You Don't Have to Like Everybody

I love Italian food. Specifically pasta. But I don't get to indulge very often in this cuisine. There are two reason why...

1. Carbohydrates.

2. My husband doesn't eat carbohydrate filled pasta.

Cooking for a family of five is a hard task.  When one of the biggest eaters of the clan doesn't eat a certain food, the cook tends to eliminate it from the menu plans completely. I have never wanted to be a short order cook.

But occasionally we will find an Italian restaurant that strikes his fancy and he will order a non-pasta dish and I can indulge.  This was true a few years ago with our friends, Joey and Kristen from our former home of Rome, Georgia.

Tony's Pasta Shop & Trattoria. This is home to a seafood ravioli that is to die for!  That night the four of us gathered around a table and three of the four of us feasted on pasta...the other made due.

Besides the food, the fellowship that exists between the four of us when we get the chance to visit is sweet, sacred, and spirit-filled.  To say that the Haynes are special to us in an understatement.

That specific evening I was sharing a struggle I was having. It had some to do along the lines of dealing with a difficult person. I was a having a hard time getting along with someone in my life and it was consuming my people-pleasing self.  I wanted to be liked by and in return wanted to like this person.

My three dinner dates listened and let me vent a bit. Then Joey shared some wisdom...

"God didn't say you had to like everybody. He said you had to love everybody."

I let that sink in for a few seconds. Then the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders.

You don't have to like everyone you encounter.  Some folks will rub you the wrong way.  Some people are mean. Some are just too nice. There will be people in life that you find very approachable...others not so much. You will cross paths with individuals that will creep you out. A few people in your life may just irritate you to no end.  There will even be some people that will be toxic and that with which you have to part ways.

You don't have to like them. It's okay.

Everyone you encounter doesn't have to like you. You will rub some folks the wrong way.  Some people will think you are mean. Some will think you are just too nice. There will be people that find you very approachable...others not so much. You will cross paths with individuals that you creep out. You will irritate a few people in your life to no end.  For some, you may be toxic and they will have to part ways with you.

They don't have to like you. It's okay.

But we are called to love.

"This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you."

John 15:12

"Above all, love each other deeply..."
I Peter 4:8

"Let all that you do be done in love."
I Corinthians 16:14

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God."
I John 4:7-8

The list could go on and on. We are told to love our neighbor, our spouse, and our parents. We are commanded to love. Scriptures tell us to love God first. We are to love our children. We are to love and care for members of the church. 

And then comes this one...

"Love your enemies, do good to them..."
Luke 6:35

Hold the phone! Say what?! That's right...even those people that you don't like...even to go as far as calling them your enemies...yeah, you gotta love them, too. Even when someone doesn't like you in return? There are no "buts" or "except whens" or "only ifs". The answer is the same. Love.

This can look a lot of different ways. It can look like prayer. It can be a kind gesture or a smile. A lot of times it is clothed in patience and grace. Most of the time it is quiet, maybe even silent...this one is hard for almost all of us. Sometimes it is staying out of someone's way and other times it looks like making an amends and moving on. 

We just have to always ask ourselves..."Don't worry about whether I like them or not...but am I loving them?" We should ask ourselves this question so very often, during several moments of the day. Because you see, lots of moments make up a life. And Christ told us exactly what to do with our life...

"Live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God."

Ephesians 5:2

Live a life of love, whether you like some folks or not. Christ gave himself up for us. The least we can do is love as close as how He did, making that our sacrifice to God the Father.

Running Blind

I run with my eyes wide open.

I look at my Garmin watch as the mileage and time tick away. The horizon keeps my attention. Sometimes I watch the clouds roll into different creatures and shapes. I have landmarks that I anticipate as I near them. Pot holes, big rocks, and ruts...I constantly scan the path before me in order to stay injury free.

Just like a good pair of running shoes, well cushioned socks, and that trusty watch, my eyes are a necessity to a good run. I need to see where I am going.  I need to watch where I plant my feet.

This past weekend, the last of the three kids made her way to the elementary state cross country meet. We were all so excited for the youngest Thomas. She packed up her singlet, shorts, spikes, and the must-have knee high running socks and had Victor Ashe Park in Knoxville in her sights. Sadie and her fellow teammates were ready to run!

If I told you that the day was a perfect day for a run, I'd be lying. It was cold; fall had finally decided to descend upon middle and east Tennessee. It was back and forth between a mist and a moderate rain. The ground was saturated. 

But 485 third through sixth grade girls came to run, and run they did.  Through the mud...through the wet, slick grass...through the puddles...all 485 girls ran.

Watching cross country meets is like no other sport of which I have been a spectator.  You can't help but cheer for each and every one of the runners.  I find myself telling kids I have never seen before to keep moving and finish strong. Saturday was no different. As a few of us hugged the rope and watched for our three runners to descend down the last hill toward the finish line, we joined in with hundreds of others with shouts of encouragement and excitement. 

As we were cheering, my attention was drawn to one particular runner. She was about Sadie's age. The first thing I noticed about her was a mechanism that was strapped to her chest. A strap extended away from that mechanism and that strap was being held by her coach, who was running right alongside her. It took me a moment to realize what was happening. 

She was blind. She was running blind, listening intently and trusting the words of her coach, telling her exactly what to expect and where to plant the next step. 

"I can see the finish line. You are almost there. You can do this!"

faith, noun: complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

So many times us Christians talk a big game about our faith. We talk about how it is so courageous to believe without seeing. But do we really run our race that way? Is faith really just believing without seeing? Or is it running blind, trusting completely in someone else?

There is a big difference in "believe in God" and "believing God". Many of us say we have faith because we believe in God...that He exists and that we acknowledge Him as our savior. But do we truly believe what He says and does that show in how we live our lives?

Proverbs 3, beginning in verse 5, taken from The Message...

Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; He's the one who will keep you on track. Don't assume that you know it all. Run to God! Run from evil!

A few years ago I thought I was totally in control of everything.  If there was a problem, I knew I could fix it.  I made extremely detailed plans and "to do" lists in order to make sure things went just perfectly. I believed I had it all together. There was no trust or confidence in anyone or anything other than myself.

I was prideful. I was arrogrant. I was wrong. 

But we serve a loving and jealous God. I am glad that He intervened, even though it was hard and messy and even sad at times. 

There is a peace that comes from not trying to figure everything out on your own. Slowly but surely I have started listening to see if God shows up in all the things I do and all the places I go. Sure enough He does! Every. single. time. As I run, as long as I am running toward Him and away from evil, He keeps me on track. But running toward Him means not only listening and believing, but it also means doing what He says.

My brothers and sisters, if someone says he has faith, but does nothing, his faith is worth nothing. Can faith like that save him? A brother or sister might need clothes or might need food. And you say to him, "God be with you!  I hope you stay warm and get plenty to eat."  You say this but you do not give that person the things he needs. Unless you help him, your words are worth nothing. It is the same with faith. If faith does nothing, then that faith is dead, because it is alone. 

Someone might say, "You have faith, but I do things. Show me your faith! Your faith does nothing. I will show you my faith by the things I do."

James 2:14-18, ICB

If He says run right; then run right. If He says run through the mud; then run through the mud. If He says feed the hungry; then feed the hungry. If He says spend some time with the not-so-easy friend down the street; then spend the time. If He says turn the other cheek; then turn the other cheek. If He says go; then you better go. If He tells you to do something that you don't want to do...maybe it doesn't fit in your plan; then do it any way.

Complete trust. Complete confidence. Complete obedience.

One thing is for sure...He will never tell you to do nothing.  He won't tell you to just sit on a pew a few hours a week.  He is calling for an active faith. One that keeps us running. And there is no need to run with our eyes wide open. We can even run blind. 

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

#10...Black Socks

When I walk through my house, one thing is a given.

I will see multiple pair of no show athletic socks scattered various places along my route.

A few things to note about these given socks....

1. They are black in color. The color is important. If you didn't know, white socks are no longer cool. Therefore, the forty-something father in our house is no longer cool.

2. They stink. Thirteen year old boys...puberty...sports...all these things equal very stinky socks. And these things also mean a lot of other stinky things, but we won't go into that here. We are just talking about socks.

3. They surprise you. You go to the kitchen to start dinner for your family of five...BAM! Black socks on the kitchen counter. You finally get a chance to take a load off and sack out on the couch for ten minutes...BAM! Black socks stuffed between the couch cushions. You go to the potty to do you business...BAM! There they sit right by the toilet on the floor, left by the last customer.

As you have guessed by now, my oldest kid, Jackson, is the owner of these socks.

We have had this issue for a while. When the said socks started appearing, momma did a lot of gentle reminding.

"Jackson, please put your socks in the dirty clothes hamper, okay buddy?"

That went on for a few weeks. But if you are a mom and you are reading this, you know that your patience begins to wear a bit thin when you sound like an endless broken record. So...

"Jackson! Get these nasty socks up and put them where they belong! That's the last time I am telling you!"

After that didn't work, I turned to plotting and scheming.  Pair by pair, I collected them until I had almost every pair. I washed them but then hid them away in my closet. Jackson ran out of socks pretty quickly. One would think that this would have been an eye opening experience. Remember, white socks are not cool anymore; so being forced to invade dad's sock drawer was mortifying. But within a week or two of mercy being extended and all of his socks returned, Jackson slipped back into habit and the socks began to surprise me once again.

These days we are in a vicious cycle.

"Jackson! Pick up the socks!"

"Sorry, mom!"

"Jackson, socks...laundry basket...now!"

"Oh mom, I'm so sorry!"

"Jackson, I am so sick of these socks!"

"What? Where? I thought I put those up...sorry mom."

An almost fourteen year old boy's black athletic socks...they have become my nemesis.

The other day I pulled in our drive from another day at Watertown High. The thirty minute drive down Gassaway Road gets me ready to tackle an afternoon full of activities and life with the three kids. I normally arrive home a few minutes before my friend, Tammy, drops them off. This day was no different. I turned the engine off and grabbed my bags, eager to be home.

As I walked up the short set of stairs I reached for the door knob and looked down to see a single black sock hanging out on the stoop.

I laughed.

These socks are literally everywhere in my life. Even though the kid has big feet, these socks are really so small; insignificant you might say. But yet, they have caused a many stern conversation about responsibility and hygiene and respect and cleanliness. These small socks get on my nerves and need my attention every day. They have been known to change my mood and make me grumpy. I don't like these socks.

But in that moment...in yet again another moment of surprise...I realized that one day in the not so distance future I will miss these socks. My days of finding these socks scattered all around my house seem unending, but these days are truly numbered. All the grumpiness and the bad moods and aggravation needs to be replaced by the positive.

Black socks mean Jackson is full of life and excitement. So much so, that in sheer excitement of moving on to something else, he "runs straight out of them".

Black socks mean Jackson is healthy. They mean he runs and walks and sweats.

Black socks mean Jackson is active.  He is working hard toward his goal of being a strong and accomplished athlete.

Black socks mean he is comfortable in a home where he feels loved, cared for, and where the not-so-attractive habits will be given grace.

For all these things I pray a prayer of thanksgiving.

So many times as a mother, or an earthly human being for that matter, I tend to be critical and spend time on the things that I think need perfecting in others. I lose sight of the fact that perfection will not be obtained...not ever. I forget where the emphasis needs to be placed.

There is light at the end of every tunnel.  There is a positive in everything. There is good in every situation. For every bad, there are multiple goods.

You just have to decide to look at the situation, the problem, or the person from a different perspective.

Black socks. A gentle but smelly reminder that I am a mother of a healthy, active, happy, and comfortable young man that loves life. They teach me patience. They allow me to lovingly teach a lesson. They make me laugh now and again.

An almost fourteen year old boy's black athletic socks...they have become my friend.

#9...Second Chances

I know this teacher that sends kids to my third block class in order to make up work that they have missing in his class. A few weeks ago I noticed that for the second day in a row a student completed the same quiz as he had the day before. In the next few days that same teacher brought in duplicate quizzes for a few others. As he slid the quizzes over to the the given students it's as if one could here him say, "Let's try this again. You can do better."

As a little girl I can remember really messing up. At night time my momma and daddy would come in to tuck me in for the night. As they kissed my cheek and forehead I was always reassured things were going to be okay.  There is no other feeling comparable to undoubtable unconditional love. "Today wasn't the best. But tomorrow we can try it again."

On the flight to Saba this past Spring break I watched a book turned movie based on a true story. The title was Same Kind of Different As Me. In the beginning of the story, Debbie finds out her husband has had an affair. An expected fight and yelling match ensues. Debbie goes to bed, has a dream, and comes back into the living room where her husband is sleeping. She says something along the lines of, "You can stay if you want. But you need to know that I forgive you."

Second chances feel good.

This week the world is focused on the greatest sacrifice it's ever known. God became flesh. As the song says, He didn't want Heaven without us, so He brought Heaven down. Jesus lived life just like us and walked around on this earth. He had friends. People knew him. He was celebrated. 

I always love to think of the last supper he had with his circle of friends.  Many envision the famous painting. Others think of this meal as a very formal and solemn time. I tend to think of it a bit different. Just like any of our times of gathering around a table, there were hungry bellies. I am sure there were some serious conversations, we actually have some accounted for, but at the same time we must remember that this was a group of friends who had been through much together. They knew each other well, so I think there was laughter and conversation a plenty. 

As Christ sat there and visited with His friends, I wonder if he watched them and thought, "I am about to be your second chance."

After this meal he was betrayed and dismissed by those around the very table at which he sat. The truth, the wisdom, the plan he had sat out for them, they seemed to quickly forget it all. Fear caused them to compromise, greed replaced faith, and  the hope they had known was lost in conformity. 

Jesus was beaten, mocked, and then was placed on the cross and he died...all alone.  He who was perfect took all our sin and nastiness and muck and traded it for his perfection. He gave it to us. He gave it to us not just so we'd have a second chance...but that we'd be given THE second chance. And the second chance was given to everyone from those that had sat around that table with him all the way down to all of us today. 

For me the cross means when I snap at Michael and the kids, I get a second chance. It means that when I tell a lie or say the wrong things, I get to try again tomorrow. The cross means when my mind wonders with secret thoughts that I'd never want anyone else to know, that I am forgiven.

Second chances are given to folks like me. The second chance is also given to the addict, the murderer, the cheater, and the thief. We are all on equal ground when we are put at the foot of the cross.  We are all sinners with no status or classification or degree of severity.  Jesus can relate to all of us. He came to save all of us. He loves all of us.

Everyday we can hear him say these things to us...

"You can do better. Let's try this again. Today wasn't the best. We can try it again tomorrow. You can stay if you want, But you need to know I forgive you."

And the story doesn't end with the cross. Resurrection came making all this the sweetest story ever. Because not only do we get to bask in His perfection and have the second chance...we eventually will get to spend all eternity praising and worshiping and glorifying Christ right alongside him.