CROWD

I have no idea how to blog.  But, I've read many times we should write for 5-10 minutes every day.  Writing about things that matter help us see them differently, internalize them, and for me, seek His answers.  

So, last night my twitter feed I call "God bloggers" was abuzz with #fmfparty. It seems the leader of their "crowd" has a Five Minute Friday hook-up.  I know that a hook-up is a link on one blog to a lot of others about the same topic. I'm not linking it, but I thought it would be a good exercise.  5 minutes, one unplanned topic.  Kinda like ISTEP for this Mom!

Ready. Set. 10:51 a.m. Go.



Don't Follow The Crowd


Probably every lent season I'm impressed by something different - depending on what is going on in my heart at the time.  As a highly-sensitive person, I love the Palm Sunday triumphant entry story, and hate the Crucifixion. Easter season is difficult for me, it brings up too many emotions that I often try to avoid.  This season I'm thinking about the crowd, and how I react in crowds.

Luke 19:37: As he was now drawing near, at the descent of the Mount of Oives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen."

The crowd was welcoming Him.  No doubt there were those in the crowd caught up in the moment, welcoming Him but not really understanding who He was.

Only days later in Luke 23 we see that Jesus had been delivered to Pilate and was about to be set free for he could find no wrong in him.  But, when he called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, they said "not so quickly".  "Away with this man."

The crowd turned quickly.  No doubt there were many in this crowd that only days earlier praised Him as THE KING.  Now, they turned their back on Him.

I can't help but remember Jesus' words in Mark 8:29 "But, who do you say I am?"

Really, in the end - the actual end - the only thing that will matter is what you believe. The crowd will be gone, and you'll stand before your Heavenly Father, Your Maker and you'll answer to Him.  "Who do you say I am".... 

You are God alone, who sent His only begotten Son to die for me, and because I believe in you, you provide your Holy Spirit as my gift.

Don't follow the crowd.... follow Him.



DONE: 10:59 (OOPS - two phone calls in between).  

Slap in the Face

Today a Chicago friend posted this story on her Facebook page:

I was touched by a homeless man asking for help because he was hungry. I was in a hurry and walked on. On my way out of my meeting, I stopped by a store and bought him lunch. (I never carry cash). When he approached me to ask again for help, I handed him the bag. He promptly screeched at me that he didn't want it and yelled that he wanted money so he could go to McDonald's.

The Facebook thread immediately went to "tool" "he wanted booze" "beggars can't be choosy".  Today that's not where my mind went, but it has many times before.

I was raised in a very small community in the 1960's - 1970's.  There were no black families in our town.  There were middle-class white people. Only. There were a few "rich" people that lived on the other side of town, in the "big" houses.  But, in reality we were all very middle class. And, all white. It's embarrassing to say even today. Our community wasn't culturally diverse, and my parents weren't either.  My parents were both born and raised in that same town, and never traveled further than 200 miles away before they were married just out of high school.  My parents didn't raise me to see others as equals; they didn't talk about "others".  They weren't prejudice; they just didn't know much about the "others". They knew about small-town middle-class white people.  

When I moved to Indianapolis I saw a little more of the melting pot.  But in all honesty, diversity frightened me.  I just wasn't certain what to expect.

On my first trip to Puerto Vallarta Mexico with Keith, we took the wrong bus, the wrong way and had to get out at the end of the line.  For 30 minutes as we waited for the next bus to come I mumbled under my breath about the "others" staring at us from shacks. I could hear them speaking in a language I didn't understand - obviously plotting to attack us and take what was ours for themselves. Well, that didn't happen -- and who knows what they said.  I didn't think I was prejudice; I was mostly just scared of what I didn't know or understand.


You see, in reality we are all the same --- me and the "others".  We were all created equally by a loving God.  We all want better for our kids than we had, a roof over our head and food for our bellies, we all want - to a degree - to be a little happier tomorrow than we were today.  We all want to afford a better education for our children than we had.  We all want to be known and loved. We come from different socio-economic backgrounds, and cultures, and speak a different language.  But, we really aren't that different.

And, like the homeless man in Chicago today, we all slap God when He gives us His good and perfect gifts. 

I have a beautiful house with plenty of rooms, but I often dream of a bigger, newer house (without ants).  I have a closet full of clothes, but I often dream of nicer, more stylish clothes.  My kids have so many electronic gadgets it makes me sick - but when the newest version comes out, they want it (well, to be honest - this one is about me sometimes, too).  I have food overflowing in two pantries, two fridges and a freezer, but I want a package of Oreos and a glass of milk to comfort me after a long day. I have His grace abounding in my heart, and yet I don't want to share it with others.

Many scoffed at the homeless man because he wouldn't accept the blessing given to him today. Yet, am I so different?  

Before I point out "beggars can't be choosy", I hope I remember how many fingers are pointing back at me. I am a beggar. And, He gives mercy, grace, love, and so many blessings; yet, I'm not a gracious receiver. I ask for different. I ask for more. I ask for a different color.  I ask for it sooner. Or later. I ask for a McDonald's lunch instead of a grocery story lunch every day, several times a day.  As the song says "ain't that a slap in the face".

Through it all. Despite my failings. Despite my scoffs, He loves me. Shouldn't I do the same for all those around me, even "the others"? Maybe especially "the others".  

I love because He first loved me.





  

He's constant

Yesterday I had a continuing text conversation with my friend Julie who is en route to Ft. Lauderdale. 

I deplore text conversations. 

Texts, I believe, are meant for quick updates. Not an all day, running conversation that causes me to look down at my phone each time it beeps so as to not ignore you.  Pick up the phone and call me.  But, it's her preferred mode of communication. Her comfort zone, so I acquiesced and had a running text conversation. 



Today a friend told me, "you always answer your emails, how do you do that?"

I like to have a clean in-box; and if you take time to "write" me, I take time to write you back.

Emails, I believe, are for longer conversations - particularly good when you have to communicate the same information to a group of people -- or when you think of something while working at 2:00 a.m. and a phone call wouldn't be good right then.  Or, for friends who live in the middle of an ocean! 

Let me count.... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ..... I'm losing count, but I have at least 7 email accounts I control. For myself, my clients, the community meals coordination -- everything gets it's own email account. And, if I have more than 10 in my "in-box" (that's opened but not dealt with yet) - I feel "behind". As if I've let you down. Anxiety sets in. I clear emails daily. Fear not terrible email replier -- I'm weird, not you.  My highly-sensitive personality trait just requires I deal with matters so they don't stay locked in my brain. I know this and I've just learned to adapt by keeping a clean in-box.


Then there is social media. I'm missing a lot of information about "friends"/"followers" these days because I'm not keeping up on social media as in the past.  I love Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, but I'm deciding to value "in real life" this year. I'm audaciously breaking the chains which have consumed my time and presented me with a false concept of who mattered.

Social media can be a great tool for good and communication, but it shouldn't be the only way folks know you.


Then, of course, there is via telephone, or Facetime, or Skype - in real life - conversation.  Those are great. I'm driving to work, you are sitting working on a non-sensical project and we can chat about life for 20 minutes to pass the time and get caught up. Ahhhh.... I love those. Those put a smile on my face.

Telephone calls are now more intimate than ever -- we reserve those for the important people in our life, or the important matters.

But, my very most favorite is "in real life" - sitting eyeball to eyeball as my grandpa used to say.  

Saturday night I had a scrumptuous Japanese dinner with two fabulous lady friends, followed by an Indie film (Hank & Asha - must see).  Amidst our fried rice, fried veggies, scallops and filet mignon, and sandwiched between two other parties at our table for eight, we relaxed, and shared life.  We chatted about movies we are looking forward to, books we are reading, career dreams, husbands who do funny things, and kids who frustrate us. We were together. None of us grabbed our smart phone and checked social media, or texts, or emails.  We relaxed together. We stopped and took a moment to share life. In real life. Those moments are few and far between, but they warm my heart for days.


In real life is where it's at.


There are so many forms of communication -- so many different ways our family and friends say "care for me" "stay in contact with me" "be my people". I have to keep everyone's preferred form in the front of my mind because not everyone shares my "communication language".   

For me, I'm beginning to understand, finally, those who matter most to me (and vice versa) are those who say "yes, let's take time, come together, eat, relax; I value it as much as you do."

That got me thinking about God's "communication language".  Our methods of communication are changing. Are we forgetting how He communicates with us isn't changing?  We only connect with Him through prayer, worship, meditation.  He doesn't have the ability to text with us.  He doesn't have one email account.  He doesn't have a land-line or a cell phone to call us; never has, never will. I'd follow his Twitter, Facebook or (and especially) Instagram feed, but He doesn't have one.

Since the beginning of time, He's asked us to find Him.  To seek for Him and He would be found. To meditate on His goodness. To use the tried and tested "in real life" methods of prayer, worship and meditation.  

He's constant.  He hasn't changed. If we sense He's not near, perhaps it's good to take a hard look at our communication language with God, and make certain we are using one that's working for Him.  Drop the phone and connect "in real life" with the Maker of it all. You will find Him.

• Jeremiah 29:13-14 “When you come looking for me, you’ll find me.“Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I’ll make sure you won’t be disappointed.” God’s Decree.

And, they're off

Thursday night we did what friends of thirteen years do.  We halted our plans, we helped pack, we drove their kids here and there, we bought pizza, we packed more, and we hosted the family in our home.  On Friday we shared #thelastbreakfast, we helped packed some more while the boys played, loaded boxes to ship and loaded more boxes to take to the store. And, at 1:00 p.m. we hugged, said our "I love you"s and watched them walk down to Benjamin's as a family to say their final goodbyes.  And, as we got in the car to drive away, I cried.  

Keith didn't sleep well on Thursday night and decided to take Friday off to see them off and work on the bathroom.  But, instead he jumped in and did whatever he could with the packing details.  At the end of the night, as we sat watching their cat and our dog get acclimated Keith said "who would have helped us pack up? I really don't think they would have."  IE, he's saying "who are OUR PEOPLE?" 

The bottom line is, it doesn't matter if we were/are "their people" for a long season of our life they were "our people" and we needed to do what we did for them.  It was honoring to our friendship... to the years.  His comment helped me realize he is also seeking to know "our people".  

Who knows who our local "our people" will be? Maybe we already know them and our friendship will deepen? Who will come to our aid when we need to move? Or when one of us is sick? Or when we just need friends. Maybe we'll go a long season without a family friendship this deep. We don't know. But, this I know, this about us...introverted people...

"..are ideally suited for friendship. They often have more empathy for others. They tend to want to meet anyone’s needs if they can, so it is natural for them to do that for a friend. HSPs are also less competitive--unless they are sure they will win. But even then they do not want those who lose to feel bad, so they would just as soon not turn everything into a match to see who’s best. Introverts like to have a few close friends, or perhaps even only one, a best friend. They like to have deep talks about the meaning of life or help each other through problems and crises. " (Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D., November 2008: Comfort Zone ONLINE)

We are friend-worthy.  We are good friends to our friends. I know this in my heart of hearts.  Some forge. Others take. We are forgers. Always. The forging work of friendships.... of showing love and investing... is painful, sometimes heart-breaking and often unreciprocated.  But, we love because HE first loved us.  And, we love because. Just because.  Because that's what close friends do. That's the only way we know how to do it.

(Harrison enjoying his parting gifts in his room: Hilary Clinton mask, working stop light and couch/pillows.)

Next of Kin

When I moved to Indiana twenty-seven years ago (YIKES, I've been a HOOSIER for longer than I was a BUCKEYE), I had no family near.  My "emergency contact" was my Dad who was 4.5 hours away in the days before cell phones. After I married I started listing Keith's Dad as my "next of kin" (emergency contact). We were, after all, "kin-in-laws" and he was newly retired with nothing but time on his hands. Physically he was closer than my Dad, so it made sense.  

I remember vividly the conversation I had with Julie about listing her as "emergency contact" on Zach's school paperwork thirteen years ago.  "So, I don't have any family around, and you don't have any family around and we are like sisters -- so will you be my official 'emergency contact' for the school? It shouldn't mean anything, but you know--just in case." "Of course". Done. 

And, so it's been for thirteen years. I don't ask every year, it's just known - you are my (our) emergency contact. We are each others' family.  We both have in-laws somewhat nearby, but still we are each others' "emergency contact"; there is no "in-law" at the end of our "sister" card. Whether the emergency is a kid with a broken leg at school, or a need for a Starbucks to vent, or a movie & popcorn to relax, or a triple chocolate meltdown to celebrate, we have been each others' emergency contact.

Today we had lunch with a dear friend and as Julie slipped away for a moment my friend asked if I was okay. "Yes. I'm okay. But, who will be my emergency contact?" Those words, spoken out loud, brought tears to my eyes (that I withheld when Julie returned). I have LOADS of fantastic girlfriends all across the country, a bestie on the north side of Indy, and a handful of really nice lady friends in Franklin. I know - I really know - I'm fortunate to have great girl friends. But, I don't have an "emergency contact" anymore. And, neither does she.  

She'll be fine. She's incredibly independent and she'll have a new best friend in a matter of months, or days of landing poolside as she works from home for a couple of months.

Me. The introvert who is leaning in this audacious year - it's going to be a bit more difficult to find my new "emergency contact". I have a feeling I'll be crying every time someone asks me to supply an emergency contact. And, I'll be praying God provides just the right one along this journey. 

T-40 hours and they'll be off. I have 5 months until someone will ask me to fill out a school form updating my "emergency contact" information.  Hopefully by then I still won't be crying at the thought of it.

Except for that "ONE BIG THING"

Keith turned 50 on Friday.  On Thursday as he was leaving for work I reminded him that Friday was his 49th birthday (with conviction).  And, I took my child down with me.  Yes, we both looked him in the face and convincingly lied... telling him we were clueless it was really his 50th birthday (and cracking up laughing as he closed the door in disgust).

We weren't clueless, but some might say he was.

I cooked half the day on Thursday and all day Friday to pull off a dinner party for 10 Friday night - planned a month in advance.  When he walked into the house Friday after work, his best guy friends and their wives were there.  We gathered around a table for dinner of tossed salad, Italian chicken noodle soup, lasagna, garlic bread and a trio of desserts.  One friend said a beautiful prayer for Keith's life; another gave a heartfelt toast that turned mid-way into a loving roast.  Later we adjourned to the parlor (yes, this is the 1800's) and played Apples to Apples. About the time the party was breaking up, we egged Keith on to streak Main Street to make his 50th birthday even more memorable.  Well, he did a semi-streak to the gleeful horror of the women at the party. It was a great night, even if I didn't have a torch to "brule", so it ended up just "creme". (I didn't serve it, but every once in a while I go in and take a big spoon full.... heaven!)

The party continued on Saturday -- with the boys, his family, "our people" and some more of his people.  The ploy was set.  I'd leave at noon (with a big 'ole pot of frosting - and no questions as to "what's that?" -- hmmm, clueless?) to take Harrison to get ready for the bowling birthday party he was attending from 1-3. And, Keith would pick him up at 3. Except that I should have told him more than twice.  I should have texted him at 1 after I "supposedly" dropped Harrison off.  I didn't. The party was front and center in my mind, and seriously, how could he forget his son? 

I had sent a reminder to the confirmed 50 guests "he's early to everything; so if you want to be there for the surprise, try to arrive by 2:45 p.m." Note to self: he's early to everything he remembers. He did not remember.  At 3:05 p.m. when he still wasn't there, I sent a text "how did Harrison enjoy his party?" 


Thankfully he had showered and dressed for the night after a morning of insulting our bathroom under construction. And, thankfully he hadn't made it upstairs to take that nap he was planning. Instead of napping, he bolted out of his chair, down the stairs and into his car, scaring to death the neighbor walking by as he did a u-turn on Main Street and scrambled to the bowling alley. 10 minutes late to pick up his son.....rather, to his own party!

S - U - R - P - R - I - S - E!!!  

He was surprised.  The folks he works with told me he snickered and sneered all day Thursday and Friday. "She's at home fretting trying to figure out how to pull something together now for my birthday."  Ha Ha.... gotcha!

It was a great weekend.  Everyone deserves to have so much attention lauded upon them for one weekend of their life.  

Thankfully "our people" helped to make it a great one.

Love you Keithie!