Tag Archives: memories

I’ll take the red carnation, thank you – revisiting an odd tradition

This post was originally published for Mother’s Day 2014. It is as relevant now as it ever was, so I am reposting it this year in honor of my sweet Mama. To those of you who never knew her, you missed a real lady.   

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red-Carnations38Recently, I was handed a red carnation as an acknowledgement of my participation in a community event. Looking at it, I was reminded of a tradition in many churches when I was growing up.

On Mother’s Day, at least in the South, when you went to church you wore a carnation on your lapel or dress – a red one if your mother was alive, a white one if she had died. (Do you remember this?) Continue reading I’ll take the red carnation, thank you – revisiting an odd tradition

That’s not just a Christmas tree you see

It took me a long time to realize my Christmas tree was invisible.

I would spend hours clearing space by the front window, putting away the pictures and non-seasonal objects, retrieving boxes from the garage, then sorting through countless ornaments collected over the years . . .

IMG_8538I’d stop to remember where I got that tiny flamingo with the goofy grin and holiday tie, the Santa posed like a rodeo rider on the back of a dolphin. I’d be thrilled when I opened the box containing construction-paper Rudolph, his crooked mouth penned by a fidgety preschooler. (Rudolph always gets the best spot on the tree.)

Smiling, I would carefully unwrap the crooked candle made of wire and plastic beads, and choke up every time at the tiny stocking labelled “FNU” (FBI-speak for “First Name Unknown”).

I’m one of those people who doesn’t buy boxes of glass balls to fill their tree. Every ornament has a special meaning or memory attached to it. I space them out so each one is properly visible and as I do, I let my mind drift back to when I shared this activity with ones now in Heaven, or those now just too busy.

It’s usually an entire afternoon of nostalgia and sentimentality, and for what? Despite its prominent placement in my front window, no one sees this tree. Continue reading That’s not just a Christmas tree you see

But only if you don’t hold hands

filename-1Funny, the things you remember. When my younger sister and I were really little – I’m talking maybe 4 and 5 years old – we went to the nursery at the seminary where my parents were both students. We didn’t know anyone, of course, and we were scared, so we clung tightly to each other after our parents dropped us off.

The large room was divided into two, with a low partition between the sides. One area was for the younger children; there were the usual coloring books and stuffed animals and puzzles with giant pieces.  On the other side of the room was the area for the older kids. I’m sure there were lots of toys there, too, but all I remember is the blocks. There were dozens of wooden blocks in every size and there were even those sturdy cardboard ones painted to look like bricks.

Oh, how I wanted to play with those blocks, but it would mean being separated from my little sister, since she belonged on the other side of the room. I was torn between my protectiveness of her and my desire to build a “house” out of cardboard bricks. It was agony for a little kid.

One of the teachers, apparently sensing my dilemma, offered that we could both stay on the big kid side, but “only if you don’t hold hands”.

Continue reading But only if you don’t hold hands

All that’s left for us to do is this

 

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When life is complicated –

and it is…

When people are hurting –

and they are…

When questions overwhelm –

and they do…

All that’s left for us to do is this: GIVE THANKS.

I’ll admit, it seems counter-intuitive, this expressing of gratitude when all seems lost and we are tempted to despair over the state of our world and our own small lives.

Yes, things are a mess.

But to collapse in a heap would mean missing the everyday miracles God is performing all around us, the hopeful evidence that He has not left our sides, no matter how grim things appear. Choosing to give thanks calls to mind the ways that indeed, He is crafting our redemption and is worthy of all honor.

I find the following simple prayer of Scottish author William Barclay to be prescriptive and healing for “such a time as this”, a gentle reminder of how blessed we are in this one aspect: that we love and are loved.

I give you thanks, O God, for those who mean so much to me —

Those to whom I can go at any time.

Those with whom I can talk and keep nothing back,

knowing that they will not laugh at my dreams or

my failures.

Those in whose presence it is easier to be good.

Those who by their warning have held me back from

mistakes I might have made.

Above all, I thank you for Jesus Christ, Lord of my heart

and Savior of my soul, in whose Name I offer this

thanksgiving.

With each line of this prayer, a face (sometimes more than one) comes to mind: someone who has been a gift to me in exactly the way described.

Even as I acknowledge there is much that needs to be healed – in me and in the world around me – I am overwhelmed by the generosity of God toward me through His gift of community . . . and ultimately, through the gift of His Son.

May you, too, be made aware of the immeasurable blessings you’ve been given and be moved to genuine gratitude this Thanksgiving.

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He’d probably be surprised that I still remember this

My dad was behind his desk hard at work when I walked into his office that day after junior high. At the sound of my voice his face softened into a smile and he looked up.

The order of that was especially meaningful to me:

He smiled.

And then he looked up.

To my young heart, that said he had welcomed me even before he made eye contact with me.  In that moment, I felt secure and valued by my dad; I knew he was glad to receive me and was interested to hear whatever I had to say. All these years later, I can still see his reaction in my mind and feel the love in that gesture. (He probably wouldn’t think there was anything remarkable about it; that was just his way.)

This morning that memory flooded back to me when I read this verse in the Psalms:

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Continue reading He’d probably be surprised that I still remember this

I Don’t Remember Saying This

As I rounded the corner last week, I happened upon my neighbor unloading groceries in her driveway. We engaged in some idle chat and for whatever reason, she reminded me of something I had said to her when she was diagnosed with cancer ten or so years ago.

The day I heard of her health struggles, I stopped by to deliver a meal to her family on my way home from work. She specifically recalls me reassuring her during that visit that, “Everything will be okay.”

IMG_5786I said that? What in the world was I thinking? That was kind of a happy-clappy thing to say. Looking back, it seems downright presumptuous.

Thankfully, my friend derived comfort from my words then and apparently still values them today.

And I don’t even remember saying it.

By God’s mercy, everything did turn out okay. There was surgery, chemo, and all the miserable stuff that goes along with it, but she eventually went into remission and continues to live her life with contagious joy.

I started thinking: That forgotten comment at least had a happy ending. How many other things have I said along the way that didn’t have such a positive result?    

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I thought of another instance, a few years earlier, when my words had a much less desirable outcome. In this case, I remember what I said, it’s just that at the time I failed to consider how it would be taken in by a very tender heart. Continue reading I Don’t Remember Saying This

What Putting “Legs” to Your Love Looks Like

For some strange reason, the phrase “loving well” keeps popping up for me lately. Just in the last few days, a writer I deeply respect used it in a blog post, my pastor prayed for it in a prayer service, and a friend wished IMG_1769for it in a conversation.

So I find myself wondering: what distinguishes loving well from – well, “just” loving?

As I try to nail down the distinction, I think of the people in my life who I would say love well and I ask myself, “What makes him/her come to mind?”

Yes, they put others’ needs above their own, certainly they allow themselves to be vulnerable in relationships, and no doubt they consistently strive to communicate clearly.

But here are some other characteristics that set them apart: Continue reading What Putting “Legs” to Your Love Looks Like

The Giant Kid at the Bus Stop

yellow school busDo you remember junior high? Sorry, I know that was a painful question. We all remember those days (and not necessarily in a good way).

Here’s the thing: Where my house is located, I have a front row seat to the on-going pre-teen drama at the junior high bus stop . . . and frequent flashbacks of my own to that dreadful era:

  • How could I forget the kid with the unfortunate first name of Orville? No doubt his parents intended to honor some beloved relative by giving him that name. But Orville? He paid dearly for his parents’ choice to hang that one on him.
  • There was the overly tall, awkward guy everyone in the seventh grade called “Slow Monroe” and then snickered as though he couldn’t hear them. I hope he ended up a CEO somewhere.
  • I still remember Ellen in Mr. Hunter’s math class. She used too much Coppertone QT over the weekend and came to school with her face orange. Even the teacher had a field day at her expense. I’m not sure she ever lived it down.

Continue reading The Giant Kid at the Bus Stop

The Lesson in the Peeling Wallpaper

 

Peeling Hand Stenciled WallpaperEarly on in my single parenting years, I bought a fixer-upper house in a charming neighborhood full of young families with kids. A few short months after moving in, I joined a singles group at my new church.

I don’t know what made me do such a thing. I mean, the house was an investment and a way of bringing stability to a wobbly life. That part made sense.

But the singles group?

It sure wasn’t because I needed more to do. I was working an all-consuming, often dangerous job that required me to be on call 24/7. And now I had a house in dire need of TLC, a lawn to mow, a temperamental car to nudge along, and a not quite 3-year old to raise on my own.

But for whatever reason, I decided to give the “kickoff” singles event a whirl. I hired a babysitter and then went into image-management mode. I wanted to project the together, professional vibe; to give off a self-sufficient, polished air. I couldn’t have people knowing how hectic and chaotic my life really was. Continue reading The Lesson in the Peeling Wallpaper

Sharing A Title With God

Dad and childMy pastor used that phrase this Fathers’ Day as he prayed for the dads in our congregation and I was floored. The truth and responsibility of that observation was sobering, as it should be. Father. Oh, how wonderful it would be if all fathers aspired to be worthy of sharing that title with God. And thankfully, many do.

But today I read a blog post by a dear woman who was only able to overcome the damaging influence of her own father by recounting the negative lessons she learned from him. She concluded that it was the lesson of stubbornness he modeled that ultimately saved her from him.

Reading the comment string on that post was wrenching. Readers shared about dads who had abused, dads who had died, dads who had left, dads who were just emotionally…missing. So many people have had negative experiences with fathers, and as fathers. Continue reading Sharing A Title With God