39 years, 363 days

May 19, 2018

The alarm from my phone broke the silence in my bedroom this past Friday morning. With my eyes still closed, I reached to the night stand to quieten it. Just as every other morning I then rolled over to kiss the face of my sleeping husband and whisper into his cheek "Good morning."

Michael smiled, "Happy 39th year and 363rd day."

With 40 years of age within very close sight, my mind continues to go back to my mother's comments about her 40th birthday. She tells me it was her favorite birthday and that she felt the best she ever had in her entire life. She was happy and healthy and had energy.

As a little girl, I was a fan of The Cosby Show.  I pretty much can remember almost every episode, especially of the earlier seasons. The episode where Claire turns 40 is a celebration, but there also is an argument between Cliff and the birthday girl that stems from one little comment.  After wishing his wife a happy birthday, the main character says, "And you still look good."

When a good friend of ours turned 40 a few years back, some of us had a lot of fun with him. We decorated his car while he was at work. We sent him text messages that teased him relentlessly..."It's all down hill from here." I even found the largest container of Metamucil on the market, got the local florist to tie black balloons to it, and had it delivered to his place of work for all to see.

These days I realize that I look in the mirror a lot less often. But when I do, I take pause. There are wrinkles and lines, thinner eyelashes and a few more grey hairs, dark sun spots and at times puffy eyes. The girl's reflection looks so much different than that of the one I use to see.

These findings in the mirror cause panic at times. My fingers find their way to a keyboard and I Google...

"Natural ways to diminish wrinkles and lines"

"How do you make your eyelashes thicker"

"How to fade sun spots"

This panic that ensues is more than eager to hold onto the smoother, clearer face and the appearance of youthfulness. I am afraid to hear the line that drove Clair Huxtable crazy.  But maybe I am even more afraid to hear silence and the implication that comes with it. Maybe I don't still look good. The teasing, black balloons, and the Metamucil...it was so funny then. Today, not so much.

The greatest fear however is that others will know I am panicked.

On my way to work I thought through all these things. I thought about the mirror, the lines, and the dark spots, and everything in between. My mind finally went back to my mother's memory of 40. What made her so happy?  What were the things that caused her to feel healthy and have more energy?  Maybe it was what she ate or how she exercised. Maybe it was the season of motherhood and marriage. Maybe it was her outlook on life. If she was all those things at 40, I know that I can be too.

I topped the hills and took the curves back and forth between Watertown and Woodbury.  My day was full of working with students to catch up on assignments and stay out of trouble. My afternoon was filled with errands, taxi driving the kids, and even an unexpected mouse in the house. By the time bedtime rolled around I was ready.

The charcoal soap we use in our house began to darken the washcloth, and I watched carefully in the mirror as the make up came off, revealing all the things that had stirred the panic and caused the questioning. I was now nearing the end of the 363rd day of the 39th year.

I smiled. My fingers traced the lines that streamed from the sides of my eyes like spokes on a wheel.  These lines exist because I have laughed. They are deep and multiple because I have laughed a lot.

Then my eyes avert to one specific sun spot to the right of my left eye. It's larger than most I have. It's blotchy and light brown.  This spot reminds me of days spent in the warm Caribbean sun.

As I run my hands through my hair; the greys sprinkle in with the browns. I think about my daddy and the gray hair I have known him to have since I was a tiny little girl. I must have gotten that from him.

I turn away from the mirror and begin to change into my pajamas. The scar just below my tummy is a permanent tattoo reminding me that I am a mother. My body has been forever changed by hosting three other humans.

All of these things, all of these blemishes and scars...they are not signs that I am aging.

They are signs that I am living.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 

Your works are wonderful.

 I know that full well.

Psalm 139:14 

The enemy will try anything to keep us from praising the Creator.  He will use a mirror. He will create doubt. He will use age. He will initiate fear. He will tease, and he then will laugh as panic takes over.  That panic leads us to a preoccupation of ourselves that develops into pride and selfishness. He delights in our plummeting self worth and diminishing self love. The plan is to consume us with all of this, driving a wedge between us and the one whose greatest work is the most wonderful.

The enemy...such a liar.

He has always hated truth, because there is no truth in him.

When he lies, it is consistent with his character;

for he is a liar and the father of all lies.

John 8:44

But then the Father speaks...

...I have cared for you since you were born. 

Yes, I carried you before you were born.

I will be your God throughout your lifetime- 

until your hair is white with age.

I made you, and I will care for you.

I will carry you along and save you.

Isaiah 46: 3-4 

When I was young I dreamed of the one I would grow old and grey with. I could envision sitting on a front porch rocking side by side with my forever companion. My heart always melts when I notice the older couple walking into church or in the park; grey haired and slower than a few years before; hand in hand. I have always wanted that. I don't know why us humans always want other humans more than we seem to want the Father. He is a Father full of promises; and here is yet another. 

He has loved me from before the beginning. Throughout this life...He is always there. He will carry me when I can't seem to carry myself. He will and does love me unconditionally...laugh lines, wrinkles, sun spots, grey hair, scars and all.  He has pulled His rocking chair up and His hand is forever extended; waiting patiently for me to take hold. In fact, He has made me wonderful and thinks I am beautiful. After all, I am made in His image. 

But our real beauty is not found in our outward appearance. In the grand scheme of things, I have spent a lot of time and a lot of money to take care of something that the writer of Proverbs 31 tells me is fleeting and will not last. So where is real beauty found? What makes me the most beautiful? 

For we are God's handiwork, 

created in Christ Jesus to do good works,

which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Ephesians 2:10

God created His handiwork for a PURPOSE.  

Many times we throw around the term "called", as in "I feel called to..." this or that and so on. Some frown upon this term. Some over use it. Most of us don't get it at all. But we all are called...it is true...because He created us with purpose. To do good works. To teach while we go. And most importantly to love. And when we answer this call and fulfill His purpose, that is truly living. And living is full of change and hurt and panic and scars and wrinkles...and beauty. 

So bring it on 40. I will join my mother's club. I can handle all the changes in the mirror and the enemy when he toys with my emotions. I am still His wonderfully created handiwork. Who needs to be afraid of Metamucil and black balloons?  I am trying my best to live life on purpose...as He renews my spirit every morning. 

That is why we never give up. 
Though our bodies are dying,

Our spirits are being renewed every day.

2 Corinthians 4:16

A Ride in the Back of a Pick Up

I rolled off the air mattress to the sound of my alarm mixed with the crows from a nearby rooster. The days of open windows and a room full of Caribbean breezes at the Sunny Valley Youth Center are no more. But even through closed windows and the over hum of the air co the Saban roosters are just too many to count and too persistent to silence.

My partner in crime is no where to be seen; his blanket folded neatly as always, placed by his air filled camping pillow. As I look at his side of the air mattress it's as if he is pretending we will have another night on our little island that will lead to another morning. I would be perfectly fine with that. Reality hits and I stretch and yawn and reach to the back of the double mattress and pull the plug. The release of air stirs the room and I am lowered to the tile floor. 

My eyes pan the room. Twenty five other mattresses line the floor and are occupied by some of the sweetest souls. As good as my own bed will feel later tonight, I will miss having all these roommates. Their spirits are energetic and excited still, but the work and service throughout the last ten days have tired their bodies.

I have a few errands and responsibilities beyond packing a bag and zipping a suitcase, so I get ready quickly. I take a sip of Michael's coffee when I find him cleaning the kitchen. I wake the three kids and make the promised "Good Morning!" call to the room full of team members. 

Before too long the pile of carry-ons and suitcases begins to take shape outside the gate of our beloved community center. Team members begin to clean and do the last minute chores. My biggest responsibility is to get two gals down to the airport for an earlier flight. The Lipscomb teams have swelled in number over the years, and one little WinAir flight can't seem to contain us any longer. We now occupy one full flight and a few seats on two additional flights.

Hannah and Erin and I laugh and reminisce about our ten day stay on this little island. We are thankful for one last proverbial taste of the Saban sun and sea breezes. When we arrive at the airport, we encounter the traditional hiccup or two with the flight details. After I insure they are set, I head back to the car for the short trip back across the island to turn in the keys, load my bags, and gather a few more souls to prepare for departure.

I begin to hug the switch backs coming up from Flat Point. When I am by myself in the rental cars on Saba I tend to go a bit faster.  It is greater than any roller coaster there has ever been. Twists and turns. Sudden down hills and drops. The dip that causes you to catch wind and flips your tummy. All that "The Road" is missing is a couple cork screws.

As I top the hill and turn the last couple of curves to bring me into Upper Hell's Gate, I am forced to slow.  A local man is driving a bit slower than this "crazy American, wanna be Saban" lady is in the mood for this morning. At first I fret a little, worried this will put me behind in what needs to be done back with the team. 

How will I get everything finished? I will be pushed.

But then my focus turns to the reason the fellow is driving slower. I see the sandy dark blonde, almost brown tuffle of hair peeking above some cargo in the back of the truck bed. It is almost like the owner of the tuffle of hair was just waiting for my eyes to find him. Just as I make the discovery, one of my little friends raises himself to perch upon something that gives a good amount of view from his carriage.

I love this kid's name although I am unsure which kid it is.  This little fella has a partner; a twin. One of the pair is named John Luis. The other is named Luis John. The two are almost exactly identical. Mix that with their reversible names and I am forever confused.

My friend reclines back on the rear wall of the cab and lets the sun hit his face as the breezes from the water below and the rolling of the truck keep him cool and comfortable. I know the hint of salt is settling on his skin as he looks out to his right over the sea that surrounds him. His hand lifts to has mouth, holding some sort of island fruit. After taking a big bite, his mouth curls with a smile and he wipes the juice from his mouth with his arm, never taking his eyes off the sea. I take in his every move, but he is too much in the moment of just being to notice that he is being watched.

I envy this child. If I could, I would switch places with him. Wait. No, I would not. If I could, I would just join him.  He is wiser than most but many do not see it. He probably doesn't even know it.  And more than likely somewhere between puberty and adulthood, he may loose that wisdom.  I pray he does not.

Somewhere along the way he may trade in the truck bed for the passenger seat, and then the driver's seat. He will probably feel the anxiety in his stomach to get somewhere at some time so he can do something for someone.  My friend might one day scratch his bare skinned arms and face and not even think twice about the salt has settled from the sea. As his days roll by he may not give a second thought to dwelling on a dormant volcano and the grace that is given to do so.  Somewhere along the way the fruit may not taste as sweet; the view not be as beautiful; the days not go as slow.

From David, the Psalmist...

"But I calmed and quieted my soul, like a child..."

I continue to follow the beat up island truck along the road. I study each and every move he makes. Not once does he make eye contact. He is calm and quiet with his fruit and his Sunday morning drive and his island; all a part of his Sabbath.

We search for purpose. Almost our entire lives it is a question in our heads.

What am I am going to be when I grow up? What talent do I have? Am I an athlete, a musician, or a scholar? What is my major? Where will I work? What will I be? 

It's exhausting.

This question comes to my mind...

What if we just be?

Just be the mom.

Just be the friend.

Just be the wife.

Just be the encourager.

Just be the teacher.

Just be His follower.

Just be. 

Enjoy life and take the Sabbath and let God do what He has planned for you while you are being who He created you to be. Just you being you. John Luis, or Luis John, was doing just that and filled my morning with much. Him, his truck bed ride, and an island.

The truck eventually turns off the road and my little friend finally notices who was following him. He smiles and waves big.  He has made my heart happy this week; my observance of him this morning has been a treasure. As I keep turning the curves I wonder how much he will grow and change in the year between Marches.

I eventually make it back to the Sunny Valley. I finish with my tasks and I watch as my week's worth of roommates pile into the beloved "Cool Bus" one last time. Before I know it I am hugging necks, wiping tears, and handing over my boarding pass reluctantly.

The hum of the WinAir twin otter is a joy some days; a harsh reality others. As always, I board last, taking one last look at Saba.  She elegantly sits in the Caribbean Sea; a crown of clouds on her brow with red, white, and green houses adorning her as jewelry.  I take my seat and the cabin door is shut.  The pilot takes us out and in seconds we are lifted, dipping at the end of the short and tiny runway.

She disappears from the view of the plane. This peaceful place of serenity...a place of unspoiled beauty...a place untouched by industry and commercialism...clothed in nature and peace...a modern day Eden. Does a place like this really exist? Or has it been a figment of my imagination or a place I only travel to in my dreams?

With that thought, I close my eyes. Before I know it, I am in the bed of a truck, the salt on my skin, fruit juice on my chin, wind in my hair.

I feel a nudge pushing my arm up and my eight year old Sadie nestles into the curves of my waist for the fifteen minute flight. I come back to reality and kiss her forehead. And begin a year long journey of just being.

A Summer Without July Trees

Us amateur writers have our dry spells. You should see my blog dash board. Ump-teen posts saved but half written and not finished. My OCD is kicking in but something stronger and deeper inside is at peace with the unfinished, unkept musings that I have left interrupted by the pace of motherhood, chaos, and life.

The busy of life always gets me. Distracts me, worries me, and frustrates me.  Many times I have wanted to run from it. I complain about it.  Conversations with my friends are much of the time focused on it. I talk and think too much about it. It brings anxiety to the quiet and yells above the noise.

But at the end of a very long love-hate relationship, my conclusion is this. The busy is a choice and how I react to it and live it...yeah, that is a choice, too.

All of that to say...the blog dashboard will be fine, as will my laundry room, and all the half finished projects that I just knew I would complete this summer.  40 posts in my 40th year may come to an end in my 41st...and I am okay with that.

So here I am at the end of the hot and humid Tennessee summer sitting on my porch, reveling in and celebrating the busy. Loving all the titles I wear, anticipating all the dates of things yet to come, and blessed and loved by all the people that make up my circle.

The blur of this summer included too many traveling football camps to count, two gymnastics camps, and a cheer camp.  IMPACT at Lipscomb landed in the middle of all that and cross country practices were sprinkled in the spaces.  A trip to Helen, Georgia ended June. We explored Seattle, Washington and did some hiking at Mt. Rainier in July. My forever boyfriend and I celebrated seventeen years. We revisited Rugby, TN with friends. Grandparent and family visits were a blessing throughout the entirety.  The seventh annual WeCareCannon filled a lot of our days and evenings. And at the end of the summer, we found ourselves submerged completely in a life of high school football.

Our summer. Blessed with much love and life and fun.

As I unpack the last of the suitcases and gym bags and souvenir stashes, I have a smile on my face, but there is an empty space in my heart that feels like it hasn't been attended to quite right.

Saba.

This has been the first summer in recent years that my feet haven't planted themselves on the soil of the "Unspoiled Queen".  It's been the first summer in a long while that I haven't spent two weeks loving on the Saban children at a day camp. This has been a summer in which my lips didn't touch the rim of a Ting bottle. My stomach missed Johnny Cakes and fresh Guava jam.  This summer my lungs never were filled with the fresh Caribbean salty air.

And July Trees. It has been a summer without July Trees.

Lipscomb-Saba team veterans that have had the chance to travel down for both summer and spring trips will tell you that the two trips are very different from the other.  The two trips are very unique, but the two combine to make a more than beautiful whole.

Spring Break trips get the chance to be in both schools on the island for a entire 5-day school week. It's pretty special to help teach classes, volunteer where needed, paint some fun on some walls, go crazy on a play ground, and talk to teens about what life truly is about.  Spring Break hits the ground running once that little puddle jumper hits the little runway. We go full speed and all out for ten life-changing days each March.

Summer trips get a taste of true island life. We work hand in hand with the people of Saba to offer a day camp to the youth. After hours we sit on porches and around living rooms, enjoying food with families who graciously invite us to gather at their tables. As team members walk the road, mangoes can be picked and eaten right off the trees. Carnival is in full preparation mode.

Each of these two trips get to experience the same island and same people, but see and do different things.

On Saba there are these trees. Their trunks are broad. Their branches are thick. Their roots are strong. The locals tell me that these trees are called July Trees. I always wondered why...until my first July on Saba rolled around.

In March during Spring Break Lipscomb trips the trees are full of stems filled and heavy with bright light green leaves. But in July, when our summer teams are on Saba, God puts on a show.

Those bright green leaves are joined by the brightest and most vibrant red blooms in July. I count these trees as a special treat and blessing from God the Father. You know, not many people in the grand a scheme of things get to encounter a July Tree on Saba in the month of July.  I am one of the lucky ones. These trees just blend into the landscape eleven months of the year.  They make Saba a little more greener most of the time. But then July rolls around and those in attendance get a private viewing; a VIP showing, if you will. I am glad to say that I have laid underneath the shade of one of these unique trees and that the three kids have climbed it's branches.

July Trees. I am so thankful for them.

So cleaning up from a summer of the busy, I am a little sad that there is not dark brown sand falling from my carry on bags or multiple bottles of Saba Spice to unwrap and put up for the winter. It has been March since I have heard the tree frogs as I fall asleep. My hand misses the feel of the hand of a Sacred Heart student. I long for the shared laughter and prayers with my island friends. And I haven't seen a red July Tree in over a year.

But I pause.  If my summer had been full of July Trees, it would have been empty of many other things. As unique as it is to be blessed with a July Tree, there are other things that are a once in a lifetime occurrence...

The excitement my 14 year old freshman has had as he has taken to football fields from Watertown High to Clemson to Knoxville and a few places in between. The accomplishment my middle school cheerleader feels as she lands a successful cartwheel and learns a new stunt. The laughter my mini-me has as she organizes yet again another summer dance party in the living room. Sliding down a snow slope in my shorts and a t-shirt on the side of a big mountain. The wonder and amazement my girls have had as we sit on our front porch and count stars.  Three boys cannon balling into a pool, with the thought of two separate high schools not making a bit of difference in their camaraderie. A progressive summer time tapas night with close friends. Kayaking, hiking, and exploring a new city. Overcoming fear together as a family on a ropes course. Celebrating the first Fourth in America in years with fireworks and family. Meeting a dog named Pimento. Giving high fives and hugs to a bunch of school kids in my hometown.

A summer without July Trees...but instead filled with beautiful moments that can never be relived, just recounted and remembered. Just as unique. Just as beautiful.  All these things were my July Trees this summer.

I am so thankful.

Each day has it's own July Tree...maybe even more than one. People, moments, and opportunities that may blend into the landscape and may be the common green that we are use to seeing day in and day out.  But if we change our focus, our attitude, but most importantly our heart...beautiful red blooms may just start to pop up all over the place, leaving our lives changed, made better, and opened up to what God really has in store for all of us. He leaves surprises for us every where. We just have to be able to open our eyes and identify them as July Trees.

"Be glad and rejoice forever in my creation! And look!"

Isaiah 65:18