A Dog Story

I wrote this story for the Black Warrior Storytelling Festival in which I was one of the storytellers. The experience is remarkable and I am honored to be asked to share a story. The story is written to be performed, not simply read so it may be a bit choppy. The italicized words represent the dog speaking. Hope you enjoy it!


Today I’m going to tell you about dogs. No, I’m not a vet. No, I’m not a trainer. In fact, this isn’t another “pet story”...a Marley and Me kind of story; although it does involve a dog named Marley. And one named Abby. And one named Zorro. And one named Nub.

You see, I’m a dog magnet. I attract dogs of all kinds--literally and figuratively. However, I’m focusing on the literal kind today.

When I thought about a story to tell, I realized that every story I started to write involved a dog. A dog to rescue, a dog to comfort, a dog just to be a dog. Then I realized that the fictitious dogs didn’t compare to the ones that had been my own actualy dogs.

So this is my story told through the eyes of my dogs.

The first one was a Boston Terrier named Nub.

I have no tail. It is just a nub. So my owners call me Nub. I hang around a family with a little girl with curly blond hair who tends to pick me up a little too much.
But I have a problem. I like to chase cars, especially the paperboy and his reckless car. One day, I got hit. I lay there breathing deeply, not sure if I was alive. I heard that voice, calling, crying, pleading for me to come to her. I had to obey. So I did. I pulled myself up and ran...after being hit by a car, I still found the energy and strength to RUN to her. As years passed, I gave up on chasing cars, but always found time to romp with my girl. I especially liked giving her a big slobbery lick on the back of her leg on a hot humid day. I’m her buddy. She sometimes calls me Nubby and I try to wag what little bit of a tail that I have. Usually I just wag my behind.

Years later, after Nub passed away, a special dog named Zorro entered my life. He was a black chow/lab mix.
Most of all, Zorro was a one family dog who was truly a snob.

It’s been raining and I don’t want to get my feet wet. Hey! Please put me in the basement for a storm is coming. Not just any storm. A big storm. Hey! HEY! PUT ME IN THE BASEMENT NOW!....Thank you. Ah, good, the storm has passed and the children are playing at the school yard. I think I will tease them by wagging my fluffy tail. Come closer little ones. come pet the dog with the wagging tail. Come on....RUFF!! Ha, ha, ha...they ran away. they ran away...lalalala....my girl. she is here. I will pose for the camera. Shutter snaps. Tail wags. Nice. I won’t look at her when she calls my name. I will just look regal and wistful and when the shutter snaps, I will look. Snap! How was that one? Good?

Zorro was a perfect model for black and white shots and he always made very artistic poses. Zorro was protective dog who, whenever I came home late, would walk through my home making sure it was safe. I was never afraid when Zorro was around.

Much later, a shiz tsu mix named Abby entered my life as I was getting married. She was black and white and quite a comedian. She would hide in the weirdest places--under the treadmill, under the baby’s changing table, in a pile of clothes that needed to be folded.
Abby had even seen ghosts in our house.

Hey. Whatcha doing? Are you going to eat that? Hmmm.....I think I’ll take a nap. Could you move over, please? I mean, just because you are sitting here does not give you the right to take my spot. What spot? The whole couch, silly! So, move...just move...(sigh)..

There’s is nothing worse than sitting with your dog and suddenly they just sigh out. Abby would do that frequently...as though I was boring her. Then she would get up and leave the room. I would find her lying on the bed, snoozing.
It was like she was saying, well, if this is the best you can do, I’m going to bed.

But then other times, Abby would appear when I needed her most.
Hey. Whatcha doing? Are you crying? Ah...I’m here. Right here. Don’t cry. You have me to hold and hug. I’ll lick your tears away. Do you want me to just be quiet and little? I’ll sit in your lap and you can hold me and hug me until you feel better. I’ll just listen. I’m your angel in furry pajamas, remember?

Abby was there during some very sad times in my life. The worst time was when I had to let her go to live with my ex-husband because my youngest son is allergic to dogs.
Don’t worry. I’m not going far. In fact, I’m going to watch over your sons when they are gone. Remember...I’m your angel in furry pajamas.

I dismissed the idea of getting another dog. My son Parker is allergic to them, I am a single parent raising two young sons...when would I have time or energy to take care of a dog? even though my older son Hunter longed for a dog....I knew it would be difficult to have one...

Then one afternoon a strawberry blonde with a black nose showed up in our yard.
She had no collar and was definitely a puppy...and she was one of those dogs who would hang out at an elementary school visiting with the children before and after school.

But our neighbors decided to keep her. There was some disappointment and I heard myself telling my neighbor, “If you ever decide to not keep her, let me know. We would love to have her.” What? Where did that come from? Was I crazy? But I found myself thinking...if I could have a dog like that, I would get one....

And that’s when the wind changed direction, a certain twinkling in the stars occurred...
because on Halloween night my neighbor said, Do you remember when you said you would take Marley? I’m planning on taking her to the pound so if you want her, you can have her.

Oh no. What have I done?!

And now there is Marley...
I’m so happy. Happy, happy happy! Wow. Two little boys to play with. Come chase me! hahahaha...Oh, there she is. We’re going for a walk, right? C’mon, c’mon, c’mon...Let’s run, run, run! Wheeee! (cough!) okay, okay, I’ll slow down. I’ll wait. Oh wow. I think I’ll dig another hole. Oh. Let me dig one over there. Yeah, yeah. That’s it. Hmm...what does this root taste like? What is this green thing with flowers on it? I wonder what it tastes like? Oh, that long green tube thing...a garden hose. Yes, we had a fight. I won! Yea! Oh, you’re home! Let’s play! Come chase me!


As silly as it may seem...I really hear their voices and what they have to say.

You see, these dogs represent what I hope to be to others.
Nub offered affection and devotion. Zorro offered strength and dignity. Abby offered companionship and compassion. Marley has offered joy and hope.

All of these dogs have been what I long to be to others--a true, authentic, genuine friend.

So the next time you are around a dog or see a dog....hang around it for a little while. It probably has something to tell you. And I think it’s going to be something good.

The Five Year Plan

“Look, Momma, the number five,” Parker exclaimed as he saw the number on a billboard.
“Yes, Parker,” I said. “I see it.”
“I’m five. That’s my number,” Parker said with such pride. “I used to be a baby, but now I’m not. I’m five.”
Five years old. How can that be? Most companies want to design a five year plan. Some people set goals to accomplish in five years. Yet, somehow in five years, a tiny baby became a child with a fascination with Star Wars, the need to follow specific rules, and the ability to beat anyone at a game of Uno . At that moment, I thanked God that he is five because five years ago I wasn’t sure if he would live to be any age, much less five.
At a mere three weeks of age, Parker was rushed to the hospital because of a high fever. The doctors diagnosed him with meningitis, an inflammation around the brain. He was admitted to the hospital and it became a waiting game of exactly what type of meningitis he had--viral or bacterial. Brain scans were done, prayers were said, and many tears were shed. Such fear of losing my sweet Parker gripped me and I could not imagine a life without him. He lay in a bed fighting the illness and all I could do was pray and cry.
After 48 hours, the reports found that the meningitis was viral and would run its course. Parker would be okay. Our prayers were answered and this little life would remain in this world.
Five years can seem like such a long time. In the past five years, I’ve hit rock bottom and found the only thing that could pull me back up--the love of Jesus. I have seen some incredible moments of great joy that brought tears to my eyes. In those times, I also felt the amazing love of Jesus. In five years, the gains and losses in my life have shaped and influenced my choices. They have caused me to walk more cautiously, be a bit more skeptical, but they have also pushed me to strive for something greater, something better, and something that lasts beyond this world. In these past five years, I have gone through a divorce, had close friends move away, and have had loved ones pass away. However, I have also made new friends, developed new hobbies, and have had the incredible joy of raising my two remarkable sons.
As we got out of the car, I noticed the swagger Parker had as he walked toward the church. He was dressed in his khakis and a blue striped collar shirt. His brother walked beside him and told him to not be nervous.
As we entered the building, Parker ran to his friends and waved bye. Hunter pulled out the video camera as we found our seats near the front. The swell of “Pomp and Circumstance” filled the room as Parker’s preschool class walked on stage.
“This song makes me want to cry,” Hunter said.
I simply nodded because the words wouldn’t form behind the knot I had in my throat. In five years from now, I will have a nine year old and a thirteen year old. I don’t know what will happen during those years. However, I do know that the One that has been faithful for the past five years will be faithful for the next five years and many more to come.
God is faithful (reliable, trustworthy, and therefore ever true to His promise, and He can be depended on); by Him you were called into companionship and participation with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. I Corinthians 1:9

The Race

“Run your own race, Hunter,” I said, as we lined up with the other runners. “Just run your own race.”
I had no idea how often these words would continue to echo through my mind months after Hunter and I participated in a 5K race. Somehow, whenever I begin comparing my life to someone else’s, or I start thinking that I was supposed to be more like Mother Teresa and less like Cruella DeVille, then I hear those familiar words...”run your own race.” Immediately, I go back to that memorable day when Hunter and I ran the Wildcat Run at Kentuck Park.
Hunter nervously paced as we got our racing numbers and began warming up for the race.
“Just take your time,” I told him. “Don’t start out too fast or too slow.”
He nodded.
“I’ll be near you, but don’t wait for me,” I added. “Sometimes I’ll be ahead of you. Don’t worry. Just keep me in sight.”
He nodded again. At that point, I could tell my words were simply landing in random places around him, but not actually penetrating his ears or his mind. I stopped talking.
Suddenly, runners began forming at the starting line. Hunter saw a few boys close to his age so he moved up beside them. The gun fired and we were off.
Hunter took off and I followed close behind. The slight incline caused several runners to slow their paces to an easy rhythm. Not Hunter. He kept pushing. I ran up beside him. We took the corner and saw my mother and my younger son Parker.
“Go Momma!” Parker shouted. “Go Hunter!” I glanced at Hunter and saw a quick grin flash across his face.
As the race went on, Hunter decided to walk for awhile.
“I’ve got a catch in my side,” Hunter said.
I nodded and continued running. “Just keep me in sight, okay?”
I would glance back and see our distance was getting a bit too far. I could see him, but I also noticed that he wasn’t pushing himself like he had at first. He started doing what he always does when he is in God’s creation--getting lost in the wonderment of it all.
I looked at my time. I could finish one of my fastest races, but that’s when I realized. This race wasn’t my race. It was Hunter’s. Somehow finishing the race wasn’t so important. I ran back to Hunter.
“C’mon, let’s start running.” I said. “I’m not finishing this thing without you.”
“I’m really tired,” Hunter moaned.
“I know. But in only ten minutes you’ll be finished. You can do this.”
We started slowly running when we spotted my mom and Parker cheering for us again. It was just what Hunter needed to pick up the pace. Then we saw a few pretty high school girls cheering for us. He beamed when they erupted in a roar when he ran by.
Finally, we spotted our destination.
“Let’s run it in!” I said, pointing to the finish line.
At that moment, I felt like I had stepped back in time. I saw my little baby in my arms; I saw my blue-eyed angel playing with Thomas the Tank Engine; I saw my lizard-catching, nature-loving, full-of-laughter gift from God rolled into one running machine. I grabbed his hand and we ran together. Suddenly, he began sprinting to the finish line. I purposely let go of his hand and slowed down so he would have his own finish time.
“Run your own race” seemed to flow through my mind as Hunter cross the finish line. I thought about how I look at what other kids are doing and question if Hunter or Parker should be participating in the same activity. I look at other people and think that I should be doing more of that or less of it, depending on what it is. At that moment, I paused and realized that I have to “run my own race.” I have to do what is best for myself and my sons. I cannot follow the same path as others. Just as God has designed Hunter and Parker for specific, individualized plans for their lives, He has also set forth a course for me that is unique and perfectly designed for me.
I could have finished this race on my own in one of my better racing times, but getting to this finish line was better than any other. I shared it with my son as he “ran his own race.”

“....but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward--to Jesus. I’m off and running and I’m not turning back.” Philippians 3:14

You Rock!

“Hey, Momma, whatcha doing?” Parker said sweetly.
Any other time I would have said “nothing much” or “cutting coupons” or “grading papers.” At this moment, I was speechless. At this moment, I was on stage in front of an audience of about 300 people at my church. Parker, in all his confidence, decided that he wanted to be a part of the drama ministry and joined me on stage. One minute I was acting in a drama with a fellow actor when I turned and saw Parker standing beside me.
“Hey, Momma, I wanted to help.” Parker said emphatically.
“Thank you, Parker,” I said. I scrambled to make this work in the skit. “But this deals with grown up stuff. You need to go sit back down.”
No luck. Parker decided it was time to hug me. Between stifling snickers and maintaining my focus, I was truly stumped. How was I going to get my child off the stage and continue the skit?
Hunter, with his clever timing, jumped on stage and ad libbed the line, “C’mon, Parker, let’s go play in our rooms.” However, Parker wasn’t buying it. I looked at my acting partner. He grinned and shrugged, giving me a wink that meant “the show must go on.” I could hear the audience laughing. So the skit continued with two young boys standing on stage, participating in the drama.
Confidence. Where does it come from? Why does it seem to dissolve in the presence of perfect people, hostile confrontations, and day-to-day decision-making?
As a single parent, I know too well of losing my confidence in so many things. I often stand on shaking ground when making decisions about managing my finances, setting career goals, and planning for the future. I get nervous about decisions I make that impact my kids--their education, their personal lives, and their emotional well-being. I have even been known to lose a great amount of my confidence in simply believing in myself.
Fortunately, I have found that a few thing have strengthened my confidence. First, I pray about it. I search scripture to make sure it aligns with God’s teachings. If there is any sign of “no,” then I don’t do it. I also believe what God says about me. Proverbs 31:25 states “she is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” Another version reads “strength and dignity are her clothing and her position is strong and secure; she rejoices over the future [the latter day or time to come, knowing that she and her family are in readiness for it]!” That sounds pretty confident to me. If that is what I am--strong and dignified--then I will take that description and wear it proudly.
Next, I talk to close friends who won’t give the answer I’m looking for. I seek out those who will counsel in wisdom and kindness. It is not easy. I often want to go to that friend whom I know will encourage me to do what I want to do, but it may not be wise nor will it be the right time. Proverbs 27:17 says “You use steel to sharpen steel, and one friend sharpens another.” My friends encourage, challenge, warn, support, and love me through it all. I try to do the same for them.
Finally, I let myself make mistakes. If I fail, then I have learned something. I ponder the repercussions, look at the benefits and risks, and then step out on faith. I know that if I avoid taking risks because of fear then I am limiting myself. I love 2 Timothy 1:7 “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity (of cowardice, of crave and cringing and fawning fear), but (He has given us a spirit) of power and of love and of calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control.”
Parker and Hunter remained on stage throughout the skit and even threw a few lines in just to emphasize the points of the message. An explosion of applause erupted at the end of the skit and the pastor added, “You rock, Parker.”
When I look back on what I have done and the choices that I have made, I hope that I can have that same bold confidence that Parker showed when he was on stage. He was definitely clothed in strength and dignity. He paid no attention to the crowd. He wasn’t worried that everyone was looking at him. In fact, he just wanted to join in on the fun. I hope that I will always move with boldness and confidence. One day I hope to hear my Heavenly Father say, “My good and faithful servant Jody....You Rock!”

Hurray up and....Wait!

“Are we there yet?” Hunter and Parker chimed as we headed to our destination--Rock City and Ruby Falls. That question was always followed with “How much longer?” and a “I’m hungry!” Sometimes there was a “He’s bugging me.” Of course, my responses were the same. They began with “No, we’re not there,” followed by a “Not much longer, just read a book or look out the window.” Then, I added a “You just ate!” with a strong question of “Do I need to pull this car over?”
We were on our way to see some of the sights in Chattanooga. My sons had never visited Rock City and Ruby Falls and with their nature-loving spirits, I knew they would enjoy the parks. I had visited these places as a child and I knew that both Hunter and Parker would be in awe of the mighty Ruby Falls. I knew that Rock City’s swing bridge would bring out Hunter’s sense of adventure and Fairyland would spark Parker’s imagination. I knew what was waiting for them as we made the trek up Lookout Mountain. They had no idea what great fun and spectacular sights they would encounter.
However, our trek to these places was being delayed by slow traffic and a misguided driver (that would be me). To read the directions, one would think it would be easy to get there. However, I was both driver and navigator and it seemed like signs were being switched as I drove. Once I found the right path, every slow driver this side of the Mississippi decided to be in my lane of traffic. We knew we were going to get there, but the delays simply meant we had to wait.
Ugh! I hate to wait. Waiting in line at Wal-mart is the worst. Waiting for the movie to start, waiting for school to get out or the workday to end, waiting for the microwave to beep, the laundry to dry, the traffic light to change…it all adds up to being put on hold. In this hurry-up-and-let’s-get-going world, waiting is a nuisance. Who can relax into waiting? Who can simply sit back and actually rest in waiting? Maybe waiting is a time to reflect, recharge, or live in the exact moment instead of constantly looking to the future. Telling me to wait is like telling Tigger not to bounce or a hummingbird to sit, not to fly or even to hover. Waiting goes against every ounce of my being as I am usually in constant motion.
However, it was on this trip that I realized that while we were waiting to go to the parks, some of the most memorable times occurred. We made up goofy lyrics to popular songs. Hunter and Parker asked me about my childhood vacations to Tennessee. They talked about their favorite things and what they wanted to do when they were older. It was in the waiting that time had stopped and we listened and laughed.
Isaiah 40:31 says, “ They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint." I want to whine and complain when all along God knows the perfect place, person, situation, and timing. He also knows what is lies ahead. My sons could not imagine what Ruby Falls or Rock City would look like. I cannot even fathom what God has in store for us as we follow His lead. Hunter and Parker had to trust me, the driver and the one who had been there before. I have to trust in the One who has been there before, too. “He goes before them and the sheep follow Him for they know His voice” (John 10: 27).
All in all, we made it to both parks, enjoyed every minute of it, and plan to return. Hunter loved telling everyone that he saw seven states from Lookout Mountain. Parker talked about how big and beautiful Ruby Falls was. We enjoyed our time in Chattanooga and are looking forward to next year’s vacation. Until that time, we will have to…wait.

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I Go to the Rock

We were on our way. Wind in our hair, the radio blaring another Veggie Tale tune, and a little time on our hands. Summer was in full swing and our plans were becoming a reality.
Suddenly, Hunter said something that his scientific mind had come to realize.
“You know, Mom,” Hunter reflected, “everywhere you go, there’s rock underneath you.”
Hunter’s random statements, especially ones that pertain to nature, usually don’t cause me to pause and think. Often I hear a simple “Guess what?” and I know he will tell me about the migration of a roly-poly or a particular food that crickets eat. Parker always chimes in with a similar comment about the bug being “cute” or “he’s just a baby.”
However, this time, Hunter’s comment about rock being underneath us all the time made me stop. The idea--rock underneath me everywhere I go--stayed with me. I thought about the journey that my life has been and through it all, I can honestly say that it is true--God, my Rock, has been with me, all around me, and supported me--even when I was in areas I didn’t need to be. God has always been faithful.
As a single parent, I sometimes feel alone in my life. Decisions about many things--work, finances, future plans, even what’s for supper--are made with a little input from my kids and a lot of it by myself. If I’m not careful, the pity party will begin. I start believing my ever-changing emotions instead of resting in God’s Word. I stop believing all the Truth that God tells me everyday and kick and cry like a spoiled child. At that moment, if I were a cartoon drawing, I’d have a big cloud hanging over me or a grumbling scribble above my head. It is in those moments that I forget that God is with me all the time.
In Psalm 27:5 in the Amplified Bible, God says, “For in the day of trouble He will hide me in His shelter: in the secret place of His tent will He hide me: He will set me high upon a rock.” He commands me to “Be strong, courageous, and firm“…because He reminds me “for it is the Lord your God Who goes with you; He will not fail you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6). Best of all, I can have confidence in the fact that “the Lord is my Rock, my Fortress, and my Deliverer; my God, my keen and firm Strength in Whom I will trust and take refuge, my Shield, and the Horn of my salvation, my High Tower” (Psalm 18:2).
When I am reminded of His presence, then clouds of self-centeredness fade and I begin to see more clearly. I become more confident in that everywhere I go and in every twist and turn in my daily journey, Jesus is with me. I also notice some things I‘d been missing--people. Some people are with their spouses, their family, and their friends. However, all of them are souls who are looking for acceptance, security, and kindness. I see spirits longing to be spoken to, included in a group, and recognized as someone of worth. That is when I think about Hebrews 13:2 which says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”
This summer my sons and I will travel to many places, even if it’s just the backyard. This upcoming school year will welcome many adventures that we never fathomed. I can go confidently in the direction that God has planned for us since the Rock is underneath us everywhere we go. “Blessed be my Rock: and let God of my salvation be exalted.” (Psalm 18:46).

The Day Before Easter

Did the world
sigh
with regret, remorse?
Did the animals
know
the secret
the magical redeeming essence
Or was it
just another day?
Was it
still
on earth while
heaven waited
with anticipation
for you
to burst out
to bring life
to deliver us
from evil
forever?
Or was it the same
as yesterday?
What did your heart feel?
What raced through your mind?
Did you want to explode with excitement?
Or were you mischeveously quiet
and then, like a crazy prank
you showed up?
Did you want to wear
a funny hat
or a clown nose?
Did it feel like you were
celebrating everyone's birthday?
Did you love watching the
surprised faces?
Did you hug your Father
for a moment
then return
to hug us, too?
Did you go to Hell,
slap the devil in the face--in his shocked face--
and then race to meet your Father
with open arms
wide spread and reaching?
Did you fall down laughing
with glee
rolling in plush grass
dandelions and butterflies
bright blue sky
magic marker colors blazing
and angels, puppies, and children
joining in the joy
of your Truth made real
of your Love given freely?
What did you do the day before
you conquered death
and
set us
free?

Plums

I was recently asked to be a storyteller at the Black Warrior Storyteling Festival. What an honor it was to be asked! What a blast it was to share my story!
This story is true, but not completely. It is a puzzle of pieces put together to create a story...

Every person I meet is a character--a possible victim, criminal, inspiration, catalyst….someone that makes a difference.

Every story is a moment in time--captured in my mind to replay by choice or by certain randomness….

every day is a journey through a story….that story may be mine, or it may be someone else’s…

but it has merit.

It has a purpose. It has an essence that makes me pause…

and then it causes me to grow….

bit by bit…

And through it.…change.


That’s why I love stories. I love writing them. I love reading them. Most of all, I love experiencing them.

My stories usually center around small things…something that seems insignificant, but brings a new perspective…a way of thinking…

Today my story is about plums.

I bought some last night in the grocery store. They weren’t too expensive and really I hadn’t had a good plum…in a long time. It was pretty good…but plums are not just another fruit to me.

Plums represent a time in my life when the stakes were high and a challenge was fierce. There were definite good guys and bad guys and I knew which side I wanted to be on. Plums were the bounty, the prize for the one who was fast enough and bold enough to face the greatest enemies: Mr. Paul and his evil rat terrier Roscoe.

It was the summer of 1978 and I was at my grandparents’ farm. It wasn’t a big farm…one with a few cows, chickens, pigs…and I was helping out in the garden with my sisters. We were all in stair step, me being the youngest. There were four of us--Tina, the oldest, Amy, the ring leader, Tonya, the snoop and challenger to Amy, and me…tagging along with whomever had some kind of adventure going on.

This day I think everyone was looking for something more than picking squash.
That’s when Amy had the bright idea of raiding Mr. Paul’s plums.
Oh, we had snuck a few from the tree only to be chased by Roscoe.

But this time we wanted to have enough to eat for a week. We knew even if we got that many, we’d have to hide them from our parents. We didn’t have any plum trees nearby or on my grandparents’ farm…only Mr. Paul had the plum trees in the closest proximity.

Amy had it all worked out. She had snuck some paper grocery bags out of my grandma’s kitchen. She knew we could get more loot that way.

She had also snagged some leftover meatloaf from the kitchen to keep Roscoe occupied.

So we made a plan. We would sneak to Mr. Paul’s trees while my grandfather went into town. My grandmother would be busy putting up corn and peas in the kitchen.

Tonya would keep watch in case someone was coming. She could do a great hoot owl call. Amy would keep Roscoe interested in food. Tina and I had the job of climbing the trees, snagging the plums, and racing out of there before Mr. Paul caught us. And trust me, it was a lot harder than it sounds.

So my grandfather’s truck pulls away. The screen door slams on my grandmother‘s house.
That’s the signal. Amy pulls out the bags and the food. Tonya takes post at the fence. Tina and I carefully climb the fence to get to the plums.

We spot Roscoe snoozing in the sun. Amy positions herself to get his attention if he wakes up. Tina and I sneak around to the trees.

And there they are. Giant juicy plums so big and plentiful that the limbs almost touched the ground. It was as though the trees were just begging us to take the plums, to give it some relief from the weight of so many plums.

And so we did. We grabbed and stuffed plums in the bag. It was full…running over full. It was so full that we started putting plums in our shirts, our shorts, even our bras. If there was a nook or cranny, we put a plum there. We had a hard time walking, but it was possible..Slow but possible. We had enough plums to last not just one week…but several weeks.

We had done it. At least we thought we had. Suddenly, a shotgun blast rang out. Tina screamed and flung the bag of plums in the air. The plums were everywhere. It was like it was raining plums. Tina, who didn’t want to do this in the first place, took off.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Except Tina. I just saw blur of her as she leapted the fence like a track star and disappeared.

Tonya began hooting like a deranged owl…yeah, a little late now, Tonya…She kept looking around and finally hopped off the fence and ran into the corn field. I knew where she was because the stalks kept shuffling. Roscoe, fully awake and obviously irritated from being disturbance, took off after Amy, who had dropped the food when the shotgun blasted….and Roscoe had more fun nipping at her heels as she tried to climb the pecan tree. He would scurry up the tree and then slap his jaws together. Sometimes he would just gnaw at the tree like it was a chew toy. I think he was part alligator.

And then there was me. Plums stuffed in my shirt, my shorts,….and I was facing a crazy old man with shotgun running out after us, firing his gun into the air.

I took off, running, running like mad….we were seen…but not caught….I made it to the fence and started climbing over it. I was on my side of the fence when suddenly twine arms wrapped viciously around me and yanked me to the ground. I fell with a thud It hurt. I have always felt sorry for cattle since then.

I opened my eyes and looked up and there she stood, my little smidge of a grandmother. She had lassoed me and pulled me to the ground. Now, my grandmother is all of 5 ft tall, maybe 100 pounds. But she proves the adage that size does not matter.

“You girls have had the devil’s hands today!” she shouted.

I looked around and there stood Tina and Tonya. Amy was sitting down, her face red from crying…I wasn’t sure if it was from the whooping she knew was coming or the bandages around her ankles from an obvious encounter with Roscoe in which she lost to this 12 pound Pit Bull wannabe.

Mr. Paul, leaning over his fence, was laughing. Roscoe, by his side, seemed to be smiling.
And we all knew, we had lost and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

That summer I learned all about plums…how to make wine with plums, how to make plum jelly, plum pudding, plum cake, plum preserves. Every day we had to harvest those plums and then basically do whatever Mr. Paul wanted us to do with those plums.
Amy, she had the honor of feeding and bathing Roscoe. She had to check him for ticks and remove them, too. Tonya had to guard his corn field every morning and make her famous noises to keep crows away.

But we also learned a lot about Mr. Paul. That mysterious man whose wife died in a car accident when she was only 30...he had lived in that house alone and Roscoe was his only real companion. We learned that he served in the Marines, that he could play a mean harmonica, and sometimes he wrote poetry…

After that summer, Mr. Paul would let us pick some plums for ourselves and of course, we’d use most of them to make something he liked--some wine, some jam or preserves.
He eventually had to move into a nursing home and he passed away a few years ago. Roscoe lived with Amy for a while before he died….it wasn’t a week after Mr. Paul died that Amy found Roscoe dead, too. I guess best friends are never really separated….in life or in death.

That was a long time ago. My grandparents are long gone now…my grandmother tried to teach us how to lasso, but I never really got the hang of it. The farm land was passed on to my parents, but there’s no farm there….just a lot of trees.. The other day I was walking through the land, taking my sons on a hike, when we came upon a tree. I couldn’t believe it. It was a plum tree. And there were flowers on it. I guess Mr. Paul or my grandparents…someone…had planted that tree. And there’s going to be fruit.
Majestic, beautiful, plums.


You see, even in the smallest most insignificant things… a story comes.

In a time that seems to be so long ago….a memory comes…and stays awhile…like a good neighbor with some good wine and maybe even a harmonica by his side.

Nature: God's Silent Fireworks

“I like when the sky is like that,” Hunter said, pointing out a cascade of pink hues in an early morning daybreak. It was a rare moment that we were both sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying our breakfast before the hectic day began. I agreed with him, “Yes, it is pretty,” I said, actually stopping to notice the beauty of it. Then he added a short description that captured the essence of the view. “It’s like fireworks, only silent.”
That statement took my breath away. He was right. The glow was majestic, powerful, and inspiring. Yet, it was quiet. There was no sound to command attention. However, once I noticed it, I didn’t want to stop enjoying it.
If you are like me on most days, this grandeur is missed. I rush through the day, overwhelmed and stressed out, with too many items on my plate to balance. I think everything I am doing is so important and if something gets dropped, gets out of line, or simply doesn’t happen, then the day is over. Then I start it all over again with the same pressures and deadlines looming.
Only when a tragedy occurs do I seem to wake up from this illusion. A loved one dies, a heart gets broken, tears fall, and I stop. When life becomes too real or too much, I seem to wake up, suddenly aware of everything around me. I see the promise of tulips and daffodils about to bloom in my yard, the intricate patterns of the fish in my aquarium, and a sun, vibrant and consistent, always rising with authority and resting with a warm glow. I pause. My world stops and sighs. Then, as two little boys race by, I marvel at how quickly they are growing up to be young men.
It is through nature that I feel close to God. I think my sons have that same love for nature as we all enjoy traipsing through the woods, watching birds flock to our backyard, and finding any excuse to spend a little more time outside.
Perhaps it is through nature that God reveals Himself to me. I know that His love is constant. “Oh, thank God--He’s so good! His love never runs out.” (Psalm 107:1) He is also majestic and powerful. “God’s thunder sets the oak trees dancing, a wild dance, whirling…we call out, “Glory!” (Psalm 29: 9). The crashing waves at the beach, the tug on a kite with a strong March wind, and the torrents of rain as I race out of the grocery store thinking I can make it only to get drenched remind me of his strength. Yet it is His strength that I long for. “God makes his people strong. God gives his people peace.” (Psalm 29:11). Finally, He is beautiful. He is not boastful nor is He a braggart. He doesn’t show off, even though He could. He makes things glorious. He made Hunter and Parker. He made you. “Body and soul, I am marvelously made!” (Psalm 139:15). I am humbled by the Creator’s love for me.
A friend of mine said that instead of waking up thinking about what he was supposed to create today, he decided to wake up and think about the Creator. Instead of thinking about what he had to accomplish, he was going to enjoy seeing how the Creator used him that day.
I like that idea. It takes the pressure off of me to be in charge. When the day is done, there is only One who is in control. “Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, the days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.” (Psalm 139:15-16). I am comforted that He is taking care of the day He has already planned. When I am overwhelmed, He is there, faithful, strong, and loving. “Casting the whole of your care (all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all) on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully.” (I Peter 5: 7). Best of all, He doesn’t create in a stressed out, hurried up, chaotic fashion. He creates with patience, understanding, and wisdom. Most of all, He creates with love. He makes silent fireworks.

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Lost, But Now I'm Found

It was small. It was furry. It had brown and black spots all over it. It was a small stuffed jaguar that escaped from my young son Parker’s grasp, but remained in his heart.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Where is what, Parker?” I replied scanning shelves of groceries, searching for that item I had a coupon for.
“My jaguar.”
“I don’t know. You had it,” I said.
“I don’t have it now.” Suddenly tears welled up in his eyes. The dreaded “Lost Toy in Wal-mart” fiasco would begin.
The cart was mostly full, the store was definitely crowded, and our stomachs were incredibly empty. However, any notion of checking out and getting out was gone as the search was on for a small stuffed jaguar.
At first, I kicked myself. Why do always let my kids bring a simple toy in the store? Why can’t they leave them in the car or, better yet, at home in their rooms? I became frustrated about my decisions and of course, it didn’t help that several customers were giving me the “evil eye” because I had stopped the flow of the shopping traffic. My irritation escalated as I maneuvered around people who couldn’t decide what type of peanut butter to buy. Just pick one and get out of the way, I thought. I’ve got a jaguar to find. My patience was fading, but my stress was escalating.
Then, I began to fret. What if we don’t find the toy? I remembered how much my stuffed animals meant to me. In my mind, they were real. They were alive, happy, and faithful. They were friends no matter what happened. I hugged them, cried on them, danced with them, and slung them around the room. Still, their faces kept that simple gaze. I could only imagine how Parker’s heart was hurting as his little bottom lip poked out and his eyes scanned the area in worry.
I suddenly became desperate. I had to find it. I was determined to stay as long as the store was open so I could find it. I thought about asking a store clerk to help me. I imagined it being placed in a bin somewhere to be restocked. I thought about some kid picking it up and taking it home. I glowered at every child suspiciously. Are you hiding it from me, little boy? How about you, little girl, what’s in your jacket? I faintly heard the song they play whenever the Wicked Witch of the West appears in The Wizard of Oz as I zoomed from aisle to aisle looking for that toy.
After about the twentieth time down the same aisle, I stopped. I sighed out. It was hopeless. It was gone. How could I give up and tell Parker we had to go home, that it was lost, and I couldn’t find it?
Granted, telling Parker this information would bother him for the moment, and in the long run, it wasn’t a big deal. No one had died. No one was injured. Hunter and Parker weren‘t lost, just a stuffed toy that could be replaced with any other toy.
But I didn’t want to give up. So I said a prayer. Maybe some would say it was a selfish prayer. But I knew I was powerless and I knew He knew exactly where that toy was. So I prayed. I asked to find that toy for the sake of a lesson learned (no toys brought anywhere outside of a car or house) and a little boy’s broken heart.
We turned the corner when suddenly I spotted a small brown stuffed animal. There it was! I grabbed it and gave it to Parker. He hugged it so tightly and didn’t let go of it for the rest of the day. I stopped the cart, and in the middle of the store, we three prayed a great “thank you.” I was amazed.
I know that this little miracle could be called a “coincidence” or “luck.” I know that, in the grand scheme of things, this moment was a fraction of what could be called magnificent. But it was our moment, a time that I will hold in my heart that simply reminded me that God cares about every aspect of our lives, even the littlest things. In a world with heartache and suffering, God takes the time to hear me and surprise me.
Best of all, He found me. I was lost, too, but he rescued me. I have trekked down paths that I had no business being in and He wouldn’t stop searching for me. Once He found me, He picked me up, held me tightly, and set my feet on solid ground. He never gives up on me. He never forgets about me. He never leaves me. He says I’m worth it. That’s simply amazing to me.
That jaguar was lost and because it was lost, Parker’s heart was breaking. When it was found, his joy was restored. Imagine how our Father must feel when one of His children who was lost is now found.
“Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far and Grace will lead us home.”
In the year 2009, may the ones who are lost be found by the One who loves us with amazing grace.

A Single Parent's Christmas Wish

What do you want for Christmas? During this season, I ask this question often to my family and friends. However, when someone asks me, I hesitate. When I look around at my home with toys strewn about, laundry needing to be put away, and various other items cluttering each space, I immediately think about a maid service. Then I realize that once it is clean, it will only become disorganized in a short amount of time. I ponder the question: what do I really want for Christmas?
As a single parent, I sometimes long for time to slow down. I’d like to have a remote control that could freeze special moments. Maybe I could rewind the time and visit a fall day at the Quad with my sons, riding their bikes, chasing squirrels, and drinking Yoo-Hoos. Other times, I’d like a crystal ball to be able to see into the future. Often, I attempt to form a game plan for the next five years, only to rewrite the same plan, then crumple it up and throw it away.
As I look around my den filled with Fisher-Price trucks, cars and airplanes, I see items that are tied to this moment in time. Some of these toys I know from my childhood; others came from last Christmas or a birthday. Still, there are those toys that seemed to appear from nowhere. Perhaps Santa did bring these toys after all. Yet, in a few years, these toys will be replaced with video games, athletic uniforms, and various items that interest my sons. Much later, the den will hold new furniture, as the old will be in a college dorm or apartment as my oldest son moves out. That is, if the furniture can hold up to two active boys and one spry shih tzu.
When I think about what I want for Christmas, I long for what truly satisfies me (and it is not a Snickers bar). Here are a few things I’d like:
The pureness of my two sons’ laughter. I’m not talking about just a giggle, but a down-in-your-gut laugh that turns faces red and sprouts tears from your eyes kind of laugh;
The true Word of God, not spoken from a pastor, but found in my Bible while I’m searching and praying and then there is it, as though God really heard me, because in truth, He really did hear me;
The honorable relationships of those who persist, remain, and hang in there; they may fail or disappoint, but they are my friends and family; they are behind me no matter what, even when I fail or disappoint;
The lovely and lovable, which includes all nature, even those nasty spiders; the beautiful people who make your face hurt when you look at them; and the annoying people who think that they are the sun, having the world revolve around their every whim. Everything God creates is meant to be valued, to be cherished, and to be noticed. Everyone has a purpose beyond simply existing. To ignore someone or to treat someone unfairly insults the creation of God.
The excellence of pursuing our passions. Beyond our family and friends, our passion is what makes us who we are. It is doing what makes us come alive. I love the arts--dancing, acting, and writing. This love I have for the arts is how He designed me. They are there for a purpose beyond this world. By pursuing these interests, I learn about the God who created me to love these things.
So what do you want for Christmas? Yes, that condo in Palm Springs would be nice. A bank account with unlimited funds isn’t bad either. Yet, when we think about our legacy and what each of us leaves behind, perhaps the desire for material gifts changes. Instead, I long for something that lasts for generations.
The greatest gift ever given was one that has and will last forever. It is the gift of God’s son, Jesus. That gift was (and is) true, noble, pure, lovely, and excellent. As a single parent, you will face changes, struggles, or loneliness this Christmas. Instead of charging that credit card to the max, buying another Chia pet, or getting the latest gadget that peels potatoes or finds your keys, think about what you really want to get (and give) this Christmas. Seek those gifts that last for a lifetime. Pursue the One that loves you unconditionally. He knows you completely and longs to give the greatest gift ever--eternal life. Then give gifts of truth, nobleness, purity, loveliness, and excellence to those you meet today. Merry Christmas!

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy---think about such things.” Philippians 4:8.

Change

$1.25. That’s how much incisors and bicuspids go for nowadays. The tooth fairy has met the demand of inflation. My snaggle-toothed son Hunter had lost his front tooth and knew exactly what he wanted to find under his pillow--$1.25. So the pixie searched and found a few quarters to fit the bill and a sleepy gapped toothed angel awoke to find some change to put in his portly piggy bank.
Change. It’s kind of everywhere I look. I find it in the cushions of my couch, the bottom of my purse, and sometimes on my classroom floor. I don’t really mind it. After collecting it for a while, Hunter, Parker, and I count it and call it “summer fun money.” It pays for ice cream on a hot summer day, a happy meal or two, and delights the boys for hours to toss pennies in the fountains in the mall. (Okay, may not hours, but at least a good thirty minutes if you ration the pennies right.)
Sometimes change is annoying. I’m not talking about the shiny kind. Instead, it’s what happens every day, every hour, every minute….change is occurring and there is nothing I can do about it. I used to think about what changes would occur in ten years. I envisioned my career and my family. After getting married and having kids, I shortened that number to five. After becoming a single parent, I started looking at one year.
Every year promises one thing--change. Other than God’s love, change is the only thing I can really count on. I know that everyone will get a little older and things won’t be the same. Sometimes I get nostalgic and miss the times when Hunter and Parker were little babies, just big enough to be cuddled and rocked. I think about when Hunter said his first words and Parker laughed a real laugh. I think of birthdays, Christmas, and memories made in what seemed like another lifetime. It is sometimes hard and weird to remember those times as I see pictures of myself from long ago. Even pictures of myself from five years ago don’t really look like me. I recognize the face, but I don’t really feel like that person anymore.
However, I am reminded of what is constant--God’s love for me--no matter what happens. I’m never without the One who has my best interest at heart. In Romans 8:39 in The Message Bible, it states, “I am absolutely convinced that nothing--nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable--absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 speaks of seasons in life by saying “There is an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on earth.“ (The Message) In this season of my life, I am a mom to two incredible kids, a teacher to some remarkable students, a friend to some unique and loyal people, a daughter to compassionate parents, a sister to my hero (my sister), a cousin to my closest friend (my cousin), and the list goes on. This season is about finding who I am and who I want to be. It is not about gaining and earning, but breathing and living in a moment that is changing way too fast. Right now my boys hug and kiss on me like I’m better than warm chocolate chip cookies. Right now my parents play a vital role in my children’s lives. Right now cardboard boxes and Play-Doh are all part of pretty fabulous day. Right now a little bit of change under a pillow can delight a child--even if it’s just $1.25.
So I’ll take that change--all of it. The shiny kind and the not so sparkling kind--because I know that with growth, there must be change. In order for me to be who God wants me to be, I must grow and that means one thing--change. However, I will become what God has planned all along. He completes the good work in me that He has promised to do as He says in Philippians 1:6 “ There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.“(The Message.) It won’t be easy. It won’t be painless. I’ll lose something as I gain other things. But as the Master works on me and helps me change, then the seasons will come and go and I’ll be alive in them. I’ll experience fully what each season brings. I’ll cherish the happy memories, cry over the sad moments, and laugh fully and wholeheartedly any chance I get.
I don’t know what changes the year 2008 will bring. I do know more teeth will be lost and a fairy will have to find $1.25 to put under a pillow. Just as Hunter and Parker have surprises to come, I know God has some pretty shiny and sparkling moments of change to come and surprise me, too. Best of all, I’ll shine like gold, as He purifies me and makes me into who He wants. I’ll sparkle and shine like a million diamonds, not just a $1.25.

Homesick

I stare at a blank computer screen. I type words that seem to fall onto the page and make a mirage of obscure angles and designs. I feel like this piece of paper--empty, incomplete, and void. My eyes hurt from too many tears. My hands shake as I try to put my emotions into words. You see, there seems to have been so much loss lately. A friend of mine just called to tell me his granddaughter was killed in a car accident. His heart is ripped and he is crying tears that won’t be wiped away.
Recently, I heard about a two-year-old killed, a lady who lost her husband and child in a car accident, and another young child who had drown in a swimming pool. Some of you may have experienced these losses. You may have been the one whose loved one has gone on to heaven. At this point, I want to say I’m sorry.
My mind explodes with questions of “why” and from those, I only get silence. I feel hollow and small. Life’s pressures suddenly become unimportant. Friends and family seem to glow like fire and I want to hang on to them, hug them, and love them like crazy. All the petty differences seem just that--petty.
Life can sometimes be so incredibly awful. The pain from devastating events, tragic losses, and outright unfairness of this world can be too much. I’ve written about change and how it is to come no matter what. Often, I don’t want change to come. I fight it, ignore it, and curse its name. I hate it. I really do.
When things like this happen, my faith is so tiny. I doubt, question, punch the wall, and fall into a heap. Some people have complimented me on the faith I seem to have. Notice the key word: ‘seem’. To be quite honest, I doubt my faith often. I question God about everything and in my fit of emotion, I don’t take time to listen to His answers.
I can’t understand why something like this happens. I look at the brevity of life, the flash of moments that accentuate time passing by. It’s in these moments that I long for God to come back and take us home.
Since I know His home is the best place to be, I don’t want God to leave anyone behind. I want Him to snatch us all up and whisk us away on a magic carpet.
As I walk through my new home that He has prepared, I’ll see my Paw Paw Evans wave as he pulls some peanuts from his incredible garden. My ears will pick up the sounds from The Kingsmen as my Paw Paw Bridges quietly nods his head my way. I find my former students Elyse, Kate, and Jennifer acting silly somewhere and I‘ll have to join in with their antics and then bear hug them all. I’ll see so many who still linger in my mind and who have shaped who I am.
Then I’ll see Him--the One who knows me like no one else. I don’t know what I’ll do when I am face to face with my Savior, but I envision myself running full force into his open arms. I imagine a lot of laughter that just makes my sides hurt. I see my kids, my family, my friends, and so many that I don’t know but somehow we all are just basking in the glow of completeness, oneness, and joyfulness. If my dogs are there, they’re licking me in the face, too.
Recently, I asked my students what they would do if they only had one year to live. The responses were fascinating. Then they turned the question toward me. I had a hard time answering it. After much thought, I decided that I just want to be the one who loves-- unconditionally and unselfishly. I want to love the One who truly loves me and takes care of me. I want this fleeting time on earth to be that glowing fire of love shown to everyone. I want what I do and say to simply radiate the love that can come only from God.
So now the mundane task to getting ready for work, waking the kids for school, and going through the day suddenly becomes an opportunity. Interacting with my students gives me the chance to let them know that Someone loves them greatly. Being with my kids allows me the opportunity to be someone who shows them unconditional love and who shares with them the real, everlasting love of Jesus. Living means looking for Jesus in everything and finding Him in the most unlikely places.
Even when my faith is so small, He is still faithful. He knows my heart and my struggles and loves me anyway. I cannot say that I can be like Abraham and lay my Isaac on the table. I want to hang on to Hunter and Parker and never let go. I want to cling to everyone special to me and not let anything happen to them. Then life happens and I realize I can’t hang on to them. I have to let go and let the One who created them take care of them. Here comes my little faith again.
I don’t understand when life, especially at such a young age, is lost. I don’t know why things like this happen. I understand it is part of life, but it is this part that makes me homesick even more. I long for the day when we are in a place with no tears, no death, no sickness. I long for evilness to disappear and reunions to occur.
If I truly believe God’s word, then I have to cling to the promise that nothing--absolutely nothing--will separate us from His love. “I’m absolutely convinced that nothing--nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable--absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master embraced us.“ (Romans 8:38, The Message) I have to keep my focus on His promise of preparing a place for us. “There’s plenty of room in my Father’s home. If that weren’t so, would I have said that I’m on my way to get a room ready for you? And if I’m on my way to get my room ready, I’ll come back and get you so you can live where I live.“ (John 14:2, The Message) I have to hold to the hope of a home for ones who suffered here on earth, ones who left too soon, and ones who were so close to my heart. I miss them. I long for the day to see them. But I rest in the fact that they are alive in Jesus and I don’t get to spend just a lifetime with them. I get to spend an eternity--forever--with them in a place with no hurts or heartaches, only laughter and sunshine.
I dedicate this article to those who have experienced loss--recently or a long time ago. May the ones who remain draw closer to the One who loves fully and carries us through everything. We’ll be home soon.

Hands

I looked at my mother’s hands the other day. I watched how she took crayons and drew scribbles on paper and then took those shapes and made silly faces or happy scenes of ducks or dogs or smiling stars. Parker snickered at her pictures and Hunter chimed in with a “let me do it.” A piece of paper and wax crayons made a moment for my children that they may not remember. But I will remember it. I will remember the innocent play of Fisher Price toys. I will remember the simple comment of “you want to talk about it?” as I banged on the piano after a particularly bad day. I will remember the times she held me as my heart had been broken or when the weight of the world seemed to bear down on me.
My father’s hands may look different, but they show the same incredible love as my mother‘s. They quickly grab up Parker, my two-year-old, as he shouts, “Paw Paw!” Hunter, my six-year-old, often gives my dad a big “high five” after he reads a book with him. I can almost feel the smoothness of my father’s hands when he would hold my hand in church, playing with my fingers, measuring the size of my hand against his. No matter how old I get, his hands make mine seem tiny and weak, yet protected by his strength. They are connected to a tender heart, something I inherited from him, easily moved to laughter and tears.
Since I have been blessed with the role of being a parent, I often reflect on how my parents did what they did. I always knew I wanted to have children; I had no idea how challenging, difficult, yet joyous being a parent is. I sometimes wonder how any parent does what he or she does. After I became a single parent, I met other single parents who have lives that I am not envious of. In fact, these parents are ones who survive seemingly on their own with no help from any relative.
As Mother’s Day and Father’s Day approaches, I look at the hands who helped shape me into who I am today. Of course, sometimes those hands meant a swift pop to remind me who was in charge. I remember the hands who held on the back of my bike, keeping it steady so I could ride without training wheels. I remember the hands that helped me be a bit blonder each year. I remember those hands that stroked my hair when I was crying or hugged my shoulders out of sheer love. I recall the hands cooking meals, washing clothes, and painting bedrooms. I recall the hands that have paid for cars, clothes, and college tuition. Those hands have sewn curtains, dresses, and much-loved stuffed animals. Those hands have given me away, but never went away. Those hands have held me, both in their arms and in sincere prayer.
I know how much I love my children. My hands are used to shape who they are. I have a good idea about how much my parents love my children, too, as shown by their sacrifices for them as well as their general demeanor whenever they are with Hunter and Parker. Even though I love my family greatly, how much more does God love us! I realize I am sinful and selfish. He is blameless and perfect. His love is so much greater and higher than mine.
So I started looking at my Father’s hands. Isaiah 40:12 in The Message Bible says, “Who has scooped up the ocean in His two hands, or measured the sky between his thumb and little finger.” What incredible power God has! His hands are majestic and mighty. They make me feel very protected. They make me feel invincible, since not only is He incredibly strong, He believes in me. He doesn’t just think I’m fun to have around, or someone who can serve His needs. Instead, He wants me to be with Him. He is straining to reach me. He believes I can do all things through Him who will give me strength--the same strength that is able to hold the ocean in His hands.
Not only does His hands show his power, but they also show his incredible love for me. In Isaiah 49:16 in The Message, He says, “I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands.” The Creator of the Universe has MY name written on the back of His hands, in plain view, and on His mind. Incredible!
I love my parents dearly. I cannot express in words what they mean to me. Some of you may have parents who are no longer with you. Some of you may have never had a close relationship with your parents. Whatever your case with your parents, know that there is One who is the “father to the fatherless.” Know that nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate you from the love of God. No matter what this world brings us, be it death, separation, sickness, and a host of other struggles, God still remains. He lasts. It is such a comfort to know that the One who loves me without condition doesn’t change. He doesn’t grow old or give out or simply become someone else.
God gave me two incredible people as parents. As I was growing up, I would sometimes spend the night with a friend. I was always glad to come home to my parents. My friends would have nice parents, but they weren’t my parents. Sometimes my parents are quirky, weird, and even annoying, but I am those things, too. I am proud and thankful that they are my parents because I wouldn’t be the same without them.
For my parents, I put my hands together and clap in praise of a job well done. For my God, I raise my hands in praise, empty and worthless, but reaching out to the One who loves beyond reason, who continues to shape me with His wonderful hands.

Stargazing

I walked outside the other night. The boys were with their dad and it was eerily quiet in house. So I went outside to the backyard. I looked up to gaze at the millions of sparkling stars. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a white flash shot across the sky. It was a shooting star. Quick. Beautiful. Spectacular.
I like those last two words: beautiful and spectacular. Of course, I like beautiful things. I like when the sun just hangs on the edge of the earth, barely peeking over the horizon before it sinks, succumbing to the pressure of nightfall. I love the beauty of flowers, butterflies, and hummingbirds. I love the beauty of a perfect pass for a touchdown on a fall afternoon at Bryant-Denny Stadium. I love the grace and elegance of a waltz to that classic love song “Moon River.”
Spectacular is another word I like. The fireworks at Walt Disney World are easily described as spectacular. Getting the laundry done, the lunches packed, and the house cleaned can also be called spectacular. Hunter doing a flip on a trampoline can be called that. (Terrified is a word that describes my reaction to his flip.) Parker pushing a kitchen chair to the cabinets and then climbing that chair to nose through the cabinets is spectacular--but not in a good way.
The dreaded word to describe that shooting star is quick. In a flash it was there. Then it was gone. Quick is usually a good word for many things. Finishing homework quickly is good. Getting to a destination quickly is also positive. However, quick makes me sad. The children grow too fast, my loved ones get a little too gray, and I find another wrinkle only to prove that time doesn’t just march on. It marches across my face in the process. Yet, it does it so quickly.
As a single parent, I find that these three words have impacted the way I view life now.
Beautiful. Wow. To be called beautiful is quite a lofty and inspiring word. It is reserved for Miss America and rare China vases. Sometimes going through struggles can make a person question his or her worth. Beautiful is not a word most people associate with themselves. However, it is exactly what God calls us. We are “the apple of His eye.” That makes me feel like I should wear gingham check and have braids, not be “beautiful.” Psalms 45:11 states, “The king is wild for you,” and He calls us heirs to his throne. In other words, I’m a princess in His book.
Spectacular. I don’t feel spectacular, especially when those pants don’t fit the way they used to. Or my hair has decided it doesn’t want to be curly anymore. And it doesn’t want to be straight either. Spectacular is not something we do. It is something we are--by becoming closer to Him, we become spectacular. He takes the ordinary and makes it extraordinary.
Quick. Another birthday passes. Another Thanksgiving, another Christmas and suddenly, another year is over. I recently went to my high school reunion and it wasn’t what I accomplished that mattered. The “remember when” kicked in. The “so good to see you” was real. What I had done wasn’t important; it was the relationships that mattered.
Struggles of single parenting can be daunting. Remember a few things. You are beautiful. Everyone is a specifically designed creation fashioned by the One who made those dazzling stars. He formed you in a unique manner unlike anyone else for this specific time and place. The world will not have another person exactly like you. Even if you don’t have what the world considers to be the perfect life, you have the one thing that can bring the greatest joy ever--children. God picked you to be the parent to these specific children--enjoy them. Nothing is more beautiful than the sight of my children’s faces as they smile at me. Nothing makes my heart leap like the sound of my boys’ laughter. Nothing can break my heart like the tears in my sons’ eyes. I, who am sinful and selfish, greatly love my children. How much more does God, the One who is perfect, love me and my children!
You can do spectacular things simply by loving others. Listen to others. Look them in the eyes and engage in getting to know them. You will learn a lot about them, the world, and yourself. So often we focus on ourselves, sometimes trying to reach goals or pursue dreams; at others times, we are simply surviving the day. Yet, it is the relationships with others that will make memories, create support systems, and help survive life’s storms. Being single again means learning to trust others after perhaps your trust has been completely shattered. I have no great insight on how to trust again; however, I do know that God will place people in your life as others leave. He promises to go before you and behind you, covering you with protection. Best of all, He will never forsake or abandon you. He will simply love you forever. (Pretty spectacular!)
Finally, slow down. Stop feeling like you are racing against a clock. To quote my favorite 1980s icon Ferris Buelluer, “life moves pretty fast. Sometimes you have to stop and look around a bit.” I will drive through town and remark about a new business being open and then find out it has been there for months. I am surprised when I see former students who are now married, have children, or are teaching at the school where I taught them. They seem to remain seventeen in my mind. The seasons seem to change more quickly and suddenly I wake up and think I want it all to stop. But it doesn’t. So I make it stop. I turn off the TV. I make the time to do silly things like pillow fights or fan tents with my boys. I visit places where I have never been when the boys are not with me. It still goes by quickly, but I wake up, look around, and see time passing by. And I make myself remember it.
As a single parent, take the time to stop all the chaos and just enjoy the moment. Enjoy the moments with your kids, your friends, and by yourself. Take time to do a little stargazing. It can teach you a lot about single parenting.

Crossing Monkey Bars

“I‘m right here,” I told my son Hunter as he attempted to cross the monkey bars. “You can do this.”
Hunter and I, along with his little brother Parker, were having an typical adventure at the playground when Hunter climbed the ladder that led to the monkey bars.
“Hey, Mom, can you help me?” Hunter called.
I looked at him and gauged the distance between the bars and the ground. They seemed to be way too high for a five year old. But I could see in his eyes how desperately he wanted to accomplish this feat. So I agreed.
Suddenly, I realized that he was afraid. He held back. He made whimpering noises. He wanted my arms to almost carry him as he moved from the bar to bar. Fear had gripped him. I knew the dream of crossing the monkey bars was becoming a nightmare.
Fear. It can paralyze a person. It can also cause one to run in the opposite direction. Fear is one aspect that I battle as a single parent. What if something happens to my kids? What if I do a terrible job raising my kids? What if something happens to my support system of my family and friends? What if? I could write a million of them.
This column is dedicated to those single parents who battle all kinds of emotions including fear. Emotions such as loneliness, anxiety, stress, isolation and many others seem to come out of no where. Parenting is challenging enough, but add the aspect of “single” on it, and it can seem quite overwhelming.
I am not an expert in the subject of single parenting. It has been a trial by fire, lessons learned through experience. Many things I’ve learned have come from my single parent friends and from various literature that I’ve read. A few key concepts that have made a huge difference in my life are as follows:
1. You can’t do it alone. Support systems from family and friends are crucial. My church has meant so much to me. God has brought people into my life that are important to me and my children.
2. Take it day to day. Do what you must for the day. Live for the day as much as possible, with day to day organization. Otherwise, don’t worry about tomorrow. Just like Hunter was crossing the monkey bars one bar at a time, so must you take each day one at a time.
3. Take some time for yourself. Put the kids to bed early, get together with other parents, or hire a babysitter. Do whatever it takes. Find time to do something for yourself.
4. Dare to dream. Reflect on what you love to do and begin doing it. Don’t plan how you will use it or where it will take you. God will do that. Just do it and see what happens.
I was reminded of my struggle with fear as I helped Hunter cross those monkey bars. Suddenly, fear overtook him and he let go. I caught him. He knew that I would be there. I couldn’t help but think of our Heavenly Father who catches us, too. When everything becomes too much, He is there to catch us, just when we’re about to drop.
Hunter didn’t want to try again. He wanted to quit. Sometimes I feel the same way. I want to give up, run and hide, or simply stop. Then I look at the faces of my sweet boys and know that I can’t quit. Most of all, I know I won’t quit. The challenges of parenting may be great, but every day there is a pay off. God gives me a treat, something specifically designed for me. He knows a simple “I love you” from Hunter and a hug and a kiss from Parker often softens the struggles of the day. Those little things give me that extra lift I need. Sometimes He encourages me through my friends, my students, or even through strangers. Best of all, He knows exactly what to say and when I need to hear it.
Hunter eyed the monkey bars. I could tell that fear was preventing him from attempting to cross the bars. So I made him do it. In my typical drill sergeant fashion, I barked orders to stop whimpering, grab tightly to the bars and use every inch of muscle he had to cross them. With his jaw set and his eyes focused, Hunter accomplished his goal. His face beamed as he made it to the other side. I gave him a big high five and told him how proud I was of him. I told him how I knew he could do it. Of course, I was right there under him, protecting him the whole way.
He made it. He did it. Sometimes it seems like it is too much. Sometimes it is more than a person can handle. But all the time, our Heavenly Father is there to catch us. He knows the path we will take and has great blessings along the road. We may whimper or even sob profusely, but he is right there with us, with open arms to catch us. Single parenting is not easy. Fear may abound. I’ve decided to ignore that fear. Instead, I’m focusing my attention on the One who will catch me because He is with me along the way. I’ve decided to move in boldness, moving one bar at a time.

Dancing with the REAL Star

I love to dance. Let me rephrase that so that it is understood: I completely, totally, wholeheartedly, LOVE to dance. What does dancing have to do with single parenting? At first, I thought absolutely nothing. However, I have found that I have learned not only about dancing through my classes, but also about being a parent, being single again, and being a follower of Jesus Christ.
Most of my experience with dance has been in productions, parties, and fashion shows. As a theater major, I learned to polka in musical theater. As a child of the 80s, I learned to moon walk thanks to Michael Jackson videos. Now I bounce around free styling to Wheels on the Bus with two boys, one doing the robot and the other stripping down to his birthday suit for a fun run through the house. Although all of these experiences emphasized dancing, I knew I wanted to know exact dance form. That is why I started taking ballroom dance lessons.
I stood among many nervous women of all ages, many of whom appeared older than me. They also seemed to know what they were doing or at least they knew who they were going to dance with. I, without a partner, stood facing a group of men who appeared to be looking at their dance partner or avoiding eye contact with me. I have to admit, I avoided eye contact with some of them, too.
Through the weeks to follow, I danced with several different partners, all of whom taught me various steps and techniques. My theater friend Abby gave me her dance shoes. I slowly became more confident and couldn’t wait for dance class each week As time has passed and I continue to learn more about the specific dances, I have found that dance has taught me more than just the art form itself.
Dance has taught me about parenting in general. Sure, there are general guidelines, but there are no strict rules. Each dancer must develop his or her own style. Parenting is the same way. Children do well when they are on a simple schedule; however, that schedule must be determined by the individual parent. What works for me as a parent may not work for my sister or my best friend, both of whom are parents.
Dance is a conversation. One person moves one way and the other person responds. No one, especially the follower, assumes what the other one will do. As a single parent, I know that I must take the time to listen to the concerns of my children. I must not just hear what they say, but I must turn my full attention to the conversation so I can understand the feeling behind the words. If I assume what he is saying, then I am not truly listening. Just like conversation, the dance becomes stilted and agitated if I do not follow my partner‘s lead. In essence, the dance doesn’t flow. The conversation doesn’t take place. No relationship is built.
Dance demands balance. Each step must be complete before one takes another. Life as a single parent requires balance. The day-to-day life of a single parent can be a delicate balancing act of schedules. No one can get sick, especially the primary caregivers. I also find that, as a single person, I must have balance in my life. Being single again often opens the doors for others to have “someone for you to meet.” Sometimes, being divorced harbors a stigma of having something wrong with you, like walking around with three arms or growing a tail. I have found that balance is only found in finding out who you are again. Balance takes time and practice. As a single person, I know that finding out who I am will involve pursuing those things that interest me, not pursuing another person. One cannot have a balanced relationship if another person is in the midst of healing. Therefore, be careful of creating balance in your life through another person.
Finally, dance frame is incredibly important. I must apply the right amount of pressure to my dance partner so he can be able to guide and direct me. My partner must be confident in his frame so I am able to know what he wants me to do. Most of all, we both must have strong frames that ultimately attach to an invisible line that seems to be moving the dancers. That invisible line for me is Jesus Christ.
As a believer, I know that all of my relationships, especially with my children, suffer if I am not continually seeking the One who guides my steps. As a single parent, I so often want to be the one in charge, figuring out exactly what is happening in my life. I try to make long range plans for my life and my children’s lives when I am not the one leading the dance. I must follow because it is only through the subtle nuances from Him that I know what steps I must take. My dance teacher says that the way to a woman’s heart is through dance. If that is true, then I want my heart to stay aligned with the One who loves me unconditionally.
As the Valentine’s Day approaches, I hope you take the time to do something you love. You may hate to dance. You may prefer to take pictures, go fishing, or spend some time in a museum. You may like cooking or drawing. Whatever you desire, do it. You were designed that way for a reason and just as God uses dancing to speak to me, He will speak to you in that activity that you love. As for me, you’ll find me on the dance floor, following the lead of the One who can make my life the most incredible dance ever.

To Mom and Dad

I walked through the aisles of various Christian bookstores and numerous clothing stores. I searched through too many places that sold hundreds of knickknacks and doodads. I saw many pretty, interesting, completely useless items. I saw so much stuff that my head began to swim.
Every year I face this dilemma and every year it gets more difficult. Finding a gift for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day is impossible. I have no idea what to get either parent to show my love and appreciate for them. If I ask them, I get the same response, “Oh, I don’t need anything.” or “Your dad needs some socks” or “Get your mom a gift certificate.” A gift certificate? Socks? Nothing at all? How could I get them “nothing” when they have been “everything” to me?
My mom has taught me the fine art of bargain shopping. If something costs more than ten dollars, one must ponder exactly why a person is buying it. Don’t get me wrong. She’s not cheap. In fact, she is extremely generous. She is quick to give her own money to help someone else. She can find anything a person needs, even a job. She can make something from absolutely nothing. She is clever, thrifty, and compassionate.
My father has instilled me a passion for laughter. Every day there is something new to learn, but it is always done in laughter. He tends to take things slowly and observes the smallest of details, especially when it involves the outdoors. Plants that may be on their last leg suddenly thrive in the presence of my father. His garden looks like something out of Southern Living. Yet he is humble in showing what he has accomplished.
I remember growing up and spending the night with friends. Their parents were nice, but I was always glad to get home to my own set of parents. Sometimes my parents’ habits would drive me and my sister crazy, but now I find that I am doing so many of the same things that they did. I hear myself say something to my sons and then I stop and really listen. Then I recognize that voice--it is the voice of my mom and my dad.
As a single parent, I know that I am often both the mom and dad in a situation. Therefore, I often reflect on what my parents would do in a situation. It is then that I am most thankful that God gave me the parents that He did.
So for the specific holidays, I have decided to give my parents what they gave me: memories.
For my mom, I give her the memory of a special birthday cake in which she let this just-turned five-year-old design a cake, complete with a big tree with red hots for apples, an old swing, and a field of daffodils. I give her a face in the crowd, smiling, beaming with delight, for every entertaining and sometimes boring recital or performance. I give her those just-long-enough talks in my bedroom, making decisions about my life. She always listened, but mostly she always prayed. I knew whatever I spoke to her about, she would find a secret place to pray for me. I know she still does this today.
For my dad, I give him the memory of singing “I’ll Fly Away” when I was roughly five-years-old (Five was a big year.) He always sang with me, even much later when I was taking voice lessons and singing in the church choir. We’d sing to an out of tune piano and make some kind of music. I give him wild baby rabbits caught for me and my sister to play with, a swimming pool that delighted us girls, and a garden full of peas to shell. I also give him that special place in my heart that causes us both to tear up over certain events. I have resorted to giving him a “thumbs up” to keep us both in line and not falling out into a massive heap of tears.
I love my parents dearly. I love my children completely. However, as much as I love these wonderful people that God has put in my life, I can never touch the incredible amount of love that God has for us. (verse)
God has given us the memories as well as allowing us to make more memories every day. However, things change. People grow up. Life is in constant motion. Yet, God still remains. He lasts. It is such a comfort to know that the One who loves me without condition doesn’t change. He doesn’t grow old or give out or simply become someone else. He is a good, but not tame, God.
So I praise Him even more for the parents He has given me. May I be as good a parent has they have been. I love you, Mom and Dad!