going to make so much squeaking noise every time we stopped--and she certainly wouldn't be going on our vacation with that racket.  So I took the hint and brought the van in to the shop.

B is also for Brakes, and that was the problem.  I needed new calipers.  And, because I told the mechanic we were going on an Out West Trip and asked him to "kick the tires" to see if there were any problems, I also needed a new intake manifold gasket.  Whatever that thing is.  I authorized him to fix the calipers right away and set the intake thingy appointment.  He fixed the van while I was at work, I picked the van back up, and I went on my merry way.

That was Tuesday.  Friday I was in Traverse City with the ladies in my family, and I got a text message from my husband:

What did they do to your van?

Um . . . they fixed it.  Why?

Nope.  The front tires smelled of burning rubber, and smoke was billowing from the front passenger tire.  Oi.

That Monday the van was back in the shop.  The caliper had seized up--bad from the box--and would be replaced.  The next day I walked back into the shop and picked up my van, with a fresh new caliper and that new intake thingy.  And then three days later we were off.

My husband and I took our three girls on a week long vacation to the Black Hills of South Dakota and then to visit "family" on the East side of South Dakota--with an overnight at a covered wagon on the Ingalls family homestead in De Smet in between.  Everything went well for the first hour.  Then we had our first potty break.  This was going to be a long trip, we could feel it.

Our first night we made it to Cedar Falls, IA.  I totally screwed up on a non-refundable Orbitz room reservation for the Super 8 that night (turns out it was the 17th, not the 24th), but the staff at the Super 8 went above and beyond their jobs and settled it all.  And took another $10 off our bill for good measure.  Apparently everything is refundable if you have a tired face, cute kids, and an apologetic attitude.  We slept well and were off on another day of making sandwiches in rest areas, searching for radio stations amidst the static, and playing the alphabet game.

An hour down the road Addie realized she left her blanket, "Dottie," behind at the hotel.

I called, they didn't find it, Addie cried then and again at bedtime that night.  We were tucked into our little cabin at Mystery Mountain Resort in Rapid City, SD, by then.  We decided she probably left Dottie at home and talked her into sleeping while snuggling my soft body pillow.  I'll be honest.  It didn't really work.  Not that night or the next three.

The next two days were filled with the beauty of God's creation.  We kept our Sabbath that day celebrating Daddy Beau with a hike through Wind Cave and a ride from Hill City to Keystone aboard the 10-mile-per-hour 1880's train.  We saw prairie dogs and deer and Crazy Horse and craned our necks for a glimpse of a bighorn sheep like the crossing signs promised.  The pool at our resort was lovely for the girls, and the tow truck driver who let Beau back in the keys-locked-inside van at the local Walmart was quite friendly.  Monday was a trip to Wall Drug (have you dug it?), a journey through the Badlands National Park with several stops for hiking and "I think I heard a rattle snake" (and a big horn sheep sighting!), and a S-L-O-O-O-W van ride through Custer State Park. Our animal count increased to several antelope, a mama burro who scratched her neck on our side mirror (my window was definitely rolled up) while her baby nursed, 300 buffalo grazing in a field, and a million more prairie dogs.  The hairpin turns and uphill climbs up Iron Mountain Road to Mt. Rushmore led us around a blind curve and apparent traffic jam . . . a herd of buffalo--papas, mamas, and babies.  It was so cool.  We made it to Mt. Rushmore for the very impressive lighting ceremony and back to bed by midnight "home" time.

Our last day there was meant to be a rest day.  We talked about eating at a favorite restaurant, maybe taking in a few shops, and swimming a lot.  Once we'd woken up though, Beau said, "Hey, do you want to take a quick drive on the Needles Highway through Custer?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

So we did. And it was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. The hairpin turns and narrow tunnels through rocks and views were some of the most amazing things God has created. And right up until we coasted into the town of Custer, it was a perfect morning.

We first smelled the burning rubber when we stopped at the public restroom for one of the girls. Still, we thought, "Eh, that was hilly.  It's fine."  It wasn't fine.  Beau switched with me to see if I noticed anything, and I couldn't get the van to go over 5 MPH. When I took my foot off the gas, we immediately stopped.  

"This isn't fine," I said. Beau Googled repair shops, and we limped our way the two blocks back to the station.  Where we learned that not only had the calipers seized up (again!), the tires were locked up too.  Forty miles from all of our things.  We went to Subway with a list of potential car rental places and sick stomachs.  Nobody answered their phones except those who had nothing good to tell us . . . and the car place reported the tires had unlocked but the heat was so bad that the rotors had turned blue so we'd need new calipers again, new rotors again, and new pads again.  Oh, and the outstanding news was that the calipers wouldn't be in until noon the next day.  Two hours after we were supposed to check out and leave Rapid City.  And the repairs wouldn't be done for two hours after that.

But wait.  How were we even going to get back to Rapid City?  There were no cars to rent in Custer.  The cars to rent in Rapid City weren't going to get us from Custer to Rapid. We were stuck. My sandwich sat untouched on the table as I frantically texted my family and dear friends back home and on the East side of SD--Pray. Please pray.

"I didn't mean to overhear you," the man said as he sat down next to me.  "But my wife and I were talking--it sounds like you need to get the five of you from here to Rapid City?"

I nodded, because it's all I had.

"We're headed there.  We'd like to take you, if you'll let us."

I burst into tears, because it's all I had.

We rode back to Rapid City with perfect strangers, because sometimes God's blessings come in the form of angels embodying South Dakota hospitality.  So the girls spent the afternoon in the pool at the resort, and we found a rental car, and we packed up our cabin ready to leave in the morning . . . still praying our van would be fixed on time, and we would get to our covered wagon five hours and one earlier time zone away before everyone fell asleep.

God works, friends.  In real life.  His blessings come in strangers and in resort owners who say, "take a late checkout--and feel free to leave here in storage whatever you can't fit in the car, pick it up whenever," and in car shops where parts arrive on time and the work gets completed on schedule.  And then He even sends blessings in children not arguing or needing to stop for bathroom breaks and a 5 hour drive taking only fifteen minutes longer (because we had to get gas). He also sends blessings in a beautiful sunset over a corn field just before we pulled in to the Homestead and found our covered wagon before the light was gone.  And then His blessings appear in stars visible in 360 degrees around us and a full fire moon and shooting stars above our heads and peaceful time enjoying it all.

We had a lovely visit with our dear South Dakota family where we were reminded that friends who became family 30 years ago are one of God's greatest blessings.  Our time there was too short and will happen again many, many times over the years to come.  Our Des Moines visit with our friends and former seminarian and his wife was treasured time as well, and our trip home involved two brief stops, and then home, sweet, home. Because time away is always blessed by returning home and sleeping in your own bed.

Two days ago, I pulled into the garage at our house, and I smelled burning rubber.  And the tires were burning hot.  One more trip to Chuck's Auto, and today I have a new master cylinder in my van. And a mechanic who is making sure the repairs in Custer are fully covered under warranty and that we are taken care of.  Because sometimes God's blessings come through car repairs and mechanics who go the extra mile.

Our vacation was wonderful.  And memorable.  And we saw God's blessings in our every mile.

Oh! And the highlight started on the sofa at the farm, just a bit past bedtime, nearly a week after we left Cedar Falls.

"I left Dottie in the drawer under the TV," a sweet and tired little voice said.  So I called the Super 8.  And yesterday a box arrived for the sweet and still tired little girl.  She ripped it open just enough to pull Dottie out, and she sniffed Dottie--"It's even washed, Mommy!"--and she draped Dottie over her head and spent the day snuggling the blanket she'd slept with every night of her life up until that night after Cedar Falls.

Because sometimes God's blessings are found in quick mail service and a thoughtful hotel . . . and a pink fuzzy blanket with brown polka dots.

Reviewing The Gift of Friendship

The Gift of Friendship

Edited by Dawn Camp

The Gift of Friendship is a collection of blog posts from various authors, speakers, and bloggers on the topic of friendship.  Centered around topics like “Building Community,” “It Takes a Friend to Be a Friend,” “Friendship on Purpose,” and “Vulnerability,” each essay Camp gathered follows the typical Blog formula: easy to read, a few lines of self-deprecating humor, and a quick message.  None of it gets too deeply, but much of it makes you smile.  And none of them will take you more than five minutes to read.

Reading this compilation made me arrive at three realizations: 1) I have a handful of really great, really deep, and really true friendships; 2) This may not be as common as I originally thought; 3) I don’t really like this Blog format of a book.  I found myself and my circle of friends in a few of the pages.  I was reminded to tell two of my closest friends how deeply connected to them I am and how grateful I am that they know me so well and still choose for some crazy reason to keep coming back to me.   And how amazing it was to spend the weekend in their company . . . all alone, no kids, no husbands, just these beautiful women and a few others from our circle. Those are gifts you find in some corners of your world, and Camp calls you to remember them and cherish them.

I didn’t love this book. It was fine. Good, even, in some parts. But I feel richer for the friendships, not for the words I read in the book.  Except for the nuggets Camp included in between some of the essays.  She quoted Scripture (which is always good, even in this case where it sometimes seemed a stretch to fit the topic), and she quoted other books on friendship. The C. S. Lewis quotes she included from The Four Loves are the real gems in this book.   And while I probably won’t pick up The Gift of Friendship to read again, I will definitely be borrowing The Four Loves.  From a friend.

Disclaimer: I received this book from Revell through the Revell Reads Blog Tour program in exchange for my honest review.  I was not required to write a positive review. I am disclosing this in accordance with FTC guidelines.

For When Your Hope is Gone

A while back, I read a series of books called The Chaos Walking. 

It wasn't a series that I loved, but I did find some good "nuggets" in it.  One of those I have wanted to share in its a blog post all by itself.  Then life happened.  While I've spent the past couple of months trying to catch up with my life (how is it November already?!), I have also spent the past couple of months being too busy to be a friend to some of the important people in my life.  This post is for them, with my apology for neglecting to share this sooner or enough.  But it's also a reminder that while I may not have asked or hugged or listened as much as I wish I had, I never stopped believing.

There is a key to friendship and to being a true friend.  It is, quite often, the only key that I can offer to my friends.  For those of you who are Bible readers--or who have spent much time with me when we're sharing our stories--please think back to the story of the quadriplegic man who was carried on a mat by his four friends.  Remember that they climbed up a ladder to the roof of a house that was crowded with people following Jesus.  The friends carried their paralyzed buddy to the roof, broke through the roof, and lowered their friend to Jesus' feet.  They loved their friend, so they bore the burden of taking him to the feet of the only One who could remove his burden.  Nothing could stop them, because they loved their friend.  All the friend had to do was lie there.

Now that can be difficult, and much can be said about that important role, but for today I need to focus on the friends.  That's the role I'm privileged to be in for now, especially with two dear friends.  So, for them, I am sorry that I haven't carried fast enough or far enough.  But I want you to know that when your hope is gone, I will carry you.  When your hope is gone, I will bear your burden and carry you to the feet of the One who can ease your burden.  Who can hold you close.  Who longs to embrace you.  And I will count it a blessing.

Two messages for you, for when your hope is gone:

But there's one other thing I remember,
and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God's loyal love couldn't have run out,
his merciful love couldn't have dried up.
They're created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He's all I've got left.

...The "worst" is never the worst.
Why? Because the Master won't ever
walk out and fail to return.
If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.
(Lamentations 3:22-24 and 31-33, The Message)

AND

“Hope,” he says, squeezing my arm on the word.  “It’s hope.  I am looking into yer eyes right now and I am telling you that there’s hope for you, hope for you both.”  He looks up at Viola and back at me.  “There’s hope waiting for you at the end of the road.”

“You don’t know that,” Viola says and my Noise, as much as I don’t want it to, agrees with her.

“No,” Ben says, “But I believe it.  I believe it for you.  And that’s why it’s hope.”

“Ben—“

“Even if you don’t believe it,” he says, “believe that I do.”

(The Knife of Never Letting Go, p376, Patrick Ness)

God's stockpiles of loyal love are immense.  Believe it, dear friends.  And even if you don't believe it, believe that I do.

Enduring Injustice

I recently had a conversation with a friend about something that happened more than a year ago.  As is often the case in broken relationships, there was misunderstanding, heartache, and injustice.  And a lot of pain.  But, at the same time, there is a glimmer of God working.

There are times in our lives when we have to endure injustice.  Life isn't fair.  Relationships hurt.  We get blamed for things we didn't do.  Our relationships end, and our hearts break.  We want to rise up and defend ourselves.  We want to make it right again or at least make sure people know we aren't who or what we've been accused of being.

Surely there are times when we are allowed to do that.  We get to defend ourselves in court--with integrity--and we can certainly speak to our motives or explain the reasons behind our actions. 

But there are perhaps more times when we are called to endure injustice with grace and courage.

For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.  (I Peter 3:17b-18)

And that's what it all comes down to.  When you have done the right thing, when you have spoken the truth in love, when you are taking the fall so that someone else doesn't have to . . . when it's God's will.  That's the point where you endure. 

It hurts to be wrongfully accused.  It hurts like hell to lose relationships that matter.  But when you can see that good is happening, that God is still in control, that He is moving, then it's all worth it. 

May I always be more than willing to suffer injustice for the greater good of God's master plan. 

May I see that in those times I have the opportunity to be Christ to those around me.  He suffered the ultimate injustice--His death--for the greater good--our lives. 

And may I never stop praying for reconciliation and healing in broken relationships . . . all in His good time.

Thoughts On Saying Goodbye

Bruce Coeling died this morning.  He suffered a massive heart attack last Saturday and was never really responsive again after that.  His children made the hard decision to remove him from the machines keeping his body alive on Thursday, and around 1:30 a.m. on Friday, June 8, 2012, he died.  He was 67.  He is a father and a grandfather and a friend.

I saw him on Wednesday night when a couple of friends and I went to the hospital after worship practice to visit him, but really to support his son who sings with us on the worship team and, with his wife and children, is in our Family Fellowship Group.  Before that I saw Bruce at church at 8:30 a.m. a couple of weeks ago when I last sang on the worship team.  I smiled when I saw him, and his son, Ken, and I talked about how Bruce always got there at 8:30 for the 9:30 service, because he didn't like to be late.  The funny thing about death is that I didn't know that was the last time he would return my smile and tell me hello.  Because most of the time you just don't know.

As I was falling asleep on Wednesday night, praying for Bruce and for his son and two daughters and their families, I wondered how we slipped into this stage of life.  At Christmas of 2010, our dear friends lost their mother after years of living with a brain tumor and its effects.  In January of 2007, we grieved with another good friend over the loss of her father in a car accident.  In between, there have been other days of bearing the burden of grief as other friends and church family members have said goodbye to their fathers.  How did we get here, to this place where we are starting to say goodbye to our parents?  It's tricky, because many of us still have grandparents living . . . and yet somehow we have reached an age where our parents' days are truly numbered, and we are starting to count them.

There is a paradox for Christians around the world and throughout history.  We know, with great certainty, where our loved ones have gone.  We know, with great certainty, that God is holding them in His hands; they have reached their final Home, have heard the "Well done, my good and faithful servant," and have entered into the joy of our Lord.  And yet, we also know, with great certainty, that we miss them.  That life shouldn't have to include death, and that our lives are forever changed by this death.  We are reminded that this world is not our Home, and that we are merely pilgrims on a sojourn in this land.  So we grieve, even while we celebrate.  When we grieve, we grieve with hope.  But we still grieve.  And it sucks.

I know that Bruce died this morning, but when I saw him Wednesday night, his son said, "He's there, but he's not there."  I wonder when Bruce really did die.  I wonder if he died on Saturday and spent a week in eternity asking Jesus to give his family peace as they said goodbye to him and as they held his dying body.

Many in my group of friends have said goodbye to our unborn babies who have slipped from our wombs into the arms of Jesus.  I don't know well anyone who has buried a child, but I do know of fathers who have cradled the caskets containing their babies' bodies as they walked into the funeral service or released their children for burial.  That is a pain that cannot be matched.  Life shouldn't include death.  But, as a daughter, I wonder if there is anything more heartbreaking than seeing a grown woman become again a little girl as she kisses her daddy goodbye for one of the final times.  I saw that Wednesday night, and my heart broke, because I realized that one day that would be me.

Saying goodbye is a funny thing.  We know that to live is Christ and to die is truly gain.  I'm not afraid of it, but I don't know how I got to this stage where my friends and I are saying goodbye to our grandparents and our mommies and our daddies . . . and sometimes our children too.  This is a tender time.  And I imagine I'll cry at 8:30 Sunday morning when we're practicing our songs for the service and Bruce doesn't come in to sit in his normal seat an hour before the service starts. 

Bruce Coeling died this morning.  He was only 67 years old.  But he liked to get there a little bit early, because he never wanted to be late.

Overheard at the Ballpark

Today my husband and I went with some dear friends of ours, Matt and Jillian, to a Detroit Tigers game.  Our journey there began in early March when Matt and I were chatting via Facebook message about Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back, Josh Hamilton's autobiography.  Matt, Jillian, and I had recently read the book, and Matt and I were discussing how fun it would be to watch Josh and the Texas Rangers play when they made it to Detroit.  It happened to be this weekend, and today worked perfectly for all of us. 

Last night, my husband and I sent our kids off to Grandma and Grandpa's house, enjoyed dinner out at Licari's Sicilian Pizza Kitchen, slept in a bit this morning, and then climbed into Jillian's Honda Pilot for the trip to the Big D.  It was cloudy.  It was windy.  It was disappointing, because a rainout Friday night pushed the pitching off by a game, and we didn't get to see Justin Verlander pitch.  It was COLD.  And the first inning was terrible.  Rick Porcello let 8 runs cross the plate, and only one of them was a home run (go, Josh!).  The Rangers made it all the way through their batting order 1 1/2 times.  In the 1st inning.  The Tigers wouldn't get that far until the 5th.  Things settled in, but it was still cold and ugly.  And we were in the bleachers, and there were rowdy people all around us, and there were a lot of funny things to overhear.

So, here it is.  As overheard in the car and at a cold and windy blowout game at Comerica Park:

*NOTE: Names have NOT been changed to protect the guilty, and context is provided only when it serves my purposes.

"Why can't Verlander pitch both games?"  Random lady in line at the Mexican place

"I don't know anything about baseball.  I just know that Verlander is my next husband."  Same random lady after Jillian explained that Justin's arm would fall off if he pitched two games

"The case of Natty Ice I drank before coming here doesn't really help the situation any."  Drunk girl sitting behind us

"I hate these nail-biter games.  They make me so nervous!"  Beka's dad, in a text message during the 1st inning, when the score reached 8-0

"Oh, is there a game going on?  I thought it was Rangers batting practice."  Beka's response

"Lady, I'm going to rip your visor off and take your bubbles."  Jillian

"That's not your real hair." Matt, as muttered under his breath and subsequently overheard by the woman with the fake hair sitting several rows ahead of us.  She then lifted her visor off to demonstrate.

"Stop it.  This isn't a wedding."  Jillian

"I've never been afraid to say how I feel."  Jillian

"That's why you scared me."  Matt

"Yes.  That's why I was afraid of you."  Beka, at the exact moment Matt was responding

"Now she's dancing.  That's why I don't like women."  Beka

"I used to get the two cheeseburgers meal supersized.  When I was ten years old."  Matt

"I can't stand Ben Roethlisberger as a person."  Beka

"Well, I'm not really talking to him much personally, so I don't mind all that."  Matt

Less than two hours later:

"I can't stand Ty Cobb.  He was a terrible person."  Matt

"I'm not too excited about Trader Joe's.  Isn't it just some big flea market?"  Matt

"Do you realize that you never see baby pigeons?  You only see adult pigeons."

"...There is no such thing as baby pigeons."  Random drunk girls behind us, arriving at this conclusion after a five-minute conversation consisting of comments exactly like the first line

"I'm going to start calling you guys camels and bring you a vat of water."  Red Robin waitress to Beau

"Sister, you just keep driving your handicapped car!" Jillian

"That's so racist!"  Matt, to Jillian

"I didn't say anything!"  Jillian, pretending there was a defense for her actions

"I knew what you were thinking!"  Matt

"I made a White Power shirt."  Jillian

"Well, we had a Black Power one, too, so we were equal opportunity."  Matt

"You were right two times today, Beau."  Beka

"No.  I was right three.  That time and two others."  Beau

"You cheated!"  Beka, Matt, and Jillian

"Not every time."  Beau

"Oh, s---."  70+-year-old woman, after realizing she and her husband were on the kiss cam

"Is there a rest area coming up?  I need to stop.  I drank a lot of water."  Beau

"Where's the hump where you store your water, Camel?"  Matt

We had a great time!  Can't wait until our next double date with the crazy Gajtkas.

When You Don't Believe in You

I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won't be good at it.

DearWriterFriend sent me this Anne Lamott quote the other day.  And then a few minutes later she accused me of not believing in myself.  It would hurt if it weren't true.  (No, it wouldn't, because she loves me, but it certainly is true.)

I called her simply because it IS true.  I had just come from a meeting that might result in some contract grant writing for me, and they asked me to submit some writing samples--pieces I'm proud of.  Naturally, I panicked.  I kept up my confident "I'm a professional writer" face while I was still in the building.  As soon as I shook their hands and walked out of the building, my confident expression was replaced by "Holy crap, they're going to figure out I'm no good" eyes welling and throat closing off.  So I did the only logical thing.  I called DearWriterFriend. 

For the last ten years, DearWriterFriend has been believing in me when I don't believe in me.  She said all of the good friend things, encouraged me, told me that of course I was going to submit the writing samples, and called me a writer.  After she was done laughing hysterically at me, of course.  And then, within a few hours, she emailed me a link to a writing contest and told me I was doing that, too.

And that's what true friends are.  That is how you know your friends.  They're the ones who believe in you when you don't believe in you.  They're the ones who tell you what you need to do in order to meet your dreams, and they're the ones who make sure you do it.  Naturally, they're also the ones who laugh hysterically at you when you say, "What if I'm not really any good?" because they know you are good.  Because other people believe you are good.  Because maybe, just maybe, you really are.

At least until you're pretty sure everyone is about to expose you as a fraud.  Then they'll answer the phone and do it all over again.

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

I'll Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

Oh, Tuesday morning, 5:15 came far too early.  Monday nights are always a late night for me, because I can't resist staying up late to get my Scott Caan Hawaii Five-0 fix.  Last night meeting my 2012 goals meant a bit of a late start for my television viewing, and I kept forgetting to fast forward through the commercials.  That all led to me not getting into bed until about 11:30 p.m.  I knew that 5:00 alarm was going to feel like only minutes after my head hit the pillow.

It did.

Thankfully I had a hot date at the gym this morning, and she was picking me up at 5:15 a.m.  I'm grateful that I didn't have a choice to sleep in and just "go later" (ie. not at all) because Leah was going to be waiting in front of my house.  I didn't want her to start honking or anything and waking up the rest of the neighborhood so everyone would know that I slacked off!  And then there was the mutual fear we shared that our friend Eric would show up at the gym at 6:00 a.m. and report to all he knew that we were missing.  (Let me note publicly that we were there, and he was not.)

Chatty Leah and Chatty Beka probably annoyed most of the rest of the gym goers, but it surely made my 35 minutes on the treadmill feel about as short as my night of sleep felt.  And, I have to say, I was actually pretty excited about going to the gym this morning. 

After the gym, I made some tea and did my reading for today and spent some time in prayer.  Three days down.  How many more to make this a habit?  Grateful to have some friends to help me make it there.