Wrinkles on Both Ends

I turn forty-three years old this month. Wow. There was a time when I thought that was really old. Actually that was today. I took some time to look at my feet. Hey, it’s been winter. I have been neglecting them, because well, it’s been winter. Nobody sees my feet in the winter! Apparently not even me. But from the look of it outside, Spring is on its way, and that means sandals are just around the corner. That’s what got my feet the attention today. Up that close, I discovered that they need a pedicure.

Except, I don’t do pedicures.

I’m just not comfortable with someone else down there doing their thing on my feet. It’s just a little quirk of mine. I have some of those. So I whipped out my handy dandy home manicure/pedicure kit, and went to work. I sat on the potty, and dragged the clothes hamper over to hike my foot up on. Wow. With my foot that up close and personal, I could not deny it. Forty-three has arrived. These are definitely not the feet of a twenty year old. My feet have wrinkles. I didn’t know that was possible. This did not please me. I officially have wrinkles on both ends of my body.

A lot of my friends are already forty-three and then some.

I will not mention them by name. (You know who you are…) They all say it’s not so bad. What else should I expect them to say? “Don’t do it, Stacey, don’t turn forty-three!” Instead they say, “Forties are the new thirties.” Right. Tell that to my feet. Yet I think, “If I could be thirty again, would I do it? Or twenty?”

If I were honest about it, I would say no. If I had the benefit of what I know now, I would do some things differently, sure. Still, I am happy with where I am now. I am beginning to think that’s the tradeoff. There’s a certain sense of self that comes with the forties. A confidence that wasn’t there at twenty and thirty. It’s a feeling of centeredness, I guess.

Gone are the days of miniskirts and bikini swimsuits for me.

I care far too much for my fellow man to put them through that visual. Well, except that I find myself liking a swimsuit that has a mini skirt attached to it. Love those skirtinis! Isn’t it funny that when I had the body for a bikini I didn’t have the confidence to wear one, and now that I have the confidence to wear one I don’t have the body?

So I’m aware of where I’ve been, and looking forward to where I am going. I look back on my thirties and see my path as a wife, mother, and daughter. I will still be all of those things, but it will be different. My husband and I have survived much as partners together in this life. We have grown together through some really tough times, and we enjoy a very rich, loving, and close relationship. I look forward, excitedly, to how this most precious relationship will continue and grow.

My children can wipe their own…. noses now. A definite plus. They don’t need me for that kind of thing anymore. But they will need me for support and encouragement in decisions and choices they must make. I still call on my parents for advice, and to share what’s going on in my life, but I have learned to listen to their needs and concerns as well. While they both enjoy good health now, and I pray they will for a long time to come, I know they will come to depend on my brother and me more as the years go on.

The Bible teaches that there is a time for everything.

It actually says exactly that in Ecclesiastes Chapter Three. Now, on the whole, Ecclesiastes is not a book you want to read on a personally cloudy day because it says things like, “Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless!” I’m thinking a prescription for Prozac was in order there.

Yet nestled in the book, in Chapter Three, are a few verses that can put life into perspective for you if you are at a crossroads in your life. Verses 1-8 of chapter three say this:

“There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal,
A time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to treat and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate,
A time for war and a time for peace.”

And there’s a time to turn forty-three. While the wrinkles, gray hairs, and saggy…things can be frustrating for sure. They seem to come with the territory. I can smear creams on the wrinkles, pull out the gray hairs (Or when that proves futile, I can cover them. Because I’m worth it!), and prop up the saggy things.

Forty-three also brings with it a few things to which I can look forward, and those are the things that I will choose to celebrate on my birthday this year. I can look forward to future knowing that good and bad, God will be with me. He will be with me, and that while I change all the time, God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Now, let me put some lotion on these feet, and let’s go shopping for some new sandals!

Are you embracing your present, and looking forward to your future? What does that look like for you?

Marriable… a Book Review, Sort of

My husband recently spied a book on the clearance rack at our local bookstore that grabbed his attention. He picked it up, thumbed through it, and discovered a treasure trove of information inside. Fortunately he wasn’t interested in it for himself. It was a guide to dating. He bought the book, brought it home with the intention of giving it to our oldest son.

Unfortunately, on the whole, Americans do not practice arranged marriages. I say “unfortunately” because the older my kids get the more I wish we did. Okay, I understand the flaws in the arranged marriage system, and my support of it is tongue-in-cheek, but the alternative to arranged marriages is dating- another flawed system.

The book my husband brought home was titled, Marriable, and was written by married co-authors Hayley and Michael DiMarco. I have since read every word therein, and repeatedly thought, “Where was this book when I was dating?” A quick glance at the chapter titles lets the reader know this is no ordinary book about dating.

As a parent of teenagers, I cannot avoid the subject. I might rather put my head in the sand, or cover my ears while screaming, “La, la, la, la…!” But the matter of dating is inescapable. Unless I decide to barricade the door, and keep my kids under lock and key, that is.

The dating dilemma
I understand that there are many different views on the matter of dating, and each parent has to decide the when’s, how’s, where’s, and who’s to meet their comfort levels as parents. Yet I think we all must come to the conclusion that dating, whenever it happens, should lead to just one ultimate thing: Marriage. Sure, dating can be viewed as training ground for managing relationships, entertainment, and socialization but when you boil it all down, and remove the fluff, we allow our kids to enter into dating relationships for the ultimate goal of marriage; a goal that involves perhaps the most important decision of their lives.

How equipped are they to enter into this pursuit? Without adult help, your help as parents, they might not be as equipped as they should be. Let your nine-year-old join a baseball team, and you wouldn’t dream of letting them play without first having a fair knowledge of the game, good coaching, or without the very best equipment you can provide them.
Only a precious few little leaguers go on to be professional baseball players, but most novice daters go on one day to enter into the bonds of marriage. If you knew your nine-year-old was a future Rookie-of-the-Year, you would start him off with the very best coaching and knowledge you could provide. You would be there every step of the way to make sure he stayed on course, and avoided the many pitfalls of the game. Well, your novice dater will one day most assuredly go pro. Will they be ready? Will they be Marriable?

Back to the book….
In the book, the authors speak plainly about common things both guys and girls do that decrease their “marriability”. As I read the book myself, and reflected on my own dating history, I had to groan. I had been guilty of more than one of the things mentioned, things I definitely want my kids to avoid.

The book speaks to guys on being gentlemen in the twenty-first century, and what that looks like. Surprisingly, it looks very much like what being a gentleman has always looked like. Girls are cautioned throughout the book on not being desperate for male attention, thank you very much. If your daughter is texting or Face-booking my son (or someone else’s) twenty-five times in one day (it happens), perhaps she is behaving desperately, and could use a little help there. Young women of today have all but forgotten the fine art of playing hard to get.

I plan on having each of my kids read this book, in turn, as dating becomes an issue in their lives. I expect with chapter titles like “How being ‘Just Friends’ Is a Waste of Time”, “Desperate Lies Women Tell Themselves”, “Men Lie to Get What They Want”, and “Don’t Marry Your Best Friend Unless You’re Gay” they just might read it cover to cover, and will surely generate some interesting conversation.

Don’t let the chapter titles throw you. This book is written with Christian values and principles, yet it minces few words. I know my first son will read it under duress, so just in case he tries to skim, I have told him there will be a post-test. It’s mostly multiple choice, with a few fill-in-the-blank, and only a couple of essay questions…

If you are parent of a teenager navigating the world of dating, don’t let them go it alone. I’m not suggesting that a book should take the place of honest conversation with your kids, but a book like this one can be a great jumping off place for discussions to help insure that your child will one day be as marriable as they possibly can be.

Are you a parent of a teen wanting to date? Have you thought this through? What are your parental do’s and don’ts?for your kids?

Back in the Bible Belt

I grew up in the buckle of the Bible belt.
But I never really thought much about it until I moved away for eleven years, and then moved back. Things I used to take for granted, or never even took note of, sing out loudly to me now through the eyes of my children who did not grow up here.
My husband’s job and educational pursuits took us away to Charlotte, North Carolina. I had comforted myself with the idea that I was still a Southern girl living in another Southern town. I found out quickly that it just wasn’t so. Charlotte is a huge melting pot of people from all over the world. On my very first trip to the grocery store there, I passed a man on a cell phone speaking some foreign European-ish language I didn’t understand. I stared at him with my mouth gaping open, and it was then I knew I wasn’t in Kansas, er Birmingham, anymore.

Much to our amazement, in the birthplace of Billy Graham, we found there to be a large Christian-hostile population.
It was the first place I had ever experienced true discrimination due to my faith. There were many who didn’t want to have anything at all to do with God or the church. This posed a problem for us for a while, right up to the point that God gave us new eyes to see these people the way He did.

Suddenly, we were drawn to the very people that wanted nothing to do with us.
It doesn’t make sense, but we spent the next ten years of our lives figuring out ways to reach these people for Jesus. It meant we had to say goodbye to the traditional worship styles we had always known. Some didn’t understand this, but to reach the unreachable you have to go way out on a limb sometimes. We had to dip into modern culture, and show these naysayers that God, the Bible, and being a Christ follower was relevant to their lives. Following Christ didn’t have to be kept as a museum piece that did not speak, in meaningful ways, to them. We needed to show them that even through their doubt, and even their hostility, God was still pursuing them relentlessly.

It affected the way we raised our kids.
People we would once have shied away from, we suddenly sought out. We began to see random people at the mall, in movie theaters, and restaurants as people who needed Jesus. We actually invited sinners to church, and did the happy dance when they showed up. Did they have blue hair and a few tattoos? Even better. We wanted to hear their stories, and they were so surprised to find a pastor who didn’t condemn them for their past, but offered them a future in Christ just the way they were. We were given eyes to see their potential as Christ followers; what they could be if they turned their lives over to Him. As I said, this affected our children too, especially our oldest. Rather than secluding himself with only Christian friends, he took risks on kids we called “underdogs”. While we cautioned him to make sure his closest friends were believers, we encouraged his investments in others who were not.

It’s ten years later, and we have ventured back home to the Buckle.
I am surprised by the culture shock it has been for our kids. On my son’s first day of high school here, when asked about the day, he mentioned that he hardly heard anyone at school using foul language. Unfortunately, that was commonplace in the high school he attended in Charlotte. It had been a challenge to be around it, and not participate in it.
Here, most of my kid’s new friends attend church at least some of the time. Kids here openly label themselves Christian on Facebook. My kids have heard teachers defend their faith in the classroom, and have heard kids praying on their own at school. A small cross sticker on the spine marks books by Christian authors in the public library in town. There is a church on every corner. It’s all very different for them, and it’s been interesting to see them adjust. They look around for kids who don’t know Jesus, and are having trouble finding anyone who doesn’t at least claim Christianity.

What they are finding is quite interesting.
Before, it was the non-Christian hostility or apathy they had come to know, and figure out how to overcome. Here, it is the other way around. They are finding that all this religion can sometimes breed a judgmental outlook. There is sometimes little grace afforded those unfortunate people whose sin becomes public. Growing up, I knew I had been given the gift of mercy, but even so, I was still a closet finger-pointer. I’d judge how well I was walking the Christian faith by how poorly I thought others were. I expected people to clean up their act, and come to Jesus, but God showed me that folks have to come to Him first. Our pastor in Charlotte used to say that if you are a jerk, and come to Christ, you are then a Christian Jerk. It takes time to clean up life lived apart from Him.

I loved growing up in the Bible belt, and I am so happy to be back.
The environment is wholesome and comfortable. I am enjoying watching my kids figure all this out. Church is a part of the culture here, but they are learning, perhaps better than ever, it isn’t about going to church or a list of do’s and don’ts. It’s about a relationship with Christ where His love for you is separate from the good or bad deeds you do. Your value in Christ is not found in whether or not you take up space at a local place of worship, but rather your value is found in Him alone. Perhaps that’s the message they should share now. It’s the message of grace, really. Showing that to extend grace is just as important as to receive it.

Red Letter Days

Granted… some people have more of them than others.
But we’ve all had them. Some wish for more of them. Interestingly enough, the term is from medieval times. It is actually a church term. Special church days or festivals were written on the calendar in red ink. The academic world picked up on the practice and professors at universities like Oxford and Cambridge wore red or “scarlet” robes on special days. (Thank you Google) Some calendars are still made with holidays in red.

Red print tends to get our attention. My teachers always seemed to correct my papers in red ink. That certainly got my attention.

Think back to your most significant red-letter days.
Mine? Getting braces on my teeth. Getting braces off my teeth. Driving my first car. Passing my nursing board exam. Getting engaged. Getting married. Sitting in the front yard of my first house, and thinking “my yard, my trees, my house”. Holding my babies for the first time… the list goes on. Red-letter days.

What if you could have a total life retro calendar with all of your red-letter days printed in, well, red? All the way back to your birth. That would, of course be in red. The day you learned to sit up. Red. The day you spoke your first word. Red. The day you discovered pistachio chocolate chip ice cream at Baskin Robbins. Red. You get it, right? Take a ride down memory lane for a moment, and recall your own red-letter days. Go on… it’ll be fun.

What if God had a red-letter day calendar for you?
Would He mark it in red the same as you did? I wonder. I am suspicious that He might not. We tend to think of red-letter days as some of the best days of our lives. Those were wonderful days, when something terrific happened to us. I think God might color those red, too, but I also think He might color some days red that we might not consider.
The day you were fired from your job. The day they walked out of your life for good. The day you missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime. The day you lost it all. The day, when in your brokenness, you cried out to Him in desperation, anger, frustration, or longing.

Why would God color those days red on your calendar?
Those are the days we would just rather forget; push to the nether regions of our memories. I think those are the days when God rubs his hands together, and gets to work on us. It’s those turning point days in our lives, the days when we are at the end of ourselves and our own abilities, that God accomplishes His best in us. I think those are the days God would mark as red on our calendars.

I’ve had some days that God might color red on my calendar this last year that I would not. I’ll bet you have, too. Makes me wonder what He’s up to. Our lives are sprinkled with both kinds of red-letter days: the celebratory, party throwing kind, and the hard, frustrating, teeth gnashing kind.

I think the most mature of Christ followers learns to appreciate, even celebrate, both. I won’t claim to be one of those… not yet. But the Apostle Paul set the example for the rest of us to follow. Paul certainly had red-letter days of both kinds, and yet he recognized that in those hardest of days God was at work, and that His plan was being fulfilled in him. Whether free or imprisoned Paul learned to be content, and to trust in the God that ordered his days.

A Planner or a Truster

When I was first asked to be a guest blogger for my wonderful friend, Stacey, my thoughts immediately started churning about what I would say. Should I write about an area in my life where I was successful – where there was little struggle? That would give me a pretty short list of topics from which to choose. So I thought I would share some thoughts on an area where I don’t always do so well.

You see, I am a planner.

I like to know how I will spend my day, week, month, season…you get the picture. I love to have people in my home, but I get “a little stressed” planning the specifics. What food will I fix? What if my guests don’t like chicken/beef/pork? What time should everyone arrive-not so early that I don’t have enough time to cook, but not so late that their babies are crying before we have even eaten. Somehow, I finally get every detail down pat. I allot the proper amount of time to clean before they get there. If everything goes “according to plan”, I will have the toilets clean, floors swept, and laundry done (because we ALL know guests immediately look to see if we have dirty laundry!) before my friends ring the doorbell. I coordinate the main dish and sides so everything (hopefully) comes out of the oven at the same time-piping hot and yummy (again, hopefully!).

It’s kind of exhausting to read, huh?

Imagine living like this. You would think I would finally relax and enjoy my time with friends once they arrive. I do…well, I try to relax anyway. I have been blessed with fantastic people in my life. However, I have a difficult time really enjoying my time with them because of this “need to plan”. I often have trouble enjoying the moment because I am always focused on the “next thing”. Once I have completed a project, or pulled off a dinner party, I start thinking about the decisions/plans I have to make for the next event.

I really don’t think my problem is that I am a planner though. I think my issue is I am often not a “truster”. I was reminded of that wonderful verse in Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Why do I worry whether “my plans” will work out like I have them pictured in my mind? God has plans that HE knows about that involve my life and His big picture for me. I need to just rest in Him and trust His plans will be in my best interest.

I tend to stress over many things-big and small.

I have always known I get anxious about things “more than the average bear”. It has really been highlighted to me lately. Some things I have faced in life would cause most people to have at least some anxiety. My oldest child was diagnosed with a brain tumor as an infant, had several surgeries, chemotherapy, and has struggled with seizures frequently. Those are some areas where my trust has been tested. I haven’t stopped at the big things though. I fret about whether people will decide to come to the new small group my husband and I are leading, about getting in carpool line in time so my child is not the last one picked up, about getting to the gym early enough to get a bike in the popular cycle class, about what to write in this blog…ARG!!!

I would imagine my Heavenly Father looks at me, and thinks something like I do when one of my children worries unnecessarily. When they are stressing out about something they shouldn’t, I say, “Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of it.” Or, “That’s not anything you should even be worrying about.” Hmm…maybe I should take my own advice. I should at least take Paul’s advice in Philippians 4:6: “Do not be anxious about anything” or Peter’s advice in I Peter 5:7: “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” Now, THAT sounds like a plan.

So… are you a planner or a truster?

No Greater Love

February 14th is the mandated day to express one’s feelings of love to another through the giving of gifts, cards, flowers, etc. Most smart men know that to let that day slip by unrecognized can lead to relationship disaster and days in the dog house. But the best gift of love I have ever been given came to me not on Valentine’s Day, but another, very different, day. It was not in a box of chocolates or roses. It was not summed up in a flowery poem with rhyming verses. It was in a simple, yet unforgettable, act.

Unexpectedly, on my yearly physical exam, my doctor discovered that my thyroid gland was enlarged. I told her I only came to see her for the stimulating conversation, and that I didn’t really expect her to actually find something wrong with me, and she should stop it right then. I smiled. She didn’t. Instead she sent me for an ultrasound of my throat. When the results came back not quite normal, she sent me for a biopsy. When that was also raising eyebrows from the medically trained, she referred me to a surgeon. It looked to be cancer, but they wouldn’t know for sure until they had the gland out and could slice and dice it under a microscope. Ouch. Literally. Ouch. A month later I was minus one thyroid gland. My only one. (You just have the one.)

Believe it or not, that’s when my gift came.

I was not expecting it. I wasn’t even hoping for it. I had no idea it was coming. The surgeon had said it would be several days before we would know for sure if my thyroid disease, if it indeed was cancer, would require further treatment to include radiation pills. But a mere two days after my surgery, the phone rang. I was not up to talking much so my husband, Matthew, answered the phone. I was resting upstairs when he hung up, and came bounding up the stairs. He was both smiling and crying at the same time. He grabbed my hand, pulled me up, and while he held my face in his hands he told me the good news. Yes, I had a bad thyroid, but it was not cancer. There would be no radiation pills, and I was done with the whole ordeal forever.

I was very happy, of course. Yet I realized as happy as I was, I was not as happy as my husband was. He was happier for me than I was for myself! I can honestly say, in that very moment, I have never felt more loved. I had just been given the best gift another person ever gave me. Sure, I was cancer free, but I was truly loved. What’s better than that? Nothing I could think of. Even being cancer free, as great as that is.

Love letters are sweet, and gifts are often pleasing.

But love in action and by demonstration is the best kind of love there is. The Bible says that our God enjoys giving good gifts to us. He gave us the best love letter ever written when He gave us the Bible, but the very best gift of love He ever gave was actually an act of love. It was in giving up His son, His only one, to restore our broken relationship with HIm. All we need do is sit up, let Him take us in His arms, and receive that gift so freely given. Then we should know that as happy as we are to have been given that gift, He is happier still.

Have you witnessed an act of love in your
own life? Can you share it here? Come on… make us all warm and fuzzy!

Life, Love, and Paper Garments

I wish everyone could meet my doctor.
As a nurse myself, I respect her education and experience. She is a talented doctor, but that is just one reason why I put my health in her hands. Equally important to addressing my few health issues are how much I enjoy talking with her about life, and about how well we are both aging. (We are the same age, and we look marvelous!) I guess that would go to her bedside manner. I would like to think that I’m something special, but I am sure she is just as pleasant to her other patients as she is to me.

I recently went for my yearly physical.

After weighing, ugh, tinkling in a cup, and stripping off my clothes only to don what I consider a glorified paper towel, I carefully heaved myself up onto the exam table to wait on her. “Carefully” because if you’ve ever had to model a paper towel yourself you know how easily they can tear. Have you ever tried looking dignified while wearing a paper towel? I’m not sure how she manages to keep a straight face when she walks into the exam room. I spent the next few minutes readjusting my covering to make sure no one got flashed when the door opened.

Straight faced, she breezes in and takes her place on the round, wheeled stool that all doctors seem to prefer. We review my health over the last year, and I convince her to put off the exam that is due on my lower half. “Let’s do that next time”, I say. From there, we jump to a very brief, but significant, discussion about marital fidelity. I try my best to convince her that I am perfectly comfortable in the knowledge that my husband is completely faithful to our marriage. Yet she is reluctant to take my word for it. She tells me that perhaps she is jaded. She’s just seen so much.

I sit there in my paper towel trying to figure out how, in the short time I have left on that table, I can convince her that I really am sure about my husband and why. I glance down, and find that I have ripped my towel. Great. I try a couple of one-liners, but she’s quick with a word or two herself. She’s a tough nut to crack. I begin to wonder why she is so jaded about marital fidelity. Reluctantly, I let the subject fall, and we move on.
But in my mind there are things I wish to say to my doctor about marriage, and keeping it secure and holy.

It’s what I believe marriage must be for it to survive. Holy. Holy means separate, or set apart. Both my husband and I have set ourselves apart from all others. We are separate together. But we are not naive. We know that for our marriage to remain holy we have to pay attention. We must be as sentries on guard for anyone who would defile what is now sacred, even if we are that “anyone”. We know that attacks on marriages come from within as much as from outside the relationship. That doesn’t mean we always get it right. Sometimes, if we are not careful, the confidence we have in our relationship becomes a liability.

I remember a time when my husband and I allowed an argument to go too far. We both said some things we didn’t mean and were sorry for. Later I asked him how could I let myself say those kinds of things to someone I love so much. (I thought the same thing about him, but reminded myself we had made it to the makeup stage, and didn’t want to go backward.) We were hugging at the time, so I heard his muffled voice say, “Because we are human. We make mistakes.”

We make some whoppers.

He’s right. We can be nasty. We are so confident in our commitment to each other that we allow ourselves to say things we wouldn’t otherwise. What’s so holy about that, then? Well, it’s the third part of the union that makes it holy, really. Because apart from God our marriage is nothing more than a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. We are two selfish people who mostly just want our own way. It’s only because of God’s involvement in our relationship that we are ever able to put the other’s needs and desires above our own.

Sitting there on the exam table, (Is there a draft in here?) I realize there is no way that I can, in the span of a few moments, even attempt to share with my doctor how I can possibly be so confident in my husband and our relationship without coming across as a dope in a torn paper garment. And as frustrating as that is, I have to smile to myself. Because even though I cannot convince her, I know it to be true.

We move on to discuss what roadmaps my legs are these days. Where did all of those little veins come from, anyway? I told her I am sure that if I could just get my hands on some hypertonic saline and a syringe I could fix those things myself. (Nurses are usually convinced they can fix anything.) To which my doctor slaps her hand to her forehead and says, “Please don’t tell me you’re going to ask me to write you a prescription for that!”
“Of course not”, I reply. Although

How do you keep your relationship to your spouse “holy”?