February, as seen in various ways

Water and sun, where I don't live, circa 7:00 am

I might not have mentioned, but I went to Florida recently.  It was sunny (mostly) and warm (actually).  When I came home it was a February record-breaking 66 degrees, but the weather has gotten decidedly more February-ish in the weeks since.  For instance, the above photo was taken at the beach in Florida, the below picture is a photo I snapped at work this morning.  Same time, two weeks, and about six states lay between the beach and the snow.

Honestly, I loved the beach.  It was delightful.  But the winter has its charms.  It's beautiful, for one.  It gives me a chance to wear all of my cute boots, for another.  And there's always that winter reminder that when it's done we get sunshine, and flowers, and birds, and a fresh perspective on life in general.  Winter serves a certain purpose, as far as I'm concerned.  So I won't complain.  It might not be sand between the toes or sun on my face (no, really, we don't get sun in the winter here), but it's a promise hidden beneath piles of frozen dihydrogen oxide, and an excuse to look at everything in ways I've never had the chance before.  I'll take it.

Snow, where I live, circa 7:00 am

Intersections, a sequel of sorts

A few weeks ago I wrote about a young woman I know with four children, for whom I pray, with whom I'd lost contact.  I got a single comment on the blog post, reminding me to pray, reminding me that it's worth it to pray.

I had been praying for this young woman, and thinking enough about her to merit a blog post, but that comment spurned me on to pray more specifically.  More specifically that I'd be able to get back in contact with this young woman.  More specifically that I'd be able to be a part of their lives again, that the Word of God could once again have entrance into their home, perhaps by way of the Sunday School paper, or a calendar.

This past Saturday, I was busy.  My grandma's doing poorly, I had a babysitting gig, things felt hectic, but I'd been away and decided it really was high time I visited around my Sunday School neighborhood.  I arrived to my usual houses and the first person I saw, out playing on the lawn, was her little six-year-old boy.  I got out of my car, at least 90% sure that I was seeing things, but he came running up to me.  "Miss Joanne, Miss Joanne!"  His older sister (but not the oldest, who was with her grandma) came up, a boundless ball of seven-year-old energy.  "We miss you!"

Many hugs ensued.  "I've missed you, too."

Here, right in front of me, was an answer to a prayer I'd been praying.  I had been praying, but honestly, until I saw their happy little faces, right in front of me, it didn't cross my mind that I really hadn't exhibited a lot of faith in my prayers.  Did I think I could get back in contact with them?  Yeah, I mean, I guess so.  Did I firmly believe it?  No.

Their mom was in one of the apartments, getting water.  When she came out I gave her a big hug.  I'd really, really missed her.  She had the baby with her--a beautiful little boy named Anton Jr.  He's perfect.  We didn't talk much, my friend and I, but I got her new number and she said I could stop by their new place sometime.  I played tag with the two little ones for a few minutes, by which time she'd packed up the baby in the car and was ready to go.

I stood in the parking lot, waving them away.  The wind was slightly biting, so as soon as they were gone I carried on, but you have to understand, my smile was brighter,  my steps were lighter.  The Lord showed me, in this small but incredible way, that of COURSE He's able.  The fact that she and I overlapped by probably only ten minutes, on a day where I had enough going on that my schedule was so unpredictable, is such a little picture to me of how the Lord orchestrates everything.

So if you're praying for something, for someone, keep at it.  If you're praying for a single mother of two who recently had a birthday, keep at it.  If you have a broken heart, keep praying for grace.  If you know someone who is still lost in their sins, keep praying for their salvation.  If you know someone who's in over their heads, keep praying for them to seek out the Lord in their depths.  If you know someone who daily is choosing to reject this world and choose Jesus, keep praying that they might continue to train their eyes on Him and Him alone.  If you know a broken family, pray for healing.  If you know of someone who has a big decision coming up, pray for wisdom.

The Lord our God is able.  He is mighty to save, and His grace is sufficient for all of our needs.  His mercies, which are new every morning, are available for us.  May we daily seek Him, may we daily make our requests made known until God.  He's got this.

Mornings, part 2

I have a lot of feelings about mornings.  Quite a lot.  I've written about my struggle to overcome the morning grumps, and this has actually been a point of great discussion between me and, well, pretty much everyone I've ever met.

A friend recently said to me, "It seems to me that you're exercised about not being grumpy in the mornings...  but you really don't get exercised about it until the afternoon."  Ouch.  Ouch and that's hilarious.  And also, I maintain that that's not true, in spite of the hilarity of it.

But really, for almost a year now, I've started work at 7:00 am.  More than anything else, it's forced me to get up and BE up in the mornings.  It was one thing back in the day to roll out of bed, wordlessly skulk to the gym, and come home an hour and half later having spoken to not a soul.  It's another thing to get up much too early and have to interact in a meaningful way with people, and to try to not be the one crying.  (It's a daycare.  At 7:00 am.  Someone is always crying.)

But, my distaste of mornings aside, here's a quote I found that I liked that I feel like has a particular significance for my daily morning struggle bus.

We are influenced by our personality, but we are not controlled by it.

Bros.  Brothers.  Brethren.  That's a good point.  It's a fact about me that I don't like mornings.  That's just part of my personality.  But so what?  That doesn't give me free license to breathe fire upon those that happen to be in the same sphere as me in the mornings.  It just means that, knowing this, I have to manage my state of constant drowse.  Maybe I go for a run first thing.  Maybe I drink coffee.  Or Mountain Dew.  Or basically anything with caffeine.  And mostly I just keep repeating the same things I trained myself to say years ago.

This is the day that the Lord hath made.  I will be glad and rejoice in it.

Lord, help me to have a good day.

Lord, help me to do everything today to the best of my abilities.

Everything

I recently heard a quote that I loved.  It goes like this, How I view God is how I view everything.

Actually, now I'm plagued with doubt about the exact wording.  Maybe it went more like, What I believe about God is what I believe about everything.

Either way.

I've tried to explain to multiple people why this quote is such a great one, with varying measures of success.  It's a little more abstract than your run-of-the-mill statement.  But all that aside, here's why I like it.

Because if God is Just, and Perfect, and Good, and Unchanging, and He is Constant (I started capitalizing all the words and now I just can't stop), then I am able to understand that literally nothing else in this entire world will ever measure up to God.  Nothing.

A friend recently was talking about how life wasn't fair.  She's been praying for the salvation of several close family members, praying that their lives would get straightened up, that healing would come, but nothing was happening.  Don't all things work together for good to them that love God?  She loved God.

That's tough.  A lot of what was going on in her life at the time was unfair.  There isn't another way to say it except to admit that she'd been dealt a raw deal, and things were not looking good.  And you know what?  That's okay to say that things were unfair, things were unjust, things weren't looking good.

It's okay because God is good inspite of the injustices of this life.  It's okay because God is faithful in spite of the failures of literally every single one of us.  It's okay because there has never been a promise made to any single one of us that life would be fair.  It won't be fair because it can't be.  Because when I understand that God Himself is the only perfect and true constant, I can stop expecting that life will be perfect.  Life can't be.  Life is messy and hard, but in all of that, there's God.  And when I view the Lord Himself as the only answer, then I can rely on Him each and every time that life lets me down.

And that's why what I believe about God is what I believe about everything.  Because my view of God's of God's infallibility/immutability/etc. means that nothing else will measure up.  And that's actually a really, really, really reassuring fact.

Intersections

I've known her for years.  I met her daughter first.  A beautiful little girl named India with huge hair and bright eyes.  "Can I come to Sunday School, too?"  I was out visiting and India had found me on my rounds.

"Sure!  I'll have to talk to your mom first, though."  So she brought me to her mom.  Mom welcomed me in and talked to me about the Sunday School.  She thought it was important if kids went to church, even if, like her, they one day realized they didn't need it any more.  "We don't just outgrow Jesus," I told her.  "No, no, of course not," she agreed, "I know God is important.  I just don't really think it's for me."

But her daughter came to Sunday School anyhow.  That wild hair and those bright eyes that were so intelligent.  When India's two little siblings--a girl and a boy--got a little older she'd bring them too, though she wasn't that excited about it.  "My mom said they have to come," she'd huff after taking forever to round herself and them up.

Not everything was smooth sailing in the home, of course.  "Me and their dad?  We never got married," mom told me, "there just wasn't a good time, and he's away now, of course."

Of course.  He'd stolen a car (call me jaded, but at this point in my life stealing a car is hardly the worst offense, as far as I'm concerned) and been locked up for a while.  The little boy hardly even knew his daddy, but that didn't stop him from talking about dad for weeks after their sporadic visits to the prison.  Father's day came and went, more than once, but at least they had a dad.  They were pretty stable, as far as families go.  "And we'll be getting married when he gets out," I would hear.

And then one day it happened.  I had gone to their house, just to see if the kids were coming to Sunday School the following morning.  "Miss Joanne?"  It wasn't surprising to hear a strange man know my name--this happens all the time, though "Miss Church Lady" is the common moniker.  "Yes, that's me!"  I brightly introduced myself to this strange man, only to have him introduce himself right back at me as the kids' dad.  "I've heard a lot about you, and I'm so glad you take my kids to church.  They really need it, you know?"

He'd heard about me from jail.  I think that was a scrapbookable first in my life.

I was happy to meet him, though.  I'd heard about him a lot, too.

He and she and the kids were so happy.  He was still on parole and couldn't live with them--the projects are not a place you're allowed to live right away, apparently.  They knew they'd have hiccups, of course, but they'd stayed together a long time and they'd be fine.  Their little family of five finally had a chance at a life together.

But they weren't.  They weren't really together, and they definitely weren't fine.  There were rifts that I didn't see for a while, but she confided in me one day that they weren't sure they could make it work.  "What if we can't do it?  I wanted my kids to have us both.  And he's out now.  They should have us both.  But we both changed so much when he was on the inside.  Neither of us realized how different things were going to be."

After that, it was really just a matter of time, a matter of all the pieces finally falling down.  His parole allowed him to move into a little place a little more towards the respectable side of town.  Sometimes they would all go to stay with him.  I'd go on a Saturday afternoon and she'd be alone in her little apartment.  "I'm sorry, Miss Joanne.  They're at they're dad's and I was going to go.  But we fought, so I came home.  I didn't want them to have to leave their dad's, though, so I let them stay over there.  I hate for the kids to know we're having troubles.  Try again next week."

She still had no use for God.  She put herself into this unraveling mess, she told me.  She'd take responsibility.  This didn't have to do with God.  This was just life.

"Maybe I shouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place," she said, as if it might have fixed her issues.  "But we were going to get married!"

Time passed and things formally ended.  Now instead of working on the relationship, they worked on a schedule.

"You'll have the kids on weekends, and we'll do every other school holiday."  That sort of thing.

"We'll start seeing other people."  That sort of thing.

After all that time--and the beautiful, crazy-haired girl who'd wormed her way into my heart at age 6 was now a responsible young lady of 10--after all those years of promises to each other, things were changing.  All the commitment they had felt was easily dissolved, because all those promises had been inked only in words, so easily spoken, so conveniently put aside.

She spent a lot of weekends away, after that.  India and the two younger ones were at dad's, and she'd go to stay with her own mother, looking for stability and an understanding heart.  But then the time came when I noticed that she was around more, and I kept hearing from others in the neighborhood "Did you hear that she's together with Anton?"

I knew Anton, of course.  I know a lot of them.  Spend lazy Saturday afternoons anywhere and you become as much of a fixture as the next person, even if they mostly think your name is "Miss Church Lady."

Anton was solid.  He was kind.  All the neighborhood kids loved him, and he (respectfully and in a trustworthy manner, because it's 2016 and you have to specify) loved them back.  He was friendly and when the kids begged him to show off his standing backflip to me, he would.  I was impressed by him, because he had a job, because of his standing backflip, because he knew how to keep his language clean, because of his way with kids, because everyone thought highly of him.  We weren't friends, but we knew each other.

He's the one who told me.  "You knew I was with her, yeah?"

"Yeah,"

"We're having a baby, did you hear?"

No.  No, I hadn't heard.

She was in the process of moving.  A different life, a different place.  We'd talked about it before and she was trying hard to make things better for her little brood of three.  I'd see the kids, they'd come to Sunday School from time to time still (India was finally old enough to be in my class, but missed so many Sundays because of her dad's schedule that she never felt like she was fully a part of the goings-on, so her enthusiasm waned considerably), or I'd run into them at the park.  "Yeah, she's having a baby," they confirmed.

"I was so mad that I cried when she told me," the biggest-sister-to-be confided.  "I liked Anton, but not as my mom's boyfriend."

But still, I never talked to her.  I'd go to their place and ask to see her, but she'd be napping, or in the shower, or in the basement, or anywhere else but there at the front door.  The first time I met her I'd been invited in.  Not now, though.  Now she was like a ghost.

And finally they moved, and I had no forwarding address.

Then one day, by chance (except that I'm a Christian and I know it wasn't chance), I met them at the library.  The two younger (now middle-to-be) siblings came flying up to me, smothering me in hugs.  She was turned toward the counter and didn't angle her body towards me.  At all.  "Congratulations," I told her sincerely, understanding at once that after all this time she thought I didn't know.

"New life is always exciting, and wonderful!"  I went on to tell her that I knew she'd be such a great mom to this one, too.

"Oh, you've heard?"  She now turned fully towards me.  She was about seven months along, and there's no way I wouldn't have noticed, even if I hadn't been looking, even if she'd tried to use a counter and a stack of books to cover her belly.

"Of course!  Anton told me, and the kids have talked to me about it, too."

At that point she opened up a little bit.  "It's going to be a boy," she said.  "India--who's at her dad's today, I'm sure she'll be sorry she missed you--was so upset when she heard it was a boy.  She just thought I'd still be together with her dad, you know?  And if she had to have another sibling, she wanted a girl to make up for it."

She kept squirming, like she wanted to tell me something.  Something to make her feel better, or possibly make me feel better.  Finally, it came out.  "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten pregnant, Miss Joanne, but I really think it's going to work.  I can feel it.  Did I tell you?  It's not the right time for us now, but we're going to get married!"

One of my other Sunday School kids still goes to school with her daughter India.  I heard that she delivered a healthy baby boy at the end of October, though nobody has been able to tell me his name.  I don't tell this story for any reason--moral, social, spiritual, or otherwise.  I was just praying for her today, and her little brood of four.

Things I Learned, 2015 edition

This is my usual annual review.  The only thing I've managed to do consistently, I believe, the entire time I've had this blog.

My usual disclaimer is as follows: This is purposely vague, because I don't have time to include a year's worth of actual things I've learned.  Also, these are things that even if I knew before, were refreshed to me in such a way that I shall henceforth peg them to this past year.  And finally, this list is in no particular order, and the importance of the items are in no way discernible.  Disclaimer over.

1)  Adventures are where it's at.  I don't mean specifically you have to go on adventures, I just mean that I think it's important to be open enough to let life be a series of adventures.  Nothing turns out the way we expect it to, anyhow, so we might as well let go and enjoy all the things.

2)  Spiritual laziness is a thing.  This is pretty personal, but I'll put it out here: there were times in 2015 where I struggled to keep my Bibleing habits consistent.  It's not pretty, and ends up being painful when one finally comes to ones senses and buckles down, but it's the truth.

3)  Mornings never, ever get easy.  I've tried everything to make my mornings be a breeze (I lay everything out ahead of time, I set my alarm clock away from my bed so I have to get up and stay up, I drink much caffeine), but guys, mornings are the worst.  And when mornings suffer, so do the Bible times.  See #2

4)  Everything has to change eventually.  There were choices I made this year in terms of activities where people questioned my motives.  "Why didn't you go to that event?  Why did you go for a shorter amount of time?  What's going on?"  The answer?  I can't do everything.  I just can't.  It's okay to pick and choose and help people understand that not everything can stay the same.  That's life.

5)  Love endureth all things.  Sorry to be so cliche, but if there's anything that friendships have taught me, is that it takes a lot of grace and love to navigate people.  And, of course, for people to deal with me!

6)  People talk about what's important to them.  I consider myself to be a people person (by that I mean I'm not a plant or animal person, so I must be a people person), but sometimes it takes a great amount of focus to realize that when it all boils down to it, people end up saying what they'd like to be saying if they felt safe enough to say it.  Those things that people want to say?  They are saying.  You--which is to say I--need to listen up.  That was a pretty important one for me.

And that's that.

Waiting & Watching

The story goes that there was a dude with some kids.  He would be at work, as dudes often are, but when it came time for him to come home from work, his kids would always be excited.  They would be waiting for him to come home, mostly for supper-eating purposes, I imagine.  Anyhow, one of his children, his little daughter, would stand at the front window.  She wasn't just waiting for him, she was watching.

Cue the tears.  I've heard this man tell this story enough times that I can't cue the tears, but it's a nice story and I hope you've been emotionally touched in a way I haven't been in the past ten years or so.

But the story brings to mind (obviously, as is the point) that we are not just to wait for the Lord's return, but also we ought to watch for Him.  Any one of us could think of a number of verses that echo such a sentiment.

But I'd like to pose another story.  It's about a girl, about my age, who works at a day care.  And about how at that daycare there started a young child, 2ish years of age, who really loved his mom.  Which is a good thing for a child to do, but it's rough when kids have never been away from their mom, and then their tossed into a daycare setting.  So this young boy (we shall call him henceforth Jay), every single day he's at the daycare, spends from 7:30 in the morning till 12:30 in the afternoon waiting for his mom to come and get him.  After all, she will be coming, he knows this for a fact.  And indeed, at 12:30, she comes to fetch him.  He was right all along--mommy loves him enough to remember to come and get him after lunch.  Heartwarming, yes?

No.  Not in the slightest.  You see, Jay doesn't just wait for his mom, he watches for his mom.  Every day, from 7:30 till 12:30, he stands with his face pressed against the window, looking for that first glimpse of her car.

Even more heartwarming?  No.  Not in the slightest.  You see, from 7:30 am to 12:30 pm Jay doesn't just wait and watch for his mother.  He SCREAMS HIS HEAD OFF because he's terrified that she's forgotten about him.  He won't play, he won't color, he won't paint, and if it's ever warm enough to go outside to play he just presses himself up against the fence in lieu of the window and screams there while waiting for his mother.

WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THAT.

Jay needs to cool his jets and realize that while he's waiting, he could be doing.  Really, he does.  And, frequently, between 7:30 and 12:30 I (being the featured girl in the story who works in sad earshot of this child) am reminded that you know what?  While I'm waiting for the Lord to return (which had better be soon, that's all I'm saying) I need to be doing as well.  Maybe it's just the Sunday School work, maybe it's reaching out to younger girls, maybe it's giving away copies of Get Lost (bless you, Dannah Gresh, for being the best), maybe it's just helping out around the house or with hobby class.  Whatever the case, let it never be said of me that I was waiting and watching for the Lord's coming at the expense of doing for His glory.

In which I meet the kid who is the anti-me

100s day at school was a real revelation

We celebrated 100s day at the daycare recently (which I don't understand.  Being homeschooled apparently left some pretty big gaps in my education.  Why is being 100 days into the school year a big deal?) and we questioned all the older kids about things that had to do with 100.  Some of the answers ended up being hilarious, some rather dull, and some made me question what they teach kids in school these days.

Like this kid, above, who is a dear soul, but upon gazing on his answers I realized that we were very different one from another.  (Well, I probably want to be the boss at my house when I'm 100, but, you know, the other stuff.)

Why we're so different: my corner of the attic has about a million books (or at least, way more than 100), and then day I have 100 cats will be a sad day (haha, or indicate that I am the most single human in the history of humans), and the day I choose to spend $100 buying a dog will be the day any one of you has permission to check me into a home for mentally disturbed individuals.

But that's okay.  It takes all kinds to make the world go round.  I just must confess, this child's polar opposite version of me cracked me up.

Forgiveness

I was in a Christian bookstore recently and noticed that there were a lot of books about forgiveness.  A lot.  Like, a stunning number.  To prove my point I just went to Christianbook.com and searched the keyword "forgiveness."  On my desktop it came up with a staggering 2,264 results, while on my mobile device it came up with but 2,113 results.  (A screenshot for your benefit.  Also, why did I get two different numbers for the mobile/desktop searches?  I don't understand anything.)

Then I searched for other things on CBD like joy and peace and came up with multiple thousands, but words like kindness only got 600+ hits, and it seems like if more books were on kindness, less books would have to be about forgiveness, you feel me?

(Now, I'm not saying that this is indicative of the human problem, this whole rash of books on forgiveness.  Because you know what else you can find by the thousand at Christian bookstores?  Books about Amish people.  And I don't think that really means anything except that old ladies are the biggest consumer of fiction.)

But I didn't buy any of those billions of books on forgiveness.  Why?  (Well, I'm poor, probably.)  Because the most beautiful thing I've read recently about forgiveness is contained in this blog post, which was written by a remarkable young lady I know who faced so much and yet forgave anyhow.  I don't need those billions of books (okay, 2,113 books) to tell me the ins and outs of forgiveness.  I see it in this young lady, every time I see her, because grace truly characterizes her.  Because I see the fruits of the spirit in her and it's an example to me.  Because she is an example to all believers, and I'm so thankful to have the chance to see that in her.

If you get a minute, check out her story.  It's worth the read.

Humans of Everywhere

Have you guys seen those books, you know, Humans of New York, or maybe Humans of the Subways, or whatever?  Full disclaimer, I don't think I've ever read one, but I'm familiar with the concept because I have a cousin who is purportedly the instigator of this project, which is similar by nature.  Funny, I talk to dozens of people everywhere I go, but never have I talked to this particular cousin about this particular project.  Of course, we live far away one from another.  I saw on the website that the original People of Pictou County project was started in May of 2013.  For all I know I haven't even seen her since then.  Shameful, yes.

Anyhow, I have never started a project like that.  I don't go around canvassing for cool stories or interesting vignettes from the people I meet.  But...  Sometimes I think I should.  I could literally write a book about all the different cool stories I hear, the little glimpses into so many different lives.  Sometimes they're non-consequential, like someone telling me that they had an arranged marriage, sometimes they make me cry (sir, I have never forgotten you), and sometimes they're just... cute.

(I have, in the spirit on irony, pretended to trademark the "LifeStory" phrase, even.  I gave it up after about a day, though.  It was tedious and not at all ironic, when it came down to it.)

The other day, for instance, I was in the store, trying to make a return.  There was an older couple in line in front of me and they were likewise making a return, and, as is the manner of my whole life, somehow they started talking to me about, you know, their whole life.

Years ago she was on a blind date with a guy who ended up just being stupid.  I mean, throwing popcorn at her in the movie theater kind of stupid.  She was trying to make him stop ("He was embarrassing and rude!") when another theater patron came to her rescue.  ("I told him to stop disturbing the rest of us and leave his gal alone!")  As is the manner with all cute stories, there was a twist: patron B realized that he knew patron A, and felt embarrassed that his "friend" would treat a gal like this.  When the girl realized that someone sided with her on the rudeness of her blind date ("I vowed never would I endure a blind date again!  Of course," she added slyly, "I didn't have to!") she demanded that he (the friend of the blind date) take her home.

("Were you there with another person?"
"Yes, but we were there as friends, a group of us, and I sent them all home together.")

This didn't mean he was off the hook.  No way, no friend of this rude boy was a friend of hers.  So, when they got home, she had him drop her off a block away from her house.  And pretended to go into some random house till her left.

So, when he came back the next day to find her ("She was smart, and she was sassy!  A gal like that is hard to come by!") she wasn't at the house he expected.  Undeterred, he went on to the next house.  Also, the next.  Also, the next.  He went to every house on the block until he found her.  And even so, she wasn't so sure about him.  She did decide to give him a chance, though, because she admired his tenacity.

I'll spare you the details of their whole story, though I'm pretty sure I got the whole thing, but one notable detail was that on their first real date they went to this fancy restaurant and they were seated and then she started seeing other meals as they were coming out and looked him straight in the eye and said, "I don't have money for this, and neither do you.  We're not eating here." and they left.  ("We had a burger instead," he said.  "It's all I wanted anyhow.")  "That was more than 55 years ago," she said proudly, "and I've been saving him money ever since!"

By this point we had two sales clerks and about half a dozen onlookers enjoying the hilarity of this couple's cuteness.  We'd both finished our returns and were just standing to the side of the desks, talking like we were best friends.

"Sweetie," she told me, "we hear about all these kids who just quit on their marriages, and we just can't understand that.  We've been married 55 years now, and we had some rough times, but I love him.  And more importantly, I like him."

His arm was around her and drew her a little closer and beamed, "She's my gal.  I wouldn't have it any other way."

We talked longer (of course), but when they left the store they were holding hands, happy to show the world (OK, me, two clerks, and half a dozen other strangers) that they were happy.  That after 55 years it's possible that you can not just still love someone, but like them, too.

Holy Nudges, part 2

I recently posted about holy nudges, a thing which I think is very real, and am sobered when I think of all the times I ignore said holy nudges.

For instance, right after I posted last time (okay, well, maybe not right after, but maybe within the next few weeks) a number of times I realized I was ignoring holy nudges.  And who just reminded me about them?  Me.  In this very blog and with my own words.  Guys, I have a lot to learn.

For instance, on a Christmas-related flight I took during the holidays there was a lady who was talking to me in an airport (a stranger?  Talking to me?  Say it isn't so) and I was tired and fine with talking, but when we got on the plane (me quite a ways in front of her, because of Southwest boarding procedure) and she came and found me and said she was glad the seat next to me was still free, I'll admit--I maybe resented my openness of face.  Why do *I* have to be the one to talk to every stranger I've ever met.  Why can't I just nap?  So I leaned into the window and pretended to sleep.  Because I was very, very tired (I don't pack until the night I go places--a horrible habit, and one that detracts from my sleep quite dreadfully) and because I was already people'd out for the day (having spoken to every traveler and TSA agent I'd smiled at  that day already).  So I really was trying to doze off and the Lord kept telling me to talk to this woman.  That I really should.  Come on, Joanne, get with the program.

It took a while.  An embarrassing while, actually.  I'm ashamed to tell the story but share because a) accountability and b) it is a good reminder that when the Lord asks us to do something, we really should.

So, when I finally worked up a right spirit, I sat up and started talking to the woman, who was indeed just sitting upright, eyes open, waiting for a listening ear.  (This story won't make any sense unless I also tell you that she had a very heavy accent.  We may begin.)

"Is this your final destination?"  I asked.  (Nothing like a little travel-flavored small talk to get things started, I've discovered.)

"No, no, once we land I have to take the bus for a few hours."

"Oh, are you visiting family, or going on a vacation?"

"My brother had birthday today."

"Are you two close?"

"Yes, very."

"Well, that's very exciting!"

She stared at me.  And stared at me.  And suddenly I thought, you know, planes are really loud places, and she has an accent.  Maybe I heard her wrong?

So I tried again.  "Your brother's birthday--it's today?"

"No.  My brother died today."

Uhhhhhhhhh.

It was awful.  She was trying desperately to get down to see him and in the airport got the call that he had passed away.  He had no family with him when he died, she had already left her own family so she had nobody with her when she heard, and there she was, just alone in the airport, trying to be with her brother, discovering it was too late.

No wonder she wanted to talk.

That was the thing, though.  We talked about it a little bit, I hugged her (albeit awkwardly, we were on a plane and all) and then she just breathed a deep sigh, leaned her head back, and slept.

She could have been sleeping that whole time, probably, if I'd spoken to her sooner.  But I was being selfish and childish.  But thankfully the Lord persevered with his holy nudge and I bit the proverbial bullet.  And I need to, because she needed someone, and, for whatever reason that person was me.

"Take my lips," that song says, "and let them be filled with messages from Thee."  I'm a Christian, so that ought always to be my prayer, and I'm someone who gets LifeStory'd ALL the time, so I need to be mindful that the Lord probably wants to use these multitudinous occasions as more than just a casual encounter--He has plans for my conversations.

"Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee."

Things I learned in 2014

This year, an abbreviated list (unlike last year's wordy list!), because most of the things I learned were kind of personal.  And you guys are my friends, but let's be honest, this is still the internet.

1)  Life is hard.
2)  God is good.
3)  Seeing a fault in one's self doesn't mean the fault will be automatically fixed.
4)  Spreading wings is a difficult and misunderstood task.
5)  Faith comes by hearing.  And hearing.  And hearing again.

And that's it, guys.  All of 2014 and I came away with but five share-able takeaways.

I'm banking on the Lord coming before next year, just so we're all clear.  I say this every year (every day?) but seriously, this year has got to be our year!

And a picture from an airplane, because it's a picture and I used to pretend I was going to add pictures to my posts, remember?

Holy nudges

I don't know what the term is, and I have a feeling "holy nudges" isn't the exact term I'm looking for, but it's got to be close.

See, every once in a while I think, "you know, I should really email/text/call/visit/send a card to [fill in the blank]."  And...  I don't always do it.  Then next thing I know, they're reaching out to me, telling me they've been thinking about me.

We probably all do this (at least, I hope so, otherwise now I'll just feel awkwardly like I'm the only heathen amongst us).  I call them holy nudges rather than "passing thoughts" because it seems like time and time again, the Lord gives me the chance to be the one to reach out first, and then BAM, I've been putting it off and the other person reaches out to me.  It's like the Lord is letting me know that we're thinking about each other and He'd be happy for me if I could be the one to reach out first if only I were paying attention.

That happens a lot.  And I'm not saying every "passing thought" is a holy nudge, but I will say that when my city took out an annoying traffic light near my house I thought I really should send a little thank-you note to the city because it was really so nice that it was gone and then I got lazy and didn't send a card and then they put the light back in because they thought nobody cared (also, they thought it was dangerous).  Now, I'm not saying they would have kept it just because I wrote them a note, but I'm saying it would have been nice if I'd written them a note, and I'm pretty sure the Lord wanted me to see tangibly that when something or someone comes to mind it wouldn't be that hard to reach out, and perhaps we would even end up making a difference.

But in this increasingly lazy-fied world, it's hard.  I mean, I don't even know where I would have sent the note to the city.  And sometimes I want to send a card but it's like, "ugh, who knows how to find their address, anyhow" and then I just justify it by saying it's too hard.  Or (my personal favorite) I decide there's no way to get in touch with them except via facebook and facebook is so impersonal anyhow that there's no way I should feel obligated to send a facebook message.  And, of course, what that means is I can count on getting a facebook message from them and yes, it's always personal and meaningful and yes I feel convicted.

Oh, guys.  I have so far to go.

Thanksgiving 2014

I love Thanksgiving.  No, for real, I do.  It's cozy, and thankful, and wonderful, and I just love it.

Not the food.  But I've said that before.   (I just searched by blog under the "Thanksgiving" label and came up with like 10 posts about Thanksgiving.  I'm not kidding, I love everything about Thanksgiving but the food!)

Also something I've said before is that for the last several years I've had my Sunday School girls write thanksgiving lists in class.  We read verses about being thankful, talk about why we should be thankful, and to Whom we should be thankful, and then try to think of things for which to be thankful (this year I remembered to be thankful for Chipotle.  Mmm).  Usually gets some pretty good results (one of our most frequent Sunday School-and-Gospel speakers is famous for reminding us to be thankful for everything, including chairs, so almost all the girls remembered this and marked that they were thankful for chairs), but this year I heard one I hadn't heard before.

While reading around an item or two from our list one girl shared that she was thankful for my eyebrows.

"Uh, my eyebrows?  Specifically me?  Or you're thankful for your eyebrows?"

"Oh no, Miss Joanne, not my eyebrows.  Yours.  I think they look okay with your face."

"Mmmmmmmnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmk."

And that, my friends, is the story of how I got a complex about my eyebrows and I'm not even sure why, because, comfortingly enough, they are "okay."

(Just because I couldn't resist, I searched the KJV for references to eyebrows.  There's only one direct reference, and in this reference the guy is straight-up shaving his off.  Maybe eyebrows are meant to be expendable?)

Things that are real

Last night during gospel I was sitting in the midst of a horde of children (for real.  There were anywhere from 27-30 out--we never could get an accurate count) and they were dutifully taking notes (you remember something, you get a cookie or two--they have great incentive to take notes for the sake of remembering!) and Mr. Speaker mentioned that "the judgement of God is real."  He didn't say much about it, honestly, but the kids like sound bites that are easy to write down, so I noticed several kids dutifully writing down that "the judgement of God is real."

I literally almost never get choked up about things (for instance, weddings.  Never have I ever cried at one of those) but looking at the few kids sitting next to me, putting pen to paper and writing, "the judgement of God is real," make me emotional.  Because while I am confident that some of those children are truly the Lord's, I am equally confident that some of them are not.  For whatever reason, some keep putting it off.  And I think my heart broke a little bit last night, just thinking of the solemnity of it all.  Because even if they don't understand the severity of it, the truth of it remains, "the judgement of God is real."

This is why we spend and be spent for the Lord's work.  Because last night 27-30 children got to sit under the sound of the Word and they know, for sure, because they've heard, time and time again, about the love of God.  And they know, for sure, because they've heard it time and time again, that accepting the love of God is the best possible way to avoid the judgement of God.

Take with you words

The other day at dinner/Bible reading (yes, supper still lasts for like four hours at my house.  Okay, well, that's a slight exaggeration--it's more like two hours) we were reading Hosea 14.  We got as far as verse 2 before we digressed wildly (as we are often wont to do).

"'Take with you words, and return to the Lord'--hey, Joanne, this should be your verse!"

That was my dad, who in the split second it took to read the first eight words of the verse decided that when I write a memoir (because, you know, why not), I should call it "Take With You Words."

Honestly, it sounds like a good idea to me.  Not that I'm planning on writing a memoir any time soon (or ever), but if I do, at least I have a title.

It's a start.

(PS, not to toot my own horn or anything but I'll be honest--I've read memoirs before and thought that even within my limited 25 years of life I've probably acquired enough stories to write a more interesting memoir than some of them that are out there.  And for whatever stories I don't have, I could totally just write random things I thought about.  I could do this thing, people.  I'm not going to, but I could!)

(PPS, NO PICTURE TODAY.  I'm such a little rebel.)

Random facts

Have you ever tried to think of a random fact about yourself?  I mean, really, pause for a second and think, "if someone asked me for a random fact about me or my life what would I say?"

It's hard, actually.

For work right now we're doing a contest where people are offered a random fact about each one of us employees and they have to sort out whose fact belongs to which employee.  It's been funny to see people try to figure it out.  But as funny as it is, it doesn't change the fact that thinking of a fact on cue is really, really hard!

It also doesn't change the fact that everyone is guessing the wrong fact for me.  Amidst things like, "dated the Red Power Ranger," and "taught school in the Czech Republic," and "received a paycheck from Donald Trump," is one that goes, "was class Valedictorian," and another, "I once met Apolo Ohno."

Guys, 1) I was homeschooled, 2) I'm not that smart.  But I read books constantly, which someone makes people assume that I was Valedictorian.  Now me and the person who was ACTUALLY the Valedictorian both have a complex.  Me, because it's reinforcing that I wasn't smart enough, and her because literally NOBODY has guessed her as the valedictorian.

Options for guessing

And yes, I met Apolo Ohno.  At a Borders & Books.  When Borders was still a store, which dates the event quite significantly.

But anyhow, what random fact can you think about yourself?

(By the way, once I reached my fact I ended up using I thought of a ton of strange things I could have said.  It just took me forever to start thinking of things!  Also, it's a great dinner time conversation starter!)

Sometimes I am too easily amused

Spotted at my local Pet Store

I love spying funny signs.  Even if they're not meant to be funny, I will see it, and I will laugh.

See, I never just see thing and move on.  I see signs, like these, at the local pet store (I obviously wasn't inside the pet store, I don't even like pets) and the first thing that pops into my head is, "Haha, Darwin started a pet store now?"

Because, obviously, natural selection.  If I were a pet store (which I never will be) I would never put this sign up.  Because obviously I would expect people to look at it and think, "Darwin?  Darwin, are you in there?"

Oh, just more sad things

You know, while I was away from blogging I kept on thinking of things I wanted to write about.  I know people probably don't believe me on account of my occasionally loud external personality, but I do kind of  a lot of thinking.  (I may or may not be facetious right now.  I leave it up to you to decide what I would even have to be facetious about in this paragraph.  I make nothing easy on anyone.  I also might just be in a weird mood.  I might have finally redeemed my Starbucks birthday reward and gotten two extra shots of espresso in my caramel macchiato, simply because it was my birthday drink and it was freeeeee also I've always wondered what would happen to me with two extra shots of espresso and I think now I know.)

I never posted any of my musings because, well, this was a terrible year and I hated to admit to even myself that there were moments in which I was musing on other things.  But life goes thusly.

I went ahead and deleted all of those drafts this morning.  I just wasn't feeling it, also, venti Starbucks drinks sometimes, you know, make me delete things willy-nilly.  Anyhow, one of the posts I'd deleted had been some non-sensical musings (much like these?) about rings.

Rings?  rings.

You see, I remember years ago, seeing a widower, just a few months after his wife had died, with a bare left hand (had to Google which hand the wedding band goes on.  Left or right is not my best skill).  I had to wonder, looking stalkerishly at that empty ring finger, what sort of process it was to take that ring off.  What was the decision process, how did he decide it was time?  What sort of emotional toll does it even take on a human, to take off the symbol of commitment, because the person to whom you were committed has died?

It was kind of awful, actually, that day I noticed his bare hand.

But the reason I was thinking about it this summer, after all these years, was because I noticed another widower, whose wife has been with the Lord for the better part of a decade, whose ring is still firmly in place on his ring finger.  And I wondered: what does it feel like, to see that band, and know that its whole reason for existence is no more.  What sort of daily emotional roller coaster might that band represent?

I don't know why I didn't feel free to write about this over the summer, because it pretty much 100% matches my mood.  Which is to say: life is hard.  People make decisions all the time, people have to face those sorrows in the darkest cracks of their heart, and decide what steps to take, and what actions are right for them.  Because no matter what the choice is in this particular scenario (which is to say, when it's an appropriate time to remove a wedding band or not) it doesn't change the fact of it all, that the finality comes not with the removing the wedding ring or not, it comes with the painful separation that is death.  And I can tell you, I don't even have as much to be sad about as half the people I know, but my bruised-enough-as-it-is heart positively shudders at the thought of ever being in that position.  May the Lord grant immeasurable comfort to those who, for whatever reason, have to face these questions on a personal level.

I've been hibernating

A sister who supposedly doesn't read this recently gently reminded me that I could possibly write again.  Because, you know, that's what you're supposed to do when you've committed to a blog.  (Though I recently read my first-ever blog post and saw that I had wisely and honestly been pretty pessimistic about my ability to keep on blogging regularly.  So, if anyone read my blog in 2009, you'd know not to expect too much.)

I could.  And I am.  Right now, in fact.  But I don't want to.

Guys, in the spirit of full disclosure, 2014 has been an awful year.  A friend lost twins.  My sister lost her young son.  I lost a friend my age.  Another friend just lost her son.

There have been good things.  Bright things.  But every time I've even thought about writing here in my blog, I keep logging in and looking at that last post I wrote and thinking, "Ugh, I'm not ready to move beyond that."  I didn't know, obviously, when I wrote that, how much I'd come to appreciate the story of that woman who lost her son, how much I'd come to rely on those around me when all I did was cry for a month when my nephew died.  How exhausted and upset and mad I felt when yet another friend lost her child.  So every time I looked at the post, it bespoke even more grief.

Because it's all good and well, to grieve in unity.  But I HATE that we have to grieve in unity.  Or at all.  I hate that by loving so many people, ones heart gets broken afresh with every good-bye.  I think I've cried more this year than I ever have before--even counting when my own brother died.  I even almost cried at a wedding this year, and I have never cried at a wedding in my life before, so that is saying something.

And this is why I haven't written.  Because I can't think of light and fluffy things to say.  Because even though I still have random interactions with people around me, and I meet strangers who become friends, and I think vaguely interesting thoughts, they get pushed around and reorganized in my brain and at the top, always, remains the dull "ugh I can't even" and then, you know, I just don't write for ages and ages.

I'm not trying to make it sound like I live a wholly depressed life.  I have a new sister-in-law, a new nephew, and another new niecew on the way.  There have been weddings, and engagements, and babies, and changes, and happy things, and all the rest other wonderful things there are supposed to be in life.  But someone (a weird dude.  The strangest people talk to me sometimes) recently was like, "So awesome that you're so young and full of optimism!" and I straight-up told him that I thought it was rude that he assumed young people had to be full of optimism.  I look forward to the future.  I expect wonderful things in the future.  But I think it's stupid that older people think it's okay for themselves to not have optimism, because us younger generation has got it covered.

Maybe I was PMSing that day.  I just looked up the official definition of optimism, and it is in fact what I have, in spite of everything.

op·ti·mism

ˈäptəˌmizəm/

noun

1. 1.

   hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something.

   "the talks had been amicable, and there were grounds for optimism"

   synonyms:

   hopefulness, hope, confidence, buoyancy, cheer, cheerfulness, good cheer, sanguineness, positiveness, positive attitude "I wish I had your optimism"

Whatever.  We're going with optimistic though without a spirit of optimism.

So.  Here I am, for whatever it's worth.  Thankful for all that is past, and trusting the Lord for all that's to come.