love

DON'T BE SCARED

LASDI©

Love is a many splendid thing, some say.  But love can also be a very scary thing.  Allow me to tell you a story about splendid love…and facing fear.

Once upon a time, there was a knight that came to a damsel in order for them to rescue one another.  He was tall, dark, and handsome, such as the fairy tales go. 

Let me start again.  A guy walks into a bar, and the girl ordering a drink says, “Why the cute face?”

No, no.  That’s not right. 

There once was a guy from Lake Jackson, who met a girl that gave his heart a reaction.

Uh, no.  This story is not a fairy tale, or a joke, or even a limerick.  This story is about crossing your fears to get to the other side.  Well, that part may sound like a play on the chicken-and-the-road thing but read on and you’ll understand.

As a small child, I didn’t have many examples of real love, but I faced fear in a sweet way.  “I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.”  Those lyrics from one of the songs from the movie The Sound of Music were a repeated refrain for me.  I lived in poor and meager conditions, so “raindrops on roses” or “whiskers on kittens’” was not the typical go-to for me.

The song, though, helped to remind me to think of things that I liked during scary times, like Frankenstein-foot ice cream pops with a grape gumball on his big toe; or like dancing in front of the television when it was turned off so that I could see my bouncing reflection and dream of becoming a big star someday. 

When I was a teenager, true love was something I read about in books, so I ditched the song for a more rapid and practical approach to face my fears:  I would simply tell myself to not  be afraid.  Whether I was verbose about it, making it my mantra, or it was an internalized dialogue that couldn’t be heard by others, that was my way of alleviating and facing my fears.

For the majority of my adulthood, I have had my faith to lean on when it comes to facing things that scare me. I know my God loves me, goes before me, behind me, and beside me, even though there are things in this crazy world that tend to build fear and anxiety in all of us.  But faith hasn’t always been the way as a ‘grown up’. There were the times I turned to the things of this world to distract me from my fear. But as I grew in my faith, “don’t be afraid” or “don’t be frightened” just took on a different and deeper meaning.

I was at an early point in that part of my journey when I met him.  We had a mutual friend who had set up after-work billiards and cocktails.  Well, not exactly.  For the sake of the heart, allow me to stay transparent.  We were at a pool hall / bar / grill, with the least of the three being a grill.  The group was supposed to be the mutual friend, a guy he had grown up with, and a friend of mine.  My friend ended up sick and in bed, so it wound up being three of us headed to Rowdy’s Pool Hall Bar & Grill.  As I sat in the hard, wooden chair near the pool tables, the front door of the grill (um, bar) door opened.

Picture this: “Let’s Get It On” or even “I’m Too Sexy” playing in the background, intense wind in the air briskly blowing through his hair, and him with a slow-motion walk that would stop a clock.  Of course in reality, there was clanking and clattering of pool balls, drinks being clinked, and Hank Williams, Jr. playing too loudly on the jukebox.  Also in real life, I had no idea he was there as part of the group because I had never met him before.  But I sure saw him.  Everyone saw him.  He was stunning.  He was gorgeous.  He was HAWT.   HE WAS HEADED MY WAY!

Very suddenly, there was a strange voice coming from inside my spirit.  “Meet your husband.”  NO THANK YOU, Voice.  As I heard it again, he strolled right up to the table.  The mutual friend introduced us and as Prince Charming’s hand was extended in a greeting, I found myself thinking, “Oh, no.  This guy gets all the girls.  Let’s not be foolish.”  And my wrist went limp in the air as I offered the sort of hand that a Queen does when she expects to be curtsied to; like in a kiss-my-ring kind of way.  There was a bevy of butterflies in my tummy as his hand touched mine.

As he sat down, I heard the voice again. “This is your husband.”    Memories started to smoke within me.  I had such a sordid history of toxic relationships within all categories of people in my life.  I had already decided no more.  I had also vowed that not one more person would be able to penetrate the guarded walls I had so solidly built.  Certainly not this guy, who probably had a multitude of paramours to pull from whenever he wanted!  And the apprehension began.

We played a few games of pool, to which I put the smack-down upon him - though to this day he smirks and insists he “let me win” - and I continued to hear that confounded voice telling me I had met the man I would marry.  The louder the voice became, the more the fear factor intensified.

It grew late and the mutual friend decided to leave.  “Stay here with your future husband” I heard from deep within.  I started the inner conciliation of olde, telling myself there was nothing to be afraid of, but it wasn’t working.  I even began singing the great song of yore internally to remember my favorite things!  But he was already my favorite thing.

As the night wore on, I grew fonder of this stunning cavalier.  His inward charms were working, and his outward beauty didn’t hurt, either.  We decided to leave the bar, grab a snack of tortillas chips, ranch, and salsa at my suggestion, and find a spot for a nighttime tailgate picnic. And as the night expanded, we spent hours talking, getting to know one another, into the wee hours of the early morn.

Now Folks, this next part may sound like I’m right back to the fairy tale makeover, but I promise it’s all true: the moon was full and round in a black, clear-of-clouds sky, the air was thick with the steamy humidity only a Texas night in June can bring, but still, there was a warm, mild breeze blowing, and there was some soft music playing from the radio inside the cab of his truck.  As we sat on the tailgate with all of those stars aligning, I found his angel face staring at me. 

I knew it.  I could feel what he was feeling.  He wanted to kiss me!  As we gazed into each other’s eyes, my heart began to pound.  I could hear it in my ears.  Did I look all right in the moonlight?  Was I giving too many encouraging vibes??  DID I HAVE SALSA IN MY TEETH???

And then I said it.  I said it all right.  Out loud.  I said the words that still ring loudly to me to this day.  I said it with a wry little smile on my face.  I SAID IT.  Those three…little…words.

“DON’T BE SCARED.”

Looking back, I think I may have been talking to myself, actually.  Knowing what I felt in my soul, knowing what lay ahead, especially after what I had put behind me.  And for whatever was happening in that moment that made me afraid, I would feel a little better if I just SAID IT. 

And he smiled.  And he leaned in.  And he put his husband-to-be lips on mine.  And I thought I would cry.  Effectively, he did not try to be the guy who thought this would lead to anything more than a gentle touch of our lips together.  He was reverent and considerate of my dignity.  And as swiftly as he had leaned in, he pulled away with such ease, stared directly into my eyes, and smiled a smile that he has beamed at me every day that we’ve been together since. 

I loved him.  Immediately.  And he loved me, too.  Though it would be months of friendship and a few months more of dating before either of us would say so.  But it wasn’t because we were “scared”, as it were.  It was because we wanted to be wise; for this to be right.  We had both been through the wringer and wanted to make certain we understood the mutual respect we deserved, had earned, and wanted to continue to forge together.  We wanted to make better decisions…without fear.

He repeats those words I spoke to him that night as he tells The Kiddos and The Grittles the story.  And he tells it all the time.  We raise our glasses any time we hear the phrase spoken out loud whether stranger, relative, or friend alike, and we always kind of giggle about it together.  The Kiddos tease me about it, often saying, “Mom, don’t be scared!” to remind me playfully of that precious-but-powerful statement.  I tend to turn a little red in the face and hot behind the ears in surprising embarrassment, but it still brings a grin to my face and joy to my heart.  Mostly because I’m NOT scared.  There is nothing to be afraid of.

Do you sometimes feel fear creeping up no matter the stage of life you’re in?  Do you hear thoughts of fearful possibilities that polarize you?  Have you been in situations that have the potential to bring love and joy, but your fears drown them like quicksand? 

You could sing a little song, or say a little mantra.  You can try to shield the fearful thoughts by reminding yourself of things you like.  You could turn to the things of this world that will only distract you.  Or you could know YOU ARE LOVED.  Whether it’s your partner, your children, your siblings, your friends, or God Himself.  YOU ARE LOVED. 

Make the decision to learn from the history your past has brought you.  Allow it to make you stronger, wiser; BETTER.  Know you deserve and have earned respect, so long as you give it mutually.  Forge on with a solemn vow to make healthy decisions without fear.  In fact, you must cross your fears to get to the other side.

The story of your life will never be a fairy tale, nor is it a joke or a limerick.  It’s the culmination of the joy you choose, decisions you make, and the legacy you create.  We have this one life we’ve been given.  Pursue things that will create a peaceful mind, body, and spirit for the sake of It.

Don’t be scared.

 

GOING VIRAL

going viral.jpg

When I posted the blog The Big Behind, it was because the year we had prior to this one was filled with personal hardships and losses – one right after the other, over, and over……and over.  Many people in our life would attempt to encourage us by saying that this new year had nowhere to go but up.

Without trying to be cynical, I told them to beware of that thought.  There is no magic in a number, or the flip of one day being New Year’s Eve to the next being New Year’s day.  Life still happens.

And it is happening now in a way that I’ve never seen, and no longer are we experiencing just private trials.  This is worldwide.  And it’s not just this historical pandemic.  It’s racism.  And violence.  And inequality.  And politics.  And violent protests.  And debates.  And relationship strains.  And loss.  And death.  And numerous kinds of epidemics that span the world  in the most provocative way. 

It doesn’t matter which political party you support, or even what country you live in.  ‘Pandemic’, they call it.  Well, I suppose we all call it that now - this contagion that has affected each one of us - whether we have contracted it or not. 

Isolate yourselves.  Don’t be together in groups.  Wear a mask and cover your face.  Social distance.  Don’t go out.  Close your businesses.

New spikes.  Partisan.  Controversy.  Challenge.

It has created a Divide of Togetherness, an Isolation of Fellowship.

Have you heard of the prolific book, Around the World in 80 Days?

If you haven’t, let me fill you in on at least part of the plot:  Phileas Fogg is a rich British gentleman living in solitude. Despite his wealth, Fogg lives a modest life with habits carried out with mathematical precision. Very little can be said about his social life other than that he is a member of the Reform Club, where he spends much of every day.

Sound familiar?  We are IN a fog, and, for the most of us, NOT wealthy but definitely living in solitude.  In spite of and / or because of our situation, we live modest lives with habits carried out with a new-normal precision.  Very little can be said about our social lives other than that we are in a pandemic and ordered to stay home, where we spend much of every day. 

Side note: The Reform Club was, until 1981, a club for men only.  No coincidence that systemic inequality, yet another epidemic, rears its ugly head in my analogy.

Oh sure.  We’re opening back up now.  Because everything had to shut down.  But what are we opening back up TO?  We have since seen another spike in cases and even in deaths. 

Yet we have realized our dream of toilet paper on the shelves enough for everyone again.  We are now allowed to buy enough chicken to start our own coop if we wanted to.  We are back to having what we want when we want it and how often we want it, and never feeling satiated.  Which still leaves us feeling anxious, sad, angry, or even despair.

It all can feel hopeless to be in humanitarian crisis and universal disparity.  There is a strange vulnerability and sense of feeling fragile in that.  At least I hope so.

My thought process in that hope lies in something better going viral, spreading worldwide.  Not the propagation of disease, or the fear of abuse or discrimination.  Not intolerance or political fervor.  Not entitlement or privilege.

I want for us, as a people, to remember what this year has been like.  Where each new calamity had us, and the susceptibility that rose in us like a wildfire.  If we forget or try to put it behind us, we will not have grown through it, because without learning from our past, our future is daunting.

There is a path to hope during the chaos of it all.  You can find peace and purpose in this one life we’ve been given no matter what the situation.

Focus on what is good around you and don’t let the negative lodge itself within.  How to do that?  Profoundly count your blessings!  We tend to put what is positive on a shelf and let it collect dust when the hard times seem to be raging. 

I am not implying that we shouldn’t be awake and aware to what is plaguing us as a society.  Nor am I trying to translate finding joy through it all into ignoring it or blocking it all out. I am not saying that we don’t truly suffer through losses and personal trials.

I am, however, saying to seek out a deeper love and appreciation of humanity – go ahead and stand up for what you believe in.  I am also saying to feel empathy and compassion for what is happening to someone else by putting the shoe, worn out as it may be, on your own foot – especially if you expect the same grace from others as troubles arise in your own life.  I am saying that growth, development, and understanding can only come through forging through tough times.

It’s an easy path to follow when we allow negativity to embed itself, and it takes discipline to find the joy through each circumstance.  Stop what you're doing - even if it's just for a moment - close your eyes and breathe slowly.  Test yourself by naming at least three things you're grateful for.  Is it your health?  Your family?  Your faith? 

Not one thing is greater than the other when it comes to blessings.  They are sanctioned by how you view them.  Let that perspective be the plague that takes over your mind, your body, and your spirit.  Let that be the positive test result you live with.  Let that be what you pass along to others so they, too, can share in the boons of  that particular epidemic.   Let it be CONTAGIOUS.

And perhaps that’s the story that will go viral.

 

 

 

NO THANKS NECESSARY

LASDI© (photo by The Hubster, Adrian Garcia)

LASDI© (photo by The Hubster, Adrian Garcia)

Thanksgiving has become a sacred holiday for my family.  More and more every year, it grows into something that means more and more to us every year.

We are careful not to let it be the focus, though.  What I mean is, we don't make it our golden calf.  We don't worship the holiday itself.  But as we get older and become wiser through life experiences, we definitely don't take lightly a day set aside for family, peace, comfort, love, and giving thanks.  

It's been quite a year.  It's been filled with losses and heartaches, struggles and valleys with (seemingly) no visible end in sight.  So what in the world would we be giving thanks for?  Well I know this is going to sound strange, but we will be giving thanks for the losses, the heartaches, the struggles, and the valleys.  Because those are the things that make us value what we have right in front of us that we may often take for granted.

Thanksgiving is such a lovely day, filled with family, friends, decorations, lights, incredible smells, and of course, a cornucopia of delicious food.  But more than that to us, it means loved ones, community, vivid color, illumination, a delight to the dulled senses, and provision.  We are surrounded by reminders of what otherwise might be forgotten: that we have so much to be thankful for.

Some of the more sensible and practical people reading this may be a tad bit cynical, finding it hard to believe that we give thanks for hard times, or dark circumstances.  I don't blame you.  I question it myself sometimes, as I am only human, after all.  I mean, how could a weary soul on it's knees be brought to sturdy feet when there are so many things trying to hold it down?  How can a person not just survive, but even thrive through relentless battles?  How can a heart that aches from breaking continue to beat so strongly, even though more pieces of it fall away?  

With the faith that there is more to this one life we've been given, and the knowledge that the best is yet to come.  With the fortitude of growth through each event or occurrence.  With the magnitude of knowing there is joy to be found, even in the worst places. I've been proclaiming all year that happiness is fleeting; that it all depends on the circumstances.  If then, that is the case, I am NOT a happy camper.  But joy comes when you make peace with who you are and why you are; it is an attitude of the heart. 

In which case, I AM JOYFUL.

Does it make life harmonious and easy to get through?  Absolutely not.  It's not realistic to think so.  Should it give us great pause, though, to realize that even in the worst things we should give thanks?  You'd better believe it.  And I have hope you’ll receive it.

This Thanksgiving in particular, I will be taking mental notes of my surroundings. I will hug the people I love a little tighter, and I will breathe them in a little deeper.  I will chew a little slower and truly savor every delectable flavor. I will move with intention and show an abundance of love shamelessly.  And though I know what a hard year it's been, and that other hard times lie before me, I will seek and find the joy more than ever, and let it resonate with me the other 364 days of the year.  

I will do my very best to give thanks in all circumstances.  And I will pray for You Lovelies to be able to do the same.  No thanks necessary.

DANCE, AUNT FRANNIE PANTS

LASDI©

LASDI©

There is such a free feeling that dancing brings about.  It’s the closest thing to magic, really.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re a skilled ballerina or an “Elaine” from Seinfeld, there is something about dancing that makes the suppressed insecurities come out and fly away; it makes you gain a liberty and brings about a confidence you didn’t know you had.  It happens in an even stronger way when you look around the dance floor and see so many others riding that very same crazy dance train you’re on.

Maybe that’s why some people refuse to do it no matter what.  They are afraid people will see them unbutton their spirit and let go of their inhibitions, and that’s a very vulnerable place to be.

Aunt Frannie was a dancer.  I don’t mean she was some professional reality dance show contestant, or that she went around the house with her tap shoes on.  I mean she rode a crazy dance train in life that when she felt vulnerable or insecure about things, she would look around the floor and see the other dancers in her circle and make some pretty unique moves in order to feel stronger.

When we spin, we tend to get dizzy.  But there’s something about dancing so that when you twirl around and around, you’re living your truth.  Aunt Frannie could twirl like nobody’s business.  There was much twirl in that girl.

When we are furious about hard times, it can make us feel unglued or out of control.  Fury is an emotion that can make us shut down and give up.  Not Aunt Frannie.  Those things made her dance even harder until sweat was upon her brow.  You know why?  Because she knew that hard times require furious dancing.

“Wave your hands in the air, like you just don’t care.”  I love those lines of the song that seem to make everyone’s arms go up and their hands shimmy-and-shake.  You can almost see it in their eyes and smiles as their delight seems to increase while they do.  I’ve seen Aunt Frannie do it.  And it was extraordinary.

Trust me – that lady could do the Hokey Pokey and turn herself around, because to her, that’s what it was all about.

All of us know that life is unchoreographed.  It brings the unexpected.  That’s how Aunt Frannie danced, though each step she took gave the impression that they were carefully composed.  That’s because she was her own choreographer, and not one single wiggle was created without intention.

When we leap, we feel joy.  Aunt Frannie knew exactly where her heart leapt.  No bones about it, her family was her joy.  Her utterly devoted husband of 53 years; the children she raised with a truly organic love; the grandkids that had limitless affection from her; and the great grandchildren that made her dance leaps go as high as the stars.  Cousins, nieces, nephews and friends made her love leap outside the regular boundaries of  the dance floor.  She was very well aware of the joy siblings can bring about, though that never made her dance just like them.  Oh, no.  Aunt Frannie danced to her own tune. 

When she met The Hubster, Adrian, he asked what he should call her.  (The ‘Get Jiggy With It’ dance begins.)  She replied, “You can call me Aunt Frannie.” (a bit of a ‘Two-Step’ thrown in for fun)  After replying with a nodding understanding, (an old ‘Head Banger’ move from the way-back), Aunt Frannie looked up at Adrian and into his eyes (a deep expression of ‘The Tango’) and jokingly said, “Or call me whatever you want, as long as you know I wear the pants in this relationship.” (Dance Off Challenge!!), to which he answered, “Okay!  Aunt Frannie Pants it is!!” (Challenge. ACCEPTED!)

And then there was me.  I have always been honored to partner up with her in the dance of love and life, and ever-grateful that she made room on the dance floor for me when our song came on.  I learned quite a few moves from her, in fact.  Have you heard of Inspirational Dance?  She invented it just for me.

A real dancer has to fill their space with their own personality.  And that is just what Aunt Frannie did.  Much like music, she had the joy of movement and the heart of life.  So, make sure to dance and sing to the music in your own heart, and don’t let one note go without a little sway or one beat-of-the-drum go without dancing.  Let the rhythm help you find your joy, and leap!  Accept the challenge and DANCE.  Just like Aunt Frannie Pants.

Dance with the angels, Aunt Frannie Pants.  And one day, I hope to share the same dance floor again.

MOMMY MEMORIES

LASDI©

LASDI©

They’re everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. In a container under my bed. In a shoe box on a shelf in the closet. Hanging in various places all over the house. On the fridge. In the attic. In my jewelry box. In guestroom closets. In blanket boxes and hope chests all around the house. On my night stand. IN my night stand. In a basket NEXT to my night stand. And for the sake of this blog post and your sanity, I won’t name the many other places they are.

I know this makes me sound like a hoarder, no matter what it is I am talking about. But these particular things I have found are my pleasure to hoard – all the things The Kiddos have made for me, written for me, drawn for me, or given to me that have managed or stay intact.

Each one has efficacy in its own way; value and worth beyond all measure. They stem from the crayon kindergarten scribble to letters in their own adult penmanship. I have a wire cross that looks like lace that was purchased for me at Summer Church Camp. I have a red teddy bear with a heart on one foot and on the other foot is embroidered the year 2003, even though it was given to me in 2004. I have a heart-shaped ceramic box that was painted for me that I’ve dropped, broken, and super-glued back together four times. I have about a thousand construction paper cards and poems. Could be more.

I even have things I’ve saved from their childhood that weren’t given to me, but at some point belonged to them, like one baby shoe. Or their teeth. All their baby teeth. ALL OF THEM. They’re in a tooth-shaped box in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box. Don’t judge me.

I can’t say I was the best mom that ever was. I mean, at the end of each day – even in their adulthood – I ask myself before I pray for them if I’ve done the very best I could, even if I fell short. The answer has always emphatically been yes. Some days were a home run, and some days I should have stayed in the dugout. But I was always a team mom.

Somehow, I knew that part of my living legacy – and the one I leave behind – would have a more profound effect on both them and me by having these things to look upon. It could be the future: “I’m going to have these twenty years from now to look at and show them and we can smile and laugh about it together.” It could be the present: “Let’s take a selfie and post it to my social media scrapbook.” Or it could be the past: “I can’t believe you drew this for me when you were five!”

Oh I know they probably won’t keep all this stuff after I’m gone. But when they’re going through this landfill time capsule, they WILL smile. They WILL know how much they meant to me. They WILL know I was crazy kookamunga, but all in the name of love.

When they were small, I didn’t understand pursuing them. I just knew I loved them, and that their health and well-being depended on me. I knew I wanted them to be grounded, well-rounded, kind, successful humans. But looking back, I think keeping these things was a subconscious pursuit. As they are adulting so hard now, I know being a mom doesn’t ever stop, but it changes as they do. I mega-pursue them now and try to insert myself into their lives in such a way that isn’t obnoxious (I said I TRY) and that lets them know how much they mean to me, too.

I love waking up every morning and seeing the folded note on my night stand marked “mom” that The DAUGHTS gave me the day The GRAND Daughts was born. I love opening my jewelry box and seeing the tiny pink plastic ring Schmooly-Wooly found in the grass one day that he decided he would hand over to me to have as though he were little, even though he was grown and already a part of this family. I love walking by the lopsided hand-sewn pillow in my room that The Sonster made when he was small and away at camp. I love the delicate string tied around my master-bathroom closet door that The Daughts-In-Law tied a Christmas gift up with. I love the patch from The Kid’s Army uniform he gave to me one day at lunch. I love all of it – and I love all of THEM. And they are amazing humans that love me right back.

Yes, I know we can’t take “things” with us when we die. I know that items of value won’t go to the grave with us. But the things I’m talking about are daily PRICELESS reminders of how hard I work to find joy in the hard times life can bring us; pictures of the blessings that are directly in front of us; reminders of how hard I’ve worked to be the best mom I can be, even when I fall short.

I don’t get mad if I don’t get expensive gifts on Mother’s Day. I don’t get upset if every single thing doesn’t go just perfectly. I don’t even get sad if I have work I have to get done that day. I try to turn that day into a reminder to look for even better ways to show my gratefulness and adoration for the blessings that are The Kiddos; ways to ensure we stand united; ways to leave a legacy of faith, hope, and LOVE.

And I also look for more places to hoard all the Mommy Memories that will be coming my way……

BEAUTIFUL GUTS

BeautifulGuts

As All Hallow’s Eve draws nigh, it seems that ghouls, goblins, and grossy guts are everywhere.  I get it.  I get that we have this one day for us to gather in unity to celebrate and glamorize our fears and dark sides.  But for the last few years, I think of Halloween much differently.

To start, I think of a young, gangly girl walking into my home for a midnight premier party I threw for The Hunger Games.  I think of her skinny legs on the highest heels I’ve ever seen – and they were paired up with a mini-skirt and croppy toppy.  Our eldest son had invited her as his date, so she was on the arm of someone I love very dearly, and it put me on the defense instantaneously.  Now I’m a fairly reasonable woman, but when said defense kicks in, I tend to go all “Sheila From The Block” - and that can be quite scary to a youngster like the one I’m describing.  It takes real guts to get through a night like that.

I think of a little sprite who came to a Thanksgiving evening without warning, and started asking for a “sliver” of this and a “sliver” of that, and licking her chops at all the food fare without care.  She was a tiny little thing, and I couldn’t believe the amount of food she ingested.  It reminded me a bit of Gollum referring to his “precious” when anyone came within the vicinity of her eating arena.  It was alarming and charming all at the same time, as she filled her guts with the glorious food feast.

Thoughts take me back to a more mature young lady, filled with quiet countenance as my family embarked upon our Annual Family Festivus at Christmas.  Family picture time came about, and she willingly became the photographer instead of assuming she was to be in the photo itself.  She was content to have been asked to be part of Family Night at all, it seemed, and wrapped arms with me and slid her hand into mine as we crossed the street for dinner.  She then quietly and authentically whispered, “Thank you for having me” in my ear.  And my guts did a butterfly flip.

I think of a quirky young woman, daring enough to be different and wear knee-high socks with the character Jack Skellington from the movie ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’  on them all year long (to go with her Jack Skellington earrings and hair bow, of course), no matter what holiday it is.  Now that takes guts!

I think of someone with so much talent it baffles people.  I see in my mind’s eye all the colorful and creative ways she paints, draws, and pieces things together to make the most incredible art.  I think of the upright work ethic in her gift of artistry, and really anything she does for that matter, and I know how very rare a quality that is.  I see her work her guts out.

I think of a strong female, coming into a family of strong females, somehow knowing just how to graciously fall right in line with them without having to gnarl her teeth in order to prove something.  Gutsy move.

When I think of Halloween, I even think of a hot, breezy day in August near the beach.  I know that one does not necessarily coincide with the other for most people, but for me the two are harmonious.    That was the day a beautiful and blushing bride who looked like an angelic woodland fairy got married.  To my son.  And with all her guts pledged her undying and forever love to him.

Why do I think of Halloween when I think of all of these things?  Because my whimsical and wonderful Daughts-In-Law, Kiren, was born on that day, and we celebrate the holiday much differently from most people.  We don’t celebrate our fears or dark sides.  But we do celebrate in unity.  We celebrate how beautiful she is.  We celebrate how unique and exceptional she is.  We celebrate her ferocious-yet-gentle love for her husband.  We celebrate her fierce loyalty to a family she fits so perfectly into.  We celebrate her beautiful guts.

WHEN THE KUCHEN HITS THE FAN

SHE2016

SHE2016

I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine.  Okay.  Let's get this out of the way - some people read gossip mags, some like the cerebral-sciency type of mags.  If you're like The Hubster, perhaps you like fishing magazines.  Personally, I find it extremely provocative to carefully peruse the free quarterly magazine sent to our home that houses all the gorgeous spices and seasonings, and all the published recipes sent in by "others" like me.  

So I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine, and I came across a picture that stopped me in my tracks.  It was a warm photo showing layers of sliced apple, caramelized and formed into some sort of delicacy unlike any I had ever seen.  I did one of those things we do to get an even closer look - you know, like when you fold the magazine in half and then hold it right up to your face, or tilt it from side-to-side as if to see around the item in the picture?  I looked to the left of the photo and saw the title of the recipe: "Grandma's Apple Kuchen".  (pronounced koo-ken)

I knew this recipe was meant for me and I knew I had to conquer it.  I wasn't sure why, but I just knew.  I made my shopping list right away.  There were a few obstacles to overcome in order to make this happen.  Hey, nothing good comes easy, right?  It called for a very specific-sized glass pan I didn't have, nor had I ever heard of, and a few ingredients that were not easily found in a regular grocery store.

As fate would have it, I was in my local Goodwill spot and heard something calling my name.  "I'm over here, She!"  There, with what seemed to be a rainbow with confetti streaming down over it, was the odd-sized glass pan.  $2.99??  I think I can handle that.  Check.  I perused Amazon to find the specific ingredients needed and found them.  CHECK!!  Sunday Supper was looking like the perfect time to make Grandma's Kuchen.  In my mind, I could see the proud faces of my family and hear all the accolades I would be receiving.  Oh yea.  Meant to be.  This was going to be PERFECT.

I carefully did exactly as the recipe said.  I painstakingly sliced the apples so that they were uniform and lovely.  I whisked with fury, and stirred with passion.  I slowly placed each apple slice in layers to be ever-so-exact.  And into the oven it went.  And THE AROMA!!  The smell of the vanilla, the cinnamon, the apples!!  I cleaned the mess that is usually left on the path behind you when you work so hard to achieve greatness.  The kitchen.  But I wasn't bitter.  Oh, no.  Not with what was waiting on the other side of that oven door.

The timer went off.  The potholders came out.  The oven door was opened.  And there, Ladies and Gentlemen, was THE KUCHEN.

I took it out of the oven with tears in my eyes.  I breathed in the hard work I had seen come to fruition, and set it down on my granite counter.  I stepped to the doorway and proudly announced, "The kuchen ...... is cooling."  And the smiles of anticipation spread across the faces of The ManChild and The Hubster.  I was in the clear.  My artwork was complete.  Now all we need do was eat it.

I walked back over to it to rest on my laurels.  Of course I did.  I couldn't help but stare at this incredible beauty as it cooled and brought us all closer to being one with its tasty morsels.  And then, BOOM!

You may find what I'm about to say hard to believe.  But every word is true.  Out of nowhere, the kuchen exploded.  I mean EX.  PLO.  DED.  Glass hit my arms, my neck, my face, luckily missing my eyes.  Kuchen hit the walls, the floor, the ceiling.  The sound of it was deafening.  Cameron and Adrian came running into the kitchen, only to see me standing there, eyes wide with shock and arms out in the air to my sides, as if I were attempting to fly.  "WHAT HAPPENED?!?"  I just stared at them.  "WHAT HAPPENED, She?!?"  And the tears began to flow.  "Are you okay??  What happened?"  I looked up at them, giant tears streaming now, and screamed at the top of my lungs (get ready for it)" "MY KUCHEN EXPLODED!!"  

I wish you could have seen the pity-slash-comical-slash-confused looks on their faces.  The "awwwwwwww"s coming out of their mouths, rolling from deep inside their souls for me as they both put their arms around me to console my broken spirit were so sincere.  All that hard work.  All that mountain climbing to get to the top, only to slide back down.  Everything I had worked SO HARD FOR.  Ruined.

Or was it?  Those two went into action.  They cautiously cleaned me up, and led me to the couch with a tall glass of wine.  They cleaned up the kitchen.  They loved on me.  They offered me kuchen condolences all night.  And I was reminded that life was good, even and especially in the moments we think it isn't.

I changed that recipe to morph it into my own and chose simple ingredients and more practical tools to do so.  I make it often and think of that day every single time I do.  I know it grew me and helped me stretch and climb.  I know it taught me that there is almost always a mess left behind you when you work hard, not to rest on my laurels, and to understand that in all toil there is profit.  I know it helped me see what's really important.  All that because the kuchen hit the fan.

Sometimes the most beautiful things can explode in your face, even if you think you've conquered something after a long, arduous process, and it turns out incredible ...... you feel proud and think you're in the clear.  And then, BOOM.  What was once lovely artwork is in pieces everywhere, reminding you how truly delicate life can be.

Be careful and practical as you stretch and climb, but climb just the same.  Know that when something goes wrong  after you've worked so hard, it is only to show you what's really important so that you don't lose sight of it.  And NEVER put a hot kuchen in a glass pan on a granite counter. 

SHE'S CONDOLENCE KUCHEN

Kuchen:
1 1/4 cups  flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 stick butter, cold and cut up
2 egg yolks
2 tsp milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3 medium-sized green apples, peeled, cored, and sliced thin
 
Streusel:
3/4 cup sugar
3 tbs flour
1 tsp cinnamon
3 tbs butter, cold and cut
 
Combine all streusel ingredients into small mixing bowl and blend with your fingers until the mixture resembles small crumbs. Set aside.

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and butter. Use your fingers to blend all the kuchen ingredients to large-crumb consistency. In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks then add the vanilla extract and milk. Pour milk mixture into the crumbled dry ingredients and mix until it is just blended. Press this dough into the bottom and up the sides of a prepared baking dish.

Arrange the apple slices in three lengthwise rows on top of the crust. Sprinkle the streusel mixture over the apples. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the crust is golden brown and the apples look glazed and caramelized.

EAT SLOWLY.

www.lucidbooks.net/affiliate

 

1 LIFE 1 MISSION - A GUEST BLOG

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

What a special day for Life As She Does It!!  Not only do I have my first male Guest Blogger, he is someone I largely admire and consider a hero of sorts.  In a world that is so profoundly broken as a whole, it can sometimes feel discouraging to even try to help where we are called or needed.  Not this guy.  Jason Bollinger, along with his wife, Holly, are saving the world one trip, one person, one step at a time,  And that's how it's done, isn't it?  One foot in front of the other??  You can find more of Jason's moving words, adventures, and mission stories over at 1Life1Mission.com, or any of 1L1M's social media.  Read on to find out more about the ways Jason is doing it and how we can do it, too - CHANGE THE WORLD!!  Take it away, J-Bo!!

I’m so honored to be the first “HE” on the LASDI blog. My wife, Holly, and I are big fans of SHE, and we are blessed to have a front row seat into all the different ways SHE makes the world a better place. She is the real deal, and our lives are fuller because of SHE and Adrian (HE). 

We work with a mission organization called Links International. A lot of our time is spent traveling to the developing world bringing Good News to the poor. We also spend time working with churches, businesses, and families who are interested in connecting with mission opportunities. Our network provides Gospel-based solutions and resources for poverty’s most devastating affects. 

SHE wears us out all the time telling us we are changing the world. The encouragement is actually awesome, but the reality is that we’re just scratching the surface doing what we can. We go to the needs. We work hard on solutions. We empower people to break free from poverty. We get a front row seat to lives being changed by Good News. 

Our hope is that changed lives become transformed communities and transformed communities become transformed regions and transformed regions...well you get the idea. Big impact usually happens from something small. 

We haven’t always worked in International mission. For 18 years we were in full-time church ministry, but we experienced a turning point in 2010 surrounding the adoption of our girls. We went for what we thought was one daughter under 2 years old and came home with two daughters aged 6 and 8. In a traumatic experience of everything going wrong...almost...God miraculously delivered our girls into our family. We ended up spending just shy of three months in Ukraine. A month of that time included spending time in the orphanage every day.

HollyBollingerPhoto.com©

That was our first time in a foreign country other than England. It was our first time to spend an extended time with what the Bible calls “the least of these.” It was our first time to get to know missionaries who were sacrificing a comfortable life at home to serve those in need. We didn’t realize it at the time, but we were deeply impacted by those things. While we were there, it was just life. We were focused on our adoption. We weren’t planning a radical transformation of how we would live the rest of our lives. 

I heard Bono say after his first trip to Africa that he wouldn’t be able to unsee what he had seen. Not only that, he would have to do something about it. After we got home, we experienced that to be true. We still loved the church and serving the church, but we couldn’t unsee what we had seen. Not only that, we started to see it in places we had never seen it before. 

The first step was just seeing it. Mission trips are great for this. Before we saw it, we overlooked severe needs and fatherless kids in our own community. They were there all along, but we missed it. We didn’t see it. Or maybe the truth is we didn’t want to see it. 

It was definitely easier and more convenient to not see it, but not seeing it is the barrier to mission. We can’t change a world that we pretend doesn’t exist. When we travel to places that suffer from extreme poverty, “need” suddenly has a name, a face, a sweet hug and a beautiful smile. I don’t think we’re motivated toward Mission until we experience that reality.  

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

I like the idea of changing the world, don’t you? I plan on continuing to do all I can to work toward that end. However, I know many think they can’t or don’t have time. Many think they’re not qualified or gifted enough. Some are just overwhelmed thinking about where to start. 

The truth is changing the world may actually be easier than you think. You can be good news to bad news around you. You can bring light to something dark. You can bring hope to something hopeless. Maybe even today. You can change someone’s world. You probably don’t even have to go somewhere you don’t already go. You can make a difference. A meal. An encouraging word. A prayer. A listening ear. A hug. An invitation. Don’t underestimate the significance of what you can do.

Once you see it, you’ll see more. You will even crave more. You might start to set your sights on other needs, bigger needs. You might find yourself rescuing orphans. You might find yourself creating jobs in Africa. You might find yourself doing healthcare training in Nicaragua. You never know. I think we can do it. I think we can change the world. I think you can change the world.

Blessings,
Jason Bollinger

We are available to help you connect with your missional potential. We would love to talk to you about things you’re interested in and places you can plug in. You can contact us at office@linksintlusa.org.

BollingerLove