Crosspatch

My youngest great nephew, Caleb, turned 15 yesterday and both his parents posted a variety of photos celebrating his big day. This was one of those pictures and one I adore. It shows the unvarnished truth: a little boy who had much better things to do with his time than sit for a photograph! To be clear, Caleb is one of the most fun-loving people I know - he is usually sporting a big smile and about to toss off a joke, but in this split second of time, his discontent is clearly recorded.

Thinking about that moment motivated me to dig out this book from my childhood. Crosspatch by Helen and Alf Evers, tagged 2 for 25 cents at Clarks Department Store and inscribed  with my name and the date, 1967, in my Mom's hand. Was I a Crosspatch, too, at age 7?

My sister certainly was a Crosspatch. Here's a pic my Great Uncle Foster took of her when she, too clearly didn't want her picture taken. (It comes to no surprise, that just seeing this picture would turn her into an adult Crosspatch, but I've had  it framed and displayed in my china cabinet for years.  Like the picture of Caleb it holds such a special place in my heart.)

"Crosspatchedness" must surely run in my family. This picture of my younger son, Zack, as a grumpy baby at the beach is also one of my favs and is framed and displayed at our place at the beach. And again, Zack at a Parkwood United Methodist Church Halloween party clearly telegraphing "don't take my photo!"

Crosspatch, the little  lion in my Tip-Top Elf/Rand McNally Book has no friends which makes him even crosser, so much so that he has a big tantrum. Big enough to clear out all the visitors to the zoo. We learn that "Crosspatch knew there was only on way to get away from his crossness. And that was - NEVER to be cross again." That's a pretty good lesson for a 7 year old (though surely I was never cross?)

But the adult in me sees another, deeper, lesson. Because when we are at our crossest, our most irritated, our most human, that is when we are most needing to be loved.  It is when we are most hungry for a kind word, a hug, a cup of tea, or a listening ear.

And in public? We've all see Crosspatches in the wild, in line at the grocery store, pumping gas, sitting next to us at our kid's ballgame. What if, instead of returning crossness with crossness, we offer kindness instead? What if we let that person in line go in front of us? What if we smile at the woman in the pump and we complement our neighbor's kids?

That's radical love - it grace we are offered every day by God. We are seen with all our imperfections and loved perfectly anyway. It is the soft space of unconditional love. And the cost to us? Nothing.

The price is the same for us to return crosspatchedness with love. We've becomes a fragmented and vitriolic country. Perhaps  kindness and unconditional love is the best medicine we have to heal a hurting nation.

 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.   1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (NIV)

Father, help us to always, everywhere, and unfailingly grant patience, kindness, and love to those we see around us everyday. Help us to grant that same grace to ourselves when we see a Crosspatch in the mirror. 

Purpose

I sleep like a feral animal. If you ask my long suffering husband he will likely regale you with chilling tales of how he shivers on the edge of the bed with absolutely no covers. My favorite position is part fetal, part sprawl with  a leg stretched out as far as it can go to lay claim to mid-bed real estate  for myself. In fact, hitching that leg out so far has given me some problems with my hip flexor and I'm trying desperately to pull that hamhock back in at night. So when I saw a trim little pillow  near the checkout at Walgreen's I made a purchase. THIS would solve my problem, allowing me to align my legs properly.

It does help and has earned in place in my nocturnal landscape, but Little Girl, our ancient pug and pleasure hound has found that it fits her chin perfectly. She has determined that the true purpose of that pillow is to support her precious head.

Little Girl and "her" pillow

Tuesday at PT (yes, for my hip flexor) I ran into the mom of an old friend of mine. Her daughter, Diana, and I were thick as thieves when our kids were in Durham Public Schools together, both of us were PTA queens and busy moms and lived in the same neighborhood. But then, life brought change and a move across town, and our relationship shrunk to a yearly exchange of Christmas Cards.  But despite not seeing her often,  I continued to hold her near and dear in my heart.

Mrs. Harmon and I at PT. We have the same therapist!

When my sister was in the ICU last March, I reached out to Diana for help. My sister was a member of the the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latte-Day Saints  and Diana and her family are Mormons, too, and fully embrace their faith. I texted  Diana at her number from years ago and she responded. She immediately stepped in, contacting Elaine's church family, asking if we needed help arranging a blessing for my sister, bringing a care basket to the hospital, feeding our family, and so importantly, helping us understand Mormon funerals. My heart swells with gratitude  to this very day for all the kindnesses she showed us - and the very real difference she made guiding us through Elaine's last days and service.

Diana's kindnesses was the personification of Romans 8:28:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

God was with us in that painful week; He made his presence known in many ways, especially through the loving action of an old friend. He wrapped and comforted and prepared us, through a friendship that had been ordained years ago. Diana's purpose, in our lives, in that moment, was clear: to reflect God's love and extend His grace to us. I am forever grateful.

Father, help us find the purpose in our lives. Guide and direct us so that we might reflect your love and extend your grace to your children. 

Diana and I at the open house for the renovated Apex Temple last September. 

PS.   ...and Little Girl? What is her true purpose in our lives? Why to give us the opportunity to SERVE, of course! 

Lost in the Translation

Samantha, or Sam for short, is an amazing young physical therapist who was recently assigned to Mom's care to help with strengthening and stamina. She is knowledgeable, energetic, encouraging and very professional. She is also from Minnesota.

For those of you who have visited Minnesota or have the pleasure to know a Minnesotan, they have a distinctive accent that simply charms the socks right off of me. Even in speaking the name of their state, you can hear their long "ohhhhh" sound as in Minne-Sohhhhhh-da. I once had a flight connection in Minneapolis and rather than read, I simply sat and marinated in the lulling sounds of the voices around me.

So yeah. I love the accent. Mom, not so much. Oh, she likes Sam fine, despite shooting her the occasional stink eye for her requests of additional reps or steps. But she can't understand a darn thing Sam says.

So when Sam speaks,  Mom looks at me, and Sam looks at me and there is a little pause. And I translate. I translate from Minnesotan to our native dialect, which is actually a Virginia Piedmont Accent. Or as my husband says is the one that sounds like there are grits flying out of my mouth.

And so on we go, like a ping pong game back and forth - Sam to me and me to Mom. And it works. And there is humor in it, and affection, and union. 

And isn't that what we want in our communication with people? The united front, the face to face communication, the listening, the sharing, the sound of a warm voice and - the light - the understanding!

We have created many barriers to effective communication in society today: texts, Facebook, emails, and Twitter. So efficient!   Yet the heart of communication - the heart of understanding lies in speech - and time. In the quiet back and forth of a shared conversation, the non-verbal facial cues that allow us the richness of  fully comprehending one another.

Paul writes in Colossians 4:6:

 Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.

 So let's talk - face-to-face or on a phone. Skype or Google Hangout. Use Facetime. But talk - graciously - to one other. And listen.

Father, we thank you for the richness of speech and the opportunities to live in authentic relationship with one another. Help us to make time for carefully curated words and the moments in between. 

The Daughter She Never Had

Friday was Earle's birthday and on Sunday, as usual, he made his way to Kernersville to visit with his Mom. When he returned, he dumped a large gift bag onto the dining room table. There was no doubt in my mind that it held clothes.

My mother-in-law has exquisite taste and her overflowing closets are filled with classic designs, herringbones, leopard prints, checks, and plaids. For the almost 40 years I've known her, she has carefully curated her wardrobe and tastefully arranged ensembles for every occasion. 

She tries, a bit in desperation, to outfit us as well, but with Earle's rubric for dressing "Is it clean?" and mine  "Does it fit?" it's a bit of an uphill slog.

On Monday, I go to unpack the gift bag. Inside I find three white polos - great choices for Earle because he can't mismatch white. As expected, the fourth item was a sweater. 

Earle has, thanks to his Mom, an excellent collection of sweaters. And like Strega Nona's Pasta Pot, no matter how many he gives away, he seems to have more. 

But this time something is different. I notice the back of the sweater is longer than the front. I hold it up - the shoulders don't seem very wide and the neckline is well, rather feminine. When I see it still sports the tags from Kohl's I enter it into their online store and low and behold...

My Mother-in-Law has given my big, burly husband a woman's sweater for his birthday! 

When I texted him the screenshot above, he immediately texted back "I'm the daughter she never had!" 

We've laughed over this for days, but in the back of my mind there is a thread of thought. How much is too much? Our closets are overflowing. New is "fresh", new is "better," but are we as people "fresher" and "better" for it? I'm setting myself a challenge this year, to pare down, to keep, collect, and stockpile less - and clothes are a good place to start. If someone else needs something we don't, why are we holding on? Didn't Jesus tell us in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6:28-30)

 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?"

Father, help us be less focused on our what we put on our bodies and more focused on what we put in our heart. Give us the wisdom to made good and careful choices, living as you would have us do. Amen. 

And PS? That sweater fits me like a charm! 

A Little Something Sweet

My 94 year old Mom and I had a walk down memory lane this week, straight to the the cookie shelf in our hometown grocery store.

Mr. Charlie Painter ran a fine establishment on the Main Street of Seaboard, North Carolina. The building was part of the tiny downtown and abutted the bustling sidewalk. There were a few awning covered steps that lead up to the door which opened into a snug, well stocked space. Regular shoppers were greeted with a familiar scent, a mixture of fresh bread, sharp cheese, and the assorted smells of the butchery in the back. The old wooden floor creaked hello and stock boys and grocers called out greetings. It felt like home.

The register area and exit sat just a few feet from the entrance due  to the long rectangular layout and housed a clanging register and odds and ends of assorted bookkeeping and store keeping necessities. Nestled among all of this were large cookie jars, emblazoned with the label "Jacks." For a penny  (before the price hike to 2/5 cents) you could reach your hand inside for a crisp butter cookie (with a hold in the middle excellent for twirling on a finger),  a coconut cookie, or a lemon cookie. They were crisp and sweet and the perfect little something to consume on the stroll back home.

Alternatively, on the cookie shelf proper, one could find enchanting kid=sized packages of Nabisco Snaps. Their boxes were about the same size as their neighboring Animal Crackers and they came in Chocolate, Vanilla, Chocolate Chip and Ginger. Of this batch, Ginger was by far the most exotic. They had a distinctive crisp tang of true ginger backed up with a mild sweetness. For a kid my age, they ranked behind the more familiar sweet treats, but were often my mom's favorite and so being, often won the right to come home.

Years later, I rarely found myself around ginger snaps until I went on a Cub Scout outing with our friends, the Hartleys. Al was the of  leader of the pack and his wife, Anne, was gracious enough to host our factious assemblage of boys at her family home in Ebony, VA for camping/swimming festivities at nearby Lake Gaston. While there, she and I  visited Ebony's mom and pop grocery store and memories of Charlie Painter's came flooding back.  So many things were the same, the smell, welcome, the small town feel. When we headed to the checkout, ginger snaps and sharp cheddar cheese accompanied us.

Anne asked me if I'd ever had them together? Heresy! Cookies and cheese together? Never had I heard of such a thing! But she showed me by example, breaking a small piece of bright yellow cheese on top of a crisp ginger snap and WOW! The contrast of the smooth, creamy, yet tart cheese brought out the tingling spice of the cookie. A match made in heaven!

This Christmas, my friend Laura, tucked a big container of ginger snaps in my generous Christmas basket and I when I discovered it, I couldn't get to my Harris Teeter fast enough to pick up cheddar cheese slices. Over the holidays when things became too frantic I slipped into the kitchen and had a ginger snap topped with cheddar, a taste of bliss on a stress filled day.

Now, I can't imagine not pairing these two.. They have become a "thing" to me. They are two distinct elements that are now a "new creation."

To many of us, January, with it's talk of resolutions and new envisionings, is welcome. It offers hope and belief that we too can become something more (or less, if it resolutions include diets!) But this idea of doing over, doing better is a comfort to our painfully human bodies and souls. January offers us our own chance to be a new creation!

It's an idea that is familiar. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:17:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! 

Let this idea of a New Creation guide us as we look ahead to 2020. How can we take this verse to heart? Our most immediate thoughts turn towards our bodily health - how can I lose weight, have more energy, eat better, feel better, exercise more? But perhaps even more we are called to  evaluate the health of our "spiritual heart?" How can we grow a heart for Christ? How can we grow a heart for God's people? For all God's people? How can we live into being a "New Creation?"

Father, help us see ourselves more clearly. Lead us to see with your eyes, the good in all people. Help us to help those in need in your name. To love instead of hate, to join, instead of divide, to lift instead of dismiss. Amen. 

Stepping into the Unknown

Mary Frances, 9 years old

When Mary Frances was around 8 or 9, she created an audacious game she loved to play. I am quite sure it left her more exhilarated than a fast ride on her bike down the hill in front of her white farmhouse. The only problem was, she couldn't find anyone to play it with her. Her best friends, Scottie and Emma Jean, flat out refused though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

 It was a simple game. There was an shed behind her house next to the woodhouse surrounded by s a deep pile of soft southern sand. If she strategically placed her feet in the proper spots on the adjoining fence, she could climb up to the roof. Then, once atop the shed, she would proceed to close her eyes and    WALK    SLOWLY    TOWARDS    THE     EDGE   OF   THE  ROOF    NOT   KNOWING    WHEN   SHE WOULD   FALL   OFF.

That pile of soft sand saved her again and again. I owe that pile of sand my life.

But I do love to imagine Mom walking into nothingness.   Her heart must have raced, and I bet her cheeks were flushed pink, hair flying wild- a young adrenaline junkie.

"It was fun!" she recalls! "No-one would play it with me," she laments. "I had to do it by myself!"

She stepped into the unknown with the full faith that she would be okay. She never doubted.

And isn't that what we want in life? To have full faith that things will turn out okay? That we can take a chance once and for all?

In Isaiah 43, the prophet Isaiah gives words of comfort and hope to the people of Israel who were in exile in Babylonia. Today we, too can draw comfort and hope from these words - from the beautiful language, especially these verses from the NIV:

1But now, this is what the Lord says—
    he who created you, Jacob,
    he who formed you, Israel:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.
3 For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior;


This protection, this grace, was certainly extended to the young girl incarnation of my mother and even in these, her later days, I see this glimpses of this grace daily.

This grace is offered to us too. Our God is a faithful one who will strengthen and protect us. So in this New Year, take heart! The same grace/protection offered to the ancient people of Israel will see us through our times of trouble.

The start of a new year is a natural time for self-reflection. What have you yet to achieve in your life? What ways of service are tugging at you? Take a risk, try new things, forge new relationships or reestablish old ones, care for you body, your family, your home. Get involved with a volunteer group you've always admired. And do these this with the ultimate faith that God is with you through it all.

Like Mary Frances, step out in the faith and the knowledge that you are a beloved of God and He will be with you.

All you have to do is just take the first step into the unknown!