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What’s next?

21 Tuesday May 2024

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I stumbled upon a journal entry from 2016, where, for some reason, I had penned a letter to my future self to be opened a decade later. At the time, I was 38 years old, and as I read through it today, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of writing to my 48-year-old self.

Recalling the juncture my life was at, I remember that moment in time, stepping into a bi-vocational career, feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life I had cherished for 14 years. 

feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life

Transitioning to a 9-5 desk job at a local university while also taking on the role of a part-time worship leader was daunting, to say the least. I had zero admin experience but enough customer experience to get me the job. I held onto a quote by Christine Caine: “God doesn’t call the prepared; he prepares the called.”

As I read the page intended for my 48-year-old self, I felt a surge of pride knowing that my eldest would soon graduate from college, with her two siblings following closely behind. My 38-year-old self had expressed hopes of seeing her kids in college, perhaps even married by then. I chuckled as I read that line to my husband, relieved that we still have two years until that “expiration date,” leaving the jury out on that status.

I had wished for myself to visit Italy and explore parts of Europe, a dream I’d harbored since high school. Despite numerous attempts, it seemed elusive until last spring, when Jon and I embarked on a 28-day adventure through London, Paris, and Italy. Dining on French cuisine under a Parisian moon or cruising through Tuscany’s picturesque hills—experiences beyond surreal.

In 2016, when I embraced the bi-vocational lifestyle, I had no clue how to sustain it. Some days were challenging, others incredibly rewarding. Working in higher education introduced me to remarkable students who inspired me to be my best self while leading worship in our home church allowed me to collaborate with immensely talented individuals. There were days when both roles seamlessly intertwined, and others when the weight felt unbearable, juggling deadlines and responsibilities.

A month ago, the chapter of worship leading abruptly closed. The news hit me like a sudden amputation—no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community. 

no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community

Despite the shock, I cherished the memories: working alongside my husband, watching my son excel as a drummer, and witnessing my daughter’s musical prowess and leadership. The abruptness left no room for goodbyes, only a hollow explanation.

Reflecting on this letter, crafted eight years ago, reminds me of life’s unpredictability. Since then, my father passed away, my mom remarried, close friends faced divorce, and my father-in-law continues his battle with cancer. My children, once youngsters, are now young adults, preparing to leave the nest. Yet, amid uncertainty, I’m grateful for the foresight to write that letter. Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life that paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.

Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.

I’ve learned that nothing is wasted in the Kingdom of Heaven. Even toxic leadership experiences can be redeemed, shaping me into a better leader. While I can’t predict the future, writing a letter of well wishes to oneself serves as a poignant reminder of life’s essence. As Paul wrote in Romans; our sufferings produce endurance, character, and hope. I eagerly anticipate what lies ahead, knowing that every season, sweet or bitter, holds a purpose.

I might have an inkling of what’s next and anticipate God to do what God does; create an ending better than I could have ever imagined.

When have you had a moment to reflect on where you have come from and where you are going?

Nashville Part 3: Kevin

05 Tuesday Jul 2022

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We are getting to the heart of this story where in hindsight I can look back and see that the decision to stay in Nashville one more day allowed for a life-changing opportunity for me and a new friend.

I walked a short mile to a Taco Bell and had a modest lunch while reflecting on the truths that were revealed to me that very morning. The heat in Nashville was welcomed and felt like a warm hug as I walked out of the air-conditioned restaurant to my hotel. I debated sitting by the pool or taking a nap. I was feeling antsy to get downtown and sightsee in one of my favorite neighborhoods in Nashville called 12 South I had discovered on my last trip where I knew that Reese Witherspoons’s flagship retail store, Draper James resided. I am a sucker for all things Reese Witherspoon so I decided to take a shower, freshen up and make my way to 12 South. After arriving in the quaint little neighborhood I walked down to a lush park and just took in the beauty of the scenery. The landscape was so picturesque I could hardly stand it. The tall oak trees lined the park and offered a shady canopy for anyone who entered. A sweet couple was picnicking on the grass as I walked towards a bridge that overlooked the scenery across from the beautiful, colonial-style homes that lined the main street. I stood there and just took it in, grateful for this time alone. 

After stopping for an iced coffee I began to explore the many retail stores along the path, stopping in at each one reminding me what a boujie neighborhood it was but hoping to take home something home to remind me of Nashville. I have always loved fashion and enjoy finding items that speak to the recent trends or a unique item that no one else has. I entered store after store selectively picking up dresses and tops to try on when soon I stumbled upon a few stores that fit my style. I found a beautiful jumpsuit at Draper James that I wanted to wear right out of the store.

Most adorable jumpsuit and dressing room.

As the afternoon sun began to get more intense I headed towards the north end of the block remembering there was a restaurant I wanted to try for dinner later that evening. I saw a fruit stand and bought a delicious Georgia peach when I came upon a gentleman sitting on a street corner bench. He was sitting in the sun with a large backpack next to him wearing a bright orange shirt and a veteran camo hat. Here I was in my black sun dress, espadrilles wedges, toting a Kate Spade purse and two shopping bags from my recent finds when I felt this nudge to talk to him. I stopped in front of him and said, “Hi.” He smiled up at me and began to engage in conversation about a rude passerby who had called him lazy. He went on to share that he was not homeless but had recently suffered a heat stroke which made him miss a few days of work.

I found myself sitting down next to him and conversing for about 30 minutes on the recent tragedies that Nashville had suffered from the Tornado in 2020 and of course the ramifications of the pandemic and discovering his name was Kevin. The question that pastor Brooke had posed to all of us at the conference the day before came to mind and I asked my new friend, Kevin,

“What can I do for you?”

Initially, I had been ready to give him the quarters in my coin purse and be on my way but here I was sitting next to him with my Draper James bag feeling that there was more here at this moment.

I then asked a more pointed question,” What do you need to get to Monday?” He blinked at me a bit and said, “Well, I need $85 to cover my rent Monday morning.” I thought to myself that I did not have any cash on me and so I was a little unsure what to do next. I prayed a prayer of discernment over the situation. At that moment a gal walked by and smiled at him and he smiled back saying to me, “She works at the bar down the street and fills my water bottle up when I’m down here.” A crazier thought came to mind and I asked him what he needed to get to the end of the month? He looked at me and laughed then said, “Oh man, I would have to look at a calendar!” We looked at the calendar of how many Fridays were left in June and did the math of how much his rent cost per night and came to the number of $385. I asked him if I could take a selfie with him so I could reach out to my friends and family and see if they would help me cover his rent. We took a selfie and I sent a quick text to family and friends hoping to convey to some degree the situation and receive some help via Venmo. All I could do at that moment was wait for people to respond. 

This is Kevin. He has given me permission to post this photo and tell this story.

The sun was pretty intense so I encouraged the idea that we should go get Kevin water and a snack. He led me down the path towards the bar Bottle Taps where we saw the waitress that had passed by earlier. As we walked and talked I noticed he didn’t smell of alcohol or tobacco, he had decent work boots on and his clothes were worn but clean. When we arrived at the bar the waitress took his bottle and filled it up with water as I ordered a coke and fries for my new friend to snack on. The waitress seemed to size me up as she attended to the task at hand then winked at me, and said, “He’s the sweetest.” I smiled back and signed the receipt then turned and told him I was going to go shop around a bit more and come back to find him when I heard from my friends and family. We parted ways and I began to head up the street in a bit of a fog. I wandered into an area that I could not afford and began to feel a bit disoriented. The questions swirled in my head, how would I come through for this person, was this a bad idea, and will anyone respond to my text message? I began to receive concerned messages from my husband and pastor friends. My mother-in-law honestly asked if my phone was hi-jacked and if this was really “Kelly?”

A surge of embarrassment flooded over me when I realized that I probably looked like a fool asking people for money in such a spontaneous fashion.

I called my mother-in-law to calm her fears about my safety and began to cry from complete and utter exhaustion wrapped in embarrassment. She let me explain where this request came from and heard my heart assuring me that if this was the right thing to do God would show me what to do. She picked up on my excitement and shared that she would electronically send me $100 immediately and encouraged me to have faith in my family and friends. I debated walking all of my newly purchased items back to the stores to return them for a refund but after speaking with her I felt that I just needed to be patient and trust that this was what God was prodding me to do and patiently follow through. I wiped my tears and walked back to Kevin telling him I would be back shortly. I wanted to ensure he would be in the same location when I returned and he assured me he would be there until 6:30 pm since most of the shops closed at 6:00 in 12 South. I called an Uber and headed to the closest Walgreens. 

Upon arriving I found the aisle that had the various gift cards and grabbed a Visa Card that would allow me to put $385 on it. When the cashier ran my credit card it was declined. At that moment I realized how absurd this must look and quickly called my husband to see if he got a notification from our credit card company. When Jon answered there was a legitimate concern in his voice as he asked, “Kel, what are you doing?” I was grateful for his concern and the opportunity to assess what I was doing and I assured him that I wasn’t crazy and I believed that this is what God was laying on my heart for this gentleman. I told him, “If the card is declined when we run it a second time I will walk away from this situation and consider that a sign that this is not to happen.” He instructed me to try again and it went through. I was so excited! I got back into an Uber and made the 8-minute drive journey back to 12 South where Kevin was now sitting in the shade. It was almost 6 pm and it had been over 3 hours since I had first encountered him.

I climbed out of the vehicle and sat with him on the stoop in front of a neighborhood church. I pulled the card out of my bag and told him that I was confident my family and friends would come through and that I wanted to help him get through June, and give him some breathing room. He was so elated and couldn’t believe it. We video messaged in a family thread to say “thank you” to my sisters and mother-in-law who had given to his cause. I sat there for another 30 minutes and we talked about his daughters and how he hoped to see them at Christmas this year. He asked me about my church where I lead worship and if he could ever watch online to which I gave him my business card. After a few more minutes of small talk, we said our goodbyes, I gave him a big squeeze and headed towards the restaurant “Bar Taco” to put my name in for dinner and to charge my phone. As I sat down for dinner in one of my favorite Nashville eateries, I immediately called Jon to tell him how the events concluded while my body was still buzzing from the events of the day.

Please join me tomorrow for the conclusion of Nashville.

Thank you for reading this story. If you missed part 2 you can head over there first https://lifeonthebackburner.wordpress.com/2022/07/04/nashville-part-2-revelation/

Part 1 https://lifeonthebackburner.wordpress.com/

Table

07 Tuesday Jun 2022

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There was a thud and in the corner of my eye, I saw my son lunge for a bottle that I immediately knew was Nail Polish Remover. I lept from my couch in a sudden panic knowing that my beautiful, two-month-old dining room table was at the mercy of what just occurred. As my son grabbed a paper towel I recalled my 8-year-old self mopping up the spilled nail polish from my mom’s brand-new coffee table. A vision of my sister and I smearing dish towel fuzz into the melting varnish of the coffee table was vivid in my mind. In those milliseconds of thought, I wondered if I could change history and try what I proposed would be a better solution, a cup of water. I asked myself as I quickly filled a cup with sink water, “If I pour the chemical off the table there will be less chance of it being ruined, right?” I aggressively shoved the chairs away from the table so as not to get them wet and poured the water over the stain while my son came behind me to sop it up. My husband had moved into action as he realized the tragedy that was occurring. The water did nothing but waterfall to the floor and the table where the remover had made contact was bubbling and beginning to eat away at the beautiful dark stain. My knees buckled under me and a sudden feeling of nausea followed by uncontrollable tears overtook me. I gasped and ran down the hall to my bedroom away from the chaos and fell to my knees on my bed smooshing my face into my quilted bedspread and wept. 

I was angry. Angry I let this happen. Just ten minutes before my three children were laughing and excitedly chatting about the best way to get my eldest daughter’s shoes clean as she was preparing to leave for three weeks in Europe. I was angry that it didn’t occur to me that when they landed on a solution to clean the shoes with a wet cloth and nail polish remover I didn’t say to my son, “Maybe you should take that project into the bathroom?” Even though I knew the risk my brain at the time of the exchange was mush. It had been a long day that began at 6:00 am and I had not sat down much due to the busyness of the day. It was past 7:00 pm and we had not even had dinner yet.

The plan was that after a busy morning serving at the church where I lead worship, I would assist my daughter in packing for her trip. I helped her select her outfits for the adventures she would be embarking on and made sure she had all the necessities she would need for such a long time away from home. She and I had been working tirelessly all afternoon. I hoped that once the packing was complete all five of us would sit down at the table with a nice dinner to send her off before she began a ten-day Mediterranean cruise followed by country hopping and visiting seven different countries. My brain and body were slowing down so I informed my daughter that while we waited for the last load of laundry to dry I was going to go recline in the living room and ask her brother to help with cleaning her tennis shoes. 

At this time our middle daughter and son had returned home from their earlier activities meanwhile my husband was in the kitchen preparing a delicious meal that involved coconut-crusted cod. All three kids were gathered in our living/dining room discussing the best techniques to quickly shine up the white New Balance sneakers without putting them in the washing machine. If you didn’t know, it is all the rage that your white sneakers be worn completely free of dirt and scuffs. My son gathered all the items needed for his task; nail polish remover, cotton balls, and a damp cloth and proceeded to bring them to the dining room table. As he was working he was careful to turn away from the table over our tile floor as he wiped the remover-soaked cotton ball across the leather removing the grime. On the last turn, he set the bottle down, and as he did, it tipped over, thus beginning the succession of the events we began with. 

Now, you may think when I started this story I was being a bit melodramatic…Knees buckling? Nauseous? “Are you for real?” you may ask, but let me take you through my thought process a bit. Right now, my kid’s ages range from 18 to 21 years old. Before they were born we had bought a gorgeous table that sat six people with a leaf that allowed seating for up to ten people and if you put a few kids on a bench or on the corners you could squeeze in twelve. This table was our first adult purchase as a married couple. A year after we were married we walked into a store called  “Z-Gallery” and fell in love with a minimalistic style table with a deep ebony stain. It came with six matching chairs and seats covered in a lovely cream fabric.

We invited friends over for our first Thanksgiving meal and somehow managed not to give everyone food poisoning when the gravy “smelled off.” Apparently, we hadn’t learned yet that you defrost the turkey in the fridge, not in the sink. When we began having children we moved into a tiny two-bedroom apartment with a dining room that was not large enough for this size of a table so my in-laws graciously babysat it for five years until we bought a three-bedroom condominium. When we got that table back it became the hub of our home where we served up daily meals to our children and invited their school-age friends over for Springtime Tea parties complete with tea sandwiches and frosted cookies along with many birthday parties and sleepovers with pancakes for breakfast. My husband, the kids, and I would dress up and pretend we were eating at a fancy Italian restaurant where we served squid ink pasta and practice our “fancy manners”. Science projects and 4th-grade dioramas were created at that table. Our firstborn decided that for her Senior Prom she and her friends would dine at our home since her dad was such an amazing home cook. We served filet mignon aside roasted asparagus while they enjoyed the fare in their formal attire before setting off for an evening to remember. 

As the years went on that table became a landing pad for all the stuff from book bags, to computers, and thrifting hauls. The sheer size of it as our kids grew made our small dining room feel even more cramped especially since there were not as many family meals shared there. Our kids became busy with sports, jobs, and then soon off to college. The table was taking up room and I dreamt of having a smaller, more intimate table. I envisioned having a countertop height table with lovely bar stools that allowed us to entertain a few friends or to be used as an extension of our kitchen countertops to make homemade pasta or biscuit dough.

After watching one too many home renovation shows we decided to put our words into action and took the large table and chairs to my mom’s Airbnb in Indio, CA to make room for a new table. The hope was that it would fit into her updated dining room replacing her 1970s oak table and adding a modern vibe to her newly renovated slate floors. In order to ready the table for my mom, I gave it a thorough scrubbing to remove years of sticky soda and ice cream sundae drips from the nooks and crannies reminding me that fifteen years with this table had taken its toll. For Thanksgiving, my four siblings traveled to Indio for the first time in over two years following my dad’s passing seven years ago. It doesn’t help that we are all scattered between three different states and it is becoming more and more challenging with each passing year for all four of us including our children to be under one roof together. That year, we were to gather with my mom and her new husband around that table. Little did we know this would be the last time we would spend a holiday together in the Indio house; the home my mother and father had bought sixteen years prior together. Recently, the market took a positive turn, allowing my mom the opportunity to sell her home quickly. Without knowing what the future held over the course of that week we sat around that table many times together making memories as we served good food, made crafts, played games, and filled the space with loads of laughter; just enjoying the simplicity and joy of being together. All of us under one roof. 

Before my family headed back to San Diego I wanted to see if we could find our dream table since Palm Springs is known for their great furniture stores. The year prior I discovered a Scandinavian design counter-top height table in the area thus beginning my obsession with this type of furniture piece. We went back to the same store and even though we liked the table I had selected the chair selection was slim. We wandered across the way to a popular furniture store chain and found THEE table. It was a lovely square countertop height table that seats four people and had a leaf that extends to seat six. It’s stain was a dark walnut with hints of amber throughout with a unique grain with a rustic, yet sophisticated look while the finish had a luxurious sheen. The style had a weight to it that looked really expensive but without being pretentious. And the chairs…we found upholstered charcoal gray swivel chairs that matched perfectly. We knew this was the table and made the purchase but before we completed the transaction our sales rep informed us that we would have to wait about 3-4 months for delivery since there was a supply shortage of furniture due to the pandemic. We had heard rumors and anticipated this news. It did not deter us and we headed home elated that we had found the right table with a few months to think about it before truly committing to the purchase.

When we got home I got busy looking for a stand-in table since we no longer had one of any kind. I purchased a counter-top height folding table to get us by and was pleasantly surprised to find two beautiful countertop height folding chairs that would match. Christmas was approaching and we needed somewhere to serve food or a place to land our groceries after shopping. Traditionally for Christmas dinner, my husband serves duck and we dine on his grandmother’s China so even though this year we didn’t have the ideal arrangement we made do by setting the food on our industrial folding table while dining on her China lounging at the coffee table. 

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of our table, I painted the dining room and kitchen walls with a fresh coat of paint. We hired a company to steam clean the tile floor while my husband and I installed gorgeous reclaimed wood shelves to complete the space. All we needed was our table. The date of delivery was scheduled for February 15th yet the day came and went with no table. March 15th, no table. The company notified me after some harassment on my end only to find out that the chairs were back ordered while the table sat in a warehouse waiting to be delivered to its forever home. I was losing my patience as we rescheduled two dinner parties with the news of its later arrival.

Finally, after much anticipation, the text came that they would be delivering the table and chairs the first week of April. I was giddy!! The truck arrived as I pulled into my parking space after work on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon. I walked right up to the delivery man and excitedly asked, “Hi! Is this my table?!” He smiled, confirmed my name was “Kelly” and then nodded for me to lead the way. I apologized that we were on the second floor, he smiled sheepishly and said, “It’s ok,” even though he was already perspiring. The two gentlemen worked quickly unwrapping the styrofoam protectors and the many layers of cellophane. As they unwrapped and connected each piece together I could hardly contain my excitement. It was prettier than I remembered and the shelves I had purchased to go on the wall above the table were proving to coordinate with it so well. After almost an hour they announced they were done and asked me to look it over before signing the delivery confirmation. I walked around the table, tracing my hand over the gorgeous dark wood, and sat in each chair to be sure they swiveled as they should. I smiled at my husband and said, “It’s perfect!” Over the next two months, we sat at our table as much as possible and even for the ordinary Monday night meal. Our dear friends came over for smoked turkey legs and said, “ooh” and “aah” at our purchase. On weeknights, while my husband prepared dinner I would sit at the swivel chair chatting with him, tracking his movement as he bustled around preparing the meal. Our eldest daughter even came home from college on a Saturday night just to have dad’s stroganoff at the new table.

 As I think more about my reaction to this accident I come back to the topic of my children’s ages. Many of us know that when kids are toddlers nice things don’t stand a chance. From permanent marker stains on the couch to throwing up in the crevice of the car seats or dishes breaking. Parents around the world know that if dishes are not plastic they don’t stand a chance. Even though in the middle school and high school years we lost more bowls and glasses than I can count when our children unloaded and loaded the dishwasher or made their own breakfast, I have been under some delusion that now that they are adults then maybe now we can have nice things. But as I thought about it more examples of how untrue that is comes to mind.

For example, when I was 36 years old I totaled our min-van in my first freeway accident. At age 40 my brother broke an expensive Nikon camera while taking photos one afternoon with our family. I recall many years ago my mom broke her niece’s special wedding glasses while drying them after a dinner party. And don’t get me started on the bumps and scrapes our cars have suffered while my kids all learned to drive. Things break. There is no safeguard from damage, loss, or even theft. I think it might be one of the many reasons that Jesus said in Matthew not to store up treasures on earth but to store up our treasures in heaven. We all know the material things of this earth will not last. This table may be something we paid good, hard-earned money for and there is a very high chance it can be fixed. Yet, I am reminded though that no table, car, camera, and especially glasses are more important than the humans who use them to live life and make memories. If you were in a car accident what is the first thing that people say? It’s not, “Wow, I hope your car’s okay!” No, they ask with deep concern, “Are you okay?” Rarely does anyone pay attention to the now heap of metal that once was a vehicle? They are typically more concerned with the well-being of the person or persons involved.

As I look back at the memories we made at our old table I remember that it’s not the table I miss. It’s the little chubby hands that would reach up to my face with sticky syrup on them to kiss my cheek in gratitude for the pancakes I made that morning. The fondue dinner with grandma and grandpa or the times when our children would excitedly talk so fast about the newest movie that none of us could understand them. I celebrate that my kids would ask me questions about their faith at that table or while having a snack share with me their pain when they experienced heartache. No Thing should be more important than our relationships with one another. Even now as I share this story I hope that despite my dramatic response my son will remember my unconditional love for him and forgiveness for making a mistake. May we all remember that the relationships we have are irreplaceable and may we be sure to tell those in our lives how much they mean to us. For me, the memories made at that first dining room table will forever be in the snapshots of my mind and today our family will continue to make new ones at our new table. Excuse me though, while I go get that table cloth first.

The Social Playground

22 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by in Authentic Living, Family and parenting

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Recently I read a blog called 6 Ways You Are Making Life Harder Than It Has To Be in the online magazine, Relevant. It had some great points on how to let go of unnecessary emotional baggage and to change our mindset to be more productive. There are a great many blogs out there on this topic. What I noticed about this particular blog was the way in which it spoke about Social Media.  The author said we are making life harder by being on social media way too much; which I know is no surprise nor a point to disagree with. He then went on to say, ” People used to go to their 10-year reunion and have to make it appear for one night that their life was amazing beyond belief. Now we’re trying to pull that appearance off every second of every day. It is an impossible crazy-making endeavor.”

I completely agree that social media can be addicting or a “life sucker”. It can even be a space where people bully each other or flat out lie about themselves. I myself am a facebook addict and I am not necessarily ashamed of it. Let me explain to you a few reasons why I disagree with the above quote.  I have lived 80% of my life without social media. So I know what life was like before Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and all the likes that came into play. No, I was never on MySpace, sorry. I am also a very social person. One of my Strengths according to the  Gallup Strengths Finder Test is Woo. It actually says, “People strong in the Woo theme love the challenge of meeting new people and winning them over. They derive satisfaction from breaking the ice and making a connection with another person.” I personally don’t take it quite that far, but let me just say that Facebook, Instagram and SnapChat are my playgrounds. I love staying connected to people from all aspects of my life and making new friends along the way.

When you take Facebook at face value and focus on the part about showing up to your 10-year reunion has become our everyday practice, I get it. It poses a problem. Let me share with you another side of the coin. Since Facebook came into existence I have thoroughly enjoyed staying connected to people in all the seasons of my life. It had always just been a fun sidebar to life, until this past summer. Last July my father fell and broke his vertebrae. During the initial fall and the life-threatening reality of his injury, we began a FB page for prayer and keeping people in the loop. My dad was a well known minister in the Nazarene denomination and many people were concerned for him and my family’s well being. Over a thousand people joined the page. Many offered hotel stay for my mom, monetary gifts for food, and even communicated they were in the area and wanted to stop by. When the unthinkable occurred and my dad passed away just 7 days later; a gofundme account was created to help my mom, my siblings and all our children make the 2000 mile trek to Colorado, to my dad’s home town of Delta, to bury him. The morning following his death, family from near and far came to support us in our overwhelming grief. I remember distinctly that we didn’t have to spend a minute catching up with small talk or explain how it happened. We were able to talk and be in the present. It was beautiful and allowed us to truly be together.

3 years ago I joined a movement that a college friend started called, 30 Days of Real. For 30 days we were challenged to be authentic on Facebook or Instagram and hash tag our posts, #30daysofreal. For those 30 days my posts were as trite as “I hate homework more than my kids do.” to sharing openly about my struggle with rage. During that time people did not move away from me but drew towards me. From the mom in the PTA who saw me every day but never talked to me, to the fellow parent on the swim team, to having much more authentic friendships in my daily life. People were getting to know the real me and seeing things they struggled with themselves. They would cheer me on when I was feeling down and laugh at the craziness of life while raising 3 young children. It was an absolutely incredible and fulfilling experience. So much so, that I always strive to be positive and real in my posts to this day.

I guess you could say I am tired of people bashing social media or being made to feel guilty for being on it. Raise your hand if you give it up for lent every year. It’s hard when we see the crazies out there making a mess of it. I try to look at it and use it in a positive way and I encourage you to do the same. Even when it comes to my kids, I use it as a way to connect with them. Right now, my daughters are SnapChatting their trip to N.Y.C. and I get to follow along. I do understand in seasons of social unrest or the election, it can get a little crazy and make us all feel uncomfortable. Yet, each one of us can be the example on how to have a civilized conversation about hot topics. I was involved in one the other day and all parties walked away with a different perspective and didn’t lose respect for one another.  Let’s put it this way, it’s a lot like many other vices. Too much is not good for you and someone is always going to find a negative use for it. As for me, I’m going to try and use it for good and rejoice that this social butterfly has a place to land.

 

 

A Legacy

22 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Authentic Living

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Today I attended a dear friend father’s funeral, Pastor Charles Zwicker.  His death came just  7 months after my own father’s passing. During the drive another friend texted me asking for advice as she is soon facing her father’s impending death. I looked out the window as I said to myself and my husband who was driving, “This is how it goes I guess. We’re all getting older.”

We arrived at the funeral 20 minutes later and I began to brace myself for what lay ahead. I’ve never been to a truly sorrowful funeral. All the family members or friends I have lost have been believers in Jesus Christ and though we are sad we have a hope that doesn’t allow the grief to sit heavy on our souls. Today’s memorial was very much the same way. The family was smiling and hugging through their tears. They were so touched by the effort of those who came near and far. The tiny little church was packed to the gills of friends, family and members of the community that had come to pay their respects.

I was able to listen to the stories of faith and gratitude of a man who served in ministry for over 25 years. He and his wife raised 4 beautiful children who love Jesus. His impact on the community was such that the city of 29 Palms sent an ambassador to honor him as an exemplary citizen who had given back in a magnificent way. He organized food drives, clothes drives, helped the poor and widowed through his ministry and reached out to the transient military community.  As I was listening to all of these accolades being given, I began to think about the word, LEGACY.

My father’s legacy was shown to us by the many people who shared with us stories of  feeling loved and cherished. During his own ministry he gave the people of his community hope and peace. This man as well, who had little wealth to speak of, had riches that none of us could monetarily count. No one ever mentions how many houses one has acquired in life. It’s always about people, connections and how we were affected by those who have gone before us. This may all seem cliche to you and I know I’m not the first to write about it, however, I can’t shake the question. “What would be my legacy?”

At this moment in life I am overwhelmed with the mundane. The “daily grind” if you will. I don’t love my job, my eldest will be driving in 6 months, our finances can be a major cause of stress, friends disappoint me, my husband and children frustrate me, I want to be 15 pounds skinnier, I really want a 4 bedroom house, and the engine light on our car won’t turn off no matter what we do… That’s just the thoughts I’ve wrestled with today! When I was sitting in that church pew listening to the words spoken in the memorial service not one of those thoughts came to mind. What came to mind was, “Do people see Jesus in me? Does my family know I love them?”

As depressing as this topic may seem, I think it’s important we explore these questions. For myself, I will use these moments to help me slow down and focus on what is important. Not only loving my family and making sure they know how much I care about them but strengthening my relationship with Jesus. Along with finding ways to give back to my community I will try to refrain from allowing the rat race of life to drag me down. My heart goes out to the family of Pastor Zwicker as they discover what their “new normal” is. For anyone who has lost a parent, a spouse, a child, a friend, or a sibling; I pray these words encourage you to see a way to take death and focus it on making the world they left behind a better place.

Like Mother Like Daughter

02 Wednesday Dec 2015

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Tonight my 14 year old daughter and I got into it for the umpteenth time this month. She is slacking in her school work and I’m beside myself frustrated with the level of effort she puts into it, or lack thereof. If only she put as much effort into her school work as she does her socializing I found myself thinking. Then I heard my mother’s voice echo in my ears. Did I really just say what I know my mom said more than a dozen times? How is it that we can be so utterly shocked when our kids push back, lie, be lazy, disrespect us, find ways to get around the rules, when less then 2 decades ago we were doing the same exact thing???

Earlier this evening that same daughter was confiding in me that her friend, who is 4 years older than her is most likely pregnant. She told me before beginning, to relax, “she’s a good person and I’m not being influenced by her,” she assured me. This young lady was heading into the military come graduation and now pregnancy may derail those dreams. While cooking dinner, I listened to my daughter share with me her friend’s fears and worries. She relayed to me how she told this girl, “Now see, I told you that guy was nothing but trouble. Mom, this is exactly why I will not have sex before marriage. I am not going to live my life as The Secret Life of an American Teenager.” “Plus,” she says, “I told her she could come talk to you because you would be concerned for her and feel sorry for her situation.” At the time I laughed and chided her a bit for being harsh with her friend. She assured me she was kind in her approach. She told this young lady that she could come over and that I would help her figure out what to do. THEN she said, “And I told my friend, she HAD to tell her parents the truth immediately!” Yeah, 2 hours later I find my daughter “forgot” to tell me about a Spanish test tomorrow. What was that about having to be truthful with your parents, daughter of mine??

Here’s where I am at in this moment. I am in awe at the mother daughter relationship. How it can be all hugs and cuddles to practically a cat fight the next. How my daughter wants to emulate me in every way, but can’t stand any critique or advice I may give. How my daughter can hug me one minute and have nothing to do with me the next. How she can find the ability to confide in me with the heavy things life throws at her, but afraid to ask my permission might I say no. I know its hormones and the struggles of growing up, but I also know it’s a reflection of how I treat her. In those cat fight moments I find myself speaking down to her and mad at her lack of work ethic or drive. Yet, I am in awe at her ability to stick up for herself, to live life with such zest and tenacity and to love so fiercely. In the aftermath of our tiff over homework and upon hearing my mothers’ voice echo in my ears, I realize now, more than ever how much she is watching. I think even more so than when she was 3 and wanted to try on my high heels.

She is watching how I respond after I argue with her or her father and how we make up. She is watching what I post on social media and if I call in “sick” to work or not.  She is watching how I treat our crazy neighbors or if I pick up our dog poop when no one is watching. I forget how much she is watching and learning and trying to find out what works for her and what doesn’t. I am glad she doesn’t want have sex before she is married, but will she be able to resist when the man of her dreams is whispering how much he loves her and cherishes her? Will she tell the truth even when no one will know the difference? Will she study hard for that test not because her mother is screaming at her to, but because she wants to succeed? I don’t know. All I know is, every day I want to give up. I literally want to throw my hands up and say, “You win and I’m out!” Then I see that girl turning into a women and I look in the mirror of that girl who turned into a woman. I survived the trials and I learned from my mistakes and eventually began to listen to my mother. I persevered because my own mother never gave up. So, I too won’t give up. I will start again tomorrow with a hug and a kiss and some cuddles; if, she lets me.

In My Line: May I see your ID?

12 Thursday Nov 2015

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It’s been over six weeks since I quit working as a cashier at Sprouts Farmers Market. I had some amazing experiences with seeing humanity at its best while I worked there. I shared two other stories in my previous posts and this is the third and final blog on my short but fantastic time working at Sprouts.

I was getting much better and faster at my job as a cashier. It was getting easier to converse with the customers and scan their items quickly. On this particular day, my supervisor asked all of us cashiers to card every single patron who purchased alcohol that day. We were told it did not matter if they looked 50, we still had to card them. I enjoy carding people. The fun part of asking, “May I see your ID?” is they tend to be flattered that there is a question they may be 21. I had one gentleman who was celebrating his 60th birthday that day and I was able to enthusiastically wish him a happy birthday. He loved it. Another patron was a lady who seemed to have spent a lot of money looking younger than she was but was quite annoyed that she had to get her ID out. It was quite funny and I thought a bit ironic.

The night was beginning to wind down and a young man came through my line who was clearly less than 25 purchasing a six pack of beer. I asked for his ID and upon seeing it noticed I it was not a California ID. He began to explain to me that he was a military brat from Michigan but here in San Diego on duty in the Navy.  The military was something he had known his entire life. He had recently come back from a ship deployment in Japan. He was so full of energy, excitement and pride for his job. There was an older gentleman in line behind him listening to our conversation as we talked. This man tapped the young guy on his shoulder and said, “Son, if you’re in the military there is someone here you’ve got to meet!” By this time I was done ringing up the young private’s groceries. Everyone in line seemed intrigued as to who this young man should meet. The older gentleman called out to an athletic looking man in his mid-fifties. He said, “Son, this is Michael, an officer in the Navy.” The officer smiled and reached across his friend to the young man. Their hands clasped right in front of me and I felt the energy between them. The officer leaned in and said with great intensity and reverence I did not expect, “Son, thank you for your service. What you do is hard and not many know what we go through. I know and I thank you.” The young man from Michigan kept eye contact the entire time with his superior and took the compliment graciously. He responded with, “Thank you sir. I appreciate that immensely.” As they shook hands one more time I realized I had tears in my eyes. The young man gathered his belongings, paused to smile at me and then thanked the two men he had just met for the introduction. Everyone in my line seemed to feel the incredible respect and magnitude of the moment. The line began to go back to the usual chatter as I rang up the remaining customers. I hoped everyone felt the same as me, that we had just been given a small gift.

I write this today, on Veterans Day. My Grandpa, whom we affectionately called “Pa” was part of the last horse infantry in World War II. My father-in-law served the Navy for 25 years and retired as a Petty Chief Officer and my own father was in the Air Force at the end of Vietnam. I have always been grateful for our men and women in service, but to see such an exchange of respect and gratitude was an incredible reminder of the sacrifice they endure. I may never truly get it, but I am thankful for these men and women and all they do for the American people. Happy Veterans Day to those serving and thank you for the sacrifice of those who served before them.

No Greater Love

08 Tuesday Sep 2015

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This weekend feels like a final step in the grieving process of my dad’s death. It has only been two months since my dad broke his vertebrae and chose to be taken off his ventilator causing him to take his final breath in the wee hours of the morning on July 4th. At the same time it feels like six months has gone by. We’ve buried my father, we’ve journeyed home, we’ve emptied his house of his belongings and distributed to each other the things that help hold onto his memory. The journey of grieving has just begun I know.

My siblings and I spent the weekend getting my mom settled into her home as a widow and to help her celebrate what would have been their 46th wedding anniversary. We had a great time working together on projects and even playing together. Sometimes we would stop dead in our tracks to just weep or laugh at a particular memory that an item or topic triggered. My parents weaved a beautiful tapestry of a life together through their ministry, children, grandchildren, and beautiful abode. My dad’s absence has left a gaping hole I never could have imagined. I had no idea I would miss my dad this much. His smell, his laugh, his 6 foot 2 presence in a room… Now that he is gone we are now having to stitch that hole together with memories and new traditions.

One thing I have learned in this process is that grief can be beautiful. The more you love someone the harder it is to move on. However there is beauty in the precious gifts that are left behind. My dad left behind a legacy to “do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Through his example I can learn to push through things I wouldn’t normally think that I could. My dad always gave his best and pushed through the hard times and it was never his own strength, but Christ’s.  He gave us an example of discipline. Whether it was in regards to exercise, his job, or marriage; he showed us what commitment looked like. In my father’s last moments he gave us an example of sacrificial love.  My sister-in-law equated it to Christ’s sacrificial love for the church.  Christ did not want to be on the cross or stand in our place, but he went through it knowing what we would gain. My father did not want to be paralyzed from the neck down nor did he want to leave this earth. His love for us was greater than the love he had for himself. You could ask the question, which is more selfless; for my dad to stay on this earth with us and need 24 hour care, or to leave this earth and say goodbye? I think his bravery to say goodbye is right up there with Christ’s sacrificial love. That’s how well my dad knew Jesus. In those last moments he knew what to do. He knew that the pain to leave would be great but the reward would be greater.

John 15 :13 No one has greater love than this: that someone lay down his life for his friends.

Eulogy for Larry Ross aka My Dad

19 Sunday Jul 2015

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I had the incredible honor of writing my dad’s eulogy for his memorial service last Saturday, July 11th, 2015. I am still in shock that this is my reality. He loved my writing and it was our number one way to communicate with each other. If I was upset with him or needed to express myself, I would put pen to paper. So, here is my written expression of my beautiful dad’s life.

Larry Gene Ross was born into a humble beginning on November 17, 1947 in Lubbock, Texas. He was loved to pieces by his mother, Marie Ross, and was shown what hard work looked like from his father Marvel Ross. His older sister Myra Gresham doted on him and influenced his sense of style as he became a young man. Larry’s childhood on the farm gave him an appreciation for nature and a green thumb that he would use to grow the most beautiful roses one day. Larry loved to bring home stray animals and nurse them back to health. His sister remembers him bringing home a litter of skunks that were abandoned by their mother. He fed them with an eye dropper until they were healthy enough to be set free. That same nurturing Larry would someday tend to the stray, lost, and broken people of his community.

At 14, Larry’s parents decided to move from Texas to Crawford, CO. He had severe hay fever and the doctor urged his father to move his son elsewhere. Larry was able to witness first hand his father’s love and sacrifice for his family. That move caused him to attend Paonia High School where he would fall in love with running. He was quite the track star and excelled in the men’s 800 meter. He held the record of 2 minutes and 8 seconds for 40 years, from 1966-2006. When he entered his junior year of high school he fell head over heels for a strawberry-blonde, beauty queen, by the name of Sandra Tuin. Larry escorted Sandee to the homecoming court where she was crowned queen. From that day on he called Sandee her his princess. The two of them married on September 7, 1969 in Delta, Co. A year later, Larry graduated from Pasadena College majoring in Literature and Communicative Arts with a minor in Physical Education. Immediately following college he signed up for the Air force and served 3 years. During that time he and Sandee brought into the world 2 beautiful children, Kevin and Kimberly. In 1974 Larry exited the Air force and became a P.E. teacher while volunteering as a youth minister alongside Sandee. The two of them found their niche sharing Jesus with the youth and conducting youth choirs. They recorded several albums with their youth choir during their early years of ministry.

In 1977, Larry was called into full-time ministry and began his lifelong passion. He began this journey in Prescott, AZ as a youth pastor where his daughter Kelly was born. Soon after, he and Sandee found themselves in Bend, OR where Larry served as an associate pastor. Larry and Sandee welcomed their 4th child, a son named Kasey, thus completing the Ross’s. Larry had a zest for life, a vision to share Jesus, and a wandering heart. This took him and his family to Arizona where he was able to take on his first head pastor-ship, then residing in Indio, CA where Larry held a pastorate at Las Palmas Church of the Nazarene for 15 years.

In 2007 Larry received a strong nudge from God that it was time to move on to a new adventure. He called the District Superintendent at that time and asked him where in the High Desert he could be sent. The superintendent said, “Well, I have this church in Phelan, but it’s almost dead.” Larry asked, “Are there youth there?” he said “Yes.” Larry replied excitedly, “Great, I will go!” 2 years after accepting that call Larry was diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s disease. Over the next 6 years Larry and Sandee faced some of their toughest years. Sandee kept her job in Indio, CA and the two of them commuted back and forth. God provided them with a beautiful house in Phelan and the little, almost dead, church of 22 began to breathe New Life. He gave this little church confidence and taught it what it truly meant to be the feet and hands of Jesus.

Larry was an amazingly devoted husband, father, and grandfather. He prayed over his family daily. He always sent his kids out the door praying “May the peace that passes all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” He daily sent texts of affirmation when life seemed daunting. I could spend hours sharing stories and memories of Dad and Poppi, but I wanted to try and give you a glimpse of his character and the memory of who he was.

Dad always took the time to make his daughters feel special. He would take them on dates such as trips to Baskin Robbins ice cream and shopping for a special outfit. He would take his boys, Kevin and Kasey, on excursions where he would teach them to fish and set up camp. As they married he accepted their spouses as his own. As Dad and Poppi he made sure he was at every child and grandchild’s milestones; such as birth, special sport events, graduations, and baptisms. He loved to invest in his kids’ lives by coaching little league, basketball, and track. Dad was an avid runner, disciplined athlete, and sports enthusiast. He desperately loved cheering on his beloved Broncos. He used many illustrations at the pulpit in relation to football and sports. His second love in life to sports was music. He grew up listening to the Gaither Vocal band. When he met mom he fit right in to her own musical family which in turn allowed them to create 4 children who all could sing. Our family spent most of our childhood traveling the western United States singing and sharing the Love of Jesus. Mom and Dad spent their entire marriage and ministry cultivating a love for music in every youth they met. Through the years Dad found that he enjoyed gift giving. It was his love language. He would shower Mom with spontaneous packages or poems. He would bring us home stuffed animals for Easter or birthdays. As he became a grandpa, aka Poppi, he turned his attention to loving on his grandkids. Dad had what my brother Kevin calls, “Santa Claus Syndrome.” Every Christmas he gave above and beyond what Mom would deem sane. He would anticipate Christmas morning and shower us with gifts. He also exemplified compassion and generosity to us by adopting a family in need and allowing the entire family to participate in giving gifts. He always tried to plan a special outing whether it be taking the family skiing, a trip to the tram or horseback riding at a nearby neighboring stable. Dad went to great lengths to be sure our family and those around him knew he loved them. He would always hug you, tell you “you are special,” and take the time to listen to the need you had. He was a man who sought after God’s own heart and believed wholeheartedly that God was in control of our circumstances.

My dad was only 67 years old when he fell and broke his vertebrae causing him to be completely paralyzed. As a pastor and son of parents having been in convalescent care, he witnessed firsthand the pain, sorrow, and financial stress of a family member in long term care. When Dad was faced with living on a breathing and feeding tube forever, he chose Jesus. We are still in awe at his bravery to say goodbye and in his last hour he told us he was sad to leave us, but we know that one day we will all meet again. He will be greatly missed, but never forgotten.

Love Keeps No Record Of Wrongs

13 Saturday Jun 2015

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Love Keeps No Record of Wrongs

At our wedding our friend, and youth pastor at the time, Darren Bartholomew officiated our vows. He is a fun guy with a dry sense of humor.  During the ceremony he began to share with us from 1 Corinthians 13. The phrase that reads, “love keeps no record of wrongs,” he said then repeated it, then repeated it a 3rd time. This time slowing down with an emphasis on each word which caused a chuckle throughout the room. It was cute and funny and we all could tell he was trying to get a point across to this very young couple in front of him embarking on one of life’s biggest challenges, marriage. Today we celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. I am still in awe that I could love someone more today than I did the day I said “I do.”

However, it has not been an easy path. It never is. Darren’s voice as he repeated the phrase “Love keeps no record of wrongs” has echoed in my ears many times over the years. So many times I have wanted to make a list of the ways my husband has screwed up or annoyed me. Some of them have been extremely minute and silly. Some have seemed huge and some were monetarily costly mistakes. The moment I begin to “stamp collect” those wrongs is when resentment starts to build in my heart. Soon everything becomes annoying; the things he says, the way he parents, how he leaves his socks on the floor at night or seems to never put his dirty shirts IN the hamper. I suddenly find myself becoming blind to all the good that he does. I don’t see that he cooks for me when I’m exhausted or encourages my passions in life and my girls’ nights out. That he fixes my computer EVERY single time I ask him without complaint or listens to me unload the happenings of my day after his own long day in the office. When I stop keeping record of how he frustrates me and look at how he loves me in his own special way it makes my heart soften towards him. I can have empathy and extend grace when he gets a $200 traffic ticket or takes both car keys on accident and leaves me stranded at home. We all make mistakes in our marriage and relationships and we have no right to hold the other person to a higher standard than we require ourselves. I am so glad that in those moments I hear Darren’s comical way of reminding me that “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, it keeps no record of wrongs, LOVE KEEPS. NO RECORD. OF WRONGS. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. Love never fails.” What would our marriages, parent-child relationships or friendships look like if we all could remember that love Facebook-20150613-104503Facebook-20150613-104450keeps no record of wrongs?