Peanut Butter and Bread

Years ago as a young teacher I had a room full of rambunctious middle school aged boys and girls. They were full of life and questions and energy, not to mention hormones. The classroom could be loud and smelly and curious. And I loved it.

One young lady really caught my attention from the get go. Many would not have called her a young lady. She could easily get into trouble it seemed. This girl was quick tempered, out spoken, and strong willed. She was a loner for the most part, but no one could ever doubt her presence.

And she was always hungry.

I first thought of her as every other growing child…they all always seem hungry. But the more I was around her the more evident it was that this situation was different. After a little questioning and investigation, the reality was made clear.

This girl was left to herself most evenings and most mornings. Her mother stayed out late at night, doing things of her own accord. The late nights for the mom meant that this student was left to fend for herself in the mornings before school.  The adults in this young girl’s life found time to party and have fun and take care of themselves. But the important responsibilities left to the caretaking adults were forgotten. The table in their kitchen and shelves in their pantry stayed bare.

As much trouble as this little lady could be, she grew on me. We got to know each other better and better.  I had her for two classes each day. And every day she knew she could find a peanut butter sandwich at my desk.

Peanut butter and bread.

Simple and inexpensive.  

But pretty important to my young friend and student.

I still occasionally see this little girl who now is a grown woman; a mother herself. She and I always laugh together and exchange a hug when we meet. Throughout the years she has returned the favor and helped me with a few things. It brings a smile to my face…but a question lingers in my heart.

Does she know why I gave her a peanut butter sandwich day after day during that given school year?

She never asked. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have told her.

Back then maybe I didn’t really understand exactly why I took the time to spread some goodness on a couple of pieces of bread every day and Ziploc it up for freshness.

Now after a long while and few more life experiences, I know I get it. But I am still learning to speak it.

It starts with an easy two syllable word.

A name. A man. A savior.

Jesus.

We can go to a far off places and take food or shoes or medical care or a thousand other things that are needed. We can walk down our side walk and take a peace offering in the form of a pie. We can care for people struggling with a world of addictions. We can hold babies and build relationships with teenagers and care for the widows. We can visit homes, orphanages, and hospitals. We can seek justice and truth. We can do a lot. We can do it all.

But what good are actions mirrored as His if we don't speak His name?

He deserves every ounce of the credit. Through our actions AND through our words. It's all about balance. It takes both.

So by chance if that young girl now turned grown woman is reading this…

I hope you remember the peanut butter and bread. The reason I made all those sandwiches is because a man lived many many years ago and He liked to feed people too. He fed them by the seashores and around campfires and at tables.  He even took a little bit of food a couple of times and fed thousands of people. He was cool like that…He lived to do great things…even for something as simple as an empty belly. 

He did even greater things like healing people, raising the dead, and spreading joy. But the greatest thing He ever did…He died for me and then God His Father raised Him. He still lives today up in heaven and He will come back. Right now, He wants all of us to do the types of things He did while He walked around on earth.  So the least I could do is to make a few peanut butter sandwiches for a beautiful, energetic, and vivacious young lady that needed something to eat.

I love you still today, but this man loves you even more. His name is Jesus. And He died for you too.

If you ever want to, I’d love to tell you more about Him. Maybe we can even talk about Him over a peanut butter sandwich.

Exhausted

I love watching the three kids sleep. Throw their daddy into the equation and it’s perfect. 

They amaze me. Even at 30,000 feet they can snooze with the best of them. 

Eyes shut. Mouth open. Even breathing. A snore or two.

It’s perfection. 

It’s funny what a mom will find as perfection. In this moment...on this flight...I have found it. 

They are exhausted. A couple more than the other two I think, but nonetheless, it’s exhaustion. And my oh my, it is the best of exhaustions.

It’s the the Caribbean heat exhaustion. These Tennessee born and bred kids have been a bit too close to the equator for two weeks.

It’s the never miss a minute of the day exhaustion. You might miss something if you close your eyes. You only have 14 days. Not a minute to lose.

It’s the constant community exhaustion. Sleeping literally cheek to cheek with 21 young adults/college students. Eating at a table for 27. Talking about God, His story, and how we fill a role. 24/7.

It’s running 90 to nothing for days so children will laugh and feel loved and come to know what it looks like to live like Him. 

It’s deep. It’s tough. It’s safe. It’s relational. It’s a lot of vulnerability. It’s happy and it can be sad, all rolled into one. 

And it’s exhausting. But a good exhausting that we will choose again and again. 

Why?

Because we have been called to love as we go. And years ago, God sent us to Saba and we went. We went thinking it was for Michael to go to med school. But the star of the show wasn’t the future doctor. 

It was God and what He had planned for us and a bunch of people on five square miles in the middle of a sea. 

If you’d told me I’d teach a bunch of Caribbean kids and one day teach a lot of their kids, I’d laughed big.

If you’d told me I’d love a bunch of college kids and they’d teach me more than I’d teach them, I’d laugh even bigger. 

If you told me that I’d have three kids that had “honorary” citizenship on a little Dutch island many many miles away from home, I’d doubted that. 

If you told me that my marriage would face trials and survive and my partnership with a good looking doctor would be a method to a beautiful relationship between an island and a school in Nashville, I’d called you crazy. 

But God has been laughed at and has been doubted and He has even been called crazy. 

Yahweh. Messiah. Emmanuel. 

Those names seem more fitting when we look at the greatness of His simplistic weaving of stories as they ease into what He has planned and promised. 

I didn’t plan and decide anything. Neither did the doctor. 

He made me a Daughter. 

He made me a teacher.

He made me a med school spouse and then a doctor’s wife.

He made me a mom.

He made me in His image, and then gave me His Spirit. 

He made me His. 

His.

Imperfect but given perfection through His  plan and redemption. Through His son. 

He loves me. He energizes me. He humbles me. He turns my heart and clears my mind. And He makes me happy and holy all in one. He exhausts me. 

He is so so good.

And as His, I am thankful. 

And He makes my exhausted children hungry so I have to push the flight attendant button and buy some food now. 

An island and three kids later...His story continues. 

"The Forgotten Speech"

My morning drive to work goes one of two ways these days: Completely silent or non stop chatter and laughter.  Jackson is either 100% awake and ready to visit or he is 100% asleep, catching thirty minutes of additional sleep.

This morning we hadn't as much turned off of Houston Lane when sheer panic filled the car.

"The speech! I forgot about the speech!"

I could hear the anxiety and fear in the 14 year old's voice. The same feelings begin to arise in me, knowing there wouldn't be an easy fix to an assignment that would challenge his disfluency.

I eased into the conversation in order to calm and to figure out exactly in which class he had to give what speech.

Very quickly the confusion and excitement eased. It really wasn't a speech...it was a talk...a devotional thought...for FCA leadership's morning meeting. Jackson is a member of a small group that has been meeting every Tuesday morning since late August. These students are in charge of  FCA meetings and activities. They pray, plan, and live life together. It's pretty cool to witness, especially in a public school.

I gave my best cool mom motivational encouragement...

"Oh dude, you got this!"

These talks...aka "the speeches"...are brief and to the point.  This would be Jackson's second one to give this year. Most of the kids have picked a verse or two from scripture and just share what it means to them.  So that's the direction our morning drive conversation went...no additional sleep this AM...just a mom and son throwing around thoughts about scripture.

"I will open the bible app..."

"No no, make it easier than that. What's the first scripture that comes to your mind?"

"John 3:16."

"Okay, let's not make it that easy."

Short silence.

"Oh I got one! Galatians 6:10!"

"Help a mom out. I don't know that one from memory."

"Can I open my bible app now?"

We both chuckle.

Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone - especially to those in the family of faith.

Galatians 6:10

Jackson described this as his "go to" verse. I loved listening as he talked through how simple and easy this scripture should be for us. And then together, we broke it down.

Whenever we have the opportunity...When is whenever? Whenever happens all the time.  And opportunities don't have to be what we see as big. The little ones are just as important. They just require us to open our eyes and be alert. 

We should do good...Again, think small.  Say good morning. Open the door. Walk with someone to class. Use good manners. Throw away someone's lunch tray. Smile.

To everyone...This is a long list, but it covers them all. Our friends. Our family. The people we like and think are cool. The people that creep us out. Our enemies.

Especially...Hey pay attention!

To those in the family of faith...The folks that believe in the same Jesus as we do. The ones we are on the same team with. Being good to them should be a given, but not so much sometimes.  We can be pretty hard on each other. And that is bad. Do good to them...help them out...love them big.

After the thirty minute drive to Watertown High School, Jackson hopped out of the car and started toward the building to begin his school day. We were running a couple of minutes late and he had to hustle to FCA leadership. He rang the bell and then held the door for his momma. As he walked through the door he high-fived a good friend and called her by a nick name he has given her. It brought a smile to her face. He greeted the school secretary with a cheerful, "Good morning, Ms. Angie!", as he flashed her a big smile. I watched as he bounded up the stairs and then he disappeared into the meeting room to share his "speech" for which he had forgotten to prepare.

As I watched him I couldn't help but think that I need to be more like him. See, he really had prepared, because the kid lives out Galatians 6:10 every day. Of course it's his "go to" ...it's just what he does...it's just who he is. And to know him is a blessing and to mother him and his sisters is the greatest gift.

All the time, do good, to all people.

The gospel according to Jackson.

Our Marriage Didn't Need Counseling

I can remember the first time that I ever thought my husband and I needed someone to talk to about our marriage.

Even now I won't say the correct title...I sugar coat it with the thoughts of who may read this.

A marriage counselor.

Why is it that we put stigmas on certain words, titles, and roles? Why do we allow assumptions to take over and turn into truth?

I remember the first time I thought we needed to see a marriage counselor.

We stood in the tiniest of apartments with whitewashed walls and make shift furniture. Our couch was really a twin bed that sat longways against the wall.  The kitchen could not have been more than five feet by five feet. The bathroom was even smaller and allowed no room for privacy.  The Caribbean sea breezes gave cause for open windows.

As our voices elevated there was no doubt in my mind that our neighbors heard it all.  I felt embarrassed and ashamed and scared. Heap on top of that the expectation of easy Christian marriage I had coming into this union, and the confusion of the reality was at the least heavy on my heart.

"I think we may need to go talk to someone; don't you?"

When I spoke the words to the man standing across the floor from me, he scoffed and I easily retreated, feeling weak and telling myself that I was overreacting.  Maybe I had just said it to strike a nerve and make a point. 

We never really came to a healthy conclusion that night or the day after. The two of us just eventually got in a better humor with one another. Then the newlywed infatuation of the first two years of marriage took back over and things were blissful.

Until there was another night with a misunderstanding, open windows, and thin white washed walls.

I would continue to have the thought on occasion of needing a counselor.  The fear of what that would look like to others and thinking he thought it was crazy, kept me from uttering the words again. After all, we were just like everyone else, right? 

***

We did a good job at keeping that little apartment clean. We cleaned the sinks and the toilets and dusted the few pieces of real furniture that we claimed as ours. We washed the sea salt off the windows and wiped down the walls with bleach. The kitchen stayed pretty much spotless and bathroom smelled fresh.

And we were awesome at sweeping.

We swept everything under the rug.

All of it. The disagreements, the anger, the loud voices, and certainly the thought that we might need some professional help with our marriage.

In reality there wasn't that much to sweep, anyway. It was hidden quite well under the rug.

***

Fast forward.

An island, three kids, many major life events, 6 apartments or houses, a few cars, a couple jobs, three churches, and a residency later...

We still loved to sweep.  And as life went on, there certainly was more and more to sweep.

Then one night we find ourselves face down, beat up and bruised, lying on the floor. Why you ask? Because when you sweep enough stuff, little by little even, under your preverbial rug...there isn't much else to do than to trip over the huge lump in the rug you have made for yourself and your mate.

This time I sat on a couch. This time it's a real one and we actually own it. The two of us set in an awkward silence as the three kids have pillowed their heads and are fast asleep down a long hall way in their respective rooms.

We knew a few things for certain that night.

1. Most of those on the outside of the walls that surround us see us as "the perfect couple".  They think we have it made. He is so good to her and she is so supportive and good to him. That is what most think.

2. Those people are wrong.

3. We needed a marriage counselor.

This time it wasn't posed as a question to the fellow I had married. I am ashamed to say that it was in the form of an ultimatum. I spewed it out of my mouth breaking the silence. It was drenched in anger, resentment, and a bit of fear, along with many tears.

I didn't care if it cost a lot of money. I didn't care if everything was let out to dry. I didn't care if I had to carry half the blame. I didn't care if it appeared we didn't actually have time for it with our crazy hectic schedules. I didn't care if either one of us was uncomfortable or embarrassed or stubborn. 

A week later I sat on another couch. What is it with me and couches?  We had driven an hour away from home for the need we both felt for privacy. There in a little room in Brentwood my husband and I began to pull up the rug and the dust and dirt went flying. A marriage counselor began to help us clean it up.

***

That was nine years ago.

There are a few names that I speak in my prayers every single day. The name of our marriage counselor, Dr. H,  is one of them. 

Counselors don't fix marriages. God does. He just uses them as a means to His method.

How do I know this?  Because my marriage today...

It's nothing short of a miracle. 

I like Michael and I am pretty sure he likes me. And it in no way is a "fake" like.  He is my favorite person to do things with in life. The arguments are occasional. And when they happen we can navigate through them, and the next day we are not nursing the wounds selfishly and silently. We overlook and laugh at silly mistakes. It takes a whole lot for us to offend one another. Imperfections make us unique and are celebrated instead of criticized. Apologies are extended easily, when needed, and are accepted gracefully. 

We know and agree that we must keep three things in mind...

1. We are a work in progress.

2. Priorities are as follows...Jesus. Each other. Then the three kids.

3. Upkeep is key. We still see Dr. H almost monthly.

***

Infatuation and the whirlwind romance of courtship and engagement and a wedding and the first couple years of wedded bliss...All of that is exciting and fun and thrilling. But when the calm, or maybe we should say craziness, of real married life sets in, it's life changing. 

It usually is great for a while.

All the things one never noticed about the other begin to surface. Human nature takes over and criticism comes easy. Criticism turns into nagging and nagging...it can just get plain nasty.

The circle of life has to continue on...in the same fashion as it always has in the culture in which you live and have been raised. So in the case of the bible belted southern United States, you start having babies. Cause you know, adding children to the mix will make it all lovely and beautiful and easier. I am going to insert a very sarcastic eye roll here, which will surprise a few of my closest friends.

Priorities get all out of whack. Little people come before the big person you chose. The demands of work and providing collide with the daunting task of everyday parenthood. Words become few. Dates become extent.  You start keeping score. It isn't bad, but it isn't great...it's okay.  It's transactional at best.

Satan sits down to feast on the transactions.

He creates situations of doubt. He puts the fear of the unknown in and mingles that with the stigma so many put on counseling. He tells you that everyone else needs it...but not you.

*** 

I can remember Michael and I coming to a conclusion one day in a session with our Dr. H that we at one time felt like we had something extraordinary. Some where along the way we had silently decided that ordinary was what we were going to settle for. That wasn't okay...with either of us or with God. Extraordinary was what we knew God intended.  And it's what we wanted.

If you turn away from what us humans have settled for and open your eyes to what He made marriage for...then the only end result would be extraordinary.

But we didn't have a clue how to get there from here.

Sometimes you need to lay your pride down and admit you don't know it all.  It's a sign of wisdom and maturity to ask for help. Marriage...even Christian marriage...isn't as easy as television and movies, fairytales, and maybe even your parents made it look.  Mediation is a beautiful thing. It isn't someone telling you how to live and manage your marriage. It isn't someone telling you all the things that you have done or are doing are wrong. 

It's more like deciding with your teammate the direction you want to go, the goals you want to accomplish, and then having a coach lead you to a championship. But hey, there are going to be losses along the way. Injuries are bound to happen. Teammates don't always get along and see eye to eye.  A coach is needed to guide and redirect.  Sometimes he might change the game plan totally. Healing will have to take place and grace has to be extended...to your teammate and to yourself. And conditioning...you must have conditioning.

If you have ever thought that you may need marriage counseling...If your spouse has ever mentioned it...If you ever have said you don't need marriage counseling...If it's just ordinary...If you look at "the perfect couple" and think they have it made...If the weight of "being the perfect couple" is too heavy to bear and you know it's fake...If communication is tough...If you argue a little or a lot...If life is too crazy to talk or to date...If you are just making the transactions...

Try marriage counseling. If it doesn't fit the first time, try a different counselor. Coaches sometimes have to be fired, you know. 

Trade in the ordinary for extraordinary. 

I promise you will be glad you did.

You just might find your own miracle.