All posts by Aileen Lawrimore

Daddy turns 81

9 ways my dad wins at being a dad

The card I sent Daddy this year for Father’s Day says,

Whenever I see someone with a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug, I knock it out of their hand and scream, “LIAR!
[And then on the inside] You’re Welcome.

In a world full of mediocre cards, I was delighted to find one that was actually humorous and absolutely perfect. For proof, I give you just a few of the ways my father wins at parenting.

Daddy loves our mother.

Part of why Daddy is such a great father is that he’s a wonderful husband. Every Sunday lunch, Daddy (a pastor) would proclaim, “Children, I looked around the whole church this morning and I didn’t see a woman there as pretty as your mama.” We groaned and grimaced, in part because we knew good and well Daddy only had eyes for our mama.

He’s romantic and sweet, but he is also respectful and kind. By loving our mother as a treasure and valuing her as a human being, he has taught us that marriage is more than a social contract or a religious ceremony. It’s a partnership of equals. It’s a romance that never grows old. Indeed, it’s the earthly manifestation of godly love.

Daddy brought a lot of laughter into our home.

Daddy has always been a great story teller. We had our favorites that we would ask for over and over again; he always had new ones in his repertoire to share as well. Daddy loves a good story, and he’s playful too. Some of my earliest memories are of Daddy crawling around our living room, giving my sister and me bucking Broncho rides on his back. “Hold on tight now! You can’t never tell when this horse will rear up on you!”

Plus, he’s silly. True, that silliness often came out first thing in the morning when we were not at all in the mood for such shenanigans. When we were teenagers, he would burst into our room on school mornings singing, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning!” He thought it was hilarious. Us, not so much.

Daddy had high, but reasonable, standards for us.

I can’t say for sure, but my guess is that our father was more involved in our schooling than most fathers in the seventies and eighties. Mother always helped us with school projects, homework, and such, but Daddy did too (yet another way they worked as a team). Daddy always said, “Do your best. If that’s an A, make an A. If it’s a C, then that’s fine too. Whatever you’re doing, do it to the best of your ability.” That’s good parenting right there.

Daddy is a lifetime learner

When I was 14, Daddy was awarded his Doctor of Ministry degree. He comes from a culture of perseverance; so, in 1979, 20 years after his graduation from Mercer University, Daddy walked across the stage with stripes on his sleeves to receive his final academic degree.

His last graduation, however, did not bring an end to his education. Daddy has continued learning. He reads a wide variety of books: from works by the most current theologians to ones from the NY Times bestseller list.

Daddy gains knowledge from books, but he also learns from the people he encounters. He converses with friends and strangers with ease, collecting lessons they’ve learned as he hears their stories. Consequently, he has been introduced to ideas different from his own. On more than one occasion, Daddy has changed his mind. I love that. He does (and thinks) his very best and, to paraphrase Maya Angelou, “When he knows better, he does better.”

Daddy apologizes when he makes mistakes.

Daddy, like all humans (except the one of course), has erred from time to time. Instead of sweeping mistakes under the theoretical rug though, Daddy has this radical practice: he apologizes! Because he does, we have learned that owning your actions enables you to move ahead to the next success. We’ve learned that perfection is a lie; if our Daddy messes up occasionally, we will too. No big deal. Personal responsibility: what a wonderful thing to model for your children.

AND . . .

He trusted us. Daddy knew, as I said, that we were far from perfect. But he trusted us to make good decisions and to right our wrong ones.

He dreamed with us. No dream was too big for Daddy to embrace right along with us.

He worked smart. Daddy worked a lot—long hours and nearly every single weekend. BUT, he also took a day or two off every week and two to four weeks a year we went on family vacations. Almost always, these trips were to visit family. That’s another thing Daddy did right: he made sure that we got to know our extended family.Daddy turns 81

He listened to our questions. Poor Daddy. In my memory, we grilled him after every sermon. We questioned and probed, teasing out any theology we found absurd or unclear. Daddy, a Southern Baptist pastor, not only listened to our questions, he encouraged them. He didn’t always have the answers; in fact, he often introduced even more questions into our discussions. By showing us that our brains could not possibly negate God’s existence, he created space for us to get to know God better. Consequently, our intellectual limitations and rational objections fail to topple our faith. Without ever trying, Daddy taught us that God can handle any questions we can formulate. Until recently, I did not realize the magnitude of this gift. A Sunday dinner served with theological discussion? That was normal for me. Now I know what a privilege it was for me to come boldly to the kitchen table and to be met there with mercy and love.

My daddy. He’s a real winner.

dancing at the wedding

8 Instagram accounts that make me smile

A little over a year ago, I overhauled my blog with the help of WordPress guru, Renee’ Groskreutz. One of the things Renee’ and I tackled was defining a purpose for my blog. Most blogs exist for a particular reason: to showcase regional activities, to encourage new teachers, or perhaps to educate readers on a specific topic. Not so with my blog. I blog because I like to write. I write about parenting, theology, movies, literature, relationships—well, all kinds of things. (The overhaul, by the way, led me to identify three broad categories: friends, family, and faith.) So anyway, I didn’t know how to answer Renee’s question, “What is the purpose of your blog?”

Finally, I came up with this:

I write to encourage, educate, and amuse.

Still pretty broad, I know, but this has helped me to refine my goals here at aileengoeson.com. It’s also helped me to determine what to post on my Facebook page and on Instagram. If you follow my Facebook page, for example, you’ll not find anything remotely controversial. You’ll surely find lots of “aww!” there as well as some “aha!” and a little “haha!” But no “grrrr!” or “ick!” (If those are there, know I’ve been hacked.)

On Instagram, I only follow positive feeds. Every single time I open the app, I’m met with sweet dog pictures and wonderful photography. It’s delightful—so much so that I thought you’d like to learn about some of these lovely Insta-folks.

So, in no particular order, for your viewing pleasure, are my favorite Instagram accounts.

  • https://www.instagram.com/emmamweiss/
    My niece Emma Weiss is a wedding photographer in the DC area and her pictures are amazing! (This, by the way, is an objective opinion.) Currently, her feed is loaded with pics from Italy as she is there for a summer study program. She really has a unique way of seeing the world and her pictures display sights I would otherwise miss.
  • https://www.instagram.com/henrythecoloradodog/
    I stumbled upon this feed recently and just love it! It chronicles the adventures of Henry the dog and his buddy Baloo the cat, as they travel the world together. A glimpse into the awesomeness: Baloo frequently rides along on Henry’s head. Precious.
  • https://www.instagram.com/kimiko_nishimoto/
    This 89-year-old Japanese grandmother discovered an interest in photography when she was 72 and enrolled in a local photography class. One assignment required students to create self-portraits. Wanting to do something fun and interesting, Kimiko Nishimoto experimented with whimsical settings, props, and even costumes. The results have brought her international attention and 120,000 followers on Instagram. Even if you don’t use Instagram, click on the above link to see her fantastic work.
  • https://www.instagram.com/travelingbabyjesus/
    I’m one of only a few Instagram users who follows this gem. (It’s terribly sad that travelingbabyjesus has fewer followers than I do. That’s just wrong.) Becky Ramsey is the photographer who, according to her profile, is “Exploring the world . . . looking for weird places we find God.” Spoiler alert: Jesus is, like, EVERYwhere.
  • https://www.instagram.com/ellie_belly_beagle/
    Just a very cute beagle from down under—one of many beagle sites I follow. I offer this one because she posts frequently and possibly because little Ellie looks a lot like our Isabella.
  • https://www.instagram.com/nate_sales/
    I’m fairly certain that a sonogram of the pre-born Nathan Sales would show him holding a camera in his little fetus hands, snapping a photo of the technician. I mean, I could be wrong; but he certainly takes pictures as if he was born to be a photographer. Scroll through his Instagram feed and you’ll see what I mean. And yes, he took ALL of those. Some will make you think you are looking at professional advertisements. Nope. Just Nathan doing his thing.

Want to see who else I follow? Just visit my account at www.instagram.com/aileengoeson. How about you? Which Instagram users brighten your world?

5 reasons why I've not posted in 4 months

Four months. It’s a record. Yep, four months is officially the longest time between aileengoeson blogposts. It's true: since I started blogging 10 years ago, I have posted at least once a month. (Okay, occasionally two months might have slipped passed, but rarely.) So, if you’re still here, thank you! I appreciate you reading my musings; I know you could be doing other things, and it means a lot to me that you choose to hang out here with me.

Anyway, I figure you might want an explanation for why I’ve been away so long. Here’s what has been happening.

  • Last fall, I returned to Gardner-Webb University to pursue my Doctor of Ministry. I’ve completed the first year and have learned that doctorate level courses are in fact more demanding than those at the master’s level which are—coincidentally—more work than undergraduate courses. (I’m quick like that.) Anyway, the course I took in the Spring ended in April and I lost count of the number of hours I poured into it—most of those writing. Made this pre-doc slightly less motivated to write anything for fun.
    watching andy griffith in the hospital

    To combat hospital boredom, we played old Andy Griffith reruns on my ipad for my father-in-law. It was kick-your-feet up funny.

  • You may remember my father-in-law suffered a heart attack and had bypass surgery earlier this year. That was followed by an extensive hospital stay and included a detour over to ICU for my mother-in-law. Thanks be to God, t
    summer study abroad

    And there she goes, off to Italy for five weeks of intense "study."

    hey are both doing much better now, and we are grateful. Between then and now, though, there was not a lot of head space for creative writing.

  • Back in March of 2017, my son became engaged to his long-time girlfriend. They set the date 14 months later: May 19, 2018. (Math fact: 14 months equals approximately 14 seconds in wedding planning time.) There were details piled all up on top of each other—many of which could not be handled more than a month or so in advance. Blog writing, therefore, got pushed way down the priority list.
    veggietales mother groom dance

    For our special dance, my son and I performed an interpretive dance to the Veggietales classic, "Where is My Hairbrush." "Poignant" does not come close to describing it.

  • Also, my son graduated from college. Did I already say that? Yeah, that happened on May 4. Our NYC daughter flew in for the ceremony in Greensboro, NC and our younger daughter zipped over from Raleigh. Both girls scooted back to their respective colleges to finish up the semester and get back for wedding festivities. Between the graduation and the wedding, younger daughter moved out of her college dorm and back home. She had four days before the wedding to run errands and pack for her summer session in Italy; she boarded her plane Tuesday, May 22.
  • During the wedding week, we (of course) had lots of company in and out. Our out-of-town family began arriving on Tuesday and were here through Sunday or Monday. We LOVED it; we are so very grateful for the sacrifices so many folks made to be a part of this milestone in our lives. Savoring those precious days, I let the blog wait.

I have several pieces started to share with you in the next week or two, so stay with me. I promise I’ll be back sooner rather than later. And thanks again for reading. Almost nothing thrills me more than the words, “I love your blog!”

Mitch Graduation 2017

Graduation ceremonies: why being there matters

Allie 2017The 2018 graduation season has begun! I love getting the announcements from young adults who have followed dreams and reached new heights. So far, I've attended one ceremony and plan to go to at least two more. I'll make eye contact with my graduate, standing on tiptoe and making a fuss; I'll read all the names; I'll pay attention. When it's done, I'll weave through the masses, give quick hugs and high-fives, and then I'll make my way to my car to wait for the traffic to clear. And it will be worth it. In this post, a re-run from 2017, I explain why.

The 2017 graduation season has been an eventful one for the Lawrimore family and friends. First to turn the tassel this year was our soon-to-be daughter-in-law who received her undergrad degree from UNC. As for high school, we have two nephews, one niece, and our daughter’s boyfriend graduating.

It’s a big year. And I won’t make it to all of the ceremonies (two happen at the same time on the same day), but I’ll do my best to get to most. Those graduates who I don’t get to see in person will know I wanted to be a part of their day. They will know I am not casually dismissing this moment in their lives.

Now, I love graduation ceremonies. I don’t even mind bad ones. Wait. That’s not exactly true. There is one exception: a 2016 graduation ceremony Jake graduation 2016I attended at a “Christian” school was so offensive that it required every iota of self-restraint I possess to keep from opening up a great big can of Aunt Aileen all up in that place. To be fair, I was already ticked off at the school because I felt they had done an awful job of educating my beloved nephew. As a whole, they missed the blessing of his uniqueness, his gifts, his potential. (If I’m completely honest, I’d concede that a good bit of Aunt Aileen had already been spilled in these judgmental halls that, by their infinite ineptitude and unmerciful demeanor, had in essence been using the name of God in vain. But I digress.) Anyway, the graduation for less than 40 students lasted for over two hours. Not much fun for Angry Aileen.

Still, I’m glad I went. In fact, I would do it all again to be there when my nephew graduated. Totally, completely worth it.

georgetown university 2016In general, though, I love the pomp and circumstance of graduation. I love the academic regalia of the faculty, the students in caps and gowns, the formal presentations. But even if I couldn’t stand that stuff, I would attend graduations. You see, I believe that it is positively irrelevant whether or not I enjoy the graduation ceremony. On that day, at that moment, it’s not about me; it’s about the graduates.

Let’s say I’m attending a graduation and I don’t like the speaker. Or the music. Or even the institution where the ceremony is held. Maybe it’s the experience that is unpleasant. The seats are uncomfortable; it’s too hot, too cold, too dry, too wet; or the ceremony is way too long and if someone had just thought this through, for goodness sakes, we could have been done a long time ago.

It doesn’t matter. Here’s what matters: it matters that I’m there. And it matters that you’re there too.

UNC Addison 2017By attending graduation, you are saying a number of things. First, you are telling your beloved that you care about transitions. High school graduation is the first major transition for these kids since they left home for kindergarten. It’s a big, big deal. By being there at the moment of transition, you are saying to the student, “You are not making this change alone. You, graduate, are not being thrown out of school, into a black hole of uncertainty all by yourself. I am right here with you.”

Secondly, you are telling the graduate that you will be there for endings, not just beginnings. You will be saying to them, “You know how you are concerned that the friendships you’ve made over these last years will end? Know this: your relationship with me? It is forever. I will still be your sister, brother, uncle, aunt. I will still be your mother, your mentor, your lifelong friend. I know it feels like everything familiar is ending. But I’m not. I’m here. I will always be here.”

ACRHS Graduation 2014Thirdly, you are saying, “Your celebrations are my celebrations. When you succeed, I delight.” Sure, these graduates will have other—probably (hopefully) more significant—accomplishments over the course of their lives. Celebrate those too. But graduation offers a unique opportunity to celebrate the completion of an extended task. Finishing that which we have begun is an important habit to develop and maintain. By attending graduation, you are saying, “Finishing things matters. This is a big deal.”

Finally, you are saying to your graduate that inconvenience will never be your primary concern when it comes to milestone moments in that student’s life. So what if you had to drive all night to get there? Who cares if the experience isn’t exactly pleasant? You are there to witness three things: the processional, the graduate’s walk across the stage, and the recessional. Everything else is just extra.

It’s true: I love graduations. But I love the graduates more. So I’ll be there in the audience, watching for my graduate. And when I make eye contact with my beloved, I hope the message is clear: “You matter to me and I will always be here for you. Always.”

Joanna and Aileen

Thank you #20: to my wife

A couple of years ago, I started a Thank You note series. The (lofty and unrealistic for me) goal was that I would write one a week for 50 weeks. Alas, the last one I published in the series came out in September of 2016. I never really quit the series; just got busy writing other things. I'm reviving it for this post--the story of someone whose name topped the list when I started this project.

Joanna and AileenHave you ever heard the one about how I met my wife? I mean, our union was in no way official because (1) it was illegal back then and (2) we are both happily married to our husbands. But still, she’s the only wife I’ve ever had. This is our story.

It was the first week of November 1998, the end of a very long six months. Jay had started working in Asheville, NC in early May that year; I stayed back in Sanford, NC with our three kids: ages 3 months, 2 years, and not-quite-4 years. The plan was that our Sanford house would sell quickly and we would find an affordable home in Asheville within a month or so. Yep, that was the plan. In reality, it took approximately forever to sell the house; by October, we gave up and rented it so we could close on our house in Asheville.

My memory places our first meeting simultaneous with the moving van’s exit. “I’m Joanna! I live across the street,” she said when I answered the door. “I was so excited when I saw you unloading toys; I think our kids are about the same age!” She was right. As it turns out, her oldest, a girl, is a month younger than my oldest daughter; her son is a month younger than mine.

She was a stay-at-home mom, working part-time, despite having advanced degrees that qualified her for a professional career; same here. There were other similarities—crazy coincidences we learned as we got to know each other. For example, she knew and loved sign language; I’d been raised around deaf children and had communicated with them fluently back in the day. I’d been gleefully addicted to Diet Mountain Dew since its inception; Joanna too. Like me, Joanna graduated from her high school in 1983.

“So where did you go to high school?” I asked her.

“A tiny little private school in Wilmington, NC,” she said. “You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“It wasn’t Cape Fear Academy was it?” It was the only school I knew of that fit the description.

“Um, YES! How did you guess?”

“Oh my gosh you are kidding! Jay moved to Wilmington in the 11th grade and actually graduated from Cape Fear Academy in 1981!”

Our families shared Super Bowl Sundays, birthday parties, trick-or-treating, Easter Egg Hunts, and always snow days. Oh man, snow days were the best. I recall those days in full color, punctuated with squeals and laughter and sweetened by the smell of fresh baked cookies and steaming hot chocolate. The four big kids--Margaret always thought of “Nana” as her personal playmate—raced out to our backyard hill, streaking down then trudging up to do it all over again and again until they were soaking wet or completely exhausted or both.

Our friendship formed over Power Rangers™ and Powerpuff Girls™, Legos™ and Polly Pockets™, PTO meetings and summer vacation. We talked about parenting and marriage, friendship and family, and where to find the best prices on dinosaur egg instant oatmeal. When it was time for our girls to go to kindergarten, we were delighted that they were in the same class. Two years later, our sons started school—together in that very same room.

“It’s like having a wife!” we often said, appreciating the convenience of having someone to pick up a gallon of milk or drop off library books, watch the kids for just a minute or pick them up from school. But Joanna was much more than a partner in the monotony. When three-year-old Margaret, diagnosed with both the flu and pneumonia, was so terrifyingly ill that I could barely see beyond her rising temperature, Joanna was there. When little grade school Baker experienced yet another classmate making fun of his impeded speech, Joanna’s rage matched my own. When Jay and I rushed 8-year-old Trellace to the emergency room late one night, and during all the days after when she was hospitalized for peritonitis following her appendectomy, Joanna seamlessly filled in the gaps.

For a little more than five years, Joanna and her family lived across the street from us. I have to keep recounting that number because I just can’t believe it was only five years. (Of course, that’s just chronological time; it has never been all that reliable in tracking memories.)

So, here’s to Joanna, my across-the-street wife and one of God’s most extravagant gifts to me. I will forever be grateful for this extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime friendship that has made me a better me.

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Bypass surgery and the real work of the heart

On Tuesday, January 23, 2018, my father-in-law, JB Lawrimore, suffered a heart attack; a week later, he had bypass surgery. The operation was a success and the doctors expect him to have a complete recovery, thanks be to God.

Having a remarkably shallow threshold for ick, I (intentionally) never gave much thought to how this procedure was accomplished. Thus, I was shocked when my husband informed me the night before surgery.

December 2010 Me and my father-in-law, JB Lawrimore

“They have to stop his heart to do the surgery,” my husband told me. “They will reroute Dad’s blood through a machine that will do the work of his heart.”

Say what now? A machine? You’re telling me a machine is going to take over for my father-in-law’s heart? Nope. No way. There is no manmade contraption that could handle that job. Oh, maybe a machine could pump blood through JB’s body; I get that. But the real work of my father-in-law’s heart? That job is much more than simple mechanics.

For example, how would that machine respond if it detected the voices of Barney and Andy quibbling over the rampant crime in Mayberry? JB’s real heart manufactures a deep belly laugh that crinkles his eyes, scrunches up his nose, and arrests any conversation previously in process. That same laugh might bubble up at any time, like when he’s sharing an anecdote from his childhood or one from just last week. Spontaneous, but also predictable, JB’s infectious laugh spreads through a group like a hysterical virus. Trust me: there is nothing mechanical about it.

Plus, a machine would have long ago shut down the nonessential milk bone operation that JB’s heart kicks off every time he drives up his driveway. His truck’s approach triggers the barking dog next door who immediately runs to the the designated meeting place by the fence. She waits as JB reaches into his hiding place and pulls out a treat. “Hey there girl,” he says, “Do you need a bone?” Instantly, that fussy old mutt morphs into pure sweetness as JB hands her the milk bone and scratches behind her ears. “There you go. That’s a good girl.”

Also, I have to wonder if this is a brand-new machine. If it is, it won’t have what it takes to do the job of JB’s heart. See, his heart shows evidence of extensive use. It’s been stretched significantly five times (grandchildren will do that to a heart), but it’s been broken too. Indeed, his life has been a beautiful one, but not one without his share of grief and pain, disappointment and loss. He’s outlived his parents—which he expected, no doubt—but he outlived his youngest brother too. Losing a brother who was closer to his son’s age than his own . . . if his heart had been manmade, it would surely have shattered.

1997 JB Lawrimore with his oldest grandson, Baker Lawrimore

And what about the lights in this device? It will need some with maximum luminosity that won’t dim over time. See JB’s heart shines for lots of things—the first shoots of new growth in his garden, a prayer of thanksgiving, the music of the church—but there’s nothing quite like the Granddaddy Glow his heart has emitted for the past two and a half decades. As each new life joined the family, JB’s heart light found a new height of brilliance. And yet, inexplicably, as JB’s five favorites have grown beyond cradles and playgrounds, to marriage and careers, his heart appears warmer and brighter with the passage of time. It’s a self-sustaining, never-fading illumination of abiding love. That kind of light—well it’s just not something humanity can manufacture.

I know this: no matter how advanced medical science becomes, there will never be a mere machine that can do the job of JB Lawrimore’s heart. But, I sure am grateful for that fancy contraption—and the skilled medical professionals who operate it—that kept it pumping though his surgery. As a result, JB’s heart can keep right on working for many years to come. To God be the glory!

ordination

December 2010 My ordination service--JB giving me his blessing.

golden love grandparents

Love, Grandmama: A letter about lasting love

On June 10, 1925, before God and the witnesses present, Mabel Louise Cobb, 20, and Jesse D. Martin, 23, promised to love and cherish each other as long as they both should live. And that’s what they did. For better, for worse, from Georgia to Cuba to Brazil and back to Georgia again; in sickness and in health and through the darkness of dementia. They loved (three boys and two girls; 11 grandchildren) and they lost (their oldest daughter in 1961: she was only 33 years old. . .).

By 1989, when Granddaddy’s death parted them, my grandparents had been married for 64 years. Oh, how they loved each other! Ten years earlier, reflecting on 54 years of marriage, Grandmama (then 74) wrote to my parents who had been married for 19 years at the time, and had three children of their own. She thanks them for the anniversary card they had sent and proceeds to describe what marriage in the golden years was like for them. Here is what she said.

golden love grandparentsWe do feel most blessed to be as well as we are at our age. And to be as thoughtful and considerate of each other, but as the years go by, one learns that there’s much more to love than meets the eye when we start out our marriages. True love calls for lots of giving and taking. We have to learn to realize we aren’t always right. Even after as many years as you two have been married, there’s still things you probably don’t realize will draw you closer as years continue to pass until finally you become so close you can’t imagine life without one another. It’s a glorious feeling to know that there’s one who loves you and wants never to have to give you up, yet we have to realize any time after we get our age that God could call either of us any day. So, you must live each day for each other and thank Him so much for another day together.

My Grandmama wrote that in 1979, back when people worried about gas prices and the cost of long distance phone calls, and when computers were housed in large buildings rather than back pockets. But the wisdom she shares is truly timeless. When Mother uncovered this letter recently, she said to me, “It’s amazing how her letter perfectly describes how your daddy and I feel about our marriage.” (Mother and Daddy got married in 1960 and just celebrated their 57th anniversary.) Every morning, my parents have breakfast together and share a time of prayer. Every prayer begins like this, “Thank you God for the gift of a new day.”

Today is the 113th anniversary of Grandmama’s birth. There are lots of things about Grandmama that I could celebrate—her love of the color purple (my favorite too); her delicious homemade biscuits; her hearty, full-body laugh. But today I think I will celebrate by trying to apply Grandmama’s words, not just to my 30-year marriage, but to all my relationships. I will try to be thoughtful and considerate, to remember I’m not always right, and to thank God for the gift of a new day. I hope you’ll celebrate with me!

rabbi ben ezra

30 Years and Counting (Blessings)

I was 22; he was just barely 24. We started dating when we were students at Campbell University and two and a half years later we said our vows. How thirty years have slipped away since that day, I could not tell you. But boy, have we made a lot of memories since then. Here, in celebration of our 30th anniversary last November, are just a sample of them.

  1. We married in North Myrtle Beach, SC on a rainy Friday--November 27, 1987--and by Sunday I had moved into Jay’s apartment in Panama City, Florida. He was stationed at Tyndall Air Force Base at the time. Within the next few weeks, I invited Linda Reiman and Janet Elmore—also newly married to 2nd Lieutenants—over for lunch. A chance to make friends AND use my brand-new Christmas china: win, win! I don’t remember the full menu, but I do remember the desert: homemade peppermint ice cream. I still have the recipe. AND I remember Linda and Janet, two women who made my transition into the foreign world of military life so much easier.
  2. We moved to Oklahoma in January 1988; Jay would be stationed at Tinker Air Force Base in Midwest City, Oklahoma. The drive to Oklahoma from Florida—in two cars, before the days of cellphones—was interminable and not just because of the distance. We crossed into Oklahoma during an ice storm that slowed traffic to an excruciatingly slow and dangerous crawl. Luckily, it did not turn out to be any kind of omen. We absolutely loved living in Oklahoma.
  3. Jay went to survival school soon after we moved to Oklahoma—March as I recall. It was the first time I had stayed alone in our apartment overnight, and I was terrified. Don’t know why I was so convinced that I was the one who would not survive those few weeks—after all, it was Jay who was experiencing a prisoner of war simulation . . ..
  4. After about six months of looking and visiting, we joined First Baptist Church of Oklahoma City, the first church we belonged to as a married couple. Seven years later, the sanctuary’s 100+ year old windows were blown out by the explosion orchestrated by homegrown terrorist Timothy McVeigh at the nearby Alfred P. Murrah federal building. That day, 168 people died and 680 more were injured. (Back then, we thought it would be the most tragic event of its kind in our lifetime.)
  5. In the Sunday school class for young couples at FBCOKC, we met a couple who married just five months before we did—Vic and Debbie Averitt. The first time Vic and Debbie invited us to join them for lunch after church, we accepted but we were so nervous! At the time, we were 22 and 24, lived in a just-barely-average two-bedroom apartment, and I was unemployed. Debbie and Vic were in their thirties, owned a beautiful home, and were established in successful careers. What kind of restaurant would such affluent, mature people choose? “I hope this place takes credit cards,” Jay said as we walked to our 1985 Chevrolet Cavalier and they headed over to their Volvo. “I don’t have much cash!” We followed Debbie and Vic to the fine establishment they had chosen: the local version of today’s IHOP. (We didn’t need the credit card.)
  6. Another young couple—fresh grads of Oklahoma State University—joined First Baptist OKC a few months later: Ken and Kimberlee Spady. Ken was beginning his career in agricultural science and Kimberlee studied law at OKC University. Kimberlee’s easy laugh and vivacious personality paired perfectly with Ken’s quiet strength and steady presence. In my memory, our friendship formed instantaneously.
  7. As soon as housing became available at Tinker Air Force Base—around 1990—Jay and I moved from our place at Lakeview Apartments in Northwest OKC, to a three-bedroom house on base. It felt huge! To me, living on base seemed a lot like college life. Everyone was about the same age (not quite adults, but on our way), we shared some communal spaces (officer’s club, BX, etc.), and we had few pressing responsibilities (no mortgages, for example). I loved it.
  8. Jay took up biking in Oklahoma and would go for extended rides of 50-75 miles. Soon, he was participating in triathlons and biathlons around Oklahoma, giving us a great opportunity to see some remote parts of the state. This will surprise all of you readers, but I played the role of spectator, not participant. (You’re shocked, I know.)
  9. After a couple of employment flops, I got a job in Chickasha as a recruiter for the University of Science and Arts of Oklahoma, “Oklahoma’s ONLY public liberal arts university. Gooooo Drovers!” USAO was a great place to work. The only problem? Chickasha was a 55-minute drive from Midwest City. It got old. Fast.
  10. In 1990, Jay took his first leisure trip to that popular vacation spot known for attracting (or is that attacking?) international tourists. Yep, Jay and hundreds of his closest friends received an all-expenses paid trip to not-terribly-beautiful Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
  11. In November of 1991, you may have noticed that the world was suddenly vastly improved. That would have been when our niece Rachel Elizabeth Webster (now Breckenridge) was born. We met her that December when she was still small enough to fit comfortably in my two hands. My palms still tingle at the memory.
  12. That 55-minute drive I mentioned? It drove me to resign from USAO so I could go back to school and complete my degree before Jay got out of the Air Force in 1992. I finished my MEd at the University of Central Oklahoma in July of 1992, just before we moved back east where Jay would go to NC State for his Master’s in Atmospheric Sciences which he completed in 1994.
  13. In August of 1992, we moved to a tiny apartment (exactly the size of a two-car garage) with a huge monthly rent (and still the cheapest we could find) in Cary, NC. That apartment . . . oh my. It was underneath a large home in a nice neighborhood (as garages so often are). The couple, smiling at each other with pride, told us they had renovated the space themselves. (This explained the mismatched paint, uneven molding, and the lovely rooster motif.) I am certain that the apartment had some insulation. I mean, surely the original builders included a layer above the garage, right? Anyway, we could neither cool the place in the summer nor heat it in the winter. What an adventure!
  14. We bought our first house in Sanford, NC in 1993. Painted pale yellow with black shutters, it had a front porch—swing added—and a big yard. One teensy little drawback—our yard backed up to an elementary school. (I could hear the tardy bell from my kitchen.) Still, it was my favorite house and if it were twice as big and in Asheville, I’d live in it today.
  15. Our three children were all born in the same room at Central Carolina Hospital in Sanford, NC. (Not, however, at the same time.) Trellace, born in 1994, was 3 ½ and Baker was not quite 2 when Margaret joined the family in February of 1998.
  16. For about six years, I worked at Central Carolina Community College. My first supervisor at CCCC was Dr. Matt Garrett. He and his wife Becky had three teens (or almost teens) at the time. We learned so much from the Garretts about so many things: leadership, marriage, parenting, faith, and so much more. Of the many gifts we were given during our time in Sanford, NC, the Garrett family is one of our favorites.
  17. Keisha McLeod Petty and I also worked together at CCCC; having her as a co-worker for those six years is another of God’s gifts to me and my family. The kids grew up knowing and loving her and her husband Jeffrey Petty. A lot has changed for Keisha and Jeff since we moved from Sanford. Through it all, they have become even more beautiful and an even greater example for my family of abiding faith and enduring love.
  18. While in Sanford, Jay and I belonged to First Baptist Church (a recurring association, you’ll notice). We made many great friends there, among them Mark and Traci Willis. We have maintained our friendship with Mark and Traci, raising our families and navigating the complexities of life together. Yet another Sanford blessing!
  19. In May of 1998, Jay left his position with the State of North Carolina to accept a position with the National Climatic Data Center (now National Centers for Environmental Information) in Asheville, NC. From May until October of that year, Jay commuted to Asheville from Sanford. He lived in Asheville Monday through Thursday and spent the long weekend at home in Sanford. That went on for six extra-long months.
  20. We bought our third house in October 1998: 24 Cedar Trail in Asheville. (We’d sold the little yellow one and bought a size larger while we were in Sanford.) Margaret was just shy of nine months old; Baker was 2½ and Trellace was 4½. Our address falls in the A.C.Reynolds/Oakley school district, so approximately five minutes after we moved to Asheville, all three of our kids were attending Oakley Elementary, then ACR Middle, then graduating from ACRHS.
  21. In the fall of 2003, Baker and Trellace both made their professions of faith and were baptized by their Papa, my dad. Margaret was baptized in 2013, also by Papa. Beautiful.
  22. Remember that great trip Jay took back in 1990? It was so much fun that 14 years later he went back to the region for a second vaycay (that time to Tikrit, Iraq as part of the NC Air National Guard). Just before he left, our family joined—you guessed it—First Baptist Church of Asheville.
  23. From 1991 to 2003, our 12 (biological and otherwise) nieces and nephews entered the world. We have seven boys ages 26 to 14 (Cameron, Lane, Jake, Mitch, Connor, Cage, and Banks) and five girls ages 26 to 15 (Rachel, Emma, Meredith, Allie, and Anna Kate). They are all such wonderful people and we are privileged to share their lives.
    While today, all of our nieces and nephews are healthy, their birth stories are not all uneventful:
  • Meredith Averitt, born in 1995 at 25.5 weeks, weighed 1 pound 12 ounces and was about 12 inches long at birth. Her life hung in the balance for months; her identical twin had slipped past earth and gone straight on to heaven. Meredith’s survival, her vitality, brings me to my knees with gratitude.
  • Emma and Mitch Weiss (born 1997 and 1999), both had health concerns at birth due to my sister’s obstetric cholestasis—a liver disease that causes multiple problems, most predominantly chronic and insatiable itching. We could have lost any one of them. It was a harrowing time.
  • From day one, Anna Kate Willis’ gregarious personality and can-do attitude assured all of us that she would triumph over the medical limitations inherent in her cerebral palsy diagnosis.  Through multiple surgeries (we love Shriner’s Hospitals!) and countless therapy sessions, Anna Kate has maintained her strong will and indomitable spirit; at 15 years old, she is strong and independent—spending as much time as possible riding her horse, Houdini. Nieces and nephews: one of our life’s most delightful surprises.
  1. I thought it was cute, certainly nothing upsetting. So, when I was told that almost-3-year-old Baker might have a developmental speech disorder, I thought it was nonsense. I had him professionally evaluated, though, and then reluctantly consented to having him enter speech therapy after his third birthday. I learned that while there are plenty of appropriate developmental speech patterns, Baker’s did not fall within that range. For example, he called Trellace, “Hada” and when he said words that started with “s,” an “f” sound came out (“soft” sounded like “fof”.) Anyway, he had great therapists and after six years, he graduated from the program at 9 years old. (Seeing as now he pretty much uses his voice to make money, I’d say the treatment was effective.)
    Many adorable stories feature Baker’s unusual speech. Here’s one of the favorites. We were at the allergist’s office and had been there for some time. (Both Baker and Margaret had appointments; Trellace was along for the ride.) By the time we left, the kids were tired and hungry. As I was checking out, the clerk offered the children a sweet treat for good behavior. Baker didn’t hesitate to accept, responding loudly with great enthusiasm, “I want a GREEN sucker!” At least, that’s what he meant to say . . ..
  2. When Trellace was 8 years old, she got a bit of a tummy ache which turned out to be appendicitis—a diagnosis that occurred sometime after the appendix ruptured, shortly before the surgery to remove it. Peritonitis, as it turns out, is nasty business. Because of the superb medical care at Mission Hospital, Trellace got better just in time for us to go on our annual trip to The Woodlands, TX to spend Thanksgiving with the Averitt family—a tradition that we kept up for more than a decade.
  3. I had just finished teaching a fitness class and the kids were waiting for me there in the studio at the YMCA when it happened. Suddenly, Margaret began crying out in pain, describing the symptoms of a classic migraine; she was six years old. By that time, she had grappled with asthma for two years. Thanks to modern medicine for quality pharmaceuticals and to chiropractic care for healing adjustments, Margaret keeps both in check these days. Never a pushover, Margaret wasn’t about to let a little bit of neurological distress and respiratory dysfunction slow her down.
  4. This next story spans most of our 30 years of marriage, so allow me to truncate: when I was 42, in January of 2008, I returned to college for the third time, this time to Gardner-Webb University to pursue my Master’s of Divinity. I graduated in December 2010. In Fall 2017, I headed back to Boiling Springs, NC to begin my Doctorate of Ministry which I’ll finish in 2020.
  5. One weekend in the fall of 2011, I was out of town for a speaking engagement. Jay called me to tell me that Baker had gone to the school’s homecoming dance with a girl I had never met. (An aside: apparently my husband had never met ME seeing as he mentioned this casually and in passing. This was Baker’s FIRST date!) A few weeks later, they made it “Facebook official.” That Facebook status didn’t change until March 2017 when Addison Cook said YES to becoming a Lawrimore. (On May 19, 2018, they’ll change their status once more to “married.”)
  6. Our nest emptied out in the fall of 2016 when Margaret went to NC State, following her brother who had gone to UNC Greensboro and her sister who graduated that same year from Georgetown University. As of now, Margaret is a sophomore, Baker is a senior, and Trellace is in the PhD program at New York University.
  7. Both of our sets of parents have passed their 50th Mine are at 57; Jay’s just celebrated their 60th. Despite their share of health complications, all four continue to thrive, a fact that we never take for granted. Jay’s sister Jill and her husband Ted will be married 30 years in January; Aileen’s sister Dawn and her husband Mike are up to 27 years; Hal, Aileen’s brother, and his wife Kim had their 26th anniversary this past December. Add all that up and you’ve got about 200 years of marriage. Makes our 30 seem like just a short chapter in a really long and beautiful love story. We are grateful.

Black and White, Just Alike

One of my all-time favorite stories (at the end of this post) and worth a re-run. 

Before I moved to North Myrtle Beach, SC in my junior year of high school, I lived in Goldsboro, NC. Back in the 1980’s when I was a student there, Goldsboro High School lacked diversity. Everyone there looked alike—at least to the few of us who were of the paler variety. Evidently we white folk couldn’t differentiate between the colors of mocha, caramel, and dark chocolate. I guess we couldn’t tell the difference in hair texture, color, and style either. And, perhaps we didn’t notice the zillions of variances in facial features, body structure, height, weight, and so on. We were, after all adolescents, and by nature not that discerning. Anyway, I don’t know the ethnic percentages at GHS, I just remember that when we saw white faces, we waved; they were probably our relatives.

When I lived in Goldsboro, I was blessed: African-American role models were the norm for me. My favorite teachers, Mrs. Delaney and Mrs. Hayes, were strong African-American women; our principal, Mr. Best remains the standard by which I judge all school administrators. He is an enormous man in my memory. “His biceps are the size of our football players’ quadriceps,” we often quipped. But it was his presence, not his size, which looms large in my recall: how he commanded the boisterous hallways by striding silently along, nodding at students, calling them by name. He died young, a loss to the community and to the world.

seymour johnson afb

Goldsboro is an Air Force town; race boundaries blurred early there. So, if I’d get off the bus to find my mother was not yet home, I’d go to the home of the African-American couple the Hightowers. Mr. Hightower had retired from the Air Force and was always home during the day, usually tending the roses in his yard. I spent many afternoons there learning about the delicate flowers he loved so well.

The Hightowers lived on one side of us in a house about the size of ours. On the other side was a house twice as big and parked out front was the son’s BMW. This family was also African-American. Sometimes I caught a ride from school with Darryl, who didn’t have to ride the bus since, well, he had the BMW and all.

Recently, chatting with a friend who coaches girls’ basketball, I got a chuckle when she told me about something her nearly-all-white team experienced. They were playing at a school that must have been something like Goldsboro High School was back in the 80’s because most of the students at the rival school were African-American. My friend’s team was not bothered by the circumstance, played a good game, and headed to the locker room. On the way, they passed a few middle-aged men from the rival school and my friend over heard a bit of their dialog. Observing the pasty skinned opponents, the men shook their heads and commented quietly to each other, “Man, look at those girls. They all look alike!"

"Red and yellow, black and white,
they are precious in his sight,
Jesus loves the little children of the world!"