I Heart Joe(y) McIntyre

Please, ladies, we're all grown ups here. Please refrain from getting out your old BOP posters and throwing your panties at the computer screen. Really. So juvenile.

My friend recently went to this concert and I'm SOOOOO insanely jealous! I will say, however, that she redeemed herself:

I nearly peed in Cracker Barrell this morning at breakfast upon receiving this birthday gift!

I swear, this whole day has been full of flash backs. Birthdays are among some of the logical days in one's life to look back and reflect on days and years gone by. Ten years ago today I was more than likely celebrating my 22nd birthday with T. down at Texas A&M where we went to college together. Less than a month later Aggie Bonfire would collapse upon 12 fellow students and change our lives and the traditions of our dear school forever. Twenty years ago today I was turning 12 and trying to figure out who I was, being in the 6th grade at Travis Middle School. I looked up to those big 8th grade girls and their tidal wave bangs, thinking there was no way I would ever look that cool. The bathrooms constantly smelled of Aquanet hairspray, and we begged our parents to let us carry Esprit purses filled with fruity lip gloss, a myriad of pens and pencils, and sacred feminine supplies that most of us wouldn't need for another three or four years. Our lives were filled with cute, scrawny boys in ill-fitting football uniforms, side pony tails, longing to be popular and have a boyfriend, passing notes, and pouring over copies of BOP magazine to gaze adoringly into the eyes of our future husbands, for me, it was baby-faced Joey McIntyre of the New Kids On The Block. Oh, heavenly days! Would it be possible to find a boy that could ever pour out his heart to me to the words of this song? How I pined to slow dance forever in the arms of my Boston boy!

At any rate, just wanted you all to flash back with me. And hey, if the next time I see you all and one of you is wearing your jeans rolled up to proudly display your colored slouch socks and your t-shirt tied off to one side, I totally won't judge you. :)

Poems, Prayers, And Promises

There are so many thoughts floating around in my head today. I have been showered with love and blessings from my children, R., friends old and new, and family alike. My heart overflows with gratitude to my gracious heavenly Father and to all of you who have wished me well. You are all the example of grace to me -- a gift that I cannot deserve.

I've had a good time flashing back today. Between the silly photographs, the New Kids On The Block CD that my friend, "Marily Considine-McIntyre", gave me, and the wishes from people I haven't talked to in a good twenty years, I cannot help but thank God that he allowed me the chance to be here, in his kingdom on earth. The journey has been beautiful, excruciating, confusing, exhilarating. I think year 32 will be the best one yet.

If I died tomorrow and you all wondered what I would have to say reflecting back on my life, I can think of no better way than to sum it than John Denver did in one of my most favorite of his songs, which I leave you with now, "Poems, Prayers, and Promises." Enjoy that as you flip through the album below...





"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." --Joshua 1:9

A Conscience Captive to the Word Of God

"There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of one small candle..." --Arthur Gordon

When is the last time you felt convicted about something? Not just convinced of something, or feeling one way or the other about something like who you will vote for on Election Day, but convicted? Have you ever felt so strongly about something that, the more you thought about it, you almost felt haunted or consumed by it, possibly to the point where you could not keep your opinions or ideas to yourself?

In a world consumed with not hurting people's feelings and political correctness, many people chose to keep their most deep feelings tucked away. In my parents' and grandparents' generations, speaking your mind was dangerous, and you most certainly did not discuss things like who you voted for at an election. Many bloggers won't discuss politics or religion because they don't want to offend those who don't share the same viewpoints. I can definitely respect those who believe that their language should be edifying and uplifting as a response to living out the Gospel, but I hardly see how it is un-Christian to have an opinion and confess it. Had Jesus been terribly worked up about being politically correct, we'd all probably be wearing prayer shawls and phylacteries and living under Torah Law. Since when did it become a sin to confess one's faith, opinions, and beliefs?

As many of you know, I'm one of these outspoken types. It can be a blessing and a curse to be sure. Once I research a topic and decide where I stand on an issue, I am happy to engage people in discussions about things that most shy away from or frown upon. As I have been working through lay minister training and the various topics of study presented therein, I have been a mass of information to chew on and digest. It has done nothing less than completely change the way I view my world. I have fumbled through this life, picking up pieces of different denominations and expressions of faith here and there, adapting my thoughts or beliefs as I learned what I thought was truth as presented by people I trusted, "standing on the Word of God." When I had reason to return to my hometown area and the Lutheran church after having sampled so many other expressiosn of Christianity, I was hesitant at first to come back. I saw my fellow Lutherans as closed off to modern concepts and ideas and expressions, and I wanted to not be stared at if I wanted to raise my hand during worship, for example. But the more I looked into Lutheran ideas to see if this was how I needed to be the weekly venue for my expression of faith and how I understand God, I realized I was theologically in the right place. At the same time, that has presented problems for me that have been emotionally crippling. I see our little church struggling through hard times, and it pains me to see this happening to the body of Christ. Outside our doors, I see a culture of people wanting to be entertained at church, scorning communion, scaring people into praying the sinner's prayer to take Jesus into their hearts so they don't go to hell, and it makes me want to vomit. Every.single.time.

I, like Luther, apparently have a flair for offending people. If only they knew how many times I do the "copy/paste/cut/edit" thing in my mind before I start talking about certain topics! As Luther confessed at the Diet of Worms, I, too, am guilty of speaking harshly at times. This is hardly a very Christian thing of me to do, and I have to pray for God's help in taming my tongue. But I tell you, my friends, there have been times when I am so worked up about the garbage someone else has just passed off as gospel truth that I am trembling from the need to stop them in their tracks!

Why on earth am I rambling about all this? Reformation Sunday was celebrated yesterday by Lutherans around the world. I would hope that anyone who is Christian of any denomination would have at least acknowledged it, but I highly doubt that they did. Luther never intended, and I'm quite sure would be abhorrently appalled today, to split up the Roman Catholic church and create the Protestant movement, much less an entire denomination that aligned with his ideas so much as to take his name. He was so intensely repulsed by Rome, the papacy, and human corruption in the church that he wanted to clean house. Even when the peasants revolted in his name, he implored the princes to put down the rioting crowds. People took a good idea and went too far; however, it is what it is, and those of us who read Bibles not written in Latin can thank Martin Luther for that freedom.

Independence. We value that above all else in this country. Not just in the political realm, but in our choices of religiousity as well. Our pastor preached yesterday about how, every 500 years, it appears that the church undergoes major reformation. We are in an age of that right now. Five hundred years ago (circa A.D. 1541), Martin Luther was the first small candle railing against the corrupt darkess, along with Calvin, Zwingli, and many more. Five hundred years before that (circa A.D. 1054), the Catholic church split into two groups -- Roman Catholic and Orthodox. Five hundred years prior to that (circa A.D. 550), the Roman Empire fell. And folks, five hundred years prior to that (circa A.D. 30), a Jewish rabbi claiming to be the Anointed One was healing and preaching, only to be crucified, dead, and resurrected. What began with one man and his disciples has spread over thousands of years and hundreds of thousands of miles to what we have today. All because people were willing to be used by the Spirit. To draw that line in the sand, at the risk of losing lives or offending people, to say, "My conscience is captive to the Word of God... Here I stand; I can do no other."

I agree with my pastor, and Luther, in that you don't scare people into seeking Christ as a way to avoid the damnation of the Fiery Pit for all of eternity. God created us because God wanted to love us, to have a relationship with us. And we don't take the name of Christ and then condemn others who don't agree with us and pine for the days when we're taken Home. When Jesus truly resides in our hearts, we are activated to serving in the kingdom, the kingdom of God here on earth. We are called to love one another and serve one another, expecting nothing in return. Not increased memberships at our churches. Not more coins in the coffer. Not more souls for the fold. I truly hope my opinions don't offend anyone; it is simply how I believe. I cannot be a purist to one man's theology or another. What I do know is that Jesus calls us to love. If we turn the Gospel into the law, we have defeated the whole point of Christ's sacrifice on the cross. I cannot take part in that anymore. If that has to cost me readers on this blog, friends in this world, or other potential benefits, then I take that on willingly. I don't expect high-fives here, and I'm sure someone could take things I've said here personally. I pray that, as you all find your places in this world and sort out your heart before God, that you will find a firm foundation of what you believe and hold fast to that. Seek out wise counsel, talk to others about what they believe, but keep your eyes squarely on the cross and judge everything you hear by how it holds up to what you know Jesus has done for you. Don't be afraid to say, "I personally don't believe that." Where would we all be if others had not the courage to do just that?

"Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end." -- Proverbs 19:20

For Cryin' Out Loud

What is it about the power of the tear? Crying is the outward expression of such a huge range of emotions. Newborns cry as a means of survival. Many people cry when in either physical or emotional pain or distress. A toddler who has wandered away from his mother cries tears of panic, frightened at being alone. Bud cries big crocodile tears in protest of going to time out. Li'l G cries from embarassment and shamefulness when she is called on doing something that she knew was wrong. I cried tears of joy when these two crazies popped out of my ginormous belly. T. cried tears of disbelief that he had become a father. I cried tears of frustration yesterday because my lack of time spent at the gym is starting to show when I go to Pilates. And the kids and I cry tears of anguish, weeping bitterly for the daddy that they can't see but are told loves them even now as he stays in heaven with Jesus.

Tears are so powerful.

It's been an odd week for me emotionally. I personally have not spent much time crying, unless you want to count the huge lump in my throat at Pilates yesterday, but that was just me being frustrated with my lack of gym time and knowing that I should and could be handling my stress better. At any rate, I understand very well the blessed release of allowing yourself to cry. When I observe others crying, it doesn't necessarily make me uncomfortable. I generally think that, rather than attempt to console someone and end up saying something completely insensitive to their situation, they should be allowed to cry it out. Better to cry than to bottle it up.

I was touched today watching a little girl cry at Li'l G's school. I met Li'l G up at school with a special lunch and sat with her and her classmates at the big tables. A table full of Kindergarteners talking and eating simultaneously is NOT for the weak-stomached! S4J would've had a stroke envisioning all levels of unsanitariness (???) of this lunchtime experience, but I was rolling with it, enjoying watching these kids in their element. I felt like I was watching an episode of, "Kids Say The Darndest Things," with Bill Cosby. It was great.

I visited with Li'l G and the kids sitting around us, as they all dug into their ice cream first and talked with their mouths full. As I looked up and down the table, trying to remember all their names, I noticed one little girl sitting at the far end, reserved for kids who need "help focusing on eating their lunch." I know this little girl has issues with behavior but seems to be a good kid. She cried, at times hysterically, throughout the entire 30-minute lunch period. What was she crying about? What set her off? She sat curled up in her chair for a good amount of time, looking back over her shoulder towards the window with a thousand-meter stare on her face, eyes shiny, nose swollen and red. Then, at one point, she turned around and put her hands up to her ears, almost as if she was trying to drown out the noise in the room. I just had to wonder: what is it in a five year-old's life that would prompt an emotional reaction of this intensity that lasts for this long? Having been a teacher, I immediately had a long list of possible factors, and my heart just broke for her.

It was odd. As I watched her sit there crying, it was as if I could envision her at 12, 15, 23. The look on her face spoke of years of intense emotion of some sort. At the tender age of five, she chooses to express herself in a fit of tears and acting out during centers. How will she choose to "get it out" at 12? 15? 23? I'd love to think that she will be raised in a God-fearing, Christ-proclaiming home, or at least have family members who will pray for her throughout her lifetime. I just wish I had had the words, and the legal ability, to tell this troubled little girl that, no matter how bad it gets and how mad or frustrated or lonely she feels, there is a real God who loves her no matter what choices she makes in life and no matter what terrible things people may have to say to her. Her life is no accident, and she is not alone in this world. Or to quit crying about not getting to sit by her best friend and eat her dang PBJ already! (just kidding...)

Our schools, offices, hospitals, Wal-Marts, churches, and grocery stores are full of people who are still that small, hurting child inside. Who will dry their tears? Who will care when they've reached their breaking point? Who will encourage them to ask God to help them forgive? Who will live out the Gospel for them in a way that doesn't turn it right back into law, setting them up for expectations that no one but Jesus can meet? My friends, we are all called to do this. This is a huge responsibility, right?!? Absolutely. Are we capable of doing this? Absolutely not. This is just where we've got to let the Comforter do his thing through us. For me, if I can just remember to pray for this little girl every time I drive past the school, I feel like I've at least done something. I try to speak to each of the kids in the class, remember their names, smile, joke around with them, and encourage them whenever I help out up at the school. I may not be kicking in the door of her home and rescuing her from some dramatic situation, but I can be the one happy face she sees in a day. Even that counts.

"Stadium Pal" and Sedaris

Most of you know a couple of things about me by now if you've ever read one of my rants-n-raves or have read more than one post here on the blog: a) my political leanings, and b) I heart David Sedaris. I've been plotting to go with my friend, JO, to go hear him on 20 April next year, and I've read and listened to several of his books.

Much to my glee and delight, upon pulling up my Bloglines today, when I should've been writing a history paper, I saw were I had some blogs to catch up on over at Dooce's place. She was sharing about a performance Sedaris gave recently in Salt Lake City. He was commenting on the election, and I think this just about hits the nail on the head, no matter which side you end up voting for:

"I look at these people and can’t quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked."

I'll admit, he does use a foul word here or there, but, in the eyes of someone who aspires to write, he seems to use them judiciously and with a reason, not just to be a cussing dope.

Here is a recent clip of him on David Letterman. I might need one of these items he's talking about since I seem to live in the car these days! You might want to put down your hot coffee so you don't burn yourself as you laugh!

"Stepping Into The Ring" With Nicole Johnson

Oh.my.word.

Speechless. Awestruck. You must watch this.



My beautiful friend, Jenster, writes and speaks for the cause of breast cancer and those who have had to parent children through the ordeal. You can find her postings here and here. Also, for more support and insights, click on the "Mothers With Cancer" icon on my right sidebar to take you straight to that amazing blog.

The Amish Challenge

Let me preface today's post with a disclaimer. "Great!" you're thinking. "What did GGG do or say now that's gonna cause great gnashing of teeth and wrenching of hands?!?" Well, nothing. Yet. Here it is: I did, in fact, have a great time on this trip and had some wonderful, amazing experiences. I think I had an expectation of what I thought being amongst the Amish would be like prior to embarking on this trip. So, please read the rest of this blog keeping that fact alone in mind. I don't think I necessarily have to point this out; however, religion is a touchy subject for some people, and I do not want my thoughts to be misinterpreted here.

When I think back to the religious aspect of this trip, there are several thoughts that come to mind. While not all people agree with me here, I am the kind of person that is fascinated with learning about other people's countries, cultures, and religions. I believe that God created us so that we are all unique and have something to offer others that they can take away and be blessed by it. For example, in a religion where leadership is reserved for males only and their houses of worship even remain segregated, Jewish women, the female head of the household, is the one who lights the candles 18 minutes before the sun sets on Friday night to mark the beginning of Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath. Mosques, in the religion of Islam, are also segregated and only used for prayer services -- things like instruction or marriages do not take place in these grandiose structures. I would not know about any of this had I not gone to a mosque in Istanbul last November and taken a Jewish heritage tour of the city with an amazing young father, Josef Ben David, who took our group past three two-foot-thick bomb-proof sets of doors just to reach the actual synagogue where he would talk to us about various traditions in the Jewish faith. I love learning about the traditions and practices of people who are completely foreign to me -- it is truly amazing to witness the diversity of Elohim's creation.

Specifically, though, I really felt that I fell short in this department on my recent trip to Pennsylvania, however. Lancaster County, PA, is considered the heart of Amish country for our nation, yet I felt as though things were very hidden or clandestine. One thing I have learned from being in Muslim countries is that you don't go around outright taking pictures of people, unless they come up to you. I really wanted to respect the privacy of these beautifully simple, quiet, humble people, but I was just aching to hear their voices, have a conversation with them, to hear what their daily lives were like, to hear about the tenets of the Amish faith to see what, if anything, we shared in common. But I still felt as though we were kept at arm's length.

We were invited by a Mennonite pastor to attend his congregation's Sunday services, and I was disappointed that we weren't able to attend. Had I known we wouldn't be able to attend, I think I would've skipped out on the movie at the Mennonite Information Center and just had a good conversation with him.

As we progressed through the trip, we did pick up tidbits of information about the Amish here and there. We absolutely fell in love with the adorable Amish children we saw everywhere, peering warily at us from underneath tousled braids and neat straw hats. I love the fact that they focus on how pride can infect our lives and how they are constantly humbling themselves, almost to the point of subduing who they are (which I think maybe could be a little extreme). I learned that you would never hear them tell you that you were going straight to hell for not believing as they do. I think that's a lesson every human being, especially modern day Western Christians could take to heart. HisGirl was interested about how their views impact evangelism, but I think that there is a way you could marry the two concepts of wordless witness with the call to expose others to the good news of the Gospel in a way that is meaningful and effective.

Even as much as I did learn about the Amish, they still remain a complete mystery to me. I wanted to respect their privacy, but oh, how I wanted to really get in there and hear more! I found this document at the Mennonite Information Center that really blew me away, and I think this is the true challenge to believers everywhere:

THE AMISH CHALLENGE

"We realize that not everyone is cut out to be one of the plain people. Many have not the opportunity, but here is the challenge:


If you admire our faith, strengthen yours.

If you admire our sense of commitment, deepen yours.

If you admire our community spirit, build your own.

If you admire our simple life, cut back.

If you admire deep character and enduring values, live them yourself."

--an Amish man writing in Small Farm Journal, Summer 1993

Happy Birthday, Dizzy Gillespie

When I think of jazz and what the good Lord intended it to be, I immediately think of a short list of musicians. Partly that is because I am a relatively new fan of this genre of music, but also partly due to the fact that the greats in this area are just so incredibly talented that they seem untouchable by so many other very skilled musicians. In the category with Dizzy I definitely put Miles Davis, my personal favorite, Charlie Parker, and John Coltrane. But there is just something about those cheeks, right?!?

To a musician who is so tied to the notes on the page, as S4J can attest, it is unfathomable to me how jazz musicians can simply pick up a line and run with it in the middle of a song. That fact alone truly blows my mind. I also love the fact that jazz is probably one of the only genres of music that you could say truly began in America.

Upon doing a little reading about Dizzy today on what would've been his 91st birthday, I learned that he moved to Philadelphia as a young man in 1939, and eventually played in Cab Calloway's band, another guy I really enjoy, but more in the big band category. I also learned that he grew up in a musical household and that he has been immersed in a home culture of music since birth, being the youngest of nine (!) children. You never see a picture of him where he isn't smiling the most laid back, relaxed and groovy smile you've ever seen, and as you watch him perform you can see how he really transcends the present and puts his whole mind and body into each note coming out of his famous trumpet.

One of the things I love most about any type of purely instrumental music is that you don't need words to convey a message. Whether it's Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 in A, Opus 92, Allegretto (one of the most intense, emotional classical pieces you will ever hear in your life), to Dizzy playing "A Night In Tunisia (which will make you want to get up and salsa dance), to the carillion in a church's belfry playing "Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee," there is raw emotion and energy in each note. No words are necessary to take the listener to places of quiet meditation, release of emotion, or the need to get up and move their feet. Each time I pick up one of my instruments I marvel at how God gave humans the knowledge of music in the world. Composers write music as intricate in design and instrumentation as the design of the cells in our bodies. How did we ever discover that, by pulling a string tight and pushing our fingers down on it at different places, or by forcing air through constricted places using metal and wood, we could make such elaborate expressions? I'm in as much awe over the miracle of music as I am an eyelash on a newborn baby or the lacy pattern of a snowflake. God is soooo good.

So on this day, to celebrate the life and musical gift given by God to our brother Dizzy Gillespie, I give you one of my most favorite jazz pieces, "A Night In Tunisia."

Meet The Chicas

I, like S4J, am having trouble knowing where to start and what all to say. What makes it worse is that, the longer it is since I've gotten home, I'm losing the freshness of all the memories and the high of being in Pennsylvania this time of year. It's taken me several days of working a paragraph at a time to even get this much out! I'd better crank out a couple of these while my brain is still functioning...

I thought I'd take some time to introduce you to the Chicas. Not all are bloggers, although some are. And let me state right off the bat, as to avoid any unforeseen "issues," that I'm not trying to be clique-ish here. I just want you all to find out what I enjoy about each of the '08 girls. With no further adieu, I give you the Chicas of 2008!

As many of you know, this is HisGirl, mommy and blogger extraordinare. She is the fearless leader in the group, our virtual cruise director. I may be the first one to charge into a burning building, for example, because someone said there is a child trapped inside, but His Girl will stop everything and discern a proper and efficient plan of action that is usually a hundred times more effective than bursting through the door. To say she is zany and hilarious is to really not do her justice, and to say that she thirsts for more knowledge of the Lord is the understatement of the year. I'm the cranky Martha trying to make everything just-so and be a good hostess, while she is the focused Mary, sitting at the feet of the King, soaking up wisdom and love that she doles out in generous measures to everyone in her path. And just when you think she's going to tell you to settle down, she does something completely hysterical like get verklempt over homemade fried chicken at an Amish restaurant. She is the Devoted Disciple of the group.

Next comes S4J, my musical partner in crime. I have known her the longest out of all the girls, and is actually the person who introduced me into the group. S4J is also the co-cruise director. She accuses me of being multi-talented just because I have musical ability. This heffer can take photographs that make Annie Leibowitz look like she's using a Dora the Explorer disposable camera, not to mention sing like a profession and even learned how to play guitar on a 12-string! Her sense of humor is just skewed enough for us to be lots of trouble together yet somehow keep her out of hot water. If you were to be stranded on a desert island with the two of us, I'd be the one trying to make a fire. She would be figuring out how to clean the water and sterilize things, after washing her hands, of course. I'd be kvechting about mosquito bites while she'd be singing some silly song about mosquitos being minions of the devil in the most pleasant voice you've ever heard. She would also let you cry tears of frustration until you were completely exhausted. She is our Loving, Looney Listener.

Our next chica is not a blogger, so she doesn't have an online handle. Let's call her... Rebecca Yoder. Or the Weaverton Schoolmarm. Your choice. Mrs. Yoder here is apparently the one we've got to keep our eyes on. She is quiet, gentle, funny, but has started coming out of her shell. She's like a geode: she may appear like your average, everyday stone you might find on a naturewalk, but once you have cracked this stone in half, there are brilliant, spectacular crystalline formations that you would never know was there if you only looked at the outside of the stone. What an unexpected surprise! When I first met RY she was quiet and reserved but always sweet as shoo-fly pie. Then last year in Seattle she surprised me by playing percussion (read: homemade shaker) during praise and worship. This year she pulled the rug out from under us! Not only was it her idea to put a certain someone's chonies on the line for "Jacob Yoder" next door to see, she hornswoggled us into a one room schoolhouse for an encounter with the living dead! (Think the Amish version of "Children of the Corn" and you'd be on the right track...) That sneaky Rebecca Yoder. It's always those quiet ones that you never suspect. That's why she's our Blossoming Blessing.

Here is one of our newest chicas, fresh off the farm. I really think this picture speaks more volumes that you could ever know. Also not a blogger, this new chikkie -- let's call her Bambi Stoltzenfus -- is my SOUL MATE! (OK, like, in a friend-to-friend way, you dirty birds!) It's a rare thing when I meet someone who shares so many qualities of mine. There is another chica who falls into this category, but she was not able to be here for this year's excursion. At any rate, I worried that we I would run her off and make her think we were complete weirdos. Yeah, right! Not only did she fit right in, she helped us take our ridiculous silliness to unheard-of levels. I don't think I've laughed so hard in my life about teaching kids why they need to use handsoap! If you were at a New Kids On The Block concert with her and asked her, in a moment of adolescent stupidity temporary weakness, if you should throw your panties on stage, she'd be two steps ahead of you: she'd unsnap the sides and give hers a toss and look at you like, "Hurry up!" However, I think my favorite thing about Mrs. Stoltzenfus is, in addition to her hijinks and hilarity, she is incredibly grounded and unwavering in her faith. She is the High-Octane, High-Quality Chica.

Meet yet another new chica, Jenster. (She's the one on the left.) Jenster graciously opened her home and hospitality to S4J and myself the night before the other chicas arrived on the scene, and I wonder if she had any way of knowing just what she was getting herself into! Mwaa ahh ahhh!! At any rate, she's funny, sneaky, and can crack the funniest joke you've ever heard while keeping a completely straight face. Two seconds after she's said the most hilarious, snarky thing you've heard in your life, she's overflowing with a wisdom and perception of how real life intersects with scripture and holy relationship that just blows your mind. On top of being a wife, a mother, a breast cancer survivor, and new chica, she is also gifted at speaking and integrating how faith should look in our lives, not how we should talk about what we believe. She is definitely the Deep Waters Chica.


This is our Chikkie. She makes each and every trip with us, in full garb depending on where the Chicas are headed that year. This year she is sporting her plain clothes, reminding us to focus on simplicity and keeping it simple. She may be the quietest member of the group, but her presence is always required in group pictures and ridiculous antics. Part of the fun of going on this trip each year, besides the big "reveal" of where we're headed to next, is to find out what Chikkie will be wearing to coordinate with the new location or theme. Not seen here in this picture is her evil twin, the Dirty Birdie. DB hasn't actually made an official appearance yet on these trips, but her presence is well-known and represented! We try to keep this under wraps, but once you get a gaggle of women together, well, you can imagine how it goes from there!

Lastly, here I am, giving you my best Jacob Yoder impression, trying desperately not to wet my pants with stifled laughter. If you could only know how hard we laughed on this trip, you'd think we would all have ripped abs by now! As for what I bring to the group, that depends on who you ask. Despite what actually ends up transpiring, I attempt to bring music and laughter to the group. I can usually be counted on to say something off-color to get someone to laugh or purposefully get the group charged up and their energy flowing. Which chica would I be, then? I'm just good ol' GGG.

Another Anniversary

A year ago today I welcomed my hero home from war. It was 3:00 A.M. and I was running on pure adrenaline, but it was so worth the trip! Hard to believe a whole year has gone by!

Love you, babe!

"The Mermaid Chair": Yet Another Book Review

OK, I really don't have time to devote to books other than my academic stuff right now, but I finished this literally standing up in the kitchen, as S4J was waiting on me to get into the car so we could leave for Chicas last week. This book doesn't tend to get good press, and I think it definitely deserves a shout-out.

First of all, I've noticed that, at least for this reader, SMK books start off slowly and I tend to not care about the characters or the groundwork she's laying until a little way into the book. For some of you that may sound harsh. What I'm trying to convey is that, if you're looking for something that starts off as a cliffhanger and makes you strap on your parachute so you can BASE jump into a plot already in progress, then SMK novels are not for you. While I like that to some extent, I can also appreciate the way some writers painstakingly lay groundwork before they really kick off the conflict of the story. Just don't take all day doing it!

At any rate, I felt like the plot was going to be predictable, which it was to a large extent. It was like one of the characters from "Waiting to Exhale" walked into "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." Being in my early 30s and widowed, I did not have a personal way to relate to a woman 20 years my senior going through a mid-life crisis and careening toward self-destruction. I was elated, however, to find that one of the male characters fit closer with me, which I find oddly pleasing. This guy was a monk who thrust himself into the realm of godliness after losing his wife and unborn child in a tragic car accident. Really, to watch how he relates to others, the internal struggle he has, the aching in his heart that consumes every mitochondrion of every cell of his being struck a chord with me, and the terrifying reality of wanting, needing to love again and the risks that come along with that. Also, the main character's father died tragically when she was nine years old, and the broken journey she ends up taking in her life and the harsh reality of secrets kept are really key to this story.

I feel like I've almost gone and said too much about this book. I hope I haven't given any key information away! The ending of this book is so emotionally gripping that I was affected for days after having read it. In fact, when I first read it, I was waiting on Bud at the dentist's office and was crying so hard I was dripping tears on the pages! I had to lean my head back so I could even see the words! (For those of you who need warning, the bomb drops in Chapter 33.) As I was reading and following along all throughout the book, I was curious as to how SMK was going to tie all this up with a bow and come to a logical ending. The ending she came up with surprised me, as there were few obvious clues sprinkled about. You feel as clueless about what is going on as the main character, and the reality of it hit me so hard I had to read the chapter three times for it to really sink in. It reminds me of how, when you receive some kind of bad news, your brain goes into some sort of slow motion or shock. People have to repeat even simple things for you because your mind is just so blown by what you have heard. It was REALLY that good!

SMK doesn't give this book a Disney ending, which I love. I mean, I'd love to see all the problems resolved and have that feeling of, "Everyone's gonna be OK after all," but that is simply not true to life. Her ending was realistic and therefore satisfying.

One of the things SMK does better than anyone except Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (Stephen King goes overboard in this department and "stirs me to wrath," haha...) is her unheard-of-amazing use of imagery. I felt like I could smell the primordial ooze of the tidal estuaries and streams she describes, partly because I have experienced that in some fashion, but also because she captures all five senses in words so well. The feeling of humidity at the beach, the way fog sets into your bones in the middle of the night, the electrifying sensation of a lover's kiss on bare, expectant skin all comes through with intensity in this book, just as she did in "The Secret Life of Bees."

Bottom line: Give this book a chance -- it will devastate you by the raw emotion you will feel, and it will surprise you, too, as to which character(s) you relate the most. It's honest, realistic, and well worth the time you will invest in it. BTW, it's been made into a movie. I have mixed feelings about watching it, however. I have an outrageously overactive imagination; I just cannot imagine Hollywood replicating what was going on in my mind. The same goes with SLoB, which is coming out this week. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND READ THE BOOK FIRST!!! You won't be sorry you did, I promise.

OK, now back to the books...

Where Do I Even Start?!?

Jenster. S4J. HisGirl. The Liberty Bell. Independence Hall. Cheesecake Factory! Amish buggies. The aroma of horses, "etc." Homemade rootbeer. Adorable Amish children with no shoes. Scary, waxy animatronic people in a one-room schoolhouse. Delicious homemade shoo-fly pie. Praise and worship. Devotions. Laughing so hard you hope you don't pee your pants. Bags so big under your eyes from lack of sleep that you're certain you'll be charged at the airport for carrying extra luggage. Special treats planned by precious friends. Did I mention scary, waxy animatronic people?!?

I would love to give you the play-by-play for each day of the trip, but that would take more time and attention than my kids are allowing me to give my computer today, and rightly so. As usual, this Chicas of Faith trip was a blast, and it was such an unexpected adventure. The theme this year was, "Simply Following Him," and we had a very free-flowing approach to how this trip would play out. We welcomed another couple of Chicas to the fold, and dearly missed those who were unable to be there in body but were absolutely there in spirit. And even in the midst of the churning turmoil that I was going through personally, I was able to walk away with a new understanding of people and situations, along with this gem that the Lord gave me today:

"The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you." -- II Peter 3:9 (NIV)

OK, God -- lesson learned.

P.S. -- IS IT 2009 YET?!?

A Sunday Blessing

"May your roots go down deep into the soil

of God's marvelous love;

And may you be able to feel and understand...

how long, how wide, how deep,

and how high his love really is."

-- Ephesians 3:17-18 (TLB)

Step By Step

"Hope does not necessarily take the form of excessive confidence; rather, it involves the simple willingness to take the next step." -- Stanley Hauerwas

I woke up this morning and had to remind myself it was Saturday. Then, being the number-obsessed person that I am, I was groggily trying to figure out what that made the date on the calendar. ' October 4th. Oh my gosh -- October 4th!' And then I lay there with a smile for a minute.

Twelve years ago today, after some "pre-event festivities" in the dorm, the juniors in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M formed up behind Duncan Dining Hall, just behind the band. They milled around with their dates, if they had one, looking around nervously for seniors who were looking to smack them on top of their heads and rattle their bonfire pots (helmets). The rest of the attendants of Midnight Yell practice that night were already assembled at Kyle Field in the student section of the stadium, straining to hear the distinct thud of the bass drums echoing throughout the massive east Texas campus as the procession of the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band and the following entourage would make their way through campus and onto the football field.

Upon walking into the stadium and onto the sacred green grass, the crowd cheered wildly as they did every other time. The yell leaders roused the assembled group into a maroon frenzy as they led the yells (not cheers at A&M; that's for sissy schools with female hussies cheerleaders). Finally, after the "Beat The Hell" yell, as per usual, the lights were turned out at Kyle Field and the smooching began! For about three minutes, in the electrified darkness of the football field, those with dates got to kiss in keeping with Aggie tradition. When the lights came back on, a few more yells were done, everyone proceeded out of the stadium, and we probably don't want to know how the night ended for those in attendance...

If you could've been in that crowd looking down on the field at a dashing, young man in a red Company L-2 t-shirt, you would've seen him look sheepishly down at his date, give her a grin, and have his first kiss with her, a kiss that would begin almost a decade of love, children, the military, and end so quietly on November 30, 2005, in Shreveport, Louisiana, a kiss that can still be felt even today. You would've seen a ditzy blonde who had had one too many margaritas (I think; can't remember!!) who had been swept off her feet by this tall, dark, and handsome boy and had waited for over a month for him to finally ask her out. That's where it all began, folks, and the rest, they say is history...

I usually remember and celebrate this date, but I must admit it snuck up on me this year. I will always remember it, however, and I know it will always make me smile and chuckle a little at how young we were (and how stupid I was to drink all those margaritas!) and all of the good times we had, especially in college. It's a good memory.

I immediately fast-forward to the first summer after T. was gone. He had died 8 months earlier and I was realizing that I would probably want to have another relationship. This brought me no guilt; perhaps it should have. T. was a man of his word. He had told me more than once that, if anything should happen to him, that I should remarry. I, of course, told him that he was bound to me for eternity and, should he remarry, I would haunt him and the heffer he was with, so he'd better not chance it. At any rate, I was interested in men but was very nervous and insecure around them. Basically, they scared me to death. I hadn't dated in ten years -- had things changed that much?!? (Answer: more than you know!)

My first "relationship" after T. was weird. I tried the online dating thing, too, and all of my friends and family (who, conveniently, were married) freaked out at the thought of me going on a date with a perfect stranger met via these sources. It was a liberating feeling knowing that I was able to attract people, but I was also very afraid of letting them too close to me or the kids. There were many, many times where I figured this was my cross to bear, like it or not, and I was destined to hell on earth be alone forever. My friends would get to prattle on about their husbands, complain about what a drag it was to "have to" have sex with their husbands, get to be invited to things for couples, find out that they were pregnant (again! tee hee!), go out to dinner and watch a movie together, etc., and I would get to watch from the sidelines. My bonus prize for being a widow? Getting to hang around married people. Getting to hear moms complain that dads would rather take a nap or go hunting that help out with the kids ("I swear -- it is so hard to do everything by myself! I mean, he really does not know what I go through!"). Have to pay double to stay at a resort or go on a cruise because the rooms are meant for double occupancy. Eat alone at a restaurant. Go to the movies. Alone. Mow my yard, install and repair things in the house, maintain the vehicle, teach my kids to fish, fix broken furniture, etc. Alone. While the married couples rolled their eyes at each other.

I remember where I was when I realized that I was created for companionship. I was sitting at church, and my dear friend and pastor at the time was preaching about adam and eve (not capitalized on purpose; that's a whole other blog). At any rate, it is "right and salutary" that we should desire relationships and connection with others, especially male/female relationships and marriage. I guess I was waiting on a green light from God, and I felt like I had it.

There are scores of people who have lost a spouse that are, for whatever reason, unable to reach even this point. They dwell in the safety and comfort of that relationship, and for some it is all they say they desire. I would venture to guess a couple of things here:

1) The pain of losing their spouse is overwhelming, and eventually, the pain they feel becomes their companion. To be rid of that pain of loss would be akin to the complete absence of that person. They would rather hold on to the pain because, in an indirect way, it keeps that person close.

2) The number one reason that you hear (and honestly I question): issues of fidelity. Personally, I blame this on the modern, western concept of heaven. People romantically envision their spouse waiting patiently for them at the pearly gates, where they'll join hands and walk into the light to spend eternity together. *insert chirping birds and release the white doves on cue... To give one's self to another man/woman, even emotionally or romantically, much less physically, is to violate their marriage vows. They have become a cheater just because they didn't want to be lonely. How selfish of you. Bad widow/widower!

3) Maybe their marriage was less-than-ideal and they are finally free from emotional or physical bondage. To enter into another relationship seems like opening up a raw wound. Why would I want to let history repeat itself? they might ask.

4) They risk being hurt again, and quite frankly, they have checked off the "personal tragedy" box, thank you very much -- no need to ask for a second helping there. I think I myself fall into this category, but I didn't necessarily fit here at the beginning of my journey. My fellow heartbroken peeps just don't know how or if they'll survive a break up, a cheater, etc., in addition to having lost a spouse. The griefwork they already have to do is a heavy task, so why add to the load?

5) They perceive factors that should keep them from being "on the market" again. This could be age, appearance, children, and a kajillion other things. I most definitely fell into this category at first, although I have moved past it. My biggest factor was my children and their ages: Li'l G was 2 1/2 years old when T. died, and Bud was 9 months old and still nursing. Who was going to want to raise two small children with me? Or worse yet, who was going to find a stretched out, post-partum body attractive? T. was still attracted to me, but he saw my body when it was young and perky and watched it change with time and maternity. I was beautiful to him, but not in a single guy, lemme-put-dollar-bills-in-your-thong sort of way. You know what I mean.

And let me interrupt the blog right here to talk about plastic surgery for widows. If anyone out there wants to get upset that some of us do this, let me invite you to go sit on a pincushion. HARD. The perception is that, now that they roll naked in billions of insurance dollars on a daily basis and plot ways to throw away blood money, all widows go get themselves a pair of knockers because they've got "all this money to spend" now. Please, feel free to go stand on a subway track at rush hour and report back on how that felt. Most of the people (usually women) who do this, like me, feel completely undesirable and embarassed at how they will be perceived by a potential mate. If these people can do anything at all to restore a shred of confidence in themselves, then I say go for it. As long as they aren't snorting nose candy or becoming abusive alcoholics (which happens WAY more often than you'd think) and neglecting their kids, let these people get on with their lives without criticism. Chances are you wouldn't last a day going through what they go through.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog post. Where was I? Oh, yes. It is such a huge step to take back on to the dating field after loss. Terrifying. Worrisome. Stressful. I won't even lie. I'm in a fantastic relationship with R. and even then I still worry about things. But I have found that the risk has been worth it. I have learned lots about myself, but probably more about other people. I have learned that I'm really in this on my own. I know three other people, out of the scores of friends and family I'm blessed to have, that are in my shoes, one of whom is another military widow we served with at FT Riley. No matter how I explain things or look to my married friends for advice, sorry guys, it's just not working. We operate in such different spheres. I have to switch into my once-married brain just to be a part of conversation with them and function, much less not get my feelings hurt. It's not their fault they are still married, be it happily or not. And I'm so very thankful they cannot understand what my life is like; if they did, geez. Beyond terrible. Don't want to think about it.

I'd love to talk about how rewarding my relationship with R. is, but at his request, I try not to mention him on the blog. As I've said before, that's hard because I feel like I could really be sharing valuable insight and experience with other people, like me, who feel like they're all alone in this weird journey. All I can say is that every step has been important, and I have learned so much along the way. I was so scared that I'd never feel love again, as in, never have the capacity to love like that. (And it's hysterical at what a big deal the marrieds make out of the whole issue of sex, too. There are so many other things to worry about, but I digress.) I was scared about making myself (and my kids) vulnerable. I didn't realize how much "dirty laundry" in my heart I had to do until I was in the throes of my relationship with R. He doesn't realize it, but in needing to open myself up to him, I realized I was hanging on to unfinished business with T. In order to fully make my heart available to him, I needed to have some closure on those issues. It has been real work, let me tell you! But sooo worth the risk involved. And it has all been one HUGE opportunity to learn about trusting Abba.

One of my favorite verses I found recently was Psalm 116:5-8, and I keep it posted on the mirror in my bathroom:

"The LORD is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. The LORD protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need he saved me. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. For you, O LORD, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling."

I have needed reminding all along the way that I can rely on God, that he is consistent and faithful. It's an easy lesson to forget.

I don't know if most or even half of all who lose a spouse ever decide to take that next step in their lives toward loving again. I can tell you it's worth it, if you are someone out there in this position and wondering. (I can tell you NOT TO BRING THIS UP IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FUNERAL or even for the first six months if you are someone trying to console a person who has lost a spouse.) After all, as Stanley Hauerwas said, the simple willingness to take the next step may be the biggest step you take of all.

Among God's best gifts to us are the people who love us.

Ways In Which I Have Been Wronged This Week, Sort Of

Violated. Persecuted. Held down by The Man. It's such a hard life; yet somehow, I continue to trudge onward.

1. Yesterday, as I was enjoying the ridiculously-hot-yet-lovely fall day here in central Texas, I was parked at a stop light where a city road worker proceeded to sandblast the pavement cracks next to my two-month-old, a.k.a. brand new car. I scurried to roll up the windows and close the sunroof to impede the downpour of BLACK ROCKS falling down like hail on said new vehicle.

2. In an effort to salvage heretofore-mentioned G-ride, I pulled up to the all-service carwash, only to find out that my ginormous bike rack was going to be uninstalled and reinstalled by a kid working at the carwash. I had fifteen minutes to get across town and pick up carpool.

3. I have had an outer ear/cartilege infection since Saturday that is stealing my joy. While I now have mobility in my neck once again, the pain is relentless and throbbing. The swollen lymph nodes in my neck look like my toddler has hidden his marbles under my skin, so I'm sleeping like a baby these days, needless to say.

4. R. found out he was going to be at a conference in Austin in two weeks, thus affording us some government-sponsored Pookie visitation. Just as I am getting excited about where we should go to celebrate my birthday and what chauchie little dress and shoes I should don, I get the message that the conference is cancelled. Oh cruel world! Why must the stars be aligned against us?!?

5. We also had a heated debate about something last night about which we both AGREED. Pointless and ridiculous. I can assert that it was definitely NOT my fault.

6. To top it off, R. is sending my birthday gift to my house and then expecting me not to open it until the end of the month on my birthdate! Uh, hello... Have you met me?!? This is like taking me to Hobby Lobby and expecting me not to buy anything.

7. As I'm driving to Bud's school to pick up carpool today, I got stuck behind two drivers, driving side by side and blocking traffic, who were slamming on their brakes every few seconds. They were careening down the street at a mind-numbing 22 miles per hour in a 30 mph zone. I should've made a citizen's arrest.

Seriously folks, I've just had this silly attitude for the last couple of days but haven't had time to blog or anything. I was just musing today at how peaceful and content I am for the first time in three years. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing the last time I thought that same thought. T. and I were on the Harley, and it was my 29th birthday. The late October sun in Louisiana was bright and piercing against a pristine blue sky, the air crisp and light. We were going to a battalion function and I had specifically asked to ride the bike since he was preparing to deploy the following year and I would not be able to ride on the bike with him for my 30th birthday. The day was so beautiful, and he was so proud of the Harley. It really could've ruined our relationship, but I'm proud to say that I sucked it up and made a point to find time for us to enjoy it together. I remember, as we rode off post and into town, leaning back on the sissy bar and putting my arms out to the sides like long, lean wings and looking up as I closed my eyes. I was thinking to myself, "Thank you, God, for this day. If you took me from this world right at this moment, I would never have been happier in my life." I was specifically thinking of my husband, my children, the weather, my life in general.

Almost three years later, I surprised myself today that I was thinking that same thought again. By all means, my life is not stress-free. I still have a lot of things that are uncertain in my life. The last three years have been rough, jagged, raw, dark, enduring. But I feel like I have emerged through them in stages, almost like walking through a house that is a series of rooms separated by closed doors. As I finish with one room, I look back, think about what I learned or experienced in that room, tentatively turn the knob, and step purposefully into the next room. That new room might smell wonderful or hideous, appear frightening or comforting -- there is no way of knowing this ahead of time. But there is a sense of sequence to them, and I know that it is impossible to proceed to the next one without spending time in the one I'm currently in. Mercifully, I have stepped into a room that seems like a holding tank or a parlor. I know I can't stay here long, but it's lovely and restful. I can still see the fog dancing under the last door that I came through, but it's not seeping through. The furniture is nice but not meant for lounging, so it doesn't exactly invite you to tarry for long but is comfortable for the time being, so we'll see.

So which room are you hanging out in these days in your life?

Wordless Wednesday

So maybe they're not exactly wordless, but perhaps just less wordy than all the other posts. You get the picture.

"Let your light so shine before men,
that they may see your good works
and glorify your Father in heaven."
--Matthew 5:16 (NKJV)