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.
  

  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
  

  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.
  

  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!”

Graduation ceremonies: why being there matters

The 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 I 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.

In 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.

By 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.”

Thirdly, 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.”

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.

Have 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 11^th 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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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.

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!"

From Despair to Hope Sans Seraphim

Published originally February 2009

"In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.’ " Isaiah 6:1-3

“In the year King Uzziah died. . .” Remember the year? It was an awful year. For the people of Judea, it was the year King Uzziah died. King Uzziah had been such a great king. During his reign, they were prosperous and peace ruled in their land. But when he died—well it felt like all hope died with him.

What year was it for you?
“In the year the shuttle crashed. . .
“In the year of September 11. . .
“In the year of the Virginia Tech Tragedy. . .
Or is it more personal?
“In the year my mother/father/sister/brother died. . .”
“In the year of my divorce. . .”
“In the year my favorite teacher died. . .”

It’s the year hope dies. The year that what was, is no more. It’s the watershed moment: when everything before and after is defined by that moment. Everyone get’s it when you say it. They nod, knowingly, as if to say, “Oh, that year. Yeah. That was awful.”

“In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the LORD sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.”

I wonder what Isaiah was thinking when he went into the temple. Was he thinking, “I’m so great—righteous really—that I will lead the wretched ones out of their despair into God’s Glory. (amen)” That is, was he full of himself? Or. . .was he empty? Did he go to the temple thinking, “I’m not up for this. My hope is gone. How can I lead the people of God into his glory?”

We can’t know what he was feeling, but we know this: Isaiah went to the temple. Last Tuesday, I arrived at the divinity school to find out one of our professors, a man younger than I, had died. Soon after I learned of his death, I heard we would be having a chapel service in a few hours.

It was a terrible day. It was like the year the shuttle crashed. It was like September 11th. I felt shock, confusion, grief. It was that day. You know the one?

Like Isaiah went to the temple, I went to the chapel. By grace, I was not met by the fearsome vision that Isaiah beheld. But I did see God there. I saw God in the tear stained faces of my godly professors, struggling as we were to make sense of this tragedy. I saw God in the hunched forms of students, embraced by other students. I heard God in the stories, the testimonies, the music. God filled up that chapel last Tuesday.

In the year king Uzziah died, Isaiah went to the temple. And despite his despair, Isaiah saw God there. But Isaiah did not stop with that one visit to the temple. Isaiah kept going back. Sometimes, he surely felt the full presence of God’s glory. Sometimes, though, I bet he came away with little more than a meal plan for the upcoming week. Still, he kept going back to the temple, going back to worship. And somehow, I’d say miraculously, he found his way out of the darkness of grief; he found his way back to hope.

An Advent Devotion: Joy Comes Home

An Advent message from the prophet Zephaniah

"Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! . . .At that time I will bring you home, at the time when I gather you; for I will make you renowned and praised among all the peoples of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes, says the Lord."  

                                                                                                  Zep 3:14, 20 NRSV

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!"

Twenty voices sang to the little guest of honor enthroned in her high chair. Anna Kate, celebrating her second birthday, celebrated her first in a very different place. Back then, she lay in a Russian orphanage awaiting her turn for nourishment and a little nurture as well.

"Happy Birthday Anna Kay-ate! Happy Birthday to you!"

Anna Kate beamed, looking around at all the people gathered just for her. A look of wonder filled her eyes as she said just one word, "Happy."

And in that moment, I beheld joy in the shape of a little girl. I got a snapshot, just a glimpse, of what it must have been like to see the face of Christ.

Christ had a second birthday too, you know. When Jesus was two years old and toddling about, do you think humanity realized the treasure in its midst? Of course Mary did, and Joseph. And surely other family members recognized that this baby was indeed extraordinary. But there must have been those who missed their chance to cradle joy incarnate in their arms. There must've been.

This advent season, we are called to embrace the coming of Christ. Don't miss your chance. Celebrate the joy of Christ today.

"Jesus, let us glimpse this day, joy incarnate. In the midst of our 21st century frenzy, slow us down that we might recognize your face, thereby experiencing the wonder of Advent."

Anna Kate and her family, 2014

Tempted to give advice? Don't.

Original Publication: July 31, 2012

“Oh, she’ll be fine!”  “She’ll love it there!”  “She is so ready for this new stage!” (And my personal favorite . . .) “Honey, it will be much worse on you than it will on her.”

True. Every single statement: absolutely true. In fact, because everyone knows these things are true, you will never need to say them to another mother whose child is going away to college. She already knows this stuff.  Trust me (more on this in a later post).

But NOT saying something can be so difficult can’t it?

For example, if someone has a stomach bug, it takes true restraint for me NOT to tell them to drink plenty of water. Everyone knows that gastrointestinal upset in the extreme can lead to dehydration. I know that everyone knows this. But I feel the urge to tell them, just in case they’ve been living under a rock.

Here’s another one. I’ve actually tried not to say this; I can’t do it. My kids leave this house, keys in their hands, and I’m going to say . . . (say it with me now) . . . “Drive carefully!” I can’t help myself.

There are more critical times than these though, when people seriously do not need our comments.

Like when my sister was pregnant. She had a highly uncommon obstetric liver disorder that caused her to itch constantly, from the inside out. It was miserable, plus it was life-threatening to her and to her baby. She finally got some relief from an internationally renowned specialist and both she and the baby managed just fine, but here’s the thing: long before any doctors knew what was causing her symptoms, complete strangers would come to her aid.

“Have you tried lanolin? That stuff is amazing!”

“No, go with cocoa butter. It’s better.”

“Girl you need to get yourself some hydrocortisone cream. That’ll take care of you.”

Naturally, she had tried all these things and dozens more before she got her diagnosis. She knew all that and was painfully tired of hearing such things. In fact, not only did she not need to hear their advice, she really needed not to talk about her maddening condition at all.

The truth is, people usually do not need us to correct, advise, counsel, or admonish them. They need only for us to be with them: completely—silently—with them.

 “They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him,  for they saw that his suffering was very great.”                                                                                          Job 2:13

4 ways to respond to bullies (shining the light on the roach)

Ever wished you knew how to respond to the bullies in your life? You know, those people who feel free to say things that hit us right where we are most vulnerable? A co-worker, a family member, a boss, a neighbor: whoever they are, their words catch you up short and leave you gagging for the right response. No more! Here are four ways to fend off the bully without becoming one yourself.

A little background: My mother grew up in South Georgia where, according to her, “the roaches grow as big as your thumb.” She says she would occasionally return to the kitchen for a late night snack or a glass of water. She’d switch on the light and too often she would spy one or more of those nasty monster roaches scurrying into cracks and crevices, hurrying out of sight.

When I learned about this phenomenon, I considered a parallel: like roaches, bullies spread nastiness with every flick of their tongues. I wondered: What kind of light could cause these humanesque roaches to skitter away? I came up with several.

• “That’s mean.” I know of grown men and women who still make jokes at the expense of others. It’s tempting to throw back a barb or two of our own, isn’t it? But, really, we don’t need to become roaches to defeat them. Just turn on the light by saying, “That’s mean.” If the person then continues to pick on you, repeat yourself. (Some roaches are nearsighted, and may need you to keep turning up the voltage on your light.)
• “Could you explain?” This light works particularly well on roaches who cloak their insults in false compliments. These roaches say things like, "You sure are brave to try college after the mess you made of high school." When someone says something like this to you, pull out your light and say, “Could you explain?” Continue to ask the question as long as you get an answer. Eventually, the roach will get frustrated and either escape to a darker place or say something outright nasty. If they do that, you say, “That’s mean.”
• “Why do you ask?” A twist on the "Could you explain?" tactic, this one works best when the roach asks an insulting or invasive question. Imagine hearing the question, “Honey, haven’t you put on a few extra pounds lately?” Shine the light on them by responding, “Why do you ask?” Then just listen as they explain themselves, more than likely realizing along the way that they just need to hush.
• Repeat the bully comment as a question. Roach still crawling around? Try this annoying trick: just repeat the comment back in the form of a question. Like this:
  • "You know you will never make any money with that major, right?"
    • "I won't make any money with this major?"
  • "No! No one makes a living with that degree."
    • "No one makes a living with this degree?"
  • "Of course not! There are no jobs for those graduates."
    • "So there are no jobs for those of us who graduate?"
      (Irritating isn't it? Probably even irritating enough to send a roach into hiding, don't you think?)

If the roach bully persists, do not give into the temptation to squash it. Violence: it's never good. Besides, if you allow yourself to crawl around on the level of the bully, you'll just get roachy yourself. Instead, stand firm and turn on all of your lights at once. The conversation might go like this:

Bully: "What is WRONG with you?"
Response: "Why do you ask?"

Bully: “You can't even understand English!"
Response: "You don't think I can understand English?

Bully: "Good grief! No one even likes you!"
Response: “Could you explain?

Bully: “You aren't just stupid, you're weird!"
Response: "Whoa, that's mean!"

Bully: "What is your problem?"
Response: "Why do you ask?"

(You get the point, right?)

Those are the ones I've found. What about you? What is your best response to a bully? Share in the comment section below!

52 of my favorites

It’s my 52^nd birthday. Here (in no particular order) are 52 of my favorites.

1. Nephews and nieces. I always knew I’d love having my own children, but nothing prepared me for the blessing of my nephews and nieces. The joy they bring to my life is an ongoing delight.
2. Rosa Parks. And Ruby Bridges. And Brown of Brown v. Board. And so many more. These women gave me the opportunity to have friends I could never have known without their courageous acts.
3. Carrot cake. As I recall, the first time I tasted it was when Mother was trying out a new recipe. I’ve loved it ever since. Especially with extra cream cheese frosting. The best! If you’re in Western North Carolina, you can get great carrot cake at My Father’s Pizza in Black Mountain and in Weaverville at Well-Bred. I mean, it’s not my Mother’s, but it’s worth the drive!
4. Diet Mountain Dew. (Don’t judge.)
5. My kids’ friends. Who knew that my kids’ besties would become friends of mine? What unexpected gifts.
6. Dinner on the deck. When we were kids, summer meant cookouts with friends and meals eaten outside. These days, as soon as it’s warm enough, my family eats on the deck. Food’s just better out there.
7. Jane Eyre. Best book ever.
8. Church. From Five Points Missionary Baptist Church (now Forest Hills) in Wilson, through First Baptist Church of Marion, to FBC Weaverville. I love church: I loved two-week long revivals (I went with Daddy if he preached out of town) and VBS that was also two weeks. Church is truly one of my favorite things. No kidding.
9. School. You might suggest I’ve over-educated myself. You’d be right.
10. 80’s hair. No seriously. The big hair styles of the 80’s? I totally rocked those.
11. This is Us. This TV show premiered in September 2016 and is, I’m not even kidding, my favorite television show ever. I love it.
12. Microphones. Especially when I’m holding one on stage and I have a huge audience before me.
13. Bob Newhart. He’s hilarious.
14. My parents' screened-in porch. Even more when homemade ice cream and great storytelling is involved.
15. Caswell Beach, NC. It is heaven on earth. I do not exaggerate.
16. Beagles. Loud as can be, but still my favorite breed.
17. Encyclopedias. I mean, not now. But in their day, encyclopedias mesmerized me. I loved reading our World Book 1971 set. So much information on one book shelf!
18. The library. Ahhh. My happy place.
19. Pop music. When I was in college, a professor told me that adults stop listening to pop music and gravitate towards classical, country, or oldies. I thought that was a sweeping generalization even then and it has not proven true for me. I listen to what my kids do. Well, more or less. I don’t listen to opera or organ music like my son, or bassoon sonatas like my daughter, but you get the point.
20. The NC mountains. Yeah, I know they aren’t the Rockies, but they are home.
21. Jimmy Carter. The guy is 92 and is still building houses. That is impressive enough, but he is also still teaching Sunday school! Fantastic!
22. Clementines. Oranges that are easy to peel=Perfection.
23. Zero Bars. I rarely eat them anymore, but they are the standard by which I measure all other candy bars.
24. Boat riding. Oh how I love riding in a fast boat! And
25. Water skiing. It’s a little like flying, a little like walking on water, and a whole lot of fun.
26. Queso. Liquid cheese=culinary delight.
27. Drinking straws. Especially the purple ones.
28. Purple. The best color of them all!
29. Porch swings. When I sit in a porch swing, I’m transported to the 1970’s and my grandparents’ house in Albany, Georgia where I listen to my cousin sing and play her guitar. Or I find myself in one of a dozen other special places that are marked by the presence of an inviting swing. Sweet.
30. Denzel Washington. I appreciate beauty; what can I say?
31. Ellen Degeneres. Every day, she reminds people to be kind to one another. What a wonderful world it would be . . ..
32. Tie Dye. My garment of choice is almost always something tie-dyed. Favorite tie-dye? Purple of course.
33. Tervis cups. Lifetime guarantee, endless varieties, lids with straws. (See #27 above.)
34. Podcasts and
35. Audiobooks. When I discovered these, it transformed my long drives into time-just-for-me. I listen to my favorite speakers or authors and instead of being drained by driving, I’m energized by new information.
36. Bananagrams. No other game compares to this fast-paced scrabble-style word game. Want to play? Let’s get together!
37. Video chat. Of course, there’s nothing like the real thing (baby), but seeing my loved ones faces when we chat is pretty close. I’m grateful for this technology that, at least momentarily, eliminates the distance of my far away friends and family.
38. Bullet Journaling. Changed. My. Life.
39. Nonfiction. I do love a good story; but I’ve gravitated towards nonfiction my whole life. (I can still picture the biography section of my elementary school library.) True stories always called out to me even louder than their imaginary counterparts.
40. History. My favorite subject, my undergraduate major. Love it.
41. Preaching. Never expected to love preaching like I do. Such a beautiful surprise.
42. Finding Nemo. Best animated movie ever made. This is fact, not opinion.
43. Board games. There are few board games I don’t enjoy playing. Even when I’m not very good at the game, I still enjoy playing.
44. Also card games. I don’t remember learning how to play cards. I think I was playing solitaire before I was in school. I played Crazy Eights and Go Fish, Canasta and Rook, and just about any card game you can name. A side note: my mother had played cards all of her life like I did. Daddy though, was never allowed to play cards and knew absolutely nothing about them. My mother taught him the basics (like how to hold the cards in his hand without dropping them all or showing them to the other players) and eventually he could play Rook with the rest of Mother’s clan. Pretty sure she never let on to Daddy’s mama though. That would not have been pretty.
45. Watermelon. I like watermelon even if it’s not that great. But a cold Congo watermelon? That’s a taste of the divine!
46. Carol Burnett. Nobody does it better. She is the master.
47. And Tim Conway. Have you seen the skit where they are playing password and Tim Conway goes off about Siamese elephants? Drop what you’re doing and watch that right now.
48. Children’s books. One of the best parts of my job as a children’s minister is reading picture books to children. Sometimes, like if it’s my birthday or something, my own children will sit and listen to me read their favorites again. That right there? That’s life at its finest.
49. Robert Lake Park, Montreat, NC. I took my kids there when they were little, and I took the kids from church there last week. Putting my toes in that icy cold creek and watching kids play in the water and the Montreat park—that’s one of my favorite things ever.
50. Yellow roses. From the first time I saw them, they were my favorite flower. Put those with daisies and you get Aileen’s favorite floral arrangement.
51. Grace. Grace is my hands down favorite thing. I mess up all the time. When someone offers me grace, it’s just the best. The absolute best.
52. My birthday! It is infinitely better to get older than the alternative.

Amazing grace: Settling a troubled soul – Baptist News Global

This piece appeared first as my July column for Baptist News Global. You'll find the full text at the link below.
Source: Amazing grace: Settling a troubled soul – Baptist News Global

When I stepped onto her hall, I could see her slippered feet just outside the door frame of her room. In her wheelchair, she rocked heel to toe, toe to heel, back and forth and back again.

“Hey, there,” I said, crouching to her height and attempting to push her chair back so I could get into the room. (Imagine a 5’4” duck wearing jeans and a tie-dye T-shirt pushing a wheelchair backwards; you get the picture.) I managed it, then pulled a stool right up next to her chair so I could speak directly in her ear. Nonagenarian ears aren’t especially known for their acuity, you know.

She does not know me; when I began my job at her church, she was already at the point of needing care. . . .

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