Toe Socks

 It was 1994 and I was in 7th grade when we went to Minneapolis for a Bible quiz competition with my youth group. My team at the time was comprised of me, Bekkah a tomboy personality who I'd grown up around but never interacted with until that year, and DJ a good-looking preppy senior boy who intimidated me by existing because I was 13. It was the 90's and we were given a lot of freedom, being three teenagers who were literally on a trip to compete with other teenagers answering questions about Bible verses we'd memorized. 

We had a free day after we checked in so the adults decided we'd go to the Mall of America. It hadn't been open for very long and at the time it was kind of THE major attraction in the twin cities area, so we parked on the third level of the parking ramp and set up a plan to meet up at some given time. We didn't have cell phones--correction, most of us didn't have cell phones, our coach had one "for emergencies" that was literally a vinyl padded box about the size of a concrete brick with a receiver and a light-up number panel on the side. It stayed in the vehicle. So the adult chaperones set off to go to their chosen places, and we three teens went exploring. 

Even though I public schooled, I was kind of sheltered and didn't really know much about the world yet because I was only 13. I also had joined the Bible quiz team as an underdog, socially awkward and pretty timid (especially with said hot senior boy), so I really just followed DJ and Beck around without ever talking or expressing anything I wanted to do. I also probably only had about $20 to my name because my parents weren't the sort who sent me out with ample money on trips like this ($20 went a lot further back then, mind you). Bekka really wanted to go to Macey's for some reason so she stopped in there and I think I just waited on a bench while she tried on clothes for a while. We went to some other stores but there was a famous store at the time in that mall which is known for all of the niche stores in the world being in one place: a sock store. Walls of socks of all kinds. I don't really know what interested any of us about this store, but we found ourselves in there and I noticed some socks that I just really needed to have. They had toes. That was what made them stand out. Like gloves, only for toes. I bought them for $10 and we left the store and went on with our day. It's about all I remember about that trip. Our team had to win one of the top slots to make it to nationals so it was actually a really high pressure weekend, but we did make it no thanks to me, and that's a story for another time.

Back to the socks. This was a time in which wearing sandals with socks was one of the biggest fashion faux pas so I'm not really sure what I thought I'd be doing with these socks or what occasion I would wear them for. They were also rainbow stripes and I'm talking like Crayola crayon ROYGBIV but without the orange and purple. I did, however wear them a few times, and I will credit them for introducing me to my two best friends. (Who were not the kids on my Bible quiz team).

Two years later I still had those socks in my drawer to pull out for a special occasion which hadn't hapepned yet. But freshman year of high school I had to go to a bigger school and barely saw any of my small class from middle school (not that I wanted to). I was meeting new people all over the place and completely overwhelmed with how to find actual friends. And then this girl showed up with some pretty cool assessories which included a de-bristled toothbrush melted to wrap around into a bracelet, a spoon handle also turned bracelet, 17 ear piercings and, you guessed it, TOE SOCKS! The very pair I owned and loved. You can believe we became best friends within a few weeks and I'll just confirm that the toe socks were what made me know she was a kindred spirit. We did occasionally whip those socks out for special occasions through high school and I wore them to her funeral years later (see previous post).

Fast-forward yet more years and I was in my college dorm room feeling the same overwhelmed sense of loneliness and uncertainty I had the first week of high school. Having left the security of my best toe-sock wearing friend and everything else I knew and loved, I sort of clung to the things that I knew made me unique. Since no one knew me or had expectations of me, I decided I'd just be fully myself and do whatever I wanted to without worrying about what people thought. My roommate had an A-Game social life so she constantly introduced me to new people. Within the first two weeks I'd met a girl from Northern Minnesota who laughed a lot, liked history, had composed poems about illustrated bird friends who had distinct personalities, and watched all of the same shows I did growing up. I also found out that she too was part of the rainbow striped toe-sock sisterhood. They weren't really possible to find anymore as far as I knew so she'd gotten them around the same time as me. (She also had a pair of lime green socks she'd had since fourth grade Just like me. We kept them around because they'd been around for so long it felt wrong to say goodbye to them). She also became my best friend at college as is coming to visit this very weekend.

The moral of this story is you can know who your real friends are by the socks they wear so choose your socks wisely. The end.

42

 "It's my birthday tomorrow. No one here will know. I was born this Thursday, [42] years ago. And I feel stuck watching history repeating. Who am I just a kid who knows [s]he's needy... Let me know that you love you me. Let me know your touch. Let me know that you're near me, and let that be enough." -Switchfoot, Let that Be Enough

Douglas Adams infamatized the number 42 when he penned it as the answer to life, the universe and everything. But I'm sitting here now, age 42 and thinking I have fewer answers than I ever have, and probably more questions than ever too. 

I've grown a lot since I was 30, and even more since I was 20, and I think in your 40's is when you arrive at a place that gives you enough wisdom to operate in the world without causing turmoil, but maybe not enough wisdom to stay way from it altogether. I've enjoyed this phase of life, being able to pour into younger people of all ages, feeling like I'm established financially, socially, and spiritually. (Emotionally is its own mixed bag always, probably). I've enjoyed the long, stable friendships and the new fresh ones with new perspectives to learn from. I've seen a lot of trouble and it keeps rolling out in front of me like that ocean or the sky, on and on as far as you can see. But while I have suffered and struggled, I've also found a new kind of peace in being able to see that these things are temporary. Now I've lived long enough to know that I probably will outlive these particular trials, that they aren't going to make up my entire life, and there will be light on the other side. Maybe that's what 42 looks like.

That does not negate the pain, just the amount of heartache I have over the pain. This year has been one of the hardest ones I've experienced. There have been other hard years, phases. Maybe every 5-7 years one hits that's really just terrible. This one was one of those, where things just haven't aligned very well, and no one person in our family seems to be all the way OK at any given time. We're moving forward, though. I'm moving forward.

I learned things about forgiveness this year that I thought I'd learned all those years ago, during one of the hard years. I learned about humility, that mistakes other people make that hurt you are sourced in the same way your hurtful mistakes are, through sin and selfishness that keeps you from surrendering to God. I would much rather be superior and see myself as righteous than admit to any wrongdoings. But the work of forgivenses is deciding to release that control and seeing yourself just as desperately in need of mercy as the person who wronged you. 

I learned about love in new ways too, how love can almost kill you with how much it hurts, to be attached to someone who's failed you and will continue to fail you (not my husband, FTR). I've felt the pain of betrayal in a way I never knew I could, a way I thought I'd escaped in my twenties and wouldn't have to ever deal with. Lots of people can betray you, but when it's your friend in ministry, it cuts deeply, into your spirit as well as your heart. 

I've felt the pain of having a child who can't seem to find success even though she tries so hard, and who can't seem to get a win in any arena. You're helpless to fix it, and you become the target of their frustration. It's heart wrenching on both accounts. Teenagers are harder than I thought they'd be. Loving a child through their growing up is a challenge and if I'd known what it would look like before I had babies, I never would have signed up.

But in all these things, Love puts its perfection on top and seeps through all of the cracks and fills them up like kintsugi pottery, cracks repaired with gold, cracks repaired by a perfect God who cares more, cries more, and loves better than any of us ever could. Consolation in hurting comes from Jesus, who also suffered a life of not belonging, of betrayal, and who still gets betrayed by those he loves every day. I betray Him in my own life, and it's foolish to blame a betrayer for all of the damage you experience from the betrayal. It's easier to do that, but in the end it just hurts it more. Consolation for my hurting child comes in realizing the pain God felt as Jesus sacrificed himself, as God relinquished his own son for our healing and reconsiliation. Consolation in all of my failures comes from the cross, where Jesus' blood covers all of my own failures and faults and allows me to have Love as my own and to experience it personally.

I experienced that love through the hardest moments--God whispering to my heart, "Love believes all things, bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." Over and over and over. When I want to say it does fail, He proves that He doesn't fail.  When my love fails my kids, His love perfects them. When I know that my love isn't strong enough to believe, His is. When I feel like I can't bear any more pain from loving, He gives me strength to in the way He loves me. And when I lose hope, He shows me there is still hope. My love does fail, and all of my peoples' love fails me, but God doesn't, and He can make things new and better even in failure, loss, and pain. 

So in spite of the great cost of loving this year, God has woven His love into the wounds and repaired, generously giving me all that I need, patiently sewing, pouring and rebuilding what I can't fix for myself. Filling me back up with all that I poured out.

I don't believe in new year resolutions and I've never been a fan of that thing where people come up with a word for their year. Like you could possibly plan that. But last month God very clearly gave me the word renewal. Not for 2024 or even for age 42, but renewal in all things that this last year left me with. He's the only one who can redeem the stuff, so I'm hoping and beleiving in Him for that. Renewal.

Favorites from the Year

 Some of the things I liked in 2023

Best Fiction: A Girl Named Sampson by Amy Harmon This is a story about a girl who joins the American Revolution disguised as a man. While the characters aren't all exactly realistic, it was an engaging story that gave a human face to some of the battles we've read about in history. That was what I enjoyed about it. 

The Last Thing He Told Me - I was in a book club last spring, which was good motivation to read some fiction books I wouldn't normally read. This one was probably the favorite one out of all of them. It kept you guessing the whole time, a mystery with a little bit of action. Basically, the wife finds that her husband has disappeared with just a message to her to protect his daughter. So she and the daughter go on a hunt to figure out what happened to him, trying to avoid marshalls and FBI agents and uncover the truth about who he is. It was strangely familiar to a crime podcast I listened to, but that's another story...

Best Classic: 
Farenheit 451 - This is probably my all-time favorite science fiction/dystopian novel. I've read it multiple times. We also did that in my book club. Every time I read it, it feels more relevant, and every time I see more insightful truths come from it. If you haven't read it, definitely make time this year to and think about the way we consume media, and the way we use books. It's fascinating.

Best Non-Fiction

The theme for my non-fiction this year was "suffering". I read multiple books in this category and I would highly recommend them all. I think my favorite one was...
Suffering by Paul David Tripp - I actually purchased this to give to a friend who was going through cancer, but as I started to read it I just couldn't stop. While we were watching our daughter have surgeries in the hospital this year, the words from David Tripp about suffering felt so relevant, and so assuring. He breaks down different traps suffering people can fall into, and then breaks down the consolations we receive from our relationship with Jesus.

Honorable mentions in this category: Suffering and the Heart of God by Diane Langberg, and Prayer in the Night by Tish Warren Harris. Also about suffering. There were a lot of other books about other topics I read, but those were my favorites this year.

Favorite Podcasts:

The Roys Report - Julie Roys reports about things happening in the Church, mostly abuse and scandals. I find her to be pretty unbiased most of the time, and I appreciated the topics of choice as I worked through my own church issues. It's good to have a big picture and a bigger perspective about some things. I love how much she cares about people who are oppressed and hurting.

The Deck Investigates - This is a deep dive into a specific crime (usually a murder). While I can't listen to them all the time, I do like the true crime podcasts. I try not to overdo it.

Batman Unburied - Not the most wholesome (none of these are I guess) and definitely not family friendly. These are like those somewhat less appealing offshoot comics that don't get any fame. Intriguing mysteries that leave you guessing what will happen. There are some REALLY funny commercials in some of them too.

Literary Life - Some homeschool people talking about different works of literature and how it fits into the lens of modern society. This one is wholesome and educational.

Favorite Music:

Music taste really does change over time, doesn't it? I never wanted to be one of those old people who only listened to music from their time, but I often find myself digging out some 80's and 90's these days, even songs I hated at that time remind me of being young and dumb, and somehow I enjoy them. Some other musicians I've appreciated this year:

John Mark McMillan - I've been familiar with some of his music before, but this year I listened to all of the albums and dove into the lyrical wealth of his poetry. I wish his voice were different, and I personally thinks he needs a producer and final tuner to fix some imbalances in the sound, but I overlook those things because I really just like the stuff he says.

Iron Bell Music - We've sung some of their songs in church but I stumbled onto some I hadn't heard and found myself listening on repeat through a hard time this summer. "My Confidence" and "Faithfulness" were my top songs on spotify this year.

Chris Renzema - I knew about him, but I hadn't listened much until this year. The man knows some stuff about hard times and healing, and the upbeat sounds of his songs is encouraging on days when I'd rather listen to sad songs. Sometimes I listen and feel conviction and sometimes I find comfort, but it's been ministering to me all year at different phases of forgiveness.

Billy Joel - Again, this was obviously not the first year I've ever heard Billy Joel music, but I decided to listen through every one of his albums this year to note the similarities and his influience over other music of the time. I very much enjoyed doing that, although I only REALLY like about 1/4 of the songs. The radio hits aren't as insightful as some of the more unplayed ones, so if you feel like following that trail check it out and tell me what you think.

Judah Akers of Judah and the Lion - Maybe he isn't the best role model in the world, but he writes songs about God's love and sometimes I just need to sit and soak that in. I also enjoy the band music but it's a different vibe. 

Favorite Series/TV

I watch more than I should and I'd probably be ashamed to admit everything I've spent time on this year. The mainstays were The Office and Parks and Rec because sometimes I just want to laugh. I've been enjoying "The Irrational" this winter. I like detective shows, and this particular detective is a behavioral science professor. And a burn survivor. I really like that element of it, just because it's something a little different as far as weaknesses go, and I always like when the world normalizes things that are already normal in our lives.

I bought a trial of Paramount Plus so I could catch up on what's happening in the Star Trek universe. That was worth it. Picard season 3 did not disappoint (like season 2 did), and for the most part I very much enjoyed Strange New Worlds, which keeps the continuity of the original series and the next Generation pretty well, also preserving the individualized plot lines for each episode, while at the same time the ongoing interpersonal crew drama. I like Captain Pike and the take on young Spock is my favorite part I think.

Also over the last two years I've watched every episode of Law and Order SVU and Organized Crime. I don't know... it just got out of hand and then I needed to fill in the gaps between what was showing now and what I missed in the... you know, 20 years since I started watching back in the day. My sister has been watching also so we discuss the various things about it, mostly the different ADAs who come on the show, since that is my sister's profession. I don't necessarily recommend the show, but I love the detectives' chemistry and all of the interpersonal drama. I don't think anyone watches that show for the cases.

Well, that's a summary of some hits this year. Of note, I finished reading through the Bible, something I started in 2020. I'd decided to do that instead of taking a clipped pace to get through it in a year, and then not having time to read other things and savor what I was reading. The Psalms meant a lot to me this fall as I entered a phase of depression. And at the same time I started studying 1 and 2 Timothy with my home Bible study. So that's that. Tell me some of your favorites in the comments.

2023's Greatest Hits

This has been a hard year. That makes it hard to write any of the things most people write in their Christmas letters like "we had a blessed year" and "God is so good to us". Those things are very true, even truer after a hard year. That doesn't make it a bad year, just a year--we enjoyed many good things. But after a hard year it feels disengenuous to brag about all of the accomplishments and highlights without acknowledging the difficulties. So here is an attempt at a yearly update that isn't depressing but is still realistic. Becuase that's where I'm trying to live my life right now.

Life on our little acerage is full of messes and magic. We had some kittens born and are up to 4 who hang around the property (and hopefully no more). Our dumb dog Diesel is always up to mischief but he keeps the critters away and tries to protect the house, so we keep him around. I kind of enjoy having an enthusiastic greeting every single time I drive into the garage.
There are always chicken dramas being played out in the hen house. Daniel spends as much of his spare time as he can working on tractor projects, chopping wood, and using the tractor he spends time fixing up and improving. The girls all enjoy outside time, exploring the woods and running free and wild.

In January, we took a quick weekend trip to Chicago and went to Medieval Times with the kids who hadn't ever been there before. We'd been studying middle ages in school so the timing was good. We showed them some of the downtown sites and watched "Adventures in Babysitting" which takes place in Chicago. 

In Feburary Jayna and I attended a Bright Lights conference for moms and daughters at the Ark Encounter in Kentucky. We got to stay with good friends who live in Cincinatti, and learned about speaking truth to your heart. Jayna enjoyed seeing the replica of Noah's ark and took lots of pictures.

In March I attended a homeschooling conference with some of my other mom friends who homeschool (and one who doesn't but just likes to come with us). Speaking of homeschooling, for those interested, we are still at it. Stacy and Lois are still in Classical Conversations and I enjoy having a community of friends who are doing the same stuff as us. We get to do a lot of exploring and reading about subjects we find interesting, and the girls are learning a lot of useful and not useful things about history, science, music, art and everything in between.
Arlene has transitioned to more online classes and will be taking some high school classes at the public high school as well. She still isn't sure about her plans for the future, but being a pilot is one of her serious options. Jayna is still exploring all of her potential while we try to find the best ways to educate her with what she likes and needs to get her to her career goals.

Which takes us to April, when we wrapped up our year at Classical Conversations. For a special treat, I got pied in the face. the kids in our Essentials class which teaches grammar and math, had an insentive to be the ones who practiced copying charts the most. Whoever got the highest amount could put a pie in the face of the mom of their choice. Having spent the spring being a goof ball with some sixth grade girls, and having tutored a class of 4th graders, I was the logical choice. I don't really hope to repeat that experience but it was funny and I love those students a lot.
Jayna participated in the musical State Fair with the homeschool assistance program, something she very much enjoyed. She was a pickle judge. we also got to see some of the fruits of a year with a new piano teacher for Arlene. She still loves playing and has flourished with an instructor who has honed in on technical details, music theory, and self-teaching. 

In May Daniel got to experience a career highlight. His team of engineers took a three-week trip to Alaska to demonstrate their radio to the military at a giant military thing. His job is technical and I never have any idea what he actuall does. It was a successful and rewarding trip but full of work, work, work. He and his team stayed together at a mansion in the mountains and spent every waking hour together. Thankfully they get along pretty well, and did manage to squeeze in a couple of sight-seeing things whle there. Of course Denali was on the top of the list.
My friend from college, Meagan, came to visit during that three weeks, a nice break in the three weeks of single parenting for me. We only see each other once a year at most, so we filled up the time getting the garden ready, eating tasty food, and exploring some unique spots in Cedar Rapids.
May also held some very hard moments for me personally as the youth pastor I've served with for five years lost his position. That involved a lot of heartbreak for a lot of people I care very much for, including myself. Then helping a friend in crisis took up the second part of the month, as well as a family emergency that hospitalized a sister-in-law and three of her children.

Meagan and me at the Noleridge Greenhouse

The happy reunion

 After crazy May settled, we decided to take a family vacation in June. We'd been thinking Colorado, but when the forcast was rain for the whole week, we switched plans and drove south to Tennessee and stayed in the Great Smoky Mountains at a cabin. We enjoyed hikes to waterfalls and exploring the culture of that region. A fun story from that trip: I left my purse at a Waffle House on the trip down, and spent the whole week trying to call them and locate my purse but they were not answering the phones. Checking the credit card useage and finding no charges, I just decided to leave that in the hands of God and enjoy the vacation time instead of cancelling every card. We swung back through Kentucky waffle house on the way home and, praise be, the waitor there had immediately seen my purse and locked it up. He said he'd tried to find me on facebook and attempted to find any contact info but couldn't, so he just kept it. They recognized me the minute I came in. What a gift to have strangers who chose to be the good in the world.

We spent the summer doing summery things like youth group trips, camp, and hanging out at the parks and pools. Despite a drought we had a bumper crop of wild berries, so I canned several batches of jam. (among other things like tomato sauce and green beans). This is a recent endeavor of mine that expands every year.
We attended four weddings, one for our babysitter who Stacy is named after, and one for our nephew, the first of their generation to tie the knot. The other two weddings were for family friends, who happened to be cousins of Stacey the babysitter. 

At home with a therapy pet in the hospital

August was extra full with preparing for school. I took a trip to Atlanta to visit my sister and had a great time relaxing while she and her husband did all of the cooking, cleaning, planning and driving. I got to see the Gone with the Wind Museum, hike through a woods where some Avengers movies were filmed, and take in the sights and sounds of Atlanta.
Stacy decided to get baptized which was a wonderful milestone for her. 
At the end of August Jayna underwent surgery #15 for her burn injury. This time they were releasing some of her tight skin to allow better growth and development. She had a second surgery four weeks later in September, a skin graft to cover the open areas that had released. She spent most of those two months focusing on healing, and I spent most of them caring for her. With physical therapy, she's gained almost all of her mobility back, something that hasn't been the case since her original injury. She handled all of that with grit and bravery, as she always has. She honestly didn't complain about the inconveniences of it or try to make anyone feel sorry for her. She just powered through and did everything she needed to. That girl knows her way around a hospital room and almost has a different personality when she's among the caregivers of the medical world. She's planning to be a child life specialist and work at a hospital some day.

In October we enjoyed another piano recital for Arlene, after which Stacy and Lois decided they also wanted to take piano lessons. For Fall Fest at church, we went as brand mascots, except Stacy who wanted to be a cat. Jayna was Blue Bonnet, Lois was Sun Maid, and I was Little Debbie, which I'm pretty sure is a costume that will never be topped. It was annoying that so many people thought I was there to hand out snacks, though...

In November I took a random trip with two of the homeschool moms to Chicago to see Hamilton and go to the Field Museum. that was a highlight of the year for me. We got in lots of good memories and conversations. Even though I wouldn't call myself a Hamilton fan, I very much enjoy live theater and soaked in every second of it.

December filled up with the usual December things, and here we are, the last week of the year, reflecting and relaxing. Looking forward to a better year in 2024, just as we always do. Hope is a beautiful thing that keeps us moving through hard times and huge transitions. We're always hopeful of better times ahead. We studied Revelation in church this fall, which established a hope of the future, of a time when there won't be big let-downs and needs for surgeries and failed attemps at teaching and learning. We're hopeful of the days when Jesus returns and makes "everything sad untrue" as the hobbit likes to say. Until then, we rely on our faith to take us through and give us the consolation and fortitude to continue. Blessings to each of you who took the time to read this long letter. I'm more thankful than ever for friends who show up and pray and care, and friends who stick around year after year. Happy New Year and may it be everything we hope for--and more.

Valleys and Scars

 What do you do when your soul is broken open and the only way you know how to heal it is to write, but it seems all of the words you normally have are strangling in the lump in your throat and your heart can’t seem to handle one sentence?

What do you do when your heart breaks and you want to run and hide but you have people depending on you and daily duties that can’t go undone, and your heart is pounding but you can’t stop to think?

What do you do when you long for a friend to share you burden but all of your friends are either too busy with their own burdens, don’t want to know, or don’t know how to share yours?

I guess the only answer there is, is the Answer Himself—Christ’s own broken heart that heals us, his own scars that speak into the darkness and the wounded hands that hold us on those long nights when no one else can see us cry. He’s the one friend who’s always been there for me, who continues to lead me through valleys and streams and deserts, who is strong enough to carry all of the burdens no one wants to hold for me. He tells me to climb on his back and take his yoke, welcomes my pain in his gentle and lowly way. He knows my heart more intimately than any friend or husband, and he sees my pain so vividly, enters into it, and engulfs me in his own scarred heart to remind me I’m not alone.

I have to hold on tightly to that every day, knowing that living will bring scars, but also rewards. His hand will guide me wherever I go, into the valleys and onto the mountain peaks.

Heatbreak

When people say their hearts are broken, you usually think of a relationship ending, a break-up of the romantic kind. I never had to break up with anyone or be broken up with but I have lost a child. And I know that sometimes our hearts break over other things that are just as painful, if not more, than losing a love.
In May I had a ministry heartbreak and I'm still recovering. I'm thinking it's going to take a while. I can't even explain the heartbreak I'm going through because it involves other peoples' private lives, but I can write poetry about it. 

HEARTBREAK

My heart has been broken in small ways

Thousands of times

Cuts and bruises, occasional splinters

Sometimes by knives thrown my direction

Unintentional shrapnel from others’ decisions, and fights

Or sometimes intentional stabs that aim and miss and hit somewhere else

Sometimes it’s more of a stretching, tearing

                 a realization that life can’t stay on this same course

Like seeing those first steps and knowing one day they’ll run

Or the last glimpse as they wave and board the plane

The slow and painful pulling away of a heart that was once glued to yours

 

My heart has been shattered

six times 

In the irrevocable way—healing somehow but different in the end, mangling up into a harder kind of heart

                Scar tissue

pulling in painful positions and remains visible forevermore

The repair happens with time and listening and waiting and care

But the heart that got beaten in the process

                never beats the same, never sees the same

                                And no time can heal that

No truth is big enough to unwind the truth that a person you loved isn’t who you thought they were

That the world is worse than you ever believed

That God sometimes gives us crushing weight and allows damage that only he can fix

                And that sometimes he chooses not to or we choose not to allow him and we live with the occasional punched-gut feeling of remorse

 

Erosion of confidence is a hard, hard end

And then it seems there’s no way forward

Except to grab the only hand that’s there and let it pull you back toward the light

        mending and embracing and waiting for whispers of truth

To pour into those cavities and cracks within the shattered heart

 A glimpse of wisdom that fills the void left where innocence once lived

Christmas Simplicity

One thing I know about my family is that we're pretty bad with traditions. Whenever people start talking about their family's Christmases, I realize again how growing up, we never had those special things we did every year. We did special things together; they were just different (and random) every year. A tree would usually show up and I remember Dad bringing out a string of lights wound up on a homemade wooden frame, and they were still always tangled despite his efforts. We had some ornaments that we always used and I think we went to church. Dad usually did a devotion before on Christmas Eve after dinner, and the one thing that stayed consistant was that we had to wash dishes before we could open presents.

But that's about all that I have. It's not because of dysfunction or or poverty or any sad orphan story. I guess it's just that my parents broke away from their families and, like every parent, just kind of flew by the seat of their pants through some of these things. 

And maybe Christmas wasn't as big of a deal in the 80's before the internet advertisements got out of control. I think commercialization was just beginning to take on a new form and maybe hadn't reached my boomer parents yet. I remember poring over the Radio Shack catalog, but never expecting to receive anything from it as a gift. I remember commercials for elaborate toys and sometimes going to Toys R Us and looking around. But our lives were simple and my parents didn't have a lot of money, so I think most of our gifts arrived in the UPS boxes that came from relatives. I don't remember the gifts. I genuinely only remember two things: A container of colorful hairbands one year, which my mom accidentally gave to my dad to open, and a pack of Bazooka Bubble gum (which I made REAL GOOD use of for about a month). Maybe I've just gotten old and those things were childish so they've faded from my memory. 

But I have a pretty vivid memory, and what sticks out from those early traditionless Christmases is just time with my family in a cozy old farm house with green shag carpet, watching network Christmas specials together and eating popcorn. A generous Christmas Eve meal and extra cookies, and just beautiful simplicity. Maybe all people feel that way as they get older, that their lives were more simple as children and the world has gotten more terrible and dark. Maybe it really has. I don't know, but I do know I treasure those breaks from school when everyone could be together, and I treasure them now too. Nowhere else to go, no traditions to uphold or programs to be at. Just a few days here in the new homestead with a Christmas tree, a fire, and youtubes of the network Christmas specials. And a few days with my parents and siblings, remembering and laughing together, traditionless, but bonded nevertheless. 

Middle School and Bethany and Jesus' birth.

 I keep trying to think of something profound to say about this last year, but nothing comes to mind. In most ways, we're in a holding pattern, just plugging through the normal, mostly mundane things. There weren't any major milestones or big family trips (just a quick getaway to nashville for me and D). BUt Christmas is on my mind, and I realized that this year has been a lot of me remembering my life in the phases my kids are in. Having teenagers is hard and painful because you just have to watch them learn things and suffer and grow on their own. They don't really want your advice and they pretend they aren't listening when you give it. But it's also painful because it's a reminder of who I was at age thirteen, fifteen, sixteen. Middle school was very difficult for me, so while I watch my own middle school daughter try to navigate that complex world, I'm reliving my own memories of never fitting in or having the right things to say, of losing friends and trying to find new ones. I thought about it a lot this year, about friendship and loss and the pain of growing up. As adults we still suffer those same heartaches, but we have the persepctive to know that we'll survive, we'll keep making it, keep meeting new people. That it isn't hopeless and we aren't losers because someone doesn't like us.

At least I think we have that perspective.

I've been thinking about my best friend Bethany and the way she stuck by me through middle school. I was probably an awkward, difficult person who did embarrassing things and had too many opinions and negative thoughts. I think I was loud sometimes, but she laughed at my jokes and she invited me to things when no one else did. We wrote stories together and even though she was beautiful and always getting guys' attention, she still didn't mind hanging around tom-boy me with my ridiculous fashion taste and really bad hair days. She was a gift to me in a lonely time of my life. She still is a gift to me because she didn't leave me through that, and I can still call her up and hear her voice and know I'm okay even when the rest of the world feels crazy. She's solid ground for me when my world slips all around. She's there with truth and prayers and comforting words of encouragement.

And I guess thinking about that brings me to thinking about Jesus. Because all of the times growing up when I was alone, when I felt rejected and ugly and really truly despaired, I had Jesus there with me, and it didn't feel as bad. I heard his words that He'd never leave me, that he loved me and made me and had plans for me. I believed the promises about the future with Him, about blessings when people curse, and overwhelming love that never lets go. And I guess at Christmas, I just think about the way He came to be with us. He just joined the world full of selfish people with their own agendas and gave up all of the power that he could have used to judge and condemn, and used it instead to love and save. He walked into the world's giant mess and made the biggest things that were wrong right again. And I guess that's a friend that I can always count on. 

Green notebooks and my 8th grade self

 I've been writing in journal/diary since I was 12 years old. It started with some really stupid shallow posts and slowly matured as I did. I don't have as much of a chance to do it anymore, but from age 15-25 it was at least a weekly habit, often daily. The majority of the journals are in green notebooks of some form or another.

Yesterday I pulled the one from '95-96, thinking my 13-year-old would enjoy reading her mom's adolescent thoughts and seeing how similar to hers they are. Do I want my kids to read all about my crush on so-and-so hottie? Not especially. Do I want them to read random play-by-plays from camp and family vacation and Bible quiz meets? That's not really a big deal. I didn't write about my worst mistakes usually, and the worries I actually wrote out were pretty shallow. There is one thing I want them to see if they ever read through those diaries, though.

I was a girl who loved Jesus. I trusted him and followed him in ways I think I've forgotten how to, and maybe am just not capable of anymore. When you're young you haven't yet learned to harness some of your big feelings, to temper your view of the world, and filter through some of the lies. There's this unbridled passion for the things you see as important, and an obsession with love and friendship and community. You're full of big ideals and foolish plans. You also aren't as jaded. You see the world with your starry eyes, hopeful of the future and full of wonder, experiencing things for the first time.

I used to write songs. I'd almost completely forgotten doing this. I was really hoping I'd get some spiritual gift and be able to play piano without ever learning it (my parents couldn't afford a piano until I was 18), so I'd just write the lyrics to songs. like a lot. They're embarrassingly pedestrian now, but the heart behind them was so pure. So sweet. I just wanted to worship my Jesus.

Sometimes when I look back at myself, I can see how much I've matured and grown. I know that I have a deeper faith and a truer view of God. but I feel that I'm missing that pure heart that just wanted to worship and serve Jesus with my whole life. I still want to, but I also don't find hope and reality grounded in happy-go-lucky Jesus and me kind of lifestyle some people still manage to find. I've been damaged and I don't know how to fix that. When you go through a great deception in your spiritual life, or a spiritual trauma from a church, it changes your spirit. I don't trust preachers. I question everything that happens to my spirit and I've built up walls to keep myself from being seen. My life is so good, and my faith is this steady part of my life. It's rich and deep and full of real life examples of hope and truth and God's power. But sometimes I wish I could go back to that reckless trust, the freedom of knowing that He heals every hurt and not wondering how and when that healing comes. I sometimes think I'd take that naive heart over the grief that's led me closer to the cross. I know I can't, and I know that I'm better now than I was then. Even in my faith, I'm better. I think it was wide from a young age, with lots of knowledge and truth to build on. But it's deeper now, dug with trenches of loss and grief and questions and doubts. Still I think there's a place for that girl I used to be and I've been doing some thinking about how to get back there, back to where I began, still holding the wisdom of age that I now have. Is it possible to go around to your beginnings and find yourself back there, wiser and stronger, not just beat up? Is it worth the fight to find that joy again? Is it Jesus calling to me from my own past, showing me that my heart can still be made soft and joyful and pure?

This song encapsulates those feelings I often have when I'm looking in the rearview mirror. I've always loved this song, and I'm finding it more relevant now than I did the first time I heart it. Ironically, it is from a singer who hit his popularity peak right in the thick of my own youth. seems fitting.

Passionate Man by Geoff Moore

It was my summer of 18 years old
I grew tired of not letting go
As the promise land spread out
Beyond that old dirt road

I looked in my rear view mirror
And watched as my past slipped away
Like the dust cloud that rolled
From the back of that old Chevrolet

I gave you my heart with a promise
That I would never turn around
You led me out of that wilderness
Before the dust had settled down

(Chorus)
And I loved you like the air I breathe
And you filled my empty heart
And I wore my faith out on my sleeve
Like a fire in the dark
I was willing to do anything
Eager to make a stand
I was a passionate boy
Make me a passionate man

My good intentions
Like water under the bridge
Have I thrown away the pearl
That made my life so rich

I turned down an old dirt road

So familiar to me
In the mirror I see a man
I swore I would never be
And I remember the promise
That I would never turn
What will it take to rekindle
The flame that used to burn

(Chorus)
I remember the promise
That I would never turn
Won't you take and rekindle the flame
The flame that used to burn

And I'll love you like the air I breathe
And you fill my empty heart
And I'll wear my faith out on my sleeve
Like a fire in the dark
I am willing to do anything
Eager to make a stand
I was a passionate boy
Make me a passionate man

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcj7ztWytxk

Full Circle

I've been struggling to come up with words to explain what the last two weeks were like. It started with a busy week leading into a last-minute decision to go on the youth group mission trip as an adult leader. The first part of my busy weekend involved a funeral, then a pool party, then a baseball game. Strange combination of mourning and grief, then celebration and family time. The pool party was its own combination as I dealt with emotions of being with my friend who's going through a divorce and the reality of that sinking in hard. The funeral was my friend's father who died kind of quickly from brain cancer. The next morning at church I needed to get away from worship and pray and weep the tears I hadn't been able to the day before.

That afternoon we had another joy-filled event that I'd been anticipating for a long time. Some kids from my class had organized a 20-year reunion. Not my school class, but my youth group. 

I can't even explain the beautiful experience it was. Yes, it was great to see everyone and take that walk down memory lane together. But it was more than that. Our youth pastor created a group where we could all invest, and that kind of leadership allowed all of us to have a place of belonging. We led worship, we planned outreaches, we shared our spiritual growth with each other on trips and retreats. There are bad memories from those times, but overall, there was something really special between us. Being together again, older but the same, was a special feeling I've never had. Feeling accepted and known, mutual affection that the adult world doesn't offer in the same ways. 

We hugged, we laughed, we sang our old songs together. While not everyone articulated it, we had the same beautiful memories that wove us together on our hearts, and we wished for more time together, and for more of us to be there. Standing there singing the best of our old songs, I wanted to capture one of those experiential photographs, just hold on to that moment and return to it whenever I wanted. I wanted a day-long conversation with everyone there. I wanted to listen to everyone's stories and memories and hear where God had taken them in the last 20 years. Alas, there was so little time. But the joy between us was so real and alive. It was precious to be with people who I knew when my faith was still young and being explored, who knew me at vulnerable times and grew with me through those years. They were short years, but impactful. 

I left one week later as an adult leader for my youth group's mission trip. And in those moments we shared together I felt the same beautiful, unique memories being formed for these young people. I wanted so much for them to share the same kinds of bonds that I have with my church friends all those years ago. We experienced some great moments together, and I hope that when they look back it will be with the same fondness and affection that I have toward those years in my life. To have the same joy of pure fellowship. To experience gratitude for where God was leading them at that time. And mostly, that they'll be seeing Jesus at work, woven into every interaction and every memory. 

We sang some old songs on that trip (left photo), songs from when I was in high school. And while we did I thought about my little high school heart, reaching out to God in the only ways I knew how, and all of the places he's taken me since 1999 when I really thought life couldn't get much better. It got better, and everything got deeper. Looking at the students I was with in that moment, I just thanked God for carrying me along and putting me there in that moment, a full-circle face to his goodness and mercy that follows me all the days of my life.

Sad At Christmas?

 Sometimes you just don't feel it. The lights are all on, sparkling in the winter darkness. The kids are dressed up, the tree is up with its nostalgic ornaments, the books are read, cards are sent, the presents are wrapped, and you're just... blue. You WANT to feel the happiness that everyone around you seems to be reveling in. You want to get that childlike feeling of anticipation, and you want to enjoy the time with your loved ones. But it just isn't happening.

Last year was one of those years. We were getting our ceilings replaced on our entire living area due to "the storm" and the damage that happened in the summer. This was the only time it would happen, ten days before Christmas. We moved to my parent's house like I was in college all over again, and spent the fun week leading up to christmas watching movies and sitting around without a lot to do. While my beautiful, peaceful, organized house, was turned inside-out and completely covered in construction ruins. When the work finished, we got to go home but there was more work for me to do than I could even manage in a month. Painting, dusting, moving furniture, re-organizing. We got to work, and Christmas was just another thing on my eternal to-do list. A burden. There would be no fun decorations in my disastered house this year. We did buy a fake tree to put up and I somehow got the presents wrapped (actually a family from church came over and did them all) and no one complained. The kids probably didn't ever realize how sad I felt, deep inside of my heart. I don't think anyone really understood.

But then I realized that's sort of what Christmas is actually about. About a baby who came into a disorganized, chaotic world full of people who were wandering around without purpose, feeling forgotten and alone. His name means "God With Us". And he didn't show up to a neatly organized home with happy smiles and a cozy fire and perfectly baked cookies. He showed up in a barn to a mom who maybe wasn't really ready for her life to change like that, and a dad who probably wondered how the heck he was going to get it all put together and make things okay. And then God invited some messy sheperds to join the party. That was the beginning, but the big Story was God just coming in man form to be with the people. To live among them, to show them himself, to eat with them and celebrate with them and show them he saw and understood all the things that made them human. He cried when they mourned; he feasted when they celebrated; he joined the traditions and recognized the holidays, knowing that they were all reflecting pieces of his Father and of Him. And he knew, maybe even as a baby, that his life was coming to an end that would involve great suffering.

I think that it's okay to not feel it at Christmas. Sometimes you just know the upcoming year will be full of stuff you don't want to do, full of more suffering, maybe more of the same stuff you hate. Sometimes you see the year that's passed and wish it had been different. You can put a positive spin on it all, you can see God working in it, but it isn't "happy". Sometimes that feeling can overwhelm you too, and sometimes you just don't want to celebrate like everyone else. But someitmes all they're celebrating is lights and trees and a guy in a red suit and family nearness and some nebulous "spirit of christmas".  And that's not really what I'm into. What I celebrate at Christmas is a package: You can't take the holiday lights and trees and presents without the deeper things. Just like you can't have the angels singing without the dirty shepeherds. You can't have the beautiful Mary and Joseph without the mess they were in. You don't get wise men and gifts without a long hard journey. And you can't take the baby Jesus without taking his future death. But with that death is also resurrection, new beginnings, and eternal life. And I think that being blue at Christmas is a way of bringing it together, of finding the hope that's still in the manger, the hope of Jesus, and knowing that our "light and momentary suffering is producing in us a far great weight of glory." If you suffer, you get Jesus in that suffering. If you're sad, you get Jesus in that sadness. And He knows. He sees. He's God With Us. Forever.

Matthew 1:23 "All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: 'Behold the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and you shall call his name Immanuel, which means God With Us.'"

Graveside

I wrote this after the funeral of my friend. It's not great but I have to write stuff sometimes to help me figure things out.

Graveside

 You knelt at a graveside weeping
even though you were the Resurrection
you cried in front of all your friends
even with all certainty of the future
    You knelt as his graveside weeping

Was it the loss that got to you
or the curse of sin that caused decay in your world
    Or were you moved with such deep compassion for the mourners
that you could do nothing else?
Did you know how many would see this show of power
and still choose to reject the way of life?
    You knelt at the graveside weeping
and still you prayed to the Father
thanking him for listening.

        Are you listening to me now?
where the weeping as turned into silence
and the questions only keep coming
Are you still weeping with me
over that one lost sheep
    who still rejected you
and wandered beyond my reach?

She once said i was like her sister
--a title quickly gone
But you stick closer than a brother
and give comfort like a mother
and you find us in the thorns 
and call us home.

You were at her grave with me
weeping the tears I couldn't find
And you can carry us both together now
Compassionate friend--   
    see our struggles and help me to see you
here at the grave
and beyond

Copyright May 2021 KB Snodgrass

Sometimes you just need an old friend.

In 1996 the internet was pretty new and chat rooms were new and people were just figuring out how they all worked. Being a cutting-edge teenager, I had an account and spent a lot of time meeting people in chat rooms and trying to find some connections that I didn't have in real life. The summer before I went to high school, I met someone who, looking back, was an unexpected gift to my awkward and lonely teenage soul. I think his screen name was Breten2, and we liked to go to this chat room. He was in school for youth ministry and I was... a youth. We connected a lot on instant messenger and with other people in the chat group. It was fun. And don't worry, it was wholesome. Back then I was really immature in all of the ways everyone around me was mature, and more mature in the ways that everyone around me wasn't. I think it made it hard for me to connect with people. But Breten2 didn't care. He just accepted me and went along with my craziness. And in the midst of the weirdness and insane teenage moments, he managed to ask the right questions and reach my heart. I think the anonymnity of a screen helped a lot. I didn't meet him in person until my senior year (I did know he was a real person becasue one of my mom's friends had a son at the same college and confirmed it. He also at one point emailed my parents so they would know he was talking to me and keep everything above board. Because he's cool like that.) 

I became less lonely as high school went on, and I had friends and I eventually met my husband-to-be. Breten2 was there through all of the stuff, though. I had to switch churches freshman year, and that was really difficult. I had a bit of a crisis of faith in that. I had lots of questions and a lot of normal-ish struggles as I navigated high school. Friendships that didn't go so well, boys I liked, youth group drama, my first kiss, my siblings, all kinds of things. Sometimes just being able to write out what you're thinking is helpful. Being a college student, Breten2 was often on messenger late at night, and I'd talk through things with him. I process easier in writing than I do by talking so it was a perfect combination. He was the easiest to talk to, and he did something very few people in my life were doing: He listened. And then he gave the best advice. Like, no one can do it like him. He just understood better than a lot of people, and even when he didn't, he still somehow knew the things to say. God used him over and over to help me see things the right way, to help me figure out relationships, and to just feel better about myself. He had such a great way of building me up and letting me see myself the way God did. He had a way of erasing my insecurities with assurance and truth spoken in just the right way. Recently I was thinking about how badly I had needed and wanted a person at church to mentor me and be part of my every day life and it didn't happen because we'd switched churches and I was actually a pretty quiet person who rarely drew attention to myself. But I got a mentor who never took credit for it. A big brother.

Slowly after I got married and became an adult, I didn't need a Breten anymore. We always stayed in touch and checked in once in a while. He got married also, and we've been pretty busy with our own seperate lives in seperate countries. Since our relationship was never in-person, it isn't weird to stay in touch only online. Our memories together are awesome and I love him for all that he's been to me. we're very different now and have less and less in common. But last week I went to the memorial of my aforementioned friend Twan and I felt horrible afterwards. I can't even articulate exactly how or why I did, but I did. And after sitting and stewing in it for a few days, thinking through so many things and remembering high school with her as my best friend, I felt like I needed some outside help to process it all. It's just such a weird and personal thing to lose a friend like that, and I spend a lot of time overthinking who would be the best person to talk to about things (usually I resort to not talking to anyone). I realized the perfect person to share with would be Breten2. We're friends on facebook, so I sent him an abnormally long message dumping my feelings and thoughts. Just like the old days. I actually felt better just doing that. It would have been enough to have just said it all to someone I knew would read it and pray for me. I told him that I just wanted him to be Breten and fix it.

He did it. He replied with the insight and widom of a counselor and youth pastor, but he also replied as my friend. Who knew me when I knew Twan, who understood the weirdness of high school relationships and how they shape us but how they aren't permanent. He gave me assurance and peace, and he helped me heal. Because that's what he does. It might not have even been everything he said (although it was helpful), but just being heard and understood and loved in the most fitting way made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Sometimes you just need an old friend. I could never thank him well enough or thoroughly enough for all the ways he's helped me, but I think he knows. At least a little. ;) Breten2 is a world-changer, but he does it in small ways that the big world doesn't see. He's a God-lover and a people-lover and if you don't have a Breten in your life, you should get one. But probably don't go looking in a chat room.

The Truest Friend

 It's been a minute since I've posted anything. I have better things to do with my life right now. But sometimes I'm not sure they're actually better. Just busier, more urgent, more... something. This year has been full. Parenting and schooling and being married and ministering and trying to be a good friend... juggling all of it sometimes makes it hard to do what I actually want to do. And on another level, a lot of my life recently hasn't really been the kind of stuff you publish onto the internet. It's been hard and ugly and good all at the same time. Because good things often have hard before they are good.

That's been on my mind the last few weeks. My best friend from high school died unexpectedly, and left me reeling with so many questions and doubts and a looming sadness that I can't shake. We weren't best friends anymore, which is probably its own post. These things happen. I'd found peace with that. I'm the kind of person who wants to hold on to friends forever. Probably because I spent so much of my life not really having any. But not everyone feels that way, not everyone is built that way, and that makes it hard when you have to reconsile your desire for that forever friend with the reality of most people not really feeling that vibe. Anyway, back to my friend. My best friend. The hard that came before her good happened twice. Once before I met her, and then during a period where we lost contact.

Maybe it was an unrealistic expectation. To have "that" friend, the one who spends the night at your house on weekends, goes to the games with you, likes the same things, and sees the world like you do. But that was what I wanted. ever since my elementary best friend Stasia got put in another class and I spent all of fourth grade with literally no one to talk to except a couple of nerdy guys who liked drawing cartoon characters (they were great guys but they never saw me as their friend, just a girl who was around and liked drawing like they did). I spent 4th through 8th grade wishing for someone at school who would just understand me, who cared about the things I did, who wasn't the freak smart kid who no one liked. I just wanted one friend. One.

Twan was God's answer to my prayers. I really had prayed over and over, just one friend, Jesus. One friend who cared about the things I thought were important and wanted to hang out with me sometimes.  One friend who could laugh at the rest of the world with me, not care how weird I was. I met her the first day of school. We randomly took a seat next to each other in science class at a table for two, and honestly the rest is history. She was quiet but not an introvert, and we soon found out we had things in common. Our birthday being one. Our weirdness being the other. By weird, I mean wacky. We both liked childish things and found humor in similar things. With four classese together every day and lunch, we spent a lot of time together. Slowly figuring out just how much we had in common. Slowly realizing that we just "got" each other. We were by all senses of the word, best friends. she had other friends, I had other friends. We had mutual friends who we spent time with also. We both hated math class and we both loved our science teacher. English class was so bad she ended up quitting it (that's another story). But all through high school, we found time for each other. We fought some battles together, like her first car accident the day she got her lisence, like hating some teachers that sucked the life out of us, like that angsty friend who actually seemed to want to fight with everyone. We were almost always just on the same page about it all. 

That's why I never actually figured otu what changed. We both moved on in college. I got married and I think that made it hard for her to relate for a while. Her worldview morphed into something different than mine. We were also in completely different parts of the country so we never saw each other, and the online communication back then was sketchy. So we drifted. I always, always missed her. My house and my memory boxes were full of reminders that always carried a sadness when I lifted the lid, remembering that person who really meant so much to me that I'd somehow lost, pushed away unintentionally. I never forgot, and I don't think she did either. She even admitted how her past and her parents made relationships difficult for her. So I don't blame her for what happened between us. I just spent so much time wondering and wishing, hoping we'd run into each other somewhere in town and remembering that sparky connection, embrace and start again. Pick up where we'd left off.

That didn't really happen, but we did reconnect. She found me online by accident. she saw something I'd written in my blog and it helped her undrestand her hurt toward me. We reconsiled as much as we could, and we stayed in touch after that. Every year we've sent each other birthday gifts. Written letters and notes, commented on each others' social media. That was the best we had after that, but I'm so thankful for it. It laid to rest so many questions and insecurities I'd had about what went wrong. We talked about writing and reminised about the dumb things we both loved. We were in a good place.

Then last month I found out she'd ended her life. I'm crushed. It wasn't really a surprise but it was unexpected. She battled mental health, and she fought so hard. She was a voice to explain issues and things others couldn't put words to. She was the truest friend to so many people. She loved well. And now I'm kind of back to where I was in that in-between time when we weren't in contact. I'm wondering what went wrong, if there was more I should have done. Wishing in the secret parts of me that it was all untrue, that somehow it's a ruse. And I know it isn't. She's gone, and this time it's forever. We're cut off in the longest and most painful way, and it's hard to even settle into that reality. 

Not everyone agrees, but I believe in eternity and I think that our souls connect with others in ways that can't be explained in just fleshly ways. That was us. And I hope that some day we'll be reunited. Maybe all of our relationships are temporary in that light. Even on a shallow level, relationships are fleeting and not all of them are meant to be that forever kind. We change, we move, we need different things. I'm learning that in my thirties. I'm sure it will take a lifetime to overcome the pain of loss, especially this one. I think it will take a long time to even find another friend like that--there's no one like her at all--but one who understands that core person of who I am, not just the things I present as myself. There aren't a lot of connections like that for me, maybe for anyone. I'm thankful I had it for that season when I needed it so badly. I wish it would have lasted forever, but forever on earth is probably an illusion.

A Eulogy for A Tree

We had a giant storm come through a few weeks ago. It did the kind of damage tornadoes do, but it was straight winds stretching across Iowa. Trees got uprooted and torn down, pulling down power lines and houses with them. It was horrible.

My house took a pretty big hit from just the wind. Trees are still small on our lot which was formerly a pasture. 

Trees are not small in my old neighborhood, though. The place I grew up. We moved there when I was ten, from a farm we'd rented and I'd loved with my whole heart. On the farm we'd had free reign to roam and get into all kinds of adventures. A windbreak grove of cypress trees grew on the edge of the yard of that house, and we each had a favorite tree we claimed as our own "fort". Mine had ropes tied around it, an old hose that served as a Bat-pole, and a little tin cup that I pretended was a telephone. Moving to town meant I would have to leave that tree. The house my parents had chosen barely had a back yard, and there definitely were no good climbing trees there. Just two saplings on the side yard. Nothing to brag about.

Moving was hard for lots of reasons, but for some reason I fixated on the tree situation. I eventually acclimated to town living, appreciating the nice paved sidewalks and a few neighborhood kids to do things with. We'd ride through the 'hood, discovering new territory every day. We could get down to Czech Village easily, and occasionally we'd make it to the river on family bike rides. Slowly and surely, that new neighborhood became our home--my home. I walked to school every day for four years up the back alley, through the church yard, and up to Wilson.

Trees are part of our perfunctory view. We don't even really notice them until someone decides to chop one down. The trees all around that neighborhood that we moved to almost thirty years ago are in a large part gone now. They blew over and uprooted and lost limbs, leaving open wounds that are un-healable. The pines in the alley where I could look out my bedroom window and almost pretend I was in the mountains, the oak trees with the acorns that I walked over and cracked on the walks to school, the neighbor's lofty tree that was for sure the tallest one in the neighborhood--they're now reduced to logs on the side of the road, waiting for the city to haul away and turn into mulch and firewood.

The tiny trees in my parent's yard grew through the years. One of them ended up being removed and then the remaining one grew and grew. There was a limb that hung low, and I'm kind of convinced it did because of all the times we hung on it, pulling ropes and trying to swing from it. In the fall we would rake piles of leaves up from that tree and jump off of the trailer top into it. That tree that I hated because it represented the loss of my favorite place at the farm, became shade for the house it stood next to and eventually shade for my own children when they visited Grandma. A part of the perfunctory scenery of that post-war neighborhood where families grew and moved on, and new families moved in to live.

The storm pushed that mighty tree over, leaving a ball of roots sticking up into the air, grabbing the lines all around it, and also taking out the corner shrub that had been there when we moved in. I wasn't prepared for the shock and grief that happened the day I finally got to see the neighborhood of my childhood, post-storm, littered with the trees that watched my childhood. There are still some there, but it will never be what it was. But even by the time we moved there, it had already changed from what it was in the beginning. Time goes on, and houses and trees fall to the inevitable atrophy that comes in the space we live in as age and weariness pull apart the treads we've woven together to call a community.

I'll miss that tree, just like I miss the way the neighborhood looked in those first days of wonder as I rolled down the street in my old banana seat bike, noting the houses and their inhabitants who were laboring to make their yards feel like home. I'll miss that tree like I miss the neighbors, the Czech ladies who built their lives in the new world and watched their beloved homes make way for new families like mine, kids who walked on their flowers and rode bikes down the street and stayed out in the street lights, hoping for one more day of summer. I'll miss that tree like I miss being able to climb it or any tree, like I miss the moments of my brothers and sister together with the neighborhood kids. I like to think it had a mind of its own in some ways, and it willed itself to grow into the sheltering tree it was in the end. That it made its branches spread while we played soccer and went to band practice and raked the leaves up every fall. Maybe I'm crazy to think that its beauty mattered even a little in a world full of changes and fast-paced decisions. but maybe that's why we hurt a little when the trees leave us, because nothing about them is fast-paced or changing. They grow consistently slowly, they change in season like they're meant to, and they offer for us a view of God who makes all things beautiful in his time.

90's Halloween and the Family that Didn't

My siblings and I grew up knowing that witches were evil and all of the other satanic things that go along with them like Halloween were too. My parents had heard the rumors about kidnappings and satanic rituals that happened on Halloween so we really didn't get to celebrate it like most kids. I'm not even going to argue about that. I still have suspicions. But both of them had grown up trick-or-treating, and my mom, being from small town Iowa, understood that kids kind of feel left out if they're the only ones not doing it.
Which did not push her to get us included. Instead, she just kind of did her own thing with us each year. There was a parade at school in elementary which we never dressed up for but got to be in. Teachers were cool. I never heard a kid say anything bad to me about it (but I was also socially unaware so that doesn't mean they didn't).
Around that time churches started hosting "harvest fests" which we all knew was Christian Halloween. So we'd go to those sometimes. But the epic years were the years when we just stayed home. Being a homebody introvert I didn't really care about missing out on all the stuff. I just wished I could eat candy. (Parents were also sort of all natural hippies so candy was pretty sparse in our house).
One year my older brother had a roller skating party to go to and my baby brother went to bed early, so Mom and I watched Meet Me in St. Louis on TV. It was my first introduction to that amazing movie and to some pretty weird traditions that people (apparently) used to do on Halloween at the turn of the century. It was a good memory for me because I got some rare one-on-one time with my mom. Also my brother came home with a giant bag of candy, which my mom put into a little tin and hid on top of the pantry cupboard and I would occasionally sneak in there and steal a couple pieces.
When we moved to town, we weren't sure what to do, being fundamentally opposed to Halloween. My parents decided to give out candy but we didn't participate in trick-or-treating. That was fine. I was ten anyway, and this way I had unlimited access to the stash. Mom also decided to keep us home from school since it was just a big Halloween party day anyway. She rented a movie (A Christmas Story) and we stayed in watching one of the best movies ever. It became a little bit of a tradition to watch a Christmas movie on Halloween then. We also still watch A Christmas Story every Christmas.
We had a few trick-or-treaters that year, including a couple of guys from my class who we all knew were too old to be out begging for candy. The doorbell rang after we'd shut the light off and all of us gathered by the door, curious who had the gall to trick or treat without a light. A huge figure stood in the door frame dressed in a trench coat and a warm Russian hat. My mom didn't want to answer the door but my brother threw it open anyway. "Trick or treat!" a voice said. A familiar voice. It was my dad. He'd sneaked around the back door to try and surprise us all. My mom spent a while recovering from the heart attack she almost had while the rest of us laughed about it for quite a while.
There were good times together those years when we all stayed home. Once my brother found one of those mutated carrots that didn't get thinned out enough in the garden and it looked like a hand. He would shove it out the door when the masqueraders came a-knocking, making it look like a creepy monster was passing out candy. He also hid behind the bushes a few times planning to jump out at trouble-makers and scare them.
Eventually we all went our own ways and Halloween wasn't a concern as young adults. The first year I moved back to town, though, husband and I threw on some wigs and masks and decided to play a little trick on my parents. We showed up as a cowboy gorilla and a blonde-headed hippie. My mom (again) thought it was trouble, and they legitimately considered not opening the door until they heard my voice and realized what we were up to.
I don't celebrate Halloween with my kids, at least not the way the rest of most of America does. I do still enjoy a good prank, and we dress up for the church's non-Halloween fest. On Halloween night, there's always a movie going at our house. Plus candy. Because no one should miss out an scads of crap poison disguised as colorful treats just because their parents prefer not to join in the evil festivities. ;)