I am unabashedly corny at Christmas. I like baking Christmas cookies and cutting them into shapes before decorating them with way too much red and green icing. I enjoy the old traditional Christmas carols and know almost every stanza of each one.
My favorite ornaments are the ones my daughters have made, the ones that have been given to us as gifts, and the ones that have been in my family forever (which means they are not in the best shape). My tree doesn’t have a color scheme or a theme, just a jumble of ornaments and, at the top, the angel that my parents gave us when we got married.
Last night we went to the candlelight and carol service at the church I grew up in. I still love hearing O Holy Night, and I still get a lump in my throat when I sing Silent Night in a darkened, candlelit sanctuary.I’m writing this on Christmas Eve at my Mom’s house, where my family and I are about to enjoy our traditional feast of peel & eat shrimp, various cheese balls and appetizers and a nice glass of wine.
Today is my 49th birthday. I can’t help but feel just a bit nostalgic for the days when I didn’t need glasses, had pretty good short-term memory and could sleep until noon without waking up with a sore neck and a tension headache. I notice the lines on my face, spend a fortune covering gray hair, and have come to accept that, no matter how little I eat or how much I exercise, I am never really going to look good in a swimsuit. I remember what it felt like to throw myself through the air, yet I know that even if it were still possible, no one really wants to see a 49-year-old woman throw a backflip.
Growing older takes many things from us that we’ll never get back. But we exchange the temporary, the superficial for a much deeper joy. For my 49 years of lessons learned, trials and regrets, I have gained a depth of wisdom that comes only from having lived. Physical beauty can be bought by those willing to pay the price of clothes, cosmetics, hairstylists, the time to pursue an exercise regimen. Wisdom is far more costly but brings more fulfillment than I ever knew on my best-hair day — even in the size 10 Calvin Klein jeans.
So I’ll think of my birthday as a celebration of what I have bought with these years. As my youth slips away, I discover the peace that comes from knowing God, walking with him through the valleys and finding Him faithful for 17,520 days.Would I go back?
• the spying I used to do so that I could surprise my loved ones with exactly what they wanted without having to ask them • the Excel spreadsheet I would make with thoughtful gift ideas and budget estimates • coming home and showing off — or trying to hide — the things I bought • the gift wrapping marathon in front of the TV • the craziness of the mall (even that!)
But I think I miss most the time I took to actually slow down and think about the people on my list — about what’s important to them, what kinds of new hobbies or interests they may have. I miss knowing that others have spent time thinking about me.
I cannot think of one gift I’ve received that I have really hated — because each one represents the time someone spent thinking about me and what I might like — even if a few may have missed the mark.
I could still make the list, do the shopping and wrapping and then I’d feel better about Christmas gift giving. But that’s about me — and the spirit of giving is about the other person, isn’t it?
So I guess now its time to order those Amazon gift certifcates, get the Target and iTunes cards and hit the ATM.
One of the last photos taken of my Dad; Jim took it in the backyard of the house I grew up in, probably in late May 1993; they were cooking on the grill, which is why the dishtowel is slung over his shoulder.
The most important thing my Daddy taught me: grace
The Oxford American Dictionary defines grace as:
Simple elegance or refinement of movement,
(in Christian belief) The free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.
A divinely given talent or blessing
The condition of being favored by someone
My Dad had grace in all its meanings. He moved gracefully, both physically and socially. He swung a golf club with grace and practiced orthodontics with grace. When he drove the boat, he could bring the rope right into the hands of the skier without missing a beat.
He loved to learn and schooled himself thoroughly on a variety of subjects; it’s hard to imagine that he never knew the Internet, never had an email address.
He loved most music, especially classical, and amassed an enviable collection. Among his favorites were Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Pathétique, Op. 74, The Impossible Dream, from Man of LaMancha and his favorite hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.
He had a nickname for each of his patients and always remembered it. A handsome, well-dressed man, he could move easily in the most sophisticated social and professional circles, yet he could truly relate to and be accepted by those in the most humble of circumstances.
He wrote beautifully, was an accomplished and poised public speaker, he sang beautifully and just about the only thing at which he was not particularly adept was resealing a zip-top plastic bag.
His faith was profound as anyone I’ve ever known, yet as simple as a child’s. He knew that it was not our own goodness or our compliance to a set of rules that earned our place in heaven. If we could earn our own way, it would only give us cause for pride and arrogance. With a burning passion he hated the legalism that so many are willing to accept as a counterfeit for grace. Though they frustrated him, he felt for them, as he knew they would never know the true peace of the Father’s agape love.
When we chose his epitaph, we decided on one simple word — one word with several meanings that represented every facet of the life he lived on earth: grace.
This is my Daddy giving me my diploma at my high school graduation. He was president of the school board at that time and it just worked out so he could do that. And, yes, I know my hair is bad and that the white sandals are very bad, especially with the tan pantyhose.
This is my Daddy giving me my diploma at my high school graduation. He was president of the school board at that time and it just worked out so he could do that. And, yes, I know my hair is bad and that the white sandals are very bad, especially with the tan pantyhose.
So here are some more things my Daddy taught me:
“A mean-spirited person is his/her own punishment.” Daddy would always say in response to mean, hurtful behavior, whether directed toward us or others. I’m not sure it was great comfort at the time, but it has proven true. I’ve seen many miserable, hateful people in my life, and none of them are happy. Anyone who purposely inflicts pain on others is more miserable than they are making you. Don’t waste time and energy on revenge; it is unnecessary and really isn’t as much fun as it seems anyway.
God really is merciful. Daddy’s faith was the strongest, most powerful, simple, pure and most authentic of anyone I’ve ever known. He touched many people and impacted many lives for Christ. But the one thing Daddy knew that he could never bear was the loss of a child. He always said that if he ever lost a child, he would go crazy. God spared him that. Two of his children have been diagnosed with cancer, one suffered multiple miscarriages and one buried his wife of five years at the age of 30. Although I believe that Daddy’s faith would have seen him through any of these trials, he was spared and I’m grateful for that.
Love deeply, fully, unconditionally. His love never depended upon my accomplishments, outward appearance or anything but the fact that I was his child. He told me truth that I didn’t want to hear and when he hugged me he was never the first to let go. When I hug my kids, I never let go first.
Give. This might seem obvious, but it amazes me that so many people don’t get it. Stuff is not as important as people. He gave sacrificially and he gave with joy. He was generous wihout being indulgent. When I was pregnant with Elizabeth, just before she was born, we had an unexpected car repair. The charge was $1800, which may as well have been $180,000 at that time in our lives. Jim’s first call was to my dad. I know he must have been scared, he must have rehearsed how he was going to ask his father-in-law for $1800, but there was no need. Daddy sensed what he was trying to say and just asked, “How much do you need?” He sent the check that very day. He never asked when, how or if we would pay him back. We did, but we knew we didn’t have to. He knew our situation and our struggles without being told and he cared more about us than he did the money. After he died, we found several of the checks that he had never even cashed. I think I still have them somewhere, as a reminder that people really are more important than stuff.
The first week in October is always hard. My dad’s birthday was October 4 and it always makes me feel a little blue, though this is Daddy’s 15th birthday in Heaven.
He loved my daughters deeply and cherished his time with them. They are now 15 and 19, yet his earthly life with them stopped when Elizabeth was a new preschool graduate about to enter Kindergarten and Sara Ann was a happy one-year-old with beautiful dark eyes who took her first steps a mere month before he died. He was strong, with a gentle and protective way of loving my girls that is one of the things I miss the very most about him.
He taught me so much — over the next few days I’m going to share some of those things, as there are too many for just one day.
Never buy the one in front. He would get up early on our wekeends at our lakehouse in Arkansas and Elizabeth and her Dada would go to Wal-Mart. Months later, after I had bought some defective product, which I had picked up in haste, she reminded me, “I knew that would happen. You broke Dada’s rule. Never buy the one in front.” To this day, Elizabeth will reach to the far back of the shelf to avoid the one in front.
Pay attention to things. Sometimes we are so busy running to and fro that we don’t pay attention to things around us. On another one of Elizabeth and Dada’s early morning Wal-Mart trips, he had shown her how the the early morning dew sparkles on the grass. She still remembers the “sparklies,” and, at 19, still remembers the moment. Great moments often come when we pay attention to small things.
Don’t be afraid to feel. My dad was deeply emotional. He was not afraid to feel and not afraid to express it. He could never say the blessing at Christmas or Thanksgiving without choking up and making everyone else cry too. When he hurt, he hurt deeply, but his joy was deep.
Good things come to those who wait. He often drove us crazy moving slowly and taking his time making decisions or major purchases, but he taught us that the best things don’t come quickly or easily and are always worth waiting for.
More tomorrow as I remember him throughout the week.
My girls, left, in 1992 (Sara Ann was one day old) and, right, on Mother’s Day 2007
My two girls have always been very close. They are three-and-a-half years apart in age, four grades apart in school, which works out marvelously where college is concerned.
I resolved early on, as soon as I knew I was pregnant with Sara Ann, that I would do everything in my power to ensure that their relationship was close. So when I went into labor, we took Elizabeth to the hospital with us, so she could see her new sister as soon as possible after her birth.
It didn’t work out that way — 24 hours of labor later, I had a C-section and Elizabeth (then 3 1/2) had to go home to sleep.
But the next day, she came to the hospital and held her sister for the first time. That was a profound moment for me, and I don’t think I was emotional just because of the hormones. She was then and always has been very careful, very maternal, very protective of her sister, and I know that Sara Ann looks up to her. It has been such a sweet thing to watch them grow and watch their relationship bloom.
One of the most satisfying things about my life now is watching how, despite their differences in personality and style, they genuinely love and enjoy one another. I love seeing them snuggle together in my bed to watch a TV show and help each other decide what to wear.
For the word of the Lord is right and true; He is faithful in all he does. Psalm 33:4
For the past few months, I have been thanking God for His provision and His faithfulness as Jim searches for a new job. It has been stressful, scary and has worn on us as a family at times. Even so, I always felt an underlying peace that God would bring us through this and that He would use it, perhaps just to teach us to trust Him more completely.
This past Friday (April 20) Jim signed an offer letter for a new job. We are thrilled and so very thankful. It’s a great opportunity and allows us to stay in Memphis, which we all wanted very much. But make no mistake: I don’t thank Him for His faithfulness because he provided the job; He was faithful before Jim got the job, and He would still be faithful if there were still no job.
When I was growing up, and I’d ask my parents for something I wanted, sometimes (usually) they would say yes and sometimes they would say no. My Dad was a very generous person, so when he said no, there was a reason. I never got the trampoline I begged for because my Dad saw so many kids with broken bones in his orthodontic office who answered trampoline when he asked them how it happened. I wasn’t happy that I didn’t get the trampoline, but I knew that my Dad meant it only for my own good and I never doubted his love for me, or whether he cared or would provide for me. And, even if I think completely materialistically, he gave me nearly everything else I ever wanted. Not only were they faithful, they were generous as well.
I think that’s what I learned about God through all of this — that He doesn’t show Himself faithful by what he does for us — that is His generosity; He shows Himself faithful by walking through it all with us. He never promised us ease, comfort, affluence or freedom from stress, but He did promise He would never leave our side. And if He had, I know that I would not have survived with my sanity intact.
Even on the worst days, during the two-month stretch when there was just nothing to even apply for, I never doubted that He was there and that it would eventually be ok. What if His will had been no job at all — if His will for us meant that we would lose our house, cars, all the stuff? I still would not doubt His faithfulness. Though it would not have been my preference, He brought me to the point that I could be ok with that.
His faithfulness has given me comfort, peace and security, and His generosity has given extra measures of joy — some are short bursts, others are lasting, but all are meaningful. Consider:
Encouragement from friends — lunches, phone calls and emails
Friends and family who understood when Christmas was just a hug and a promise of a later gift
Retail therapy (thanks, Mom!) which cannot buy happiness but sure can lift the spirit.
Dinners out, as restaurant meals were the first thing cut from our post-employment budget
A tremendous network of caring, loving, Christian friends who diligently lifted us up in prayer.
My role at home — I have for a long time felt a call to be home full-time, and my prayer was that I would be able to continue in this role. Not only did God grant me this, He did so with complete peace on my part and Jim’s. Jim never asked me to try to find work, and God continually confirmed my decision, though to some I admit it must have seemed illogical. I’m so glad God doesn’t operate by human logic!
So now we get to return to normal. I wonder what our new normal will look like. I guess time will tell. But for now I’m looking forward to my first professional haircut since November, new glasses and getting the refrigerator fixed so it doesn’t leak all over the kitchen floor.
In the last couple of weeks I have been awarded the highest honor ever bestowed upon me. (Please pardon my messy desk.)
My youngest daughter’s friends are at our house a lot, and I frequently drive carpool to various places, so I’ve gotten to know them pretty well.
Last week we had a big party for my daughter’s birthday, and about 23 of her best friends were in attendance. At some point, they always use my computer to get on facebook. One of the girls stuck a note on my monitor that said “Emily loves Mrs. Beth,” and “your Ro-Tel dip is yum yum!” then another friend followed suit with “Austin loves Mrs. Beth,” with a heart. The girls spent the night, and when I came downstairs the next morning to check my email, they had placed colorful sticky notes all over the front of my monitor, all with their names, declaring their love for me.
I haven’t really done anything spectacular for these kids; I make them welcome in my home, cook for them, drive them around and just hang with them and talk and listen. It isn’t work; they are great kids and so much fun to have around. But I don’t think it takes that much to make them feel loved, valued and cared for — listening to the things that bug them, letting them vent when they need to, encouraging and accepting them as they are.
Yes, teenagers can be difficult at times. But it is this tangible encouragement that keeps me going and I cannot help but smile when I sit down at my computer and look at my notes.
And the Ro-Tel dip: simple and cheap. Just throw two cans of Ro-Tel tomatoes and two pounds of Velveeta into a crock pot, turn it on and watch the feeding frenzy in an hour or so.
Lillie Ammann, writer & editor, on her blog A Writer’s Words, An Editor’s Eye poses an interesting question about finding the right balance in life. I’m honored that she tagged me for a response, but I’m not sure that my answer will be as meaningful as perhaps Lillie had hoped.
I love gymnastics — in fact I used to be a pretty good tumbler myself. Believe it or not, this photo is of me in my younger days, practicing my back layout in the high school gym. I thought nothing of throwing myself through the air upside down, in fact I enjoyed it more than anything else during those years. As easily as I could throw a backflip on the floor, I never tried it on the balance beam. The thought of having only a four-inch strip of wood to land on made something I could do in my sleep seem terrifying. I never had faith enough in my own ability to plant my feet exactly where they needed to land.
It took a lot of concentration and energy to walk that thin line between standing and falling. I knew that if I fell, at worst I could be seriously injured; at best I would be embarrassed. I believe that trying to maintain balance during difficult times is a lot like walking a balance beam; there is a lot at stake, and if you don’t keep your focus, you will surely fall. In this difficult time of our lives (my husband’s position was eliminated at the end of last year and he’s still searching for a job), I’ve simply tried to keep the focus where I know it should be and keep from falling on my head!
How do you achieve balance in your life?
My time decisions are really easy, given the fact that I know my youngest daughter will leave for college in just three years. She is in school during the day, so I leave that time open for church and volunteer work, meetings, Bible study, and just time for myself. After-school time is hers, and evenings are for family time, unless there is something very important that just cannot be scheduled any other time. She has an active social life, so my husband and I plan our own social outings around that.
What is your biggest challenge in balancing your life?
Wanting to do everything. I have such a wide variety of interests, I am often in danger of spreading myself too thin.
What are your priorities?
This one is easy. 1. My faith 2. My family 3. Friends 4. Professional development/career goals
How have your priorities changed over time and why?
The only time I can say my priorities have really changed was when I first got married and again when I had my first child. Becoming a wife and, later a mother, completely took the focus off of me in my life. When I was single, I spent every spare dollar on clothes, going out, whatever I wanted. Then I got married and had my daughter a little more than a year after that. Suddenly I didn’t care what I wore, but it mattered a lot that she had beautiful clothes. Sad to say, It was the first time in my life that I actually thought about someone else’s needs before my own.
Basically for the past 13 years I have pretty much focused on #1 and #2, doing the best I can with #3, and, for the most part, working #4 in around #1 – 3. I know that I’ll have time when my youngest daughter (now 15) goes to college in a few short years.
What advice can you share to help all of us balance our own lives?
I’m probably not the one to give advice on that; my life is in a bit of turmoil right now with my husband’s job situation. But my faith is literally sustaining me right now, and my focus has been to keep things going here at home so we can ride out this storm. I’m giving my 15-year-old as much of me as possible, as it has been such a hard year for her with her sister leaving for college and my husband’s job loss — trying to keep home stabilized and provide safety and security for her.
I guess my only advice would be to go back to priority #1 — keep your faith strong, and it will sustain you through anything, and keep you balanced when your circumstances are out of balance.
As a long-time United Methodist, I have always looked forward to the Maundy Thursday service, which takes place the night before Good Friday and commemorates the Last Supper and Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.
I love Easter, but for me to really “get” Easter, I have to think about Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. We say Christ the Lord is Risen! but there is no resurrection without the crucifixion. How can we really appreciate His resurrection without absorbing the reality of the agony in the Garden and the torment of the cross?
Nowhere is His humanity more evident to me than in the Garden, when He prayed:
“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. Luke 22:42-44
Maundy Thursday inspires me to reflect on the humanity of that anguished plea and His ultimate surrender to His Father’s will as he began His journey to Calvary. He must have dreaded the suffering, but in obedience He prayed more urgently, submitted His own will to that of the Father and willingly accepted His fate on the cross.
Good Friday reminds me of the wounds.
Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.
We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:4-6
And, finally, Easter reminds me that not even a gruesome, agonizing death could conquer the mind-blowing, awe-inspiring, magnificent love of a God who would sacrifice His Son — for me.
For the word of the Lord is right and true; He is faithful in all He does. Psalm 33:4
Here we are in mid-March and still no job. Back in November, when I first posted about the job situation, (We are OK) I felt confident and sure of God’s faithfulness and care in our need. I knew that He would see us through this crisis and that His plan for us was greater than anything we ever could have imagined.
And I have to admit that I hoped He would accomplish it quickly. I know that given today’s climate in corporate America, our search is relatively short. Layoffs are all too common these days at Jim’s level; in fact one colleague told him that very few executives get through an entire career without at least one layoff, particularly those who work for large public corporations.
So recently I have asked myself this question: I was sure, confident and faithful in November — am I still sure and confident when our prayers haven’t been answered as soon as we would have liked? I was sure when, by earthly standards, we were secure in our nice six-month severance package. Am I still sure when it’s now only a three-month severance package? Do I still trust Him?
The answer is — a qualified yes. Not a qualified yes because I doubt Him, but because I doubt me. Because I still freak out from time to time. When I think of this situation in earthly terms, I am insecure, because here on earth that security is measured in dollars, in my house, my car, my stuff. Stuff that could be gone in the blink of an eye anyway.
But despite my human frailty and weakness, the answer really is, yes, I am still sure, confident and faithful. Because I know that my real security is not in dollars, houses, cars, stuff — thank goodness because, frankly, we don’t have a lot of really great stuff.
My security is in God and His kingdom, and I’m up for whatever challenge He presents me with. Worst case — I lose all the stuff, and it really is just stuff. Just look what I get to keep: beautiful sunsets and sunrises, the love of my family, God’s grace and forgiveness poured out on me anew each day, and a place in eternity with Him. So I’m thinking, yes, I do still trust. What else can I do?
