Spots

 

 “Let me see a show of hands, how many are very aware of their blind spots?” the pastor asked the people. 

The people chuckled. She wondered, did they laugh because of the oxymoron, or to excuse the idea of blind spots, or of embarrassment over…. spots. After all, the statement exposed a rather not-talkable, not laughable condition.  

Such as—

Self-absorbed, miserly, thoughtless, stubborn, opinionated, controlling, demeaning, prideful. 

Spots.

She didn’t laugh, after she laughed. She couldn’t see her spots.  No flashlight. No mirror.  No husband. Spots prefer to remain hidden, private, left alone.  She unlaughed. 

Then, shakily, cautiously, she went spot hunting. Amongst her family, her dear friends, asking them to rip the blind off her spots.  It must be done. 

And sure enough, there they were. Spots. Out in the open. Drug to the surface. Pushed from the corners.. Under the light. 

Surprising, but true. 

Stingy, but necessary. 

Sorry, but helped. 

She raises her hand. She sees some spots. 

She is determined to clean the spots and laugh again. 

Dependence

 

"Grief does something strange to you.  It exposes the stories you have been living, and then it tests whether any of them hold up when the sadness comes down."  Michael Keller, son of Timothy Keller

A story that has not held up underneath sadness for me is the fierce American push for independence. 

This culture raises us to be independent, to let go of mom while stepping through a kinder class room, to order a burger at the nose-level counter, to drive freeways at 16, to become an adult at 18.  To pick up and go after a husband leaves.  To try it, do it, manage it, choose it, bear it, figure it all out.  To listen to your own heart.  To find your own way.  To make it happen.

These steps mature us to be sure.  We learn as we are weaned.  Without the push we might lean too heavy on another.  On the other hand, grief tells us, makes us... lean heavy.  

Independence has been exposed and tested as sadness has fallen.  In my life.  Independence is lonely.  It's scary.  It's unreliable and unpredictable.  I long for dependence. 

I need a hand, a voice, a presence.  I want input, help, a flat-out take over.  Tell me when to go, to stop, to turn around.  Show me the way.  

This culture may have woven its drive for independence in me, but I am redirecting the story.   

The Jesus-story has been exposed and tested as sadness has fallen.  In my life.  Jesus is company.  He's safe.  Jesus is reliable and sure.  I long to put all my independence in his dependence.    

The Jesus-story holds up.  

Run

 

Run.  Run run run.  Run through forests, over creeks, up hills.  Run around rocks and roots.  Run along runners.  Run a single track.  Run.  Run run run.

Then run to cross the finish line.  It's just ahead.  It's the hope, the goal, the win.  It's the forward, the reward,  the award.  The finish is the party, the high-five, the well-done.  The finish is the ultimate.  She did it.  He made it.  The race is over.  The rest can begin.  The soak and gloat and dote awaits.  

He finished.  He received his "eternally gold" medal.  I'm running -- "running hard for the finish line."  Someday we will celebrate the prize together.  Oh!  What a day that will be! 

I'm running, Babe.  I'll cross the line soon.  We'll fall in each other's arms with rushing joy. 

 

"I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."  2 Timothy 4:7 

"Run to win.  I'm running hard for the finish line.  I'm giving it everything I've got. "  1 Corinthians 9:26

  

 

 

 

Craving

 

Some people crave chocolate, something salty, a brick roasted pizza.  Some people crave out-of-the-office fresh air,  a scenic view,  ten minutes of quiet nothing.  

Cravings nag and nag until they're satisfied.  The won't relent.  And if they must be put off, they push and shove for a spotlight.  They think they're important, though they're not.  

Widows crave hugs.  Even a slight squeeze.  She'll take an arm draped around her shoulder.  But a meaningful, extra-moment, wordless-with-all-the-words hug lasts the longest.  Cures the craving.  

Until too much time passes, and everyone is hugging everyone else.  

Widows tell themselves they're fine.  A hug is just a human touch.  It's a gesture of love.  It's a message of sweet knowing.   Life does not depend on a warm chocolate chip cookie, a hot soothing bath, or a... double-arm-wrap hug. 

It's just a craving.  

 

Notice

Here’s what I notice… now. Today. 

I can read “I am with you, always,” and not weep. 

I can walk through an airport by myself and not shake. 

I can glimpse a couple kissing and smile inside. 

I can hug a dear friend and not crumble. 

I can listen to talk of loss and not retreat. 

I can be alone in my home and not feel terribly alone. 

I can think about Bill and not flat out bawl. 

I notice steps. I notice strength. I notice life. 

Today.  I’m noticing. 

Bananas

 

Never eat a whole banana.  Always cut it in two.  Eat half.  Share the other half with your husband.  That's the rule.

Doesn't everybody know that?

Learn this rule shortly after your honeymoon.  Or before.  Learn it by observing your husband knifing the banana and handing half to you.  Every time.  Eat your halves together.  If you need a whole banana, request another half.  This is how it's done.  

If you're new to marriage, consider this wise counsel in the nick of time.  If you're not married yet, things are about to go well for you..  If you're no longer married, well, this is an adjustment.  

You'll still cut the banana in two.  You'll still eat half.  But then... you'll just go ahead and eat the other half.  It will feel really weird.  You'll get used to it.  Hopefully.  And maybe someday, you'll just eye the knife, peel the banana and eat the entire thing at once.  Imagine it! 

Because life with bananas and without a husband is... bananas. 

Get-tos

Let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about the get-tos. The blessings. The freedoms. The gold. 

 

I get to:

Beat the sun awake or asleep. Everyday. 

Be available to answer an I-could-use-help. 

Bestow a gift or some dollars or a hug. 

Buy a surprise coffee for a need-a-friend. 

Bake a loaf for a welcome-home counter. 

Bag home-grown fruit for the lawn keeper. 

Bear burdens out loud in prayer for home-groupers. 

Bring littlebears to gym and baseball and birthdays and home. 

Begin a new craft, build or break the bank , befriend the fellow next door, bike around the block, belong to a club, browse the mall, butter my toast and anything else, and bless my God. 

I get to get-tos any time. Any day. Any where. For any body and any reason. How blessed am I to get to!

OK

 

What are you doing for the 4th of July?  Got plans?

Yes!  We go camping with the Jones family every year.  The Williams are joining us this year.

 

Ok.  Great.  Have fun.

 

Hi mom, yeah... we're having a barbecue on the beach and watching fireworks later on.

 

Ok.  Great.  Have fun.

 

Hey mom, we're taking the trailer to the coast for cooler temps.  And fireworks.  

 

Ok, Bear.  Have fun.

 

We're headed to DC for the big celebration with the fam.  Wish you could go. 

 

Ok, Baby Sissy.  Sounds great.  Have fun. 

 

Dad and I have been invited to the rodeo with our friends.  I've never been to a rodeo.  

 

Ok, Mom.  That's great.  You'll have fun.

 

Ok.  Have fun ya'll.  

 

I'll be home and ok.  Really.  I'm ok.   Or... I'll be ok.  

Golfcourses

 

Golf courses willingly take money.  Lots of money.  One afternoon on the course can add up to a couple of grocery trips or a couple of gas-tank-fulls or another fun.  Like hobby supplies or running shoes. 

And we're talking about a single day on the course, not a couple three vacation days, or weekend-with-a-buddy days -- with carts.  Not tees and balls and gloves.  Nor range finders and clubs and push carts.  Not over-priced food at the 9-hole corner.  And certainly not the do-it-everyday-deep-money-hole membership.  !!! 

Golf courses willingly guzzle money. 

I know this because I used to watch golf courses inhale excessive dollars.  Of ours.  Not that we didn't enjoy 4 hours together.  Get some walking and talking in.  (Talking -- meaning, "The wind is north to south, the pin is at the back of the green.  I think I'll play my 56.") Team up with... strangers/new friends -- sorta.  Make a new/repeating memory. 

But now golf courses don't eat our money.  My money.  Which is why I spend golf course money on craft supplies and shoes and lunch and gifts.   Which is why spending golf course money feels ok to me.  

Sorry golf courses.  I'll let someone else fill your bottomless pit.  This girl is going to Hobby Lobby.