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Grace

Character, Grace, Love, Patience

Rock. Paper. Scissors. GRACE

“Grace is having a relationship with someone’s heart.  Not their behaviors.”

I believe grace may hold the largest percentage in the make up of love.  It is hidden in all good things.  All of the things we strive to be and have, there grace is… indexed first in the ingredient list.

Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. Acceptance.

In conflict, I’ve often prayed for God to help me see someone through His eyes.  “Help me love them as you do.”

It isn’t a prayer I like to pray.  Most often, my heart has to have been beaten and softened by the waves of life before I resort to trying grace.

And yet, when you pull grace out and bestow it, the peace that covers the situation and the hearts involved, makes one ponder why we don’t use it more.

Right?  That Bob Goff sure is smart. I need grace daily, yet internally – and lets be honest, sometimes externally, roll my eyes when it’s time to bestow it.  Especially when my fairness factor kicks in and keeps sending my brain reports on why grace has not been earned.

When my boys were younger and argued a lot, then the tattling began.  I would tell them, “Be nice to your brother! Extend some grace.”  It had only been uttered 101 times before an exasperated McCray said, ”MOM, I don’t even know what that means!!”

Grace (n): mercy; clemency; pardon.

Truthfully, I think Webster fails to describe accurately.  It’s like a salve.  Better than Neosporin or Eucerin.  It covers a hurt or transgression like an undeserved Band-Aid.  It is acceptance given when we don’t understand.  It is forgiveness given when the action is deamed unworthy.

Shocks and stuns.  A force as startling as the power of electricity.

Turn towards grace.  Flip the lights on.

In the game of Rock, Paper, Scissors….let grace be the paper that covers the rock of “fair”.

Love can be the scissors.

April 2, 2018 by
Family, Forgivness, Grace, Lessons, Love, Patience

Pippi, the Indian, and the Lessons throughout

I love you sugar, come see us when you can.”

I can still hear him saying that.  Even though our grandmother had passed on years before, he always ended our calls with “Come see us when you can”, perhaps it made him feel less lonely.  My weekend visits to see Pippi began when I was in high school.  I would take a friend, as I believed the pink brick house in Claude was haunted in ways I can’t fully explain.  It just was.  Later, I would plan my visits around when cousin Monica could meet me there for a visit with our beloved grandpa.  When Pippi passed away, it was Monica that called to tell me, which was fitting, as he was the tie that brought us together in our adulthood.

Monica and I with our sweet Pip

I was older by the time I really got close to Pippi.  He had lost an adult child (my dad) and his beloved wife of 44 years. He mourned for them deeply, but kept living.  He didn’t have another choice.  On every visit, we would have some reason to go into Amarillo – usually to shop, see more family, or for church followed by lunch at Furr’s Cafeteria.  A certainty on these visits, was that on the way home, he would exit I-40, turn left and enter into the graveyard that held our loved ones.  In my younger teenage years, this was weird, but comforting in an odd way.  It was the only time I had to pay my respects to the dad I barely knew and our sweet grandmother, both who left too soon.

Monica and I were very protective of Pippi.  His favorite thing to do when we came into town was take us to the café for breakfast, to show off his granddaughters.  In his later years, the locals weren’t as kind to Pip as we thought they should be.  A few years before he stopped driving, he was put on a new medicine that made him sleepy.  One morning, on his drive to the café, he fell asleep at the wheel, crossed over into the two oncoming lanes of traffic and landed his car into the building that faced the courthouse.

Claude is a small town in the panhandle of Texas, about 30 minutes east of Amarillo.  One of the town’s monuments was a cement Indian that stood out in front of the antique store.  Unfortunately, when Pippi’s truck finally rolled to a stop, it had mowed the sacred Native American statue down.  Thankfully, the non-breathing, cement man was the only casualty of the accident.

The folks of Claude handled this news hard.  The grief-stricken people had a funeral for the Indian and buried him.  Let me be clear for those in the back – they buried a CEMENT STATUE. When travelers driving down highway 287 started asking the locals where the antique statue went, they dug the cement Indian back up, pieced him back together as best they could, and stuck him in a wheel chair for all to see and enjoy again.  I kid you not.  Creepiest looking thing ever.

Visiting the Claude Indian. Poor McCray wouldn’t even stand by it. They even laid his cement fingers in his lap. Grief makes you do funny things.

It was after that incident that the locals weren’t as kind or patient with Pippi, and his granddaughters didn’t like it one bit.  Breakfast wasn’t as sweet when we were dodging the looks of disappointment and judgement.  Sometimes I think they thought that our Pip might have talked too much, which is exactly when Monica and I would really ramp up our interest in the story that we had already heard seven times before.

Pippi was a patient man who loved at all times. We chose to take his teachings and reciprocate the love back to him.  They say grace is like working a muscle, the more you work it, the stronger it gets.  The love muscle works the same.  I never saw Pip lift a weight or run a block, but boy did he exercise the right muscles.

Once, we had a family reunion in Irving, three of us cousins took our grandparents car to the store to get bread. Our grandmother, Tootie, didn’t want to lose their good parking spot at the hotel we were staying at.  It was right in front of their room, so you can see why this spot was coveted. So, she had sweet, obedient Pip stand in the parking spot while we drove off to get some white bread. (Pippi may not have had a t-shirt stating, “Happy wife, Happy life”, but he lived by the mantra. Smart man.)  On our quick trip to the store, we made several detours, including dropping by to see a friend of Monica’s. You should never trust a new driver to make a quick trip, two hours later, we pulled into the hotel parking lot to find Pippi still standing in the good parking spot.

Now that I’m an adult and a parent to a driver, I can’t fully put into clean words the irritation I would have with my kiddos had it been me standing in the good parking spot during a Texas summer, for several hours. But Pippi didn’t show any anger, he wiped the sweat off his brow and simply asked if we got the bread.

Two things warm my heart about that memory. He stood there in the Texas heat to keep Tootie’s good parking spot, because…happy wife, happy life.  Secondly, the three teenage granddaughters who needed to be reprimanded, were instead gifted with patience and grace.

Pippi loved at all times. He loved when it wasn’t convenient or easy. He loved at times when others weren’t loving or lovable. He extended love and grace. He provided a safe haven for so many of us.  In a complicated world, he was not.

Nowadays, we speak of love languages. And I’m fairly confident that Pippi covered all of them. Quality time – he was always happy to offer to all of us. Words of affirmation – he was never shy about sharing how much he loved us. Physical Touch – there was never a shortage of hugs.  Acts of service – he spent years protecting his country & providing for a family.  And the final one, Gifts – I think all of us cousins would agree this was covered by consistently providing sugar cereal to the grandkids, and in later years, breakfast at the cafe in Claude.

Love is patient, Love is kind, Pippi not only understood this, but created a life around it.

And his granddaughter is still gleaming from his example.

 

*My apologies for those offended by my use of the word “Indian”.  Since I am one, I deemed it okay to use it in my blog post.  I normally use the term Native American, but that is not the name of the statue in Claude. It’s name is “Indian”.

 

January 7, 2018 by
Family, Forgivness, Grace, Hope, Lessons, Love, Parenting, perfection, Prayer, Renewed

Sanitized Martha and Transforming Grace

Sunday morning started down a rough path…beginning on Saturday.  The oldest darling had sent me a text stating what his weekend plans were (with him now being an adult and all).  I replied that his social calendar was fine with me as long as he was asking and not telling, and that we were planning on going to church the next morning, so to make sure and factor that in. The whining that began was enough to make you want to donate your ears.  The arguments ranged from, “This is my only day this week to sleep in”, to “I don’t have anything clean to wear” to finally, “Are we going to the really EARLY service??”.

Irritated, (as he only goes to church with us twice a month due to our co-parenting schedule) I informed the entitled, overgrown tyke that we were going to the same service we always went to, then followed up with a short text telling him, “Don’t be a butt”.  Only I didn’t say butt.  Jesus fill the gaps.  (Feel free to message or email me for any further mothering tips.)  May God help me recognize earlier when to insert gentle teaching moments, as I clearly have some parental growing to do.  That is a scary realization when you have teenagers and hear the clock ticking down on your job being mostly done.

Mason has always referred to me as the “Blind Side Mom”, and I now see why.  I thought he had always based it on the “Get your feet off my dash.” line in the movie, also the fact that I will take in anyone – whether they have two legs or four.  I want to focus more on the opportunities for grace-filled, building moments and less snap-you-up moments.

Have you ever noticed that your attitude can sometimes determine your circumstances, and always seems to have a say on your outcome?  Obviously I haven’t.  No doubt, my attitude laid the foundation of our Sunday morning (starting on Saturday).  Mason was meeting us at church, since he had stayed the night with a friend.  McCray had decided to drop his brain in the toilet, which short circuited his memory into forgetting what he is allowed to wear to church and walked out to the car looking like we were headed to basketball practice.  “WHAT are you wearing?” is a sentence I learned not to waste my time on with boys, due to it never being answered with a good reason, but I relapsed.  I was stressed because my morning started with getting full out dressed (aka wash, dry, AND fix my hair…angels be near.) and load the car with all the fixings for Sunday lunch with it being my week to cook.

By the time we got to church, I felt as though I had fought my way out of a fierce swarm of bees, with some stingers still tucked inside my skin.  Irritation was written all over my body.  I might as well have been on a 24-hour college bender, because that’s how tired I felt.  Was the fuss even worth it?  It’s so peopley here today, with all these perfect families.  What did I just teach these boys with my attitude about them getting here to worship our God who is into simplicity?   Good grief, what a missed opportunity.

Then, we sang a song with the chorus that sings,

O church, come stand in the light.  The glory of God has defeated the night.”.

All the stings, given and received, and the past eighteen hours melted – like holy calgon, taking it away.  They say that hope begins when you stand in the dark, looking out at the light.  I believe hope is also realizing that our notion of a sanitized, perfect Christianity isn’t really what Jesus taught or intended us to strive for.  Hope is a whisper that says, “Come stand in the light beloved, no matter how dirty you feel.”

I had spent the last two days getting worked up that my boys didn’t have the right attitude about church or dress perfectly for church, that I missed an opportunity to attract them TO the church – the act of worship and the practice of filling your bucket.   Oh Martha, dear Martha, why do you have to show up here again?

When McCray was an infant, I started (note started, didn’t finish) the bible study, “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World”, based on the story of the sisters in Luke 10.  I not only identified with Martha, but I felt so sorry for her.  Everyone was being so hard on her, wanting her to be more like her sister.  Clearly Mary wasn’t going to cook, clean, and prepare for Jesus, so who did that leave?  Martha!  I want to have a pep rally for Martha, or create a power point explaining her perspective, because every time I read the story, I see myself in her actions and frustrations.

Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing.  One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it – it’s the main course, and it won’t be taken from her.”  Luke 10:41-42 (The Message Bible)

There is no space for sanitized Christanity in transforming grace. Transformations are messy, yet grace can clean better than a Roomba and bleach.  Grace can easily tackle messy foundations and sanitized surfaces. Poor Martha’s wholehearted service got tangled up in sanitation while Mary did the good thing and sat at the feet of grace Himself.  Grace says to our Martha moments, “You are worried and troubled by many things, but choose the GOOD part.  Calm down and come sit down, right at My feet beloved.”

I think I heard grace also say, “Who in tarnation cares what that boy is wearing, we are aiming for his heart, not his fashion sense”.  I’m pretty positive I heard that whispered.  God is into simplicity.  Let’s join Him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 27, 2017 by
Family, Friendship, Gifts, Grace, Hope, Laughter, Love, Prayer, Renewed

Friendship – The Real Stuff

For the times in life where I have struggled to catch my breath, friendship has served as my inhaler.  Stressed?  Better call the besties, because friendship can literally breathe life back into a weary soul.

Learning how to breathe is in direct response to calming my spirit. Calming my spirit is in direct response to letting things go, and accepting that there are just some things I cannot control. Who wants to live like a fish out of water, not knowing where their next breath is coming from? This is called anxiety – the feeling of standing on unstable ground.  During these shaky moments is when we reach for support.

Recently, our family went through a true crisis. I sent a text out to my friends asking for prayers and advice.  They recognized that I was at my capacity for handling the situation, my spirit was stretched and about to bust. What friendship did in that moment, is show up.  Showing up isn’t always literal, but it is always emotional. Sometimes it’s driving two hours to sit with you at the hospital, a phone call, a simple text checking on you or a funny meme to lighten your mood. Friendship is the scaffolding that supports and holds us up during the rough patches.

A gathering of friends for my 30th birthday…just a few months ago. Or 9 years. Same.

We were made to represent the love of God for our people here on earth, that each person we journey with may have a deeper understanding of God’s love for them.  It has been said that we are all just walking each other home.  I couldn’t love that thought more, healthy relationships remind us of the goodness of God, by bringing more divine into our lives.

Friendship can never be authentic unless you are honest and vulnerable. True friendship is the real stuff – not the artificial sweetener that attempts to taste like the real stuff.  True friendship is the pure cane sugar of life -messy calories and all.  When you find that tribe member, the building of a friendship begins.  Growing up, I never had a clubhouse, but this is how I picture the home of friendship.  When one shares something vulnerable, it’s as if she is handing you a brick to add to the building of the clubhouse.  You, in return, share or confide by handing her a stone to build on.  This goes on, in no specific time frame or rhythm, and one day you look up and realize your clubhouse is built.  It’s not a perfect clubhouse made of one single material or straight lines, but it is beautiful.  It is a place for both parties to be nourished under the shelter of friendship.

When one shows up for another, it’s like having a decorating meeting inside your well-loved clubhouse.  Pitchers in hand, ready to pour into whichever soul needs it at the moment.  If you look for fault in your friends, you will find it. We are all human. But if you continue to only look for the lovely, that’s what you will see.  If one can’t be there today, be thankful for the one who is.  They all have their own purpose in your life.  Your friendships will show up in all different ways, like a gorgeous rainbow.

There are few things better than a can’t-catch-your-breath-laugh with girlfriends.  Recently a group of us drove south to hear a beloved author, Jen Hatmaker, speak at the Austin Bass Concert Hall.   Afterwards, we walked outside to wait on our requested Uber.  We stood out front, waiting on Thor, chatting about where we should eat dinner.  I glanced up and saw Jen Hatmaker herself walking out of the building with her entourage, I really wanted to run and tell her specifically what her writing has meant to me, then I remembered the chapter called “Fangirl” in her latest book. She encourages us to fangirl Jesus and our friends instead of famous people who we don’t know. Inwardly, I rolled by eyes, whispered “fine”, and turned back to fangirl my gals.

Perfect timing, as a minivan pulled up, the driver got out and the automatic minivan doors opened.  What service Thor, you have earned yourself a rating of Uber excellence young man.  As Kristy and Patricia started to get in, the side door jammed while in auto mode, which caused a constant dreadful sound, kind of like a possum was stuck in it.  All four of us looked through the car to the driver, who was standing by his door just staring at us. “Sir, what’s wrong with your door?”  Blank stare.  “SIR, can you come fix your door?  Something is wrong with it.”  At one point, Marlo pushed through the other two and started trying to shove it open while saying through clenched teeth, “Oh. I. got. this!” – a word for each shove. Resolved that we weren’t climbing in on that side, we all went to the drivers side, got in and was buckling up when a random lady came over and said, “What have y’all done to the door?”  Not knowing who she was or what business she had in our night, we stuck to the Stranger-Danger rule and ignored her, continuing about the task of getting into our Uber.  Stranger-Danger-Lady wouldn’t give up with the questions though.  Sweet Patricia just kindly smiled at her as the rest of us ignored her.  She said something like, “This is my car.”,  Ugh, lady…go away.  In really slow talk so she would understand and quit asking questions, we replied, “No ma’am, this is our Uber, Thor is our driver.”  Done with the shenanigans she yelled, “THIS IS MY *&$%ing CAR and you broke my door!”  She was further thrilled when we sat there staring at her, as the situation took some time to soak in.  The situation of mistaking the valet guy for Thor, our Uber driver.  No wonder the Thor (who wasn’t Thor) just stared at us without words when we ask him to please fix his door. Just as we climbed into the poor sailor-mouth-lady’s car, we piled back out.  Back out into the rain to once again, to wait for our Uber – in the Valet line.

To be clear – the next car we got into was the correct one – Cliff’s car.  Which sounds a lot like Thor…

Send kindness out in big, generous waves, send it near and far, send it through texts and e-mails and calls and words and hugs, send it by showing up, send it by proximity, send it in casseroles, send it with a well-timed “me too”, send it with abandon.  Put out exactly what you hope to draw in, and expect it back in kind and in equal measure. Sow seeds of affirmation and goodness and grace into others, and you will reap the devotion of well-loved friends.”  Jen Hatmaker – Of Mess and Moxie

Put simply – it takes being a friend to have a friend. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum. My first years into adulthood were some of the loneliest.  I was in a growth gap, past who I was and not yet grown into who I was becoming.  I don’t like the thought of growing out of a friendship, I’d rather be grateful for the season that we had it.  Not all relationships will make the duration of your journey, some are just meant for a season.

Pay attention to those who show up in big and little ways. Pay attention to those who support you, who defend you, who encourage you to rise above and be better in this moment. Surround yourself with honest and loyal people, those who know when to push you and when to encourage you to pivot.  Nurture your friendships, show up for your people, love on your tribe, and preserve that beloved clubhouse – it can always use another brick or decoration.  We cannot do life alone, we were made to connect.

Life is brutal and life is beautiful.  The brutal doesn’t break us because the beautiful sustains us.”

 

 

 

 

 

October 30, 2017 by
Character, Clothing, Courage, Fashion, Gifts, Grace, Laughter, Lessons

Clothed in Congeniality

I’ve been shopping all of my life and I have nothing to wear…

Growing up in a middle-class family with two little sisters didn’t allow for many frivolous shopping sprees.  We didn’t need for anything, but we could always selfishly find a want for more clothes. I always looked forward to new outfits for our church conventions in the summer and a few at Christmas time.

The Christmas that I was in 7th grade, my precious grandmother made all of her granddaughters a sweatshirt. These weren’t just regular threads. Allow me to walk you through this fashion statement, so you can fully understand the beauty of it.  My sweatshirt was deep purple, on the front there was a vine made from a thin, green ribbon, with a line sewn down the middle to create ruffled edges.  On the vine were different colors of pink flowers, made from ribbon as well. These were special flowers as they were VELCROED on.  Yes ma’am, no foolery here.  I had the option of pulling a blush-pink flower off the vine on my shoulder, and trading places with the bashful-pink flower on my stomach, or the hot-pink flower on the other shoulder.  The front was beautifully covered with floral goodness.  I could not wait for Christmas break to be over, so I could wear it to school.

Seventh grade is so awkward.  I don’t have to explain this to you, as it is a fact of life. My middle school years were a tad more cumbersome.  Due to our religious beliefs, I wore skirts every day for modesty. Middle school is not the place you want to be different, but it grew my character and created a funny bone.  The first day back to school, I woke up early and couldn’t wait to get dressed.  You know that feeling of assurance – your day will be good because your outfit is rocking.  I clothed myself in a long, blue jean skirt, penny loafers, and my new 3-D floral sweatshirt. Boom.  Watch out world.

Throughout the day I discovered my flowers were a tad difficult to stay on the Velcro vine, so I adjusted how I carried my books – normally tucked to my chest, now held at my side with one arm.  Whatever, change is good.  After lunch, I was walking down the hall and heard, “Hey!  Hey girl in purple!  Hey…Girl that wears skirts!  Skirt girl!”  I finally realized it was me they were yelling at, and turned around to see the most popular 8th grade boy, who every girl had a crush on.  Hoping he had a glass slipper for me to try on, I answered, “Yes?”

“One of your flowers is in Hallway A.”, he said, then turned on his heel and walked into the lunch room.  I looked down and sure enough, one of my floral buds had fallen off, leaving a white square of Velcro showing.  I never wore the sweatshirt to school again.  I decided in that moment to aim for Miss Congeniality and focus on having a good personality.  I couldn’t control my looks and clothing.  My personality and ability to let things roll off, would serve me better. While you can’t control your outer life, we can always control our inner self.

Cut to adulthood – I still believe and operate on those principles, and I also love clothes and fashion.  Like, I could marry them.

Hubs and I were getting dressed to go out the other night and he joked, “Hey, let’s pick each other’s clothes out.”  Then we both roared with laughter at the thought of it.  He laughed because he made a funny.  I laughed to cover my horror at the mental vision of walking out of my closet, clothed in threads chosen by my groom. Flashbacks of middle school made me shutter.  Here is where I emphasize that it is healthy for love to have boundaries. Clear lines.

It’s no secret that I love to travel, yet hate to pack.  Partly because I need to bring it all.  Or at least a couple of choices for each day, as I don’t know what mood I’ll be in upon awaking. Somedays I feel like being Sporty Spice.  Others, I can’t wait to be all fancy and stoic like Posh.  Most times I would welcome imitating Baby Spice by staying in my pajamas, aka “yoga pants” all day.  Bottom line, I don’t know what I really, really want, until waking up and checking the pulse of my day.

You can imagine how sad I would feel if I brought the outfit for Sporty Spice, and Ginger Spice showed up that day for dressing.  Awkward.  I’m making it sound like I have a plethora of outfits to choose from when in actuality, my style walks a pretty basic line.  My friend Jessica refers to it as “classic”, when I’m almost positive she means boring.  But once she compared my style to Jennifer Aniston, so I forgive her.

At one time, I clearly had too much time on my hands and stitched a favorite quote for my closet. “I like my money where I can see it, hanging in my closet.”  Perhaps it was a warning label, framed for my husband. “This girl does and will buy clothes, think of it as an investment, with a return of happiness.”   Here are a few things I like to have in my closet to make me feel warm and safe:

  • White/neutral shirts. I don’t care if it’s a t-shirt or a blouse. I am like Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.  He felt compelled to buy the book ‘Catcher in the Rye’, over and over.  I have the same pull to white tops.  I breathe easier with an assortment.  This also applies to blue jean shirts, one simply cannot have too many.
  • A good pair of comfy jeans. I mainly wear Seven for all Mankind, because they fit me well.  Also, to avoid the mental agony of going to try on another brand that may or may not love my shape.  Dance with the one that brought you.  Side note – 7 for all Mankind’s website always has a 40% off sale at the end of the season.  Be patient friend.  This ensures you won’t have guilt for buying two pairs.  If you are local, run to Mainstream Boutique and grab you a pair of Mac and Me jeans.  They are cute, trendy jeans with a secret, inside waist band of ELASTIC.  No one wants to admit they are throwing in the towel and going straight stretchy pants, but if we can secretly do it? Yes please.
  • Platform wedges. Everyone in our house is now taller than me.  They love reminding me of this, and I play the game only because it makes them happy.  I’ve never wanted to be any other height than I am.  Truthfully, I’ve never paid attention to height until I had teenage boys.  I wear wedges because I like the look of them on my particular legs.  Never to be taller.  Own your inches ladies, no matter how many you have in each direction.  The elderly ladies in the gym locker room remind me every time I’m getting dressed, “You won’t be able to wear those for much longer!”  So, rock ’em while you can Sister-Lou.
  • Layering pieces. Which means light-weight sweaters or jackets in Texas. Even when it is hotter than heck outside, I freeze in the office.  Layers speak love to me, it’s like hugging your body.
  • Fun accessories. This is where I will throw out the class and get crazy.  Belts, jewelry, etc.  The funkier, the better.  It balances the boredom of a white shirt or all the neutrals that I wear.
  • “Movement clothes”, a phrase coined by my friend Casey. This basically means pajamas, but without the commitment of calling it that, just in case someone thinks you mean yoga or workout clothing.  As soon as my feet enter the door of our home, I’m headed to my closet to change into movement clothes.  I love comfort.  I could never have a reality TV show, simply for the fact that I would never be dressed appropriately for the camera.  They would have to ask me to get dressed daily, and I would reply with a deadpan stare and point to my surroundings. In our home, we wear movement clothes.

No matter what threads cover you, your outfit will go a lot further if you are clothed in congeniality. Even if it is attached to you with velcro, wear it proudly.  Especially if it was stitched by your grandmother.

October 16, 2017 by