Can we talk?
About showers.
Baby showers, 2nd baby showers, 3rd baby showers, baby showers before the wedding showers, wedding showers, 2nd wedding showers, baby showers for members’ children who do not attend RE, showers for members’ grandchildren who do not attend RE, showers (aka: ‘Senior Teas’) for girls who graduate high school...what am I leaving out?
I love a party. If you can think of a reason to honor someone you can borrow my forks or have it at my house. I’m not suggesting that we have shower police, but there are some inconsistencies and I just need to think out loud for a minute.
The Young Families class has a pretty good system. They have brunches during class for 2nd, 3rd, etc. babies. Even if you are having your 4th baby boy, diapers and hugs are always appreciated. Can I have an AMEN, Susan Thomas?
Maybe I’m still longing for the good ol’ days of the Lubbock Broadway church of Christ wedding showers. I don’t know who wrote the rules, but here’s how it went down. You registered at Dillard’s and Hemphill-Well’s. Target hadn’t hit town yet. There were no pricing guns, although Drew would have loved that. Just a fussy west Texas gal who had been in that department for 30 years and frowned if you even thought about registering for anything besides dishes, glassware, silver, linens and small kitchen appliances.
But here’s my favorite part. You had them look up the name of the bride, bought the gift, and they took care of delivering it to the hostess’ house, unwrapped! So on SATURDAY, when all showers should be held, all you had to do was get to Gladys Ellis’ house. She would be standing at the door with the bride and the mothers of the couple, while her friends took their assigned places at the food table, kitchen sink, and gift room.
The gifts were all on display, so you greeted the honoree, grabbed a plate and cup of something, and went to the gift room to oooh and ahhh over all the treasures. You could come and go anytime between 2:00 and 4:00, and get on with the rest of your day. The advantages are 1) you actually got to say hello to the bride 2) there was a better chance of getting a parking place in front of and inside the house, because we weren’t all there at once 3) you didn’t have to pay for gift wrap.
I know that isn’t practical in the metroplex. We live all over the place and delivery isn’t complimentary anymore. But my friends were sweet to let me break tradition when our boys got married. I just didn’t want Kyla and Terran sitting and opening packages for two hours and not getting to meet any of you. A few people were suspicious about why I wanted gifts to be brought unwrapped, until I explained. We loved it. Okay...enough about that.
Here’s my other concern. The hostess thing. I have had several young women/new members ask me how to get on a hostess list. So here’s how I explain it. We have unofficial shower teams. Each team wants to have a lovely party for the honoree. Each team wants to go in on a nice hostess gift. Some teams prefer to have several hostesses so the expenses can be shared. Some prefer to have several hostesses so more can be spent on the hostess gift. The problem for the rookie is knowing ahead of time which team she has joined. For some budgets, it can come as quite a shock to receive a sticky note at the end of the party saying she owes $50 or more. For others, it is just as painful to find out that their cost is much less than they would have normally contributed for a gift to their friend.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this; if you want to help with a shower and have a limit, let the house hostess know, and it will be worked out. Sometimes we have each brought food and a gift, and shared the lesser expenses. If the cost needs to be reduced, then those who feel a need to spend more can give an additional gift to the honoree. It’s pretty much determined by the hostess who is cleaning her potties for the party. And if you want to be a hostess and can't be there for the event, you can pay your part and be a ghostess!
That’s just my opinion. What do you think?
Monday, January 08, 2007
Thursday, June 15, 2006
I Think I am an Angry Black Woman
Karen, you wanted to know why I was crying during church yesterday. John did a great job with his sermon, "God is for Girls".
I had a very unexpected reaction. I can't blame it all on hormones. I know the message wasn't about women's role in the church. But with every scripture that affirmed equality in God's eyes, my heart ached for the fact that we still don't get it. (me included) I was so thankful that you were on the praise team and got to read a scripture without singing it..., only after one man started it and another man ended it, and almost simultaneously wondered how long we would have to wait before Katie and Matalee would be able to be the ones to tell the congregation about freedom and equality in Christ. Then I felt like an angry black woman on Martin Luther King Day! (you asked...)
I know RE is more open minded than most churches of Christ. Every January I hear the interview on TV...usually a white person asking a black person if they feel like there has been progress made in the racial movement. Often the answer is, 'we haven't come far enough'...and as the reporter points out the fact that there is a black governor somewhere and Oprah's doing well...I sit there thinking to my white self, "Quit whining about how far you have to go and be thankful for how far you've come." But even as I tried to tell myself that yesterday, I thought, if someone said that to me right now I would slap 'em!
While I am mentally slapping people (!), I am thinking "Gee, maybe next week the sermon can be, "God is for Black People." And maybe we can find a couple of black people to be on the praise team and read scriptures (after a white man has started it and another white man has ended it) and we'll read that same scripture about neither Jew nor Greek, male or female, slaves or...
Then I think, "I can't believe I am so upset. I love this church. I don't walk around feeling repressed. John gets it. Houston gets it. Drew has a huge responsibility to lead this church with people on both ends and every place in between. Actually just one end. The people who feel very strongly that women don't have an opportunity to express their gifts here have gone somewhere else. The ones who are here are the ones who think women are supposed to 'stay in their place' or at best be patient for another 10 or 50 years. or more.
I thought of the women who are gone that we'll never be able to hear from...and then I had a holocaust flashback...then I wondered if Katie would notice if I used her night-night to wipe my nose...then I wished that I could say this without men immediately thinking that I wanted to preach or serve communion standing up...and then I just wanted to leave.
Last night at LIFE group we watched the Lee Stroebel DVD series about the same topic, and during our discussion, Drew asked what we thought about the service I said I thought there was something precious and pathetic about it at the same time. After the guys dropped their jaws on my new rug, I tried to explain how I felt. By the time it was over, the guys all looked like deer caught in the headlights, but the girls were smiling, so I don't think I scared them off forever.
The most touching part of the service for me was the song, "Lifter of My Head". As I was feeling so awful for feeling so awful, I had this image of Jesus, not standing way above me, but sitting next to me, leaning over and trying to look me in the eyes...putting his finger under my chin, lifting it up and smiling...almost grinning at me. As if he was saying, "It's okay to tell me how you really feel. I get it."
Thanks for asking and loving me anyway. I have an appointment with the hormone replacement therapist at 1:30 Tuesday. I love you, aunt carolyn
I had a very unexpected reaction. I can't blame it all on hormones. I know the message wasn't about women's role in the church. But with every scripture that affirmed equality in God's eyes, my heart ached for the fact that we still don't get it. (me included) I was so thankful that you were on the praise team and got to read a scripture without singing it..., only after one man started it and another man ended it, and almost simultaneously wondered how long we would have to wait before Katie and Matalee would be able to be the ones to tell the congregation about freedom and equality in Christ. Then I felt like an angry black woman on Martin Luther King Day! (you asked...)
I know RE is more open minded than most churches of Christ. Every January I hear the interview on TV...usually a white person asking a black person if they feel like there has been progress made in the racial movement. Often the answer is, 'we haven't come far enough'...and as the reporter points out the fact that there is a black governor somewhere and Oprah's doing well...I sit there thinking to my white self, "Quit whining about how far you have to go and be thankful for how far you've come." But even as I tried to tell myself that yesterday, I thought, if someone said that to me right now I would slap 'em!
While I am mentally slapping people (!), I am thinking "Gee, maybe next week the sermon can be, "God is for Black People." And maybe we can find a couple of black people to be on the praise team and read scriptures (after a white man has started it and another white man has ended it) and we'll read that same scripture about neither Jew nor Greek, male or female, slaves or...
Then I think, "I can't believe I am so upset. I love this church. I don't walk around feeling repressed. John gets it. Houston gets it. Drew has a huge responsibility to lead this church with people on both ends and every place in between. Actually just one end. The people who feel very strongly that women don't have an opportunity to express their gifts here have gone somewhere else. The ones who are here are the ones who think women are supposed to 'stay in their place' or at best be patient for another 10 or 50 years. or more.
I thought of the women who are gone that we'll never be able to hear from...and then I had a holocaust flashback...then I wondered if Katie would notice if I used her night-night to wipe my nose...then I wished that I could say this without men immediately thinking that I wanted to preach or serve communion standing up...and then I just wanted to leave.
Last night at LIFE group we watched the Lee Stroebel DVD series about the same topic, and during our discussion, Drew asked what we thought about the service I said I thought there was something precious and pathetic about it at the same time. After the guys dropped their jaws on my new rug, I tried to explain how I felt. By the time it was over, the guys all looked like deer caught in the headlights, but the girls were smiling, so I don't think I scared them off forever.
The most touching part of the service for me was the song, "Lifter of My Head". As I was feeling so awful for feeling so awful, I had this image of Jesus, not standing way above me, but sitting next to me, leaning over and trying to look me in the eyes...putting his finger under my chin, lifting it up and smiling...almost grinning at me. As if he was saying, "It's okay to tell me how you really feel. I get it."
Thanks for asking and loving me anyway. I have an appointment with the hormone replacement therapist at 1:30 Tuesday. I love you, aunt carolyn
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The NOCANTELOS
Yesterday afternoon I ran some errands over by Collin Creek Mall. The Learning Patch, Michael’s, Family Christian Bookstore, Hobby Lobby…Before I went back up to my classroom I wanted to check in with Drew. I reached in my purse to get my cell phone and it wasn’t in its little holder. I checked the floorboard of the Suburban, between the seats, my teacher tote bag, dumped my purse, dumped my tote bag, and then decided I had left it in one of the stores. So, I rushed back to my first stop which was closing in five minutes.
I grabbed my keys and ran in and asked the clerk if a phone had been turned in and she said no. So I asked her if I could call my number to see if I had put it down while I was shopping. Sure enough, I heard it ring. Right by the counter! I must have set it there while I was writing my check. I started moving her display around to find it. Maybe it fell on the floor. I can hear it, I just can’t find it. So I put my keys in my pocket to search with both hands and…the phone was in my pocket. For a second I thought about throwing it on the floor and exclaiming, “Here it is!” Then I figured if she was working in a teacher store the last week of school, she had seen worse.
This confirmed a medical disorder that I am certain I must have. Noise Orientation Confusion And Not Telling Exact Location Of Source. Or, in medical terms… I’ve got the NOCANTELOS. There are buttons to push on our remote phone at home. But it only beeps for about two seconds and that’s not enough time for me to get in the starting position, push the button and then run all over the house trying to find the thing before it stops beeping. I hear it. I just can’t find it. I NOCANTELO. I cringe when I hear an emergency siren in traffic. Is it behind me? Coming towards me? I don’t know whether I should pull over because I NOCANTELO!
You know that small still voice from within? I’ve heard things like, “Speak up.”, “Keep your mouth shut.”, “You should call her.” “Pray for them.” But for years, I also heard things like, “There’s no way you will be able to do that.” “You don’t deserve this. You’re not worth it.” “God is tired of hearing that request.” “He won’t forgive you for that…again.” It wasn’t a hearing problem. I was having trouble discerning the source.
It wasn’t until I started spending more time praying than I did ‘just thinking about things’ that I became able to hear His voice over Satan’s. When I actually began reading and meditating on His words instead of replaying negative mental tapes of old hell, fire and brimstone sermons, then He began to give me some perspective on what was Truth in my life. Even when He says something that I don’t especially want to hear, I know my Shepherd’s sweet voice, and I want to be near it. The Spirit is closer than a cell phone in my pocket. The closer I am to Him, the better chance I have of locating His voice.
Drew and I stayed on the Riverwalk in San Antonio for a few days. I was telling him about this article and my unfortunate medical condition. Just then we heard sirens on the street above us. “Can you tell which way they’re heading?” I asked. He immediately pointed east and the trucks soon headed that direction. I asked him how he knew that. He asked me how I didn’t.
“Alamocantelo.”
I grabbed my keys and ran in and asked the clerk if a phone had been turned in and she said no. So I asked her if I could call my number to see if I had put it down while I was shopping. Sure enough, I heard it ring. Right by the counter! I must have set it there while I was writing my check. I started moving her display around to find it. Maybe it fell on the floor. I can hear it, I just can’t find it. So I put my keys in my pocket to search with both hands and…the phone was in my pocket. For a second I thought about throwing it on the floor and exclaiming, “Here it is!” Then I figured if she was working in a teacher store the last week of school, she had seen worse.
This confirmed a medical disorder that I am certain I must have. Noise Orientation Confusion And Not Telling Exact Location Of Source. Or, in medical terms… I’ve got the NOCANTELOS. There are buttons to push on our remote phone at home. But it only beeps for about two seconds and that’s not enough time for me to get in the starting position, push the button and then run all over the house trying to find the thing before it stops beeping. I hear it. I just can’t find it. I NOCANTELO. I cringe when I hear an emergency siren in traffic. Is it behind me? Coming towards me? I don’t know whether I should pull over because I NOCANTELO!
You know that small still voice from within? I’ve heard things like, “Speak up.”, “Keep your mouth shut.”, “You should call her.” “Pray for them.” But for years, I also heard things like, “There’s no way you will be able to do that.” “You don’t deserve this. You’re not worth it.” “God is tired of hearing that request.” “He won’t forgive you for that…again.” It wasn’t a hearing problem. I was having trouble discerning the source.
It wasn’t until I started spending more time praying than I did ‘just thinking about things’ that I became able to hear His voice over Satan’s. When I actually began reading and meditating on His words instead of replaying negative mental tapes of old hell, fire and brimstone sermons, then He began to give me some perspective on what was Truth in my life. Even when He says something that I don’t especially want to hear, I know my Shepherd’s sweet voice, and I want to be near it. The Spirit is closer than a cell phone in my pocket. The closer I am to Him, the better chance I have of locating His voice.
Drew and I stayed on the Riverwalk in San Antonio for a few days. I was telling him about this article and my unfortunate medical condition. Just then we heard sirens on the street above us. “Can you tell which way they’re heading?” I asked. He immediately pointed east and the trucks soon headed that direction. I asked him how he knew that. He asked me how I didn’t.
“Alamocantelo.”
Thursday, March 23, 2006
church-harmony.com
‘Thought you were joining a good ol’ traditional church of Christ only to find out they clapped after a baptism? Maybe you came in unexpectedly on Easter Sunday and found a cross covered with lilies? Do you find yourself frustrated when your repeated suggestions for Country-Western dance classes are not taken seriously by the outreach committee? Have I got some good news for you!
Founded by Relationship expert Carolyn McBryde and Church Conflict Management guru Dr. John Siburt, church-harmony.com allows you to find the church love of your life. Whether you are a person seeking a church with no surprises or a church looking for low maintenance members, we can hook you up, for a small fee. While other methods rely on websites or word of mouth, we have the foundation of compatibility for a lifetime of uniformity.
Exhaustive research with thousands of members found that there are several dimensions of compatibility with the Lord’s Supper alone. Isn’t it time you stopped church hopping and experienced the joy that comes with falling in love with a congregation for a lifetime? Let church-harmony.com help you begin your journey to finding your soul mates today!’
As tempting as that sounds, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Not because the idea wouldn’t work; I’m afraid it would.
After moving from Abilene in March of 1990, we were thrilled to find a church home in the Dallas area that so reminded us of the sweet fellowship of the Highland church. The C.A.R.E. sign (Christians at Richardson East) told us that this was not your typical church of Christ. Banners on the wall of the auditorium…? We liked those, too. And the preacher! What’s not to love about Larry James?
We quickly immersed ourselves in the body life of Richardson East. We helped with Bible Times Marketplace in June. In August we went on a family mission trip to Albuquerque. It wasn’t until sometime that fall that we heard the first grumblings about ‘things at church’. Call me naïve, but I was shocked. I don’t exactly remember what was said, other than thinking, “I can’t believe you said that!” Not so much, “I can’t believe you said that”, but more like, “I can’t believe you said that!”
A few of our friends were complaining about something that we thought was right on target. And it wasn’t something that just came up; it was pretty obvious they had been upset for quite a while. If we had known they felt a certain way about things, I’m not so sure we would have been drawn to them. But it was too late. We were already in love with these people. You can see the problem.
I’m so thankful we had a relationship with each other before we knew where they stood on every little thing. We would have missed out on so much by avoiding them. I don’t even remember what the conflict was. Wait. Okay, now I remember, but it’s not that big of a deal anymore.
I had another great idea. I have some favorite young parents at my preschool that I just know would become best friends with some of my favorite young parents at church, if I could just get them together. I asked Drew what he thought about starting couples-match.com.
He said it sounded kinky.
I'll never be a dotcom millionaire at this rate.
Founded by Relationship expert Carolyn McBryde and Church Conflict Management guru Dr. John Siburt, church-harmony.com allows you to find the church love of your life. Whether you are a person seeking a church with no surprises or a church looking for low maintenance members, we can hook you up, for a small fee. While other methods rely on websites or word of mouth, we have the foundation of compatibility for a lifetime of uniformity.
Exhaustive research with thousands of members found that there are several dimensions of compatibility with the Lord’s Supper alone. Isn’t it time you stopped church hopping and experienced the joy that comes with falling in love with a congregation for a lifetime? Let church-harmony.com help you begin your journey to finding your soul mates today!’
As tempting as that sounds, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Not because the idea wouldn’t work; I’m afraid it would.
After moving from Abilene in March of 1990, we were thrilled to find a church home in the Dallas area that so reminded us of the sweet fellowship of the Highland church. The C.A.R.E. sign (Christians at Richardson East) told us that this was not your typical church of Christ. Banners on the wall of the auditorium…? We liked those, too. And the preacher! What’s not to love about Larry James?
We quickly immersed ourselves in the body life of Richardson East. We helped with Bible Times Marketplace in June. In August we went on a family mission trip to Albuquerque. It wasn’t until sometime that fall that we heard the first grumblings about ‘things at church’. Call me naïve, but I was shocked. I don’t exactly remember what was said, other than thinking, “I can’t believe you said that!” Not so much, “I can’t believe you said that”, but more like, “I can’t believe you said that!”
A few of our friends were complaining about something that we thought was right on target. And it wasn’t something that just came up; it was pretty obvious they had been upset for quite a while. If we had known they felt a certain way about things, I’m not so sure we would have been drawn to them. But it was too late. We were already in love with these people. You can see the problem.
I’m so thankful we had a relationship with each other before we knew where they stood on every little thing. We would have missed out on so much by avoiding them. I don’t even remember what the conflict was. Wait. Okay, now I remember, but it’s not that big of a deal anymore.
I had another great idea. I have some favorite young parents at my preschool that I just know would become best friends with some of my favorite young parents at church, if I could just get them together. I asked Drew what he thought about starting couples-match.com.
He said it sounded kinky.
I'll never be a dotcom millionaire at this rate.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
And Then I Clicked SEND
Our homeowner’s association has a neighborhood internet café. Since the subdivision is only about 3 ½ years old, most of the messages have been asking for names of sitters, reporting lost dogs, or complaining about the poor reception with Sprint phone service. Early in January, some guy wanted to know if anyone was interested in a poker night. That made me wonder…would anyone be interested in a women’s Bible study…and could I use the café to find out? PokerMan inspired me to try!
There are about 180 homes in our development. So if even 2 or 3 other women wanted to join me, I thought that would be a pretty good response. I had already asked Sara Snyder about the possibility of sharing the Beth Moore DVD series she was using in Ladies Bible class, and she was all over that idea. After much prayer about what to say, and what not to say, I sent out this message:
SUBJECT: Women’s Bible Study
“Would any of you be interested in a Women’s Bible study? I teach preschool in the mornings, but I could host something on a weekday afternoon or evening. I have access to Beth Moore’s “Believing God” and “Breaking Free” video series. You will need to make your own childcare arrangements for about an hour and a half. Let me know what day/time is best for you. Friends are welcome!”
And then I clicked SEND.
As I stared at the screen it occurred to me that I needed other people to be praying with me, so I sent out a quick message to some friends who I knew would honor that request.
And then I clicked SEND.
This time there was something in my INBOX. It was from Karen who said, “I would be interested in something on the weekday evenings, as long as it was after 7 or 7:30. The best days for me are Tuesday or Wednesday evenings, with Wednesdays being the better of the two. I have a friend in Florida who is reading Beth Moore’s books and she loves them, so I am intrigued.”
By Sunday evening 12 women had responded. I was shocked.
One of them traveled during the week, but she just wanted to cheer us on. Nearly all of them requested Wednesday nights. That surprised me, because in my mind if anyone wanted to find a Wednesday night Bible study, all they had to do was drive to a church with cars in the parking lot. It also caught me off guard, because I was helping in the two year old class on Wednesday nights, and hadn’t planned on leaving in the middle of the year. I was reassured by the John and Houston that if God was bringing these women to my house for this purpose, then He would provide my replacement at RE.
Uh huh.
(And exactly where is that long list of people who have volunteered to teach the two year old class on Wednesday nights? What will they ever do without me? What will their parents think?) I’m not proud of those reactions. Shocked at the 12 responses. Doubtful that they could find more teachers for the two year old class. Embarrassed that I was leaving in the middle of the year. “Hello! I’m a faithless quitter and I will be leading your Bible study for the next 11 weeks.” What was God thinking?
Maybe He was thinking that there were women new to the area without a church home who longed to find a group of believers. Maybe He thought there were neighbors desperate to form meaningful friendships. He might have been thinking I needed to be reminded that it’s not about me, because Lynn had 4 women lined up to cover the children’s class transition before I could write her an apology.
Oh.
I later discovered that only about one fourth of the homes in our subdivision subscribe to the internet café. Instead of 12 responses out of 180 homes, it’s more like 12 out of 45. I sent out one message, one time. No fliers on the doors or signs in the yard. And on January 25, it was like “Guess Who’s Coming to Bible Study?” Each time I opened the door there was a new face with a big smile. I only knew one of the women before that night. It has been one of the sweetest blessings of my life.
In a way, I feel like God moved his cosmic mouse over my heart, checked to see if I was willing, rolled His eyes when He thought about my pitiful reaction and smiled anyway.
And then He clicked SEND.
There are about 180 homes in our development. So if even 2 or 3 other women wanted to join me, I thought that would be a pretty good response. I had already asked Sara Snyder about the possibility of sharing the Beth Moore DVD series she was using in Ladies Bible class, and she was all over that idea. After much prayer about what to say, and what not to say, I sent out this message:
SUBJECT: Women’s Bible Study
“Would any of you be interested in a Women’s Bible study? I teach preschool in the mornings, but I could host something on a weekday afternoon or evening. I have access to Beth Moore’s “Believing God” and “Breaking Free” video series. You will need to make your own childcare arrangements for about an hour and a half. Let me know what day/time is best for you. Friends are welcome!”
And then I clicked SEND.
As I stared at the screen it occurred to me that I needed other people to be praying with me, so I sent out a quick message to some friends who I knew would honor that request.
And then I clicked SEND.
This time there was something in my INBOX. It was from Karen who said, “I would be interested in something on the weekday evenings, as long as it was after 7 or 7:30. The best days for me are Tuesday or Wednesday evenings, with Wednesdays being the better of the two. I have a friend in Florida who is reading Beth Moore’s books and she loves them, so I am intrigued.”
By Sunday evening 12 women had responded. I was shocked.
One of them traveled during the week, but she just wanted to cheer us on. Nearly all of them requested Wednesday nights. That surprised me, because in my mind if anyone wanted to find a Wednesday night Bible study, all they had to do was drive to a church with cars in the parking lot. It also caught me off guard, because I was helping in the two year old class on Wednesday nights, and hadn’t planned on leaving in the middle of the year. I was reassured by the John and Houston that if God was bringing these women to my house for this purpose, then He would provide my replacement at RE.
Uh huh.
(And exactly where is that long list of people who have volunteered to teach the two year old class on Wednesday nights? What will they ever do without me? What will their parents think?) I’m not proud of those reactions. Shocked at the 12 responses. Doubtful that they could find more teachers for the two year old class. Embarrassed that I was leaving in the middle of the year. “Hello! I’m a faithless quitter and I will be leading your Bible study for the next 11 weeks.” What was God thinking?
Maybe He was thinking that there were women new to the area without a church home who longed to find a group of believers. Maybe He thought there were neighbors desperate to form meaningful friendships. He might have been thinking I needed to be reminded that it’s not about me, because Lynn had 4 women lined up to cover the children’s class transition before I could write her an apology.
Oh.
I later discovered that only about one fourth of the homes in our subdivision subscribe to the internet café. Instead of 12 responses out of 180 homes, it’s more like 12 out of 45. I sent out one message, one time. No fliers on the doors or signs in the yard. And on January 25, it was like “Guess Who’s Coming to Bible Study?” Each time I opened the door there was a new face with a big smile. I only knew one of the women before that night. It has been one of the sweetest blessings of my life.
In a way, I feel like God moved his cosmic mouse over my heart, checked to see if I was willing, rolled His eyes when He thought about my pitiful reaction and smiled anyway.
And then He clicked SEND.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Get a Grip!
Emotional Checklist for Mothers of College Freshmen
By Carolyn (4) McBryde
Please read the following statements to determine your base score:
1 point Your child attends college in your hometown.
2 points Your child is close enough to come home weekends.
3 points Your child only comes home for major holidays.
4 points Your child spends Christmas with another family.
5 points Your child has to have a passport to come home.
_____ (Base Score)
You get (1 point) extra credit if you answer yes to any of the following statements:
_____ There has been a recent death in the family.
_____ There is a serious illness in the family.
_____ You have lost your job or pet.
_____ There is a family wedding in the next 6 months.
_____ You are still paying on the last wedding.
_____ This is your first child.
_____ This is your last child.
_____ This is your favorite child.
You also have a child entering:
_____ Preschool
_____ Kindergarten
_____ Middle School
_____ High School
_____ Military
_____ A different university
_____ Other (Feel free to explain in great detail)
_____ (Extra Credit Total)
Base Score _____
Extra Credit _____
Total _____
Get a Grip!
1999 was a very emotional summer for our family. In July, my dad died unexpectedly. We were sending our first child away to Abilene Christian University a few weeks later. Granted it was back to a town we had lived in and loved for several years, but the emotional impact was still great.
Traditionally, the first Sunday of Welcome Week is a time of blessing the ACU freshmen and their families at the Highland church. My mind was flooded with memories as I thought of the years we had worshipped in this very auditorium with our little boys. I fought back tears during the Sunday morning assembly. Matt had been looking forward to this moment for months, and I didn’t want to spoil his joy by falling apart.
After we were dismissed, I was making my way over to greet some friends, when I ran into a couple that I had known as a teenager. The reunion was sweet. After getting over the shock that I was now old enough to have a child going to college, they began asking about my family. “And how are your parents?”
Obviously, they had not been told. “Thank you for asking. I’m sorry no one called you. Daddy had surgery last month and wasn’t able to make it off of the respirator. He died a few weeks ago. Mother is doing amazingly well.” Their eyes filled with tears as they embraced me and offered their sympathy. All of the emotion I had been holding back during worship came pouring out.
My mascara was smeared, my nose was red, and I was out of tissues. I could imagine what the other parents of college students were thinking. (“That woman needs to get a grip!”)
I wanted to explain to them that these were tears for my dad, not my son. Or were they? My friend, Maria came to the rescue. We hugged and she began to wail. “I know just how you feel! I can’t stand the thought of Emily being gone! I’m going to miss her so much! This is sooooo hard!”
I immediately dried up and said, “Isn’t Emily staying here and going to ACU?”
“Yes.” she sobbed.
“Maria,” I said. ”She’ll be down the street.”
“I know, but it just won’t be the same!”
How dare she think that her grief compared to mine! Matt would be 3 ½ hours away. That was a totally different situation. After all, he was our first. And my dad had just died. I had a lot more to cry about than she did.
I turned and saw Marilyn. Her twins were the same age as Matt. One was staying at ACU and the other was headed for A&M. (about a 4-hour drive). She was recovering from breast cancer and losing her only two kids at the same time! It was okay for her to cry. A lot more okay than it was for Maria.
Next, Dion put his arm around me, “It’s okay. My mom cried all the way home when she left me at college.”
“Where did you go to school?” I asked.
“Harding, in Arkansas.” He said.
I needed to calculate the mileage. “Where were you living at the time?”
“Germany.”
Well, that settled it. His mom won the prize for the most legitimate reason to cry. Then I began to listen (a novel idea) as other parents began to share their stories. One husband had recently lost his job and they had two kids at ACU at the same time. Another was grieving over sending her baby boy to college. At least I still had Scott at home for another couple of years. (Oh, and my husband.)
I found myself evaluating everyone’s situation and rating them accordingly. Then it occurred to me. There should be a system. Our score would be based off of the number of traumatic things that were going on in our lives as we were sending our kids away. We could wear the numbers, say, on our visitor’s tag, and immediately be aware of the moms who were having an especially difficult time.
I would be wearing a 4, (first child, close enough to come home on weekends) but I would be careful not to whine in front of a 7 (one child in town, one close enough to come home on weekends, first child AND last child, recent illness…that equals 6, but I give Marilyn extra credit for having twins). On the other hand, if I walked by a 2, (your first kid is down the street) well, that lady just needs to get a grip, Maria!
At the school where I teach, 3 of us were sending our boys to college. I was a 4, Naomi was a first child close enough to come home 3, and Phyllis was a wimpy 1. Her second one was just going 30 minutes away. I thought I was the winner, until I began to notice a few things. Her son came home a lot. I mean a LOT. And brought friends. That were hungry. And had dirty laundry. Did I mention that they came home a lot?
She knew when he was supposed to be where, and worried when he wasn’t. It was only natural to ask if he had any homework and she felt obligated to check on his projects. They were paying for a dorm room, but he never quite moved out, to give her the guest room she had always dreamed of. I showed her my checklist in November. She rolled her eyes as she handed it back. “It would be much easier if he was out of town. Moms of kids who stay in town should have a base score of 6!”
What a whiner.
She needs to get a grip.
By Carolyn (4) McBryde
Please read the following statements to determine your base score:
1 point Your child attends college in your hometown.
2 points Your child is close enough to come home weekends.
3 points Your child only comes home for major holidays.
4 points Your child spends Christmas with another family.
5 points Your child has to have a passport to come home.
_____ (Base Score)
You get (1 point) extra credit if you answer yes to any of the following statements:
_____ There has been a recent death in the family.
_____ There is a serious illness in the family.
_____ You have lost your job or pet.
_____ There is a family wedding in the next 6 months.
_____ You are still paying on the last wedding.
_____ This is your first child.
_____ This is your last child.
_____ This is your favorite child.
You also have a child entering:
_____ Preschool
_____ Kindergarten
_____ Middle School
_____ High School
_____ Military
_____ A different university
_____ Other (Feel free to explain in great detail)
_____ (Extra Credit Total)
Base Score _____
Extra Credit _____
Total _____
Get a Grip!
1999 was a very emotional summer for our family. In July, my dad died unexpectedly. We were sending our first child away to Abilene Christian University a few weeks later. Granted it was back to a town we had lived in and loved for several years, but the emotional impact was still great.
Traditionally, the first Sunday of Welcome Week is a time of blessing the ACU freshmen and their families at the Highland church. My mind was flooded with memories as I thought of the years we had worshipped in this very auditorium with our little boys. I fought back tears during the Sunday morning assembly. Matt had been looking forward to this moment for months, and I didn’t want to spoil his joy by falling apart.
After we were dismissed, I was making my way over to greet some friends, when I ran into a couple that I had known as a teenager. The reunion was sweet. After getting over the shock that I was now old enough to have a child going to college, they began asking about my family. “And how are your parents?”
Obviously, they had not been told. “Thank you for asking. I’m sorry no one called you. Daddy had surgery last month and wasn’t able to make it off of the respirator. He died a few weeks ago. Mother is doing amazingly well.” Their eyes filled with tears as they embraced me and offered their sympathy. All of the emotion I had been holding back during worship came pouring out.
My mascara was smeared, my nose was red, and I was out of tissues. I could imagine what the other parents of college students were thinking. (“That woman needs to get a grip!”)
I wanted to explain to them that these were tears for my dad, not my son. Or were they? My friend, Maria came to the rescue. We hugged and she began to wail. “I know just how you feel! I can’t stand the thought of Emily being gone! I’m going to miss her so much! This is sooooo hard!”
I immediately dried up and said, “Isn’t Emily staying here and going to ACU?”
“Yes.” she sobbed.
“Maria,” I said. ”She’ll be down the street.”
“I know, but it just won’t be the same!”
How dare she think that her grief compared to mine! Matt would be 3 ½ hours away. That was a totally different situation. After all, he was our first. And my dad had just died. I had a lot more to cry about than she did.
I turned and saw Marilyn. Her twins were the same age as Matt. One was staying at ACU and the other was headed for A&M. (about a 4-hour drive). She was recovering from breast cancer and losing her only two kids at the same time! It was okay for her to cry. A lot more okay than it was for Maria.
Next, Dion put his arm around me, “It’s okay. My mom cried all the way home when she left me at college.”
“Where did you go to school?” I asked.
“Harding, in Arkansas.” He said.
I needed to calculate the mileage. “Where were you living at the time?”
“Germany.”
Well, that settled it. His mom won the prize for the most legitimate reason to cry. Then I began to listen (a novel idea) as other parents began to share their stories. One husband had recently lost his job and they had two kids at ACU at the same time. Another was grieving over sending her baby boy to college. At least I still had Scott at home for another couple of years. (Oh, and my husband.)
I found myself evaluating everyone’s situation and rating them accordingly. Then it occurred to me. There should be a system. Our score would be based off of the number of traumatic things that were going on in our lives as we were sending our kids away. We could wear the numbers, say, on our visitor’s tag, and immediately be aware of the moms who were having an especially difficult time.
I would be wearing a 4, (first child, close enough to come home on weekends) but I would be careful not to whine in front of a 7 (one child in town, one close enough to come home on weekends, first child AND last child, recent illness…that equals 6, but I give Marilyn extra credit for having twins). On the other hand, if I walked by a 2, (your first kid is down the street) well, that lady just needs to get a grip, Maria!
At the school where I teach, 3 of us were sending our boys to college. I was a 4, Naomi was a first child close enough to come home 3, and Phyllis was a wimpy 1. Her second one was just going 30 minutes away. I thought I was the winner, until I began to notice a few things. Her son came home a lot. I mean a LOT. And brought friends. That were hungry. And had dirty laundry. Did I mention that they came home a lot?
She knew when he was supposed to be where, and worried when he wasn’t. It was only natural to ask if he had any homework and she felt obligated to check on his projects. They were paying for a dorm room, but he never quite moved out, to give her the guest room she had always dreamed of. I showed her my checklist in November. She rolled her eyes as she handed it back. “It would be much easier if he was out of town. Moms of kids who stay in town should have a base score of 6!”
What a whiner.
She needs to get a grip.
What's Love Got to do With It?
People are constantly stopping us at church and asking us the secret to our happy marriage. And I’d like to think it’s because I have always been…okay, okay. So nobody has ever asked us that. But with our boys getting married last summer followed by our 25th anniversary, I have had several occasions to stop and ask myself, “How in the world did we make it this far?”
Last week I received a letter from a college friend. She was creative and loved to laugh, so you might know we’d hit it off from the start. The guys she dated were outgoing as well, and I remember being surprised when she married, of all things, a Math major. (There’s nothing fun about that!) But she had graduated with honors and was working in the field she loved, so I chalked it up to ‘opposites attract’ and continued to admire her life.
I’m not sure who left Lubbock first, but for a few years we exchanged Christmas letters and photos, and eventually lost touch. I ran into a relative of hers not long ago and asked for her new address. Here is part of her letter:
“…I’m jealous. I had dreamed of the All-American family and a family photo like yours with children who had married happily. Who didn’t have children until after marriage. Who married good strong Christians and who were themselves good strong Christians…”
It went downhill from there. Aside from being very sad for the things that she shared so honestly, I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought, “That could have been me.” Me and my left-brained, linear thinking, not a creative bone in his body, engineer, sweetheart of a husband.
While unpacking boxes of books recently, I ran across our copy of Harley’s book, His Needs, Her Needs (or as I like to refer to it, His Needs His Needs! Basically, men have just one need and guess what it is?) Well, the author suggests that the couple should read the same copy and highlight things she thinks are important in pink, and he should do the same with a blue one. Then you get together and discuss the common topics that are in purple.
I remember being in trouble from the Table of Contents, because Drew didn’t see the genius in my buying a package of highlighters from Sam’s, since surely we already had those around the house. Never mind that he was right. I just couldn’t find them. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but I imagine it went into a critique of my organizational skills and then I probably pouted. I’m positively sure I pouted.
Drew and I are very thankful and humbled to be together after 25 years. To be honest, it’s not because we have prayed and read the Bible together every day, because we haven’t. It’s not because we had a date night every week and celebrated our anniversaries away from the children every year, because we didn’t. And without judging our friends who have gone through the pain and agony of a divorce, it’s not because we always gave it our very best effort because often, we just wouldn’t.
This may sound lame, but it’s true. We kept showing up. For each other, for our kids and for church. I know, we’re the church, but you know what I mean. We taught in our kids classes and found other ways to serve together. We were constantly connected to a small group and shared our hearts with peers and with those who were further down the road than we were.
Maybe my friend did, too and it just didn’t work out. But in our case, it’s amazing to realize how faithful God has been to us with the little we have given Him to work with. Sometimes love was just a decision on our part. And God’s unfailing love has had everything in the world to do with it.
Last week I received a letter from a college friend. She was creative and loved to laugh, so you might know we’d hit it off from the start. The guys she dated were outgoing as well, and I remember being surprised when she married, of all things, a Math major. (There’s nothing fun about that!) But she had graduated with honors and was working in the field she loved, so I chalked it up to ‘opposites attract’ and continued to admire her life.
I’m not sure who left Lubbock first, but for a few years we exchanged Christmas letters and photos, and eventually lost touch. I ran into a relative of hers not long ago and asked for her new address. Here is part of her letter:
“…I’m jealous. I had dreamed of the All-American family and a family photo like yours with children who had married happily. Who didn’t have children until after marriage. Who married good strong Christians and who were themselves good strong Christians…”
It went downhill from there. Aside from being very sad for the things that she shared so honestly, I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought, “That could have been me.” Me and my left-brained, linear thinking, not a creative bone in his body, engineer, sweetheart of a husband.
While unpacking boxes of books recently, I ran across our copy of Harley’s book, His Needs, Her Needs (or as I like to refer to it, His Needs His Needs! Basically, men have just one need and guess what it is?) Well, the author suggests that the couple should read the same copy and highlight things she thinks are important in pink, and he should do the same with a blue one. Then you get together and discuss the common topics that are in purple.
I remember being in trouble from the Table of Contents, because Drew didn’t see the genius in my buying a package of highlighters from Sam’s, since surely we already had those around the house. Never mind that he was right. I just couldn’t find them. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but I imagine it went into a critique of my organizational skills and then I probably pouted. I’m positively sure I pouted.
Drew and I are very thankful and humbled to be together after 25 years. To be honest, it’s not because we have prayed and read the Bible together every day, because we haven’t. It’s not because we had a date night every week and celebrated our anniversaries away from the children every year, because we didn’t. And without judging our friends who have gone through the pain and agony of a divorce, it’s not because we always gave it our very best effort because often, we just wouldn’t.
This may sound lame, but it’s true. We kept showing up. For each other, for our kids and for church. I know, we’re the church, but you know what I mean. We taught in our kids classes and found other ways to serve together. We were constantly connected to a small group and shared our hearts with peers and with those who were further down the road than we were.
Maybe my friend did, too and it just didn’t work out. But in our case, it’s amazing to realize how faithful God has been to us with the little we have given Him to work with. Sometimes love was just a decision on our part. And God’s unfailing love has had everything in the world to do with it.
Confessions of a Room Mother
It started innocently enough. I was a stay at home mom. I had the time. I had the desire. I had the hand painted t-shirt dress with matching hair bow and coordinating tennis shoes. I couldn’t sign my name to the classroom volunteer list fast enough. Soon I was helping with Matt’s kindergarten parties, and going on field trips. Three-year-old Scott was the perfect tag-along.
Someone in PTA noticed, and before I knew what had happened, I was taking yearbook orders and spraying disinfectant in old roller skates on fund raiser night at the rink. By the time the boys were in first and third grades, Drew and I were PTA presidents. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, unless you did it for the reasons I did.
I had considered doing the PTA officer thing later on, say when the boys were in 3rd and 5th grades. But someone from the nominating committee pulled me aside and said, “If you do it now, the principal will see that your kids get the best teachers all the way through sixth grade.” That got my attention. What mother didn’t want her kids to have the best teachers? Written requests for specific teachers were frowned upon. It was the only way.
Have you ever signed up to be in charge of something ‘for your children’, only to look up and realize that your own kids are miserable, your house is a wreck, and your husband doesn’t seem to enjoy doing the laundry as much as he used to? That pretty much sums up August ‘89 through February 1990. In March, we were transferred to Dallas. So much for my plan to have the best teachers lined up for the next 5 years.
God taught me several things through that experience. I learned that it’s the moms, not the kids who care if the napkins match the cups that match the plates that match the snack. (Can I have an AMEN, sister Shipley?) And even though Matt got the most requested teacher that year, it wasn’t the best situation for him. I learned to ask God to place the boys where He wanted them to be. Imagine that!
I don’t want to discourage you from volunteering at school. We had several opportunities to be a part of the activities our kids have enjoyed. It was a great way to meet their friends’ parents. It helped us appreciate the time and effort teachers, coaches and band directors put into our kids. A lot of money was raised for some very good causes.
But it wasn’t until the boys were in middle school and high school that I learned the most effective way for me to volunteer. Sara Snyder introduced me to Moms in Touch prayer ministry. I can’t begin to tell you the peace that brought to me as they began to choose their own class schedules, school activities, friends and dates. There were tryouts and projects and big tests and broken hearts, and even a few bomb threats, as I remember. We know the positive results. But who knows how many evils avoided our kids because we were praying?
Note to young moms: Before you sign up for anything, please prayerfully consider giving one hour a week to pray with another mom for your child. I could have saved myself so much anxiety and burnout if I had known about MITI sooner. Ask me about it. Ask Sara. Better yet, ask Matt, Scott, Evan, Erin or Ian. The fact that they knew every week, other moms were coming together to pray for them was powerful.
Once you have made that a priority, I promise, the Spirit will give you direction as you choose more visible ways to connect with your child and their school. You will be blessed, not burdened by the time you give. If you’re not able to volunteer for the carnival, someone else will do it. But if you’re not praying for your child, who is?
Someone in PTA noticed, and before I knew what had happened, I was taking yearbook orders and spraying disinfectant in old roller skates on fund raiser night at the rink. By the time the boys were in first and third grades, Drew and I were PTA presidents. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, unless you did it for the reasons I did.
I had considered doing the PTA officer thing later on, say when the boys were in 3rd and 5th grades. But someone from the nominating committee pulled me aside and said, “If you do it now, the principal will see that your kids get the best teachers all the way through sixth grade.” That got my attention. What mother didn’t want her kids to have the best teachers? Written requests for specific teachers were frowned upon. It was the only way.
Have you ever signed up to be in charge of something ‘for your children’, only to look up and realize that your own kids are miserable, your house is a wreck, and your husband doesn’t seem to enjoy doing the laundry as much as he used to? That pretty much sums up August ‘89 through February 1990. In March, we were transferred to Dallas. So much for my plan to have the best teachers lined up for the next 5 years.
God taught me several things through that experience. I learned that it’s the moms, not the kids who care if the napkins match the cups that match the plates that match the snack. (Can I have an AMEN, sister Shipley?) And even though Matt got the most requested teacher that year, it wasn’t the best situation for him. I learned to ask God to place the boys where He wanted them to be. Imagine that!
I don’t want to discourage you from volunteering at school. We had several opportunities to be a part of the activities our kids have enjoyed. It was a great way to meet their friends’ parents. It helped us appreciate the time and effort teachers, coaches and band directors put into our kids. A lot of money was raised for some very good causes.
But it wasn’t until the boys were in middle school and high school that I learned the most effective way for me to volunteer. Sara Snyder introduced me to Moms in Touch prayer ministry. I can’t begin to tell you the peace that brought to me as they began to choose their own class schedules, school activities, friends and dates. There were tryouts and projects and big tests and broken hearts, and even a few bomb threats, as I remember. We know the positive results. But who knows how many evils avoided our kids because we were praying?
Note to young moms: Before you sign up for anything, please prayerfully consider giving one hour a week to pray with another mom for your child. I could have saved myself so much anxiety and burnout if I had known about MITI sooner. Ask me about it. Ask Sara. Better yet, ask Matt, Scott, Evan, Erin or Ian. The fact that they knew every week, other moms were coming together to pray for them was powerful.
Once you have made that a priority, I promise, the Spirit will give you direction as you choose more visible ways to connect with your child and their school. You will be blessed, not burdened by the time you give. If you’re not able to volunteer for the carnival, someone else will do it. But if you’re not praying for your child, who is?
Why Did I Bother to Come?
On any given Sunday at RE, there are 4 prayer ministers in the library, 12 tappers in Bible Hour, and *4,738 parents roaming the foyer with crying infants and restless toddlers, wondering, “Why did I bother coming to church today?” (*These are actual figures based on Sheridan Umphress’ weekly observations.)
Having survived that time in my life, I am here to offer hope and encouragement by listing the 8 stages of sitting in the auditorium with children.
Stage 1 - The baby’s clothes match the blanket which coordinates with the monogrammed burp cloth. The parents gaze lovingly at their sleeping angel for the duration of the assembly hour. This stage lasts approximately 20 minutes.
Stage 2 - Baby throws up on mom’s shoulder as she is walking to the car. Determined parents return to the house, change giggling baby, and decide to try again. No aisle seats to be found in auditorium. Mom feels a warm oozing from baby’s diaper and plans classic action law suit against Pampers Corporation as they give up and go home.
Stage 3 - The bag is loaded with books, toys, crackers, Cheerios, juice, wipes, a pacifier, a blankie and pull-ups. Bible Hour is cancelled, and the only snack they want is in the communion trays. Each toy offered is rejected with a resounding “NO!” except for your car keys which are flung over the balcony.
Stage 4 - A friend is invited to sit with your child on the row next to and eventually
Stage 5 - in front of parents.
Stage 6 - Your child is invited to sit with a trusted family. (Gypsies will do.)
Stage 7 - Our boys knew when they sat with the youth group this
meant that they had to sit where they could see our faces. If they were caught laughing or passing notes, they would receive, “THE LOOK.” Heaven knows, church is no place to have fun.
Stage 8 - At some point, your teen may refuse to come. Parents sit heartbroken, wishing they were back in stage 3. This stage is strictly optional.
Why bother to come?
You are establishing a pattern that will bless your family for generations to come. It’s worth it. You are setting an example for other young couples who are watching and learning from you. It’s worth it. You are encouraging the rest of us by letting us have a glimpse of the future of the church. It’s worth it.
We might need to reframe our thinking a bit. Maybe you see a runaway toddler in the foyer. I prefer to see a missionary in training! Are those crying babies in the observation nursery or praise team tryouts? You tell me. That rowdy bunch of 5th grade boys will probably be elders when they grow up. (Everyone stop for just a minute and get a mental picture of Charlie Broom as a 5th grader in church!)
Some day your shoulders will not smell like spit up. You will be able to sit through an entire service, uninterrupted. Next thing you know, you’ll be looking around for a baby to borrow. Until then, don’t be afraid to borrow an ‘aunt’ or an ‘uncle’ to sit with you and give you a break.
Hang in there. It’s worth it!
Having survived that time in my life, I am here to offer hope and encouragement by listing the 8 stages of sitting in the auditorium with children.
Stage 1 - The baby’s clothes match the blanket which coordinates with the monogrammed burp cloth. The parents gaze lovingly at their sleeping angel for the duration of the assembly hour. This stage lasts approximately 20 minutes.
Stage 2 - Baby throws up on mom’s shoulder as she is walking to the car. Determined parents return to the house, change giggling baby, and decide to try again. No aisle seats to be found in auditorium. Mom feels a warm oozing from baby’s diaper and plans classic action law suit against Pampers Corporation as they give up and go home.
Stage 3 - The bag is loaded with books, toys, crackers, Cheerios, juice, wipes, a pacifier, a blankie and pull-ups. Bible Hour is cancelled, and the only snack they want is in the communion trays. Each toy offered is rejected with a resounding “NO!” except for your car keys which are flung over the balcony.
Stage 4 - A friend is invited to sit with your child on the row next to and eventually
Stage 5 - in front of parents.
Stage 6 - Your child is invited to sit with a trusted family. (Gypsies will do.)
Stage 7 - Our boys knew when they sat with the youth group this
meant that they had to sit where they could see our faces. If they were caught laughing or passing notes, they would receive, “THE LOOK.” Heaven knows, church is no place to have fun.
Stage 8 - At some point, your teen may refuse to come. Parents sit heartbroken, wishing they were back in stage 3. This stage is strictly optional.
Why bother to come?
You are establishing a pattern that will bless your family for generations to come. It’s worth it. You are setting an example for other young couples who are watching and learning from you. It’s worth it. You are encouraging the rest of us by letting us have a glimpse of the future of the church. It’s worth it.
We might need to reframe our thinking a bit. Maybe you see a runaway toddler in the foyer. I prefer to see a missionary in training! Are those crying babies in the observation nursery or praise team tryouts? You tell me. That rowdy bunch of 5th grade boys will probably be elders when they grow up. (Everyone stop for just a minute and get a mental picture of Charlie Broom as a 5th grader in church!)
Some day your shoulders will not smell like spit up. You will be able to sit through an entire service, uninterrupted. Next thing you know, you’ll be looking around for a baby to borrow. Until then, don’t be afraid to borrow an ‘aunt’ or an ‘uncle’ to sit with you and give you a break.
Hang in there. It’s worth it!
A Miserable Merry Christmas
If Santa had wrapped his own gifts, I wouldn’t be telling this. But, as we all know, he places his gifts under the tree and in your stockings with nothing but a smile. That’s how you know it’s from Santa. Am I right, or am I right?
Go back to Abilene with me. The year is 1985 and our boys are 4 and 2. We’re broke. (Okay, so that’s true of every year that decade, but stay that’s another article.) Matt is totally in to Santa Clause and he wants walkie talkies. Scott couldn’t care less, but he likes to hear himself say, “wawkie wawkie”. Fortunately, I have a rebate coupon from Toys R Us. Got’em early and got ‘em hidden in a paper sack in the top of the closet. No long lines. No rain checks. No problem! I smile and nod approvingly as people ask Matt what he wants Santa to bring him. Same answer. It’s all about the walkie talkies.
Years earlier, my parents, sister and I established a tradition of stuffing stockings/grocery sacks. Throughout the year, we look for interesting inexpensive little things to amaze and delight each other on Christmas morning. Even my dad had fun with it. I smile even now as I think of the cases of duct tape, electrical tape and masking tape I’ve collected from him over the years.
To this day, it’s a touchy subject, so suffice it to say that we disagreed on where to spend the holidays that year. My parents lived in Austin, 4 hours south. Drew’s dad lived in Sherman, 4 hours east. I had the only grandkids on my side of the family. We hadn’t been with Drew’s dad for Christmas morning in a while, so we decided to take Santa on the road. If you have ever done that, then you know the challenges of explaining how Santa will find your family, and then hiding the unwrapped presents in the car. I loaded up the boys while Drew packed the minivan.
Now that I have time to reflect on the experience, I have to admit that I was a bit smug about my shopping victory. Mothers would ring their hands over the Cabbage Patch scramble. It’s the only thing their little girl had asked for. Hmmm, too bad. I already have the boys’ gift from Santa. Did that back in October. Coupon. Maybe that’s why that trip from Abilene to Sherman to Austin and back is now what we refer to as The Bermuda Triangle.
We arrived in Sherman Christmas Eve. As Drew was bringing in our luggage, I saw him unload the sack of stocking stuffers for my family, but I didn’t see…
”Drew! Where are the presents from S-A-N-T-A?” Confusion mixed with exhaustion produced the irritation in his voice as he replied,
“I don’t know. Where did you put them?”
“They’re in the paper sack that was sitting by the front door.”
I’ll save you the details, but we threw the kids at Papa Mac and ran out the door. This was Sherman twenty years ago. They had Piggly Wiggly and Gibson’s and neither one had any walkie talkies. McKinney’s shopping options were even fewer and Allen wasn’t even on the map. We drove to the Toys R Us at Central and Parker in Plano. Toys R Us on Christmas Eve. Let that image sink in for a second while Drew and I run around the store and find the last set of walkie talkies. Expensive, grown-up walkie talkies. No coupon. Thank goodness for Bubba’s Beer and Bait shop, because we realized around midnight that we didn’t have batteries, either.
The day after Christmas, we drove to Austin. As we unloaded the van, I had a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Drew! Where is the sack of stocking stuffers?!” My dad walked out to the garage just in time to see me burst into tears and tell him we’d be back in an hour or so.
At least this time we were shopping the After Christmas sales. Drew didn’t seem to think that was such a bonus. He gets a little testy when he doesn’t find a parking place within the first hour or so. What happened next was right out of Gone with the Wind. Drew stepped out of the van, raised his fist to the air and vowed, “As God as my witness…I will never spend Christmas on the road again!” (Good news. I found these little nifty rubber traps to fit over the drain in the sink to catch hair and forks and stuff.)
Over the years, he’s modified that comment a bit. Grandparents were invited to join us, but before we went anywhere, we did our own thing at home.
Cost of food for additional family members - $57.00
Increase in water and utility bills - $42.00
Celebrating Christmas under your very own tree – Priceless!
p.s. Need any tape?
Go back to Abilene with me. The year is 1985 and our boys are 4 and 2. We’re broke. (Okay, so that’s true of every year that decade, but stay that’s another article.) Matt is totally in to Santa Clause and he wants walkie talkies. Scott couldn’t care less, but he likes to hear himself say, “wawkie wawkie”. Fortunately, I have a rebate coupon from Toys R Us. Got’em early and got ‘em hidden in a paper sack in the top of the closet. No long lines. No rain checks. No problem! I smile and nod approvingly as people ask Matt what he wants Santa to bring him. Same answer. It’s all about the walkie talkies.
Years earlier, my parents, sister and I established a tradition of stuffing stockings/grocery sacks. Throughout the year, we look for interesting inexpensive little things to amaze and delight each other on Christmas morning. Even my dad had fun with it. I smile even now as I think of the cases of duct tape, electrical tape and masking tape I’ve collected from him over the years.
To this day, it’s a touchy subject, so suffice it to say that we disagreed on where to spend the holidays that year. My parents lived in Austin, 4 hours south. Drew’s dad lived in Sherman, 4 hours east. I had the only grandkids on my side of the family. We hadn’t been with Drew’s dad for Christmas morning in a while, so we decided to take Santa on the road. If you have ever done that, then you know the challenges of explaining how Santa will find your family, and then hiding the unwrapped presents in the car. I loaded up the boys while Drew packed the minivan.
Now that I have time to reflect on the experience, I have to admit that I was a bit smug about my shopping victory. Mothers would ring their hands over the Cabbage Patch scramble. It’s the only thing their little girl had asked for. Hmmm, too bad. I already have the boys’ gift from Santa. Did that back in October. Coupon. Maybe that’s why that trip from Abilene to Sherman to Austin and back is now what we refer to as The Bermuda Triangle.
We arrived in Sherman Christmas Eve. As Drew was bringing in our luggage, I saw him unload the sack of stocking stuffers for my family, but I didn’t see…
”Drew! Where are the presents from S-A-N-T-A?” Confusion mixed with exhaustion produced the irritation in his voice as he replied,
“I don’t know. Where did you put them?”
“They’re in the paper sack that was sitting by the front door.”
I’ll save you the details, but we threw the kids at Papa Mac and ran out the door. This was Sherman twenty years ago. They had Piggly Wiggly and Gibson’s and neither one had any walkie talkies. McKinney’s shopping options were even fewer and Allen wasn’t even on the map. We drove to the Toys R Us at Central and Parker in Plano. Toys R Us on Christmas Eve. Let that image sink in for a second while Drew and I run around the store and find the last set of walkie talkies. Expensive, grown-up walkie talkies. No coupon. Thank goodness for Bubba’s Beer and Bait shop, because we realized around midnight that we didn’t have batteries, either.
The day after Christmas, we drove to Austin. As we unloaded the van, I had a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Drew! Where is the sack of stocking stuffers?!” My dad walked out to the garage just in time to see me burst into tears and tell him we’d be back in an hour or so.
At least this time we were shopping the After Christmas sales. Drew didn’t seem to think that was such a bonus. He gets a little testy when he doesn’t find a parking place within the first hour or so. What happened next was right out of Gone with the Wind. Drew stepped out of the van, raised his fist to the air and vowed, “As God as my witness…I will never spend Christmas on the road again!” (Good news. I found these little nifty rubber traps to fit over the drain in the sink to catch hair and forks and stuff.)
Over the years, he’s modified that comment a bit. Grandparents were invited to join us, but before we went anywhere, we did our own thing at home.
Cost of food for additional family members - $57.00
Increase in water and utility bills - $42.00
Celebrating Christmas under your very own tree – Priceless!
p.s. Need any tape?
Monday, October 17, 2005
My New Best Friend, Ruby
I was in Dillard's today and got attacked by the bra natzis. Something about if I got a professional fitting, Dillard's would make a donation to the Komen foundation, and did I realize that 8 out of 10 women are wearing the wrong size bra. I said, yes I did know that, and as a matter of fact 8 of the last 10 bras I have purchased don't fit. ( I realize that for you men, this is already TMI, but it is crucial to the story, and the women are already feeling my pain.)
So, I said okay and she called for Ruby. Ruby took one look at me and said, "Girl! You're the same size as me! You wear a XX-X! I was thinking to myself ,"Unless you used to work at the Guess Your Weight booth at the carnival...I doubt it". She whipped out the tape measure, and she was exactly right. Then she loaded me up and sent me to the dressing room, and I came out with 3, count 'em THREE different bras that fit.
Now that she had my undying admiration and eternal gratitude, I told her how impressed I was with her spiritual gift. She said that after 25 years of doing this for Dillard's in New Orleans, she was usually right. I asked her how long ago she had lived in New Orleans. She said, "Up until the hurricane took everything I had. I stayed at the Superdome from Sunday to Friday. And it was everything you heard it was. People were animals. Then they bussed us to here and then to the First Baptist church, and everyone has been so nice and kind. I'm living with a lady in Dillard's accounting office. It's just me."
I asked her if she had found a church home. "Well, I have been visiting a few places, but...what church do you go to?" I told her, RECofC, and that I would love to come and get her for worship Sunday. As we were exchanging phone numbers, she said, "Church of Christ...hmmmm....I bet ya'll really praise the Lord!" "Yes, ma'am, we lov..."That's what I'm talking 'bout! None of this Baptist church sittin' on your hands...afraid everyone's all lookin' at ya kind of singin', I wanna clap and sing with all my heart and soul and body!" I said, "Or, we could go to Central Dallas Ministries... Ruby, I'm afraid we are a sittin' on your hands kind of church, but we need someone to help us loosen up! Will you still come with me?" She said she would, but, Dan, she may join the praise team whether you ask her to or not.
As I was putting her number in my purse, she stuck my card in her bra. So, I pulled her paper out of my purse and tucked it in my bra and said, "Ruby, you will always be my bosom buddy." She said, "You know that's right!"
So, I said okay and she called for Ruby. Ruby took one look at me and said, "Girl! You're the same size as me! You wear a XX-X! I was thinking to myself ,"Unless you used to work at the Guess Your Weight booth at the carnival...I doubt it". She whipped out the tape measure, and she was exactly right. Then she loaded me up and sent me to the dressing room, and I came out with 3, count 'em THREE different bras that fit.
Now that she had my undying admiration and eternal gratitude, I told her how impressed I was with her spiritual gift. She said that after 25 years of doing this for Dillard's in New Orleans, she was usually right. I asked her how long ago she had lived in New Orleans. She said, "Up until the hurricane took everything I had. I stayed at the Superdome from Sunday to Friday. And it was everything you heard it was. People were animals. Then they bussed us to here and then to the First Baptist church, and everyone has been so nice and kind. I'm living with a lady in Dillard's accounting office. It's just me."
I asked her if she had found a church home. "Well, I have been visiting a few places, but...what church do you go to?" I told her, RECofC, and that I would love to come and get her for worship Sunday. As we were exchanging phone numbers, she said, "Church of Christ...hmmmm....I bet ya'll really praise the Lord!" "Yes, ma'am, we lov..."That's what I'm talking 'bout! None of this Baptist church sittin' on your hands...afraid everyone's all lookin' at ya kind of singin', I wanna clap and sing with all my heart and soul and body!" I said, "Or, we could go to Central Dallas Ministries... Ruby, I'm afraid we are a sittin' on your hands kind of church, but we need someone to help us loosen up! Will you still come with me?" She said she would, but, Dan, she may join the praise team whether you ask her to or not.
As I was putting her number in my purse, she stuck my card in her bra. So, I pulled her paper out of my purse and tucked it in my bra and said, "Ruby, you will always be my bosom buddy." She said, "You know that's right!"
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Scissors of Mass Destruction
Don’t you love AAdvantage miles? They have been such a blessing to our family. Drew endures the nightmare of business travel and I get to fly for fun! In June Raytheon sent Drew to Chicago for a week, and I was invited to tag along. I totally know how to tag. I’ve traveled with this engineer on business before and I understand the drill. But regardless of where we fly, this is how the trip begins.
We leave the house the day before the plane departs. That gives us time to anticipate highway construction, traffic delays, and changes in the seasons. On the way, we listen to KRLD on the 8’s for the official traffic report, until we’re close enough to DFW to get the gate number from his Blackberry. In between, I get drilled on the contents of my carry on luggage and the exact location of my driver’s license.
“Do you have your valid photo ID?”
“Right here.”
“Tweezers?”
“No.”
“Nail file?”
“No.”
“TWO PAIRS OF SCISSORS?!”
He will never let me live it down. On the way to Lubbock last summer, Terran and I sat in the back of the Suburban and we trimmed wallet photos to be handed out at Matt & Kyla’s wedding reception. I stuck the scissors in the front of my bag when we were through. We came home, turned around the next day and flew to Florida for a job interview. I was a bit stressed. And it wasn’t until I saw the security guard call another security guard over to look at the x-ray of my bag that I remembered the two pairs of scissors. Drew was in the other line.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” I whispered. “It’s about the scissors, isn’t it? Just throw them away!” I could see Drew taking off his shoes and his belt out of the corner of my eye.
“Ma’am, you aren’t allowed to take lethal weapons on the aircraft.”
“I know, I know. I was just trimming photos with my daughter-in-law and…ha, would you believe we had 2 weddings a week apart?” I leaned in close and lowered my voice. “Just throw them away. Really. Hurry.”
“If you want to have them returned, you’ll have to fill out a form…”
Drew had retrieved his laptop and was putting his shoes and belt back on when he heard me scream, “For crying out loud, just throw them in the trash before my husband sees them! You don’t understand! I’ll be banned from all future air travel with him if he finds out I violated the No Fiskars policy!” They let me go on through, but I think DFW Security has me on a special list.
I’ve got the tag-along dress code down, too. No jewelry, no hair accessories, no zippers, no shoes, no bra. I wear a hospital gown and bobby socks to avoid any unnecessary delays in the wand department.
We hurry to the gate and wait for the American Airlines staff to arrive for work. Drew sweetly offers to go and get us coffee. In other words, I have to stay in my seat. I lost my coffee stand privileges several years ago when I wandered over to the Brighton kiosk and bought a purse. And the only reason I walked on down to the Fossil kiosk was to buy a watch with bigger numbers on it so I wouldn’t be late for take off. Since we are there long enough to each consume an entire pot of coffee, you’d think I would also have time to make a mad dash to the potty. Oh, you silly women! Why do you think I asked for a permanent catheter on our first anniversary?
I’m not sure flying anywhere is much of a vacation for Drew. I’ve heard his horror stories of delays on the tarmac, cancelled flights, lost luggage, rent car mix-ups and long lines to everything. I am amazed that in his 27 years of business travel, he has never been late for a flight. So last month when he informed me that he needed to take a week of vacation before the end of August or lose it, we looked at our options. The thought of just the two of us, hanging out here at the house with no schedule to meet sounded pretty enticing. It’s only Wednesday noon and we just returned from Home Depot for the 4th time.
I wonder why Home Depot doesn’t have a kiosk at DFW?
We leave the house the day before the plane departs. That gives us time to anticipate highway construction, traffic delays, and changes in the seasons. On the way, we listen to KRLD on the 8’s for the official traffic report, until we’re close enough to DFW to get the gate number from his Blackberry. In between, I get drilled on the contents of my carry on luggage and the exact location of my driver’s license.
“Do you have your valid photo ID?”
“Right here.”
“Tweezers?”
“No.”
“Nail file?”
“No.”
“TWO PAIRS OF SCISSORS?!”
He will never let me live it down. On the way to Lubbock last summer, Terran and I sat in the back of the Suburban and we trimmed wallet photos to be handed out at Matt & Kyla’s wedding reception. I stuck the scissors in the front of my bag when we were through. We came home, turned around the next day and flew to Florida for a job interview. I was a bit stressed. And it wasn’t until I saw the security guard call another security guard over to look at the x-ray of my bag that I remembered the two pairs of scissors. Drew was in the other line.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” I whispered. “It’s about the scissors, isn’t it? Just throw them away!” I could see Drew taking off his shoes and his belt out of the corner of my eye.
“Ma’am, you aren’t allowed to take lethal weapons on the aircraft.”
“I know, I know. I was just trimming photos with my daughter-in-law and…ha, would you believe we had 2 weddings a week apart?” I leaned in close and lowered my voice. “Just throw them away. Really. Hurry.”
“If you want to have them returned, you’ll have to fill out a form…”
Drew had retrieved his laptop and was putting his shoes and belt back on when he heard me scream, “For crying out loud, just throw them in the trash before my husband sees them! You don’t understand! I’ll be banned from all future air travel with him if he finds out I violated the No Fiskars policy!” They let me go on through, but I think DFW Security has me on a special list.
I’ve got the tag-along dress code down, too. No jewelry, no hair accessories, no zippers, no shoes, no bra. I wear a hospital gown and bobby socks to avoid any unnecessary delays in the wand department.
We hurry to the gate and wait for the American Airlines staff to arrive for work. Drew sweetly offers to go and get us coffee. In other words, I have to stay in my seat. I lost my coffee stand privileges several years ago when I wandered over to the Brighton kiosk and bought a purse. And the only reason I walked on down to the Fossil kiosk was to buy a watch with bigger numbers on it so I wouldn’t be late for take off. Since we are there long enough to each consume an entire pot of coffee, you’d think I would also have time to make a mad dash to the potty. Oh, you silly women! Why do you think I asked for a permanent catheter on our first anniversary?
I’m not sure flying anywhere is much of a vacation for Drew. I’ve heard his horror stories of delays on the tarmac, cancelled flights, lost luggage, rent car mix-ups and long lines to everything. I am amazed that in his 27 years of business travel, he has never been late for a flight. So last month when he informed me that he needed to take a week of vacation before the end of August or lose it, we looked at our options. The thought of just the two of us, hanging out here at the house with no schedule to meet sounded pretty enticing. It’s only Wednesday noon and we just returned from Home Depot for the 4th time.
I wonder why Home Depot doesn’t have a kiosk at DFW?
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Shall We Dance?
Oh, let’s!
I’m serious.
And while we’re at it, could we just get over ourselves about this whole topic?
Last week I attended the funeral of an amazing woman. She was just 61 years old, but the stories and photographs of her life let you know three things: She loved the Lord, she loved her family, and she loved to dance. The scripture on the front of the program gave her hope as she faced the last days of her life, Psalm 30:11“You have turned my mourning into dancing…O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”
I remember when our son Matt came home from a middle school dance. He was puzzled about something. One of his friends couldn’t go to the dance because their church said it was a sin. “How dumb is that?” he declared.
I knew this day was coming.
“Well, as a matter of fact, growing up I was pretty much told that if I danced, I’d get pregnant and go to hell.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. “I’m a goner.”
For me, explaining some of these church issues is kind of like explaining an eccentric old relative. Until they die, they’re going to show up every now and then. So we treat them with respect and try to understand why they are the way they are, without letting them control our lives. I went on to say how we wanted him to have a healthy view of dancing, and that there are appropriate songs, dances, clothes and behaviors that he and Scott would have to learn for themselves. “Just like we’ve tried to teach you about swimming.”
“SWIMMING? YOU MEAN SWIMMING IS A SIN, TOO?”
“I mean swimming isn’t a sin, either. It has to do with your attitude and behavior, and since those are things that usually involve boys and girls together; you just need to be aware.” I felt like saying, ‘Go get my teeth out of the jar and I’ll tell you how things were at church when I was growing up.’ By now Scott was in the room and I entertained them with tales of former forbidden activities. No dancing, no ‘mixed bathing’, no shorts, no card games, no praise teams, no kitchens in the church buildings, no church songs for piano recitals, no garage sales for missionaries, women couldn’t wear long pants to church, men had no business with a ponytail, no polka dots for girls or patent leather shoes for boys…
There was a long pause before Scott asked, “So what could you do with your church friends?”
“Oh, we did lots of things. Bowling, roller skating, miniature golf…did I mention bowling? Um, let’s see. Eating. We did lots and lots of eating. I think that’s pretty much it.”
“Didn’t you go to your prom?”
“My boyfriend and I went to the prom, but since we couldn’t dance, we left early and went parking.”
“What’s parking?”
“Forget I said that. Anyway, the important thing is that your dad and I want you to know that dancing was a big part of the way people in Bible times celebrated God’s goodness. I’m sure there were people who turned it into something ugly. And somewhere along the way, well meaning people decided it was better not do it all than to take a chance on it causing someone to think sinful thoughts…and then the tradition began to die. But that was man’s idea, not God’s. Maybe some day, I’ll dance at your wedding”, I said as I did my best interpretation of the twist. (Never mind that the only thing I can do is the Hokey Pokey.)
A few years ago I tested the RE waters about having dance lessons in the CLC. I discovered a few things:
Most of our kids dance.
Many of you have taken lessons and didn’t call me.
The biggest objection the elders at that time had was that their wives would make them go.
Psalm 149: 1-4 “Praise the Lord. Sing to the Lord a new song, His praise in the assembly of the saints…Let them praise His name with dancing…For the Lord takes delight in His people.”
So, here’s what I’m thinking. If you want to come, let me know by phone or e-mail. Once the date is set, I’ll send an invitation for you and one for your neighbors. Singles, couples, no age limit, just no children. At this point in our learning curve, they would probably get stepped on. We can have line dances for those of you who don’t want to touch anybody. And surely some of our kids can teach us to Two-step. I have one request. If you disapprove, it’s okay to tell me, but please don’t come and spoil the mood. After all, I am in the process of embracing my inner dancing queen and I don’t need the negativity.
The song leader at our church in Austin used to encourage us to sing by saying, “We’ll be singing in heaven for all eternity. We need to practice!” I’ve got news for you. There will be dancing in heaven, too. And we are way behind the Methodists!
Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 4 “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,…”
Dress is casual. You can even wear polka dots and patent leather shoes.
It’s time to dance. I hope you’ll come.
I’m serious.
I’m serious.
And while we’re at it, could we just get over ourselves about this whole topic?
Last week I attended the funeral of an amazing woman. She was just 61 years old, but the stories and photographs of her life let you know three things: She loved the Lord, she loved her family, and she loved to dance. The scripture on the front of the program gave her hope as she faced the last days of her life, Psalm 30:11“You have turned my mourning into dancing…O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”
I remember when our son Matt came home from a middle school dance. He was puzzled about something. One of his friends couldn’t go to the dance because their church said it was a sin. “How dumb is that?” he declared.
I knew this day was coming.
“Well, as a matter of fact, growing up I was pretty much told that if I danced, I’d get pregnant and go to hell.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. “I’m a goner.”
For me, explaining some of these church issues is kind of like explaining an eccentric old relative. Until they die, they’re going to show up every now and then. So we treat them with respect and try to understand why they are the way they are, without letting them control our lives. I went on to say how we wanted him to have a healthy view of dancing, and that there are appropriate songs, dances, clothes and behaviors that he and Scott would have to learn for themselves. “Just like we’ve tried to teach you about swimming.”
“SWIMMING? YOU MEAN SWIMMING IS A SIN, TOO?”
“I mean swimming isn’t a sin, either. It has to do with your attitude and behavior, and since those are things that usually involve boys and girls together; you just need to be aware.” I felt like saying, ‘Go get my teeth out of the jar and I’ll tell you how things were at church when I was growing up.’ By now Scott was in the room and I entertained them with tales of former forbidden activities. No dancing, no ‘mixed bathing’, no shorts, no card games, no praise teams, no kitchens in the church buildings, no church songs for piano recitals, no garage sales for missionaries, women couldn’t wear long pants to church, men had no business with a ponytail, no polka dots for girls or patent leather shoes for boys…
There was a long pause before Scott asked, “So what could you do with your church friends?”
“Oh, we did lots of things. Bowling, roller skating, miniature golf…did I mention bowling? Um, let’s see. Eating. We did lots and lots of eating. I think that’s pretty much it.”
“Didn’t you go to your prom?”
“My boyfriend and I went to the prom, but since we couldn’t dance, we left early and went parking.”
“What’s parking?”
“Forget I said that. Anyway, the important thing is that your dad and I want you to know that dancing was a big part of the way people in Bible times celebrated God’s goodness. I’m sure there were people who turned it into something ugly. And somewhere along the way, well meaning people decided it was better not do it all than to take a chance on it causing someone to think sinful thoughts…and then the tradition began to die. But that was man’s idea, not God’s. Maybe some day, I’ll dance at your wedding”, I said as I did my best interpretation of the twist. (Never mind that the only thing I can do is the Hokey Pokey.)
A few years ago I tested the RE waters about having dance lessons in the CLC. I discovered a few things:
Most of our kids dance.
Many of you have taken lessons and didn’t call me.
The biggest objection the elders at that time had was that their wives would make them go.
Psalm 149: 1-4 “Praise the Lord. Sing to the Lord a new song, His praise in the assembly of the saints…Let them praise His name with dancing…For the Lord takes delight in His people.”
So, here’s what I’m thinking. If you want to come, let me know by phone or e-mail. Once the date is set, I’ll send an invitation for you and one for your neighbors. Singles, couples, no age limit, just no children. At this point in our learning curve, they would probably get stepped on. We can have line dances for those of you who don’t want to touch anybody. And surely some of our kids can teach us to Two-step. I have one request. If you disapprove, it’s okay to tell me, but please don’t come and spoil the mood. After all, I am in the process of embracing my inner dancing queen and I don’t need the negativity.
The song leader at our church in Austin used to encourage us to sing by saying, “We’ll be singing in heaven for all eternity. We need to practice!” I’ve got news for you. There will be dancing in heaven, too. And we are way behind the Methodists!
Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 4 “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,…”
Dress is casual. You can even wear polka dots and patent leather shoes.
It’s time to dance. I hope you’ll come.
I’m serious.
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