Memorable Days

Two decades separate my little brother's wedding from my own, but

they share the same building, 

same pews, same aisles, and many of the same people ... even the same pianist. 

But, the old ring bearer ...is the new groom.

The new groomsman ... is the old groom.

The old groomsman ...

... is the new pastor.

And the old pastor is ... missing ... and missed.

Dad died the year after he walked me down the aisle. James was seven.

Life moved on from there ... 

... and then sort of returned again. 

During the weekend of James's wedding, bits of dad's handsome character permeated the places of our togetherness:

All three of my brothers were in the same room with me several times. 

Bliss.

I could see traces of Dad.

Tim's individuality and passion for the Kingdom, 

and his ability to tell the perfect story - 

"enhanced" in just the right places to pique interest and produce laughter.

Josh's mannerisms - the way he looks through his glasses at you with kind sincerity; 

and his humility - 

he knows so much and is so very smart, 

but he is quick to listen and slow to speak, choosing to respond with more questions than answers.

James' confident smile that brightens rooms and lightens moods; 

and his love for people - 

he consistently chooses to put others first with generous grace and subtle style.

There were other reminders, too.

During the ceremony, my oldest son was an usher - and wore my dad's black Rockport dress shoes. 

The symbolism was sobering and sweet ... of filling shoes and walking paths ... legacy, heritage, and honor.

The day before the rehearsal, I looked in my closet and found Dad's black silk bow tie.
I rushed it through the dry cleaners, boxed it up, and sent it with the groomsmen on Saturday
to offer James as he dressed for the big day.
James wore it so well! There were no big acknowledgements ... it was our quiet, happy secret. 

Dad's signature touch was sweetly in our midst.

As the service concluded, the pastor blessed us with a wonderful gift. He said:

"James, twenty years ago I stood on this stage in your sister's wedding. 

In that ceremony your father shared some words that touched me so deeply. 

In fact, they had such an impact on my life,

 that I have shared his words in every wedding I've officiated over the last twenty years. 

I want to share his words with you now. 

In the few moments we've shared together tonight, 

you've made some very sincere and challenging promises to each other. 

But every day after today - you must choose to fill up your words with Christ-like actions. 

As you make your words come true each new day, in each new way, 

God will be honored and you will be blessed."

Mom couldn't have Dad by her side at James' wedding.

But how precious to have [almost] half of his grandkids on every side!

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord! 

I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever;
    with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known
    through all generations.

Job 1:21, Psalm 89:1-2

God is with us and He is for us.

And He promises as we journey through happiness and sorrow,

that not a tear is wasted. In time we'll understand.

He's painting beauty with the ashes.

Our life is in His Hands.
Casting Crowns, THRIVE

*Photo credit:

Jeannie Walker Gaut

Momentarily

That early morning phone call disturbed the peace I thought was mine. It was a Friday in spring in 1995 when I was 23. My dad had suffered a "fatal cardiac event", and first responders were unsuccessful in their attempts to bring him back.

My world was muted in stunned silence while tremors of sadness and insecurity roared and vibrated uncontrollably at my core.

Through belief in God and faith in his plans, I was able to rebound and redirect, but Dad's death changed the way I lived. I was so grateful for the brightness and fullness with which my dad lived, and yet his sudden departure seemed to cloud my joy and hollow my hope.

No matter the complexities of my motivations, I like to think I've lived my adult life with intentional diligence, not taking anything for granted.

With grace, and also to a fault, I've spoken the truth. Likewise, with grace, and also to a  fault, I've opted to withhold it. But I've never lost consciousness that our days are vaporous and moments are fleeting.

One Friday morning this past spring, a mid-morning phone call disrupted the easy-going day I thought was mine. My co-worker had suffered a "fatal cardiac event", but first responders  successfully resuscitated him after several minutes had passed.

My day was paused as frenzied concern and critical priorities forced actions to fast-forward and caused thoughts to rewind.

I sat in the waiting room with his daughter in her twenties and pondered the parallels ... realizing it was only in those dreadful few moments of heart attack and cardiopulmonary resuscitation that our stories were similar. I never got another word with my dad, and she had already been back with hers to exchange several words and a few hugs. Their story was different. But the same.

I am 47 - the age my dad was when he died. This timely juxtaposition is not easily dismissed.
I consider fatal cardiac events, and I contemplate the resuscitation of heart and lungs.
Revival.

Over the past six months, I've watched as my co-worker - through wise choices and skilled therapy - has been rehabilitated and restored to an even better life than before. His body is strong and healthy. His mind is miraculously unharmed. His spirit is beautifully reformed with a humbly bold approach to his work and relationships.

For years I've lived as if the next breath were my last.
Perpetually processing the potential of  passing away.

Today I choose to live as though this breath is my first.
Recently resurrected.
Revived once again.

I want more than to merely survive another blip in the linear advance. I want to live renewed - thriving in breaths of purpose and rhythms of praise. Hopeful and unafraid that life is mist. Determined that the riches of wisdom won't be missed.

For these last 23 years I have lived with a sense that my time was borrowed ... burdened by the notion that things are uncertain, circumstances can change in an instant, and death is just around the corner. More fear than faith, honestly.

As I begin my third set of 23 years, I choose life: resurrection and abundance ... realizing things on earth are still uncertain, circumstances still change in an instant, but death is in the past. Less fear, more faith. Honestly.

Galatians 2:20 - "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."

Christmas Can

My father-in-law had a fun tradition of giving the grandkids coins. He would come around the room with a plastic coffee container filled with loose change. He allowed each child to dip their hand in, and grab as much money as they could.

I remember one Christmas several years ago, when he brought the can to our house. In those brief moments of house-wide grabbiness, I thought, "We are a greedy bunch, aren't we?"

Then I looked a little closer. Everyone was giggling and chanting.

My dear "Freddie", by far, was the most enthusiastic of the lot.
"Git in there, kiddo! Git ya all you can!" he would cheer.

Veintisiete

Jamey and Cari - 1987

My baby brother turns 27 today. I can remember being on a youth mission trip in Mexico the day he was born. I called home to check on Mom about 9 pm and there was no answer...I knew my parents had no late-night social life, so I assumed they had gone to the hospital to give birth to my new Home-Ec project! I cried when I realized I missed his birth. I missed him...and I didn't even know him yet.

He was such a pretty baby. Dark, plump, and smiley. His first year of life was my first year with a driver's licence. One day I was running an errand in the "good times van" with James harnessed into his new, plush car seat. His seat faced forward, positioned on the captain's chair closest to the big sliding brown door. I say "positioned" because "secured" would be inaccurate.

As I came to an abrupt stop at a red light, the car seat tipped forward until it rested on the front passenger seat. I saw it lunge forward in my peripheral. I panicked, thinking James had been thrown to the floor. I quickly pulled into the next parking lot available. I threw open my door, darted around the van, and frantically opened the sliding door.

Safe and Secure

Thank the Lord for answered prayers! The following is a glimpse of my thoughts from four years ago. 

Reading through it ... giggling ... I sit in awe. Shaking my head. Humbled and overwhelmed by how foreign and powerless these fears seem to me today. (Not the physical stuff ... heights still scare me to death and back.) 

But I'm amazed at the courage He provides for the life adventures He designs. He is faithful to heal and help us grow. I look forward to reading this year's posts in a few years ... hoping for more evidence of His mercy and grace! 

July 2010
I finally opened "So Long Insecurity", my new book by Beth Moore. It may be noteworthy that I struggled with anxiety about even reading a book with "Insecurity" in the title.

Whisper it gently, "(head case)!"
Thirty-six pages have now entered my consciousness.

A Whole Entire Blog Post About Brendan Luke

Happy Birthday Lukey:)

My tallest, blondest child turns 16 today!

I remember being SO geared up for his birth. Not like the other time, with that first baby, when I was kuh-loo-less.

I had two years of parenting experience, a precious little compliant child that followed my instructions and proved my sketchy theories perfectly, tons of nap times in which to read dozens of parenting books, and thanks to daily stroller walks, I was ending this second pregnancy lighter than I started the first, I was gonna be ALL kinds of ready for this child!

What Love is This

**Originally posted November 2012

Yesterday, I sat down with each girl individually and gave them "cyber dollars" so they could privately shop online for their family members. Ardyn showed up with a list. Ashlin was definitive and decisive. Elizabeth was not happy her time slot fell during her one PBS show, so with eyes darting toward the tv, she hastily spouted, "I just want to get elephants for the little kids and monkeys for the big kids, ok?" That girl!

Anyway, when Mari sat down, she had three dollar bills wrinkled into a wad in her hand. Not understanding that I intended to fully fund her virtual shopping spree, she looked up at me and with those big brown eyes blinking slowly and sweetly, she whispered, "This is all my money. Can you please look up 'wedding rings'?"

I blinked a blurry tear away as I typed "gold diamond ring" into the search box, and she continued to talk. "This three dollars can buy you a really pretty ring and then - since my money will be all gone - I'll just make stuff for everybody else ... I can make a scrap book for dad and ..."

AMH: Mommy Moment - Joy

I'm posting over at A Martha Heart today.

"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!"
Enjoy today,
cdj

Brotherly Love

I remember the day my dad was shopping with me for a special dress. We had moved to a new town ahead of the rest of the family, so in a mutual state of neediness in Mom's absence, I was his escort to a fancy dinner, and he was my shopping buddy.

Standing in the busy department store, I slid the hangers along the metal pole. I would hold one up and check for his initial response. A squinchy nose meant: "don't even bother", while raised eyebrows and flattened frown indicated:"perhaps, perhaps!"

I have two distinct memories of that day ...

Read full article over at A Martha Heart

MegaCare

Well, my mom turns 65 today.  October 12.  "Yes, Columbus and I discovered America on the same day!"  Her famous punchline.

This photo is of us in 1973.  She looks a tiny bit tired...but not me!!  That's what I'm saying for the photographer (most likely, Dad).  Pointing to my soul with all my fingers, "Me!  Take a picture of ME!!"

Mom teaches her piano students with passion for music and compassion for people.  She dines out with friends.  She listens to AWANA kids recite their scripture.  She keeps careful records and makes great presentations.

She is an amazing mom. Check out her kids. I'm not kidding! This is not some vain attempt to talk about how great we are. You want to know if a mom is great at what she does? Look at the fruit. ALL of her kids are handsome, charming, and love to learn. All of her kids find incredible joy in worshipping the One True God.

All of her kids who are married, happily chose spouses who share that same purpose and pleasure. All of her kids who have children of their own, are actively raising them to do the same. (Sorry, JW, but you're not giving me a lot to work with...Jesus loves you, man...hang in there!)

Mother's investment in her kids has blossomed into a bouquet of blessings. No matter what happened on each and every single day. No matter what mistakes she may have made. No matter how things deviated from what she might have planned. The harvest of her mothering efforts is rich and plentiful.  Her grandsons know they have someone who will listen.  Her granddaughters feel her love and they want to be Godly Grammy's too. She has gently made her mark on the generations to come. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Outstanding, admirable, and OLD...I think that's the main idea here, today.  I think I actually have more gray hair than mom...so she knows I'm just pickin'. She is by all accounts aging beautifully and gracefully.

Thank You, God for giving me my mom. You did Good!

Everlasting Arms

Ward & Cari 1971

Today I am thinking about my dad. He went ahead to be with Jesus 16 years ago this Spring. I remember his artful skill as a conversationalist. I remember his generosity and his wisdom. I remember his perfectly straight, really white teeth. (He should’ve done commercials, or something!) But my most vivid memory, even after all this time, is of his arms.

Benediction

I always sign my messages, "Enjoy today!"

It is an honest hope and blessing for each person to discover some amount of God's joy in each day...regardless of circumstance.

One of my OBU friends was killed in a hunting accident Thursday. I remember John as a kind - and charmingly goofy- gentlemen who loved Jesus and loved life. I can picture his smile right now...even though it's been 20 years since I've seen it.

Philip was sitting with me when I read the news...tears just began to flow...I've been missing my dad for the last couple days...all my kids went hunting with their dad this morning...probably a lot of complicated emotions, but a deep sadness and sense of shock came over me. I know the Lord is not shocked, and I fully trust Him.

This morning as I sent a message to his wife, I locked up as I closed the note. "Enjoy today?" Really? How could she possibly?

Less than a week ago, she posted this on her blog. Our only hope for discovering joy is in the arms of a kind and compassionate God who has promised to withhold anything we cannot handle, and provide everything we need. Praise Him.

Thank You, God, for John Franklin and his undeniable friendship with You:)

Friday Flashback

I am SO glad I blog. I had no recollection of this before I stumbled across the post and read it. Good memories trapped in poor memory:)

Here is a little post from Summer 2008.

Everlasting Arms

Ward & Cari 1971

Today I am thinking about my dad. He went ahead to be with Jesus 15 years ago this Spring. I remember his artful skill as a conversationalist. I remember his generosity and his wisdom. I remember his perfectly straight, really white teeth. (He should’ve done commercials, or something!) But my most vivid memory, even after all this time, is of his arms.

When I was young, he would flex his forearm and slightly twist his wrist, to prove the whole “Pop-Eye’s spinach” theory. I also remember how he would lean back against the pillows of his bed to read. As he held a book with one hand, he would stretch his other back to rest behind his head.

As a little girl, I would climb up onto his bed, lie beside him, and rest my head on his folded arm. He would continue reading, and every once in a while, as he brought his hand forward to turn a page, he would gently brush the hair away from my face. With my ear pressed against the front of his shoulder, I could almost hear every beat of his loving heart.

Today, the mere memory of that warmth reinforces me with confidence, and security.
I am grateful that, while on earth, my dad could communicate to me a glimpse of peace and security that our heavenly Father offers forever.

Deut. 33: 27 says, “The eternal God is our refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms…” and Isaiah 40 says, “He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to his heart…”

Can’t you hear the first few lines of that great hymn?
“What a fellowship,
what a joy divine...
what a blessedness,
what a peace is mine,
leaning on the everlasting arms.”

Thank You God for Dad. I'm a tiny bit jealous that you guys get to hang out while I finish this journey strong. Thank You for blessing MY children with a dad who loves tenderly, encourages confidently, and protects securely. You are a faithful Father - a perfect example - and I love you deeply for never changing and never leaving. Leaning on You...

Flashback Friday Foto

Happy 13th Birthday, Landen Paul!

This photo was taken a little over 11 years ago. I was pregnant with Luke and we were vacationing in Missouri. I remember we took him to Bass Pro Shop that trip and he looked up and screamed, "Momma! Look at all deez Hooge Fee-yush!" I think he wore brown suede hiking boots and this baseball hat the entirety of his next three years on earth. He was THE cutest little man cub I knew.

So, I'm typing this post late Thursday night. Thirteen years ago at this very hour, Philip was hanging up the phone with our friend, Bruce, saying, "Dude, I gotta go. I think Cari's fixin' to have the baby." We drove to the hospital and, by 9:10am, Landen had brightened our world forever.

When he was just a day old, I was sitting up in the hospital chair holding him. Philip had walked down the hall. The nurses were gone. The visitors had left. It was just he and I. He was crying and I couldn't really get him to stop. I felt so unprepared to parent this precious [slightly squealy] baby.

His crying continued as mine began. I was awestruck at this life that God had created, overwhelmed by my newly felt responsibility, and greatly saddened by my obvious ineffectiveness. I knew I would never be able to meet my child's needs without the Lord's help.

All I knew to do was praise Him and wait for His help. I tearfully whispered a song as I rocked and swayed with Landen. It was the song I had sung for months as I rubbed my swelling belly - praying for the life within. In broken phrases, my emotional voice uttered the fruit of my overwhelmed heart..."You are beautiful beyond description, too marvelous for words. Too wonderful for comprehension, like nothing ever seen of heard. Who can grasp Your infinite wisdom? Who can fathom the depth of Your love?"

Our hearts and cries were lovingly quieted in one harmonious moment. Landen rested peacefully in my arms as I felt the loving arms of our Heavenly Father draw us both a little closer to Himself.

Today, I was resting on the couch after lunch. Landen came over, sat beside me, and took my hand. He smiled. With his other hand, he reached across his chest and began to rub his bicep through his shirt...just a habitual gesture when he's "talkin' grown". He soothingly said, "Mom, I know how much you've thought about this, but tomorrow IS happening. I AM going to be a teenager."

He offered a confident nod and a thin, straight smile - as if to say, "There, I said it." Then he was off to do "last day to be a kid" things.

Dear Father, thank You for holding me so close. I cannot parent in my own strength. You've seen me try. It's pitifully wretched. Thank You for Your promise to finish the good work You've begun in our family. Thank You for Your patience and for Your Presence. I feel it. I need it. I love it. Thank You for LP.

Happy Anniversary!

Philip & I have been married for fifteen amazing years.

I remember someone asking me shortly before the wedding, "How do you know for sure he's the one?" I thought about it for a minute. Stalling, actually, because who can be SURE of anything. Then it occurred to me. I saw my future as a big drama production...stage, set, sound, etc. In my mind, I switched out every conceivable backdrop in terms of setting: city, country, jungle; poverty, wealth, insanity. I changed out all the imaginary costuming and props. I added and subtracted cast members like friends, family, and future children. I ran through all the possible story lines: thrilling or horrifying; blissful or boring; safe & secure or downright scary. In all cases, the one thing I could never get my brain to alter was the leading man. He was there, standing firm, looking lovingly handsome forever.



Thank You, Lord, for guiding and protecting each of us as we journey closer to You and to each other. Thank You for Your love that makes all of life a blessing. Thank You for Your perfect strength that carries us in times when we are weak. Thank You for Your wisdom and patience when the choices are difficult. Thank You for Your forgiveness and compassion. It's the only way to truly live.

Friday Flashback Fotos

Yesterday, we had the best treat! My Great Uncle Don, his beautiful wife, Ann, and their precious daughter, Mynde, came by for a visit. They were traveling home to Missouri after spending a couple weeks at M.D. Anderson in Houston.

When the kids overheard my phone conversation with Aunt Ann, they began to console one another: "He's not feeling well, so there will be no 'hokus dee-pokus' today..."
When their car pulled up the drive, the kids surrounded it, pressing in to get dibs at the first hugs. As Uncle Don climbed out of the back seat, he held a white plastic bag in his hand. Next thing I know, he's got all the kids closing their eyes really tight, squirmin' their mouths sideways, and holdin' out their hands. "Hokus Dee-Pokus...Alakazam!" Then he would toss a bag of candy into open palms. This was Mari's first go at it. She approves.

He then turned to give James his fair share. Hard times and bubble gum...without the bubble gum. "Boy, you are eat up with ugly aren't ya? No wonder you ain't got no girl!" The whole time he's ribbin', Uncle Don is chuckling and literally poking fun between JW's ribs. Later, just before they drove away, Uncle rolled down his back window and hollered, "Jesus hadn't come back yet; you still got time!"

My Grandpa, Jimmy, died when I was just a few months old. He had several brothers and sisters who I remember meeting and adoring as a child. I especially loved to watch my dad interact with his Uncle Don. When my dad died before Landen was born, I was needy for a Papa from my Dad's side of the gene pool. Some of my most precious photographs are of each of my babies cradled in the arms of "Unk Don". Philip and I traveled to Don & Ann's house the year we were engaged and have returned almost every year since. Uncle Don always calls me "Sweetie" and he always kisses me on the cheek when we say hello or goodbye. When Mynde hugged me and said, "You look great. I don't think I've ever seen you NOT pregnant", Uncle piped in with "I think it's wonderful that you've got all these pretty babies. You should take that as a compliment. I mean it!"

This picture is from 1998. Luke pukes right as we take the shot. Landen is ready to bolt, huh? Can't you just tell Uncle's a hoot? Plenty good memories from that living room.



This one is from the 70's with my dad on the left, Uncle O.W. in the center, and Uncle Don on the right. You can see by their expressions that Uncle Don is giving his infamous "hard time"...just like he did with James yesterday.



Thank You, Lord, for Uncle Don & Aunt Ann. Thank You for giving them enough love to love us well. Thanks for providing such a sweet visit today. Keep them and shelter them in You arms.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today is my mom's birthday. I'm sad that we don't live in the same town, so that I could easily take her to lunch and then go shopping.

Days like this cause me to eagerly look forward to Christmastime. She'll have the house warm and scented, the fridge and freezer full of fabulous food, and a well orchestrated plan - albeit less than fully disclosed - for everyone to enjoy proper amounts of both quality time and quantity treats. And don't forget the "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" cake: the five layer homemade carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. (the more layers, the more frosting!) My kids talk about this delightfully commemorative confection year round.

If you've only read Chapman's books on the five love languages, you'll not have heard of Mom's special love language. Though she speaks the languages they mention, her true language of love is food, I believe. She expresses herself. She sacrifices. She premeditates. She provides. She celebrates. She finds joy in the sharing of food.

When she was the pastor's wife to over forty deacons, each of those families received a beautiful platter of homemade candies for Christmas. A few years later, when I made plans to stay out all night after high school graduation (PLEASE don't mention this to my children) she invited my friends over for a formal breakfast the following morning. In hindsight, perhaps it was her way of ensuring that we'd keep our wits about us if we had a 7am roll call. Nonetheless, she spared no effort or thought. Lace table cloth, her wedding china and stemware - complete with butter dish and gravy boat. I remember looking across the table at my severely fatigued classmates - all of us trying our best to sit up straight in our day-old flannel plaid garb - and thinking, "THIS must be what it means to be honored."

Outside the kitchen, the most natural room for my mom to shine is her piano studio. In an instant I can imagine her thumbing through a student's notebook, checking things off, while simultaneously snapping to a 3/4 rhythm and admonishing the pianist to staaaayy with-the beat! All her students love her. Her lessons shower them with gifts of encouragement, discipline, compassion & patience.

I struggled for many years, as you might assume, to see Mom's giftedness for the treasure that it is. I was too busy being annoyed and impatient, disrespectful and tart. Understandably, she secured "other" avenues for me to receive music education. But apparently, during my sweeter, pre-adolescent years, she found the grace to give me a solid foundation. I am still reaping the harvest from those seeds.

My mom was really ahead of her time in terms of home management. Almost every month, I will read about some "fresh, new" approach to parenting, organization, or family fun. After finishing the article, I say out loud, "Whatever. My mom was doing that 30 years ago." I have five, hand upholstered, eyelet trimmed, three-inch binders that chronicle the first eighteen years of my life. Photos, school papers, awards, if it happened, it's in there. Did she have any idea that "scrap-booking" would explode into a kazillion dollar industry? I'm old, people! She TYPED all the captions on a typewriter, then snipped them and matted them on pretty stationery.

And those "Bridge Books" you can buy at books-a-million that provide summer workbooks to transition your child from one grade to the next? Dunnit. My mom would save papers from each six weeks. Then at the end of each term, she would use those worksheets to create a notebook of summer assignments for each of us. As a result, we would retrace our steps from beginning to end of the subjects we had recently mastered. I would think to myself, "These sound like the word problems Mrs. So-in-so gave us last fall....Hey! These are those silly poems we just learned about at Easter." We could play with our friends "only when our daily page was complete." What a wise mom.

Here is the most amazing thing about my mom. Check out her kids. I'm not kidding! This is not some vain attempt to talk about how great we are. You want to know if a mom is great at what she does? Look at the fruit. ALL of her kids are handsome, charming, and love to learn. All of her kids find incredible joy in worshipping the One True God. All of her kids who are married, happily chose spouses who share that same purpose and pleasure. All of her kids who have children of their own, are actively raising them to do the same. (Sorry, JW, but you're not giving me a lot to work with...Jesus loves you, man...hang in there!)

Mother's passion for parenting has blossomed into a bouquet of blessings. No matter what happened on each and every single day. No matter what mistakes she may have made. No matter how things deviated from what she might have planned. The harvest of her mothering efforts is rich and plentiful. Her granddaughters long to be Godly Grammy's. She has gently made her mark on the generations to come. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Outstanding, admirable, and OLD...I think that's the main idea here, today. Ardyn and I found a card for mom this week. It said, "You're HOW old?...well try to have a good day anyway." Obviously we selected a sweeter card to actually put in the mail. I think I actually have more gray hair than mom...so she knows I'm just pickin'. She is by all accounts aging beautifully and gracefully.

Thank You, God for giving me my mom. You did Good!

Dear Friends

Recently I heard someone say we should surround ourselves with different kinds of "friends". She entertained the notion that I need rich friends to occasionally use for their wealth or to advance my own status. I need spongy, annoying friends to help me appreciate my good friends. And I need strange, unfashionable friends to bring me down to earth. I also need forever friends that will wholeheartedly attend to me despite minimalistic maintenance.

With "friendship" on the brain, I thought about facebook, where friendship is mutual. You have to be invited to be a "friend" or you go find some folks and invite them to be your friend. All invitations must be confirmed in order for relational information to be shared. The alternative to confirmation is ignorance...literally: "IGNORE".

Thanks to the electronic book of faces, I've regained contact this week with several friends from the past: roommates, choir comrades, travelin' buddies, senior classmates. By way of confirmation (either theirs or mine) we are now friends again. Haven't spoken in ten or twenty years, but with two sentences, we're rock solid friends. I can't get my brain around it.

My emotions are a mess of nostalgic bliss and foggy regret. Isn't it wonderful to virtually reunite with my closest confidant from college? Isn't it awful to know that after a two year blitz of sharing our deepest thoughts, we just went off the radar for a decade or more?

In 1991, When I moved back to Texas, I was dating a guy who still lived in Washington. He assured me our relationship would be able to withstand the distance. Two months later, he flew down for a friend's wedding and invited me to attend with him. We spent the whole weekend together. Then, as he waited for his flight home, he called me and said these words, "I guess I'm just a 'here and now' kind of guy, and you're not 'here now'." That sentence has haunted me...obviously since I'm blogging about it 18 years later. His words brought along a surge of insecurities.

I thought to myself, "We just spent an entire weekend together AT A WEDDING that he did NOT have to take me to. We had a GREAT time. He was humorous and affectionate. But if he has to be apart from me, he has no need of me?" Since my senior year, I had been a bit of a "player" on the dating scene, but that verdict-bearing phone call from someone my whole family assumed I would one day marry, broke my heart. As my emotions tried to heal, callouses formed. Huge patches of hard snobbishness concealed my aching insecurities while vindictive, control-freak tendencies crusted over most of my vulnerable sensitivities.

Thankfully, the Healing continued. That first semester of ETBU was complicated because I transferred in as the new VP's daughter. I couldn't tell if people were interested in me or obligated to befriend my dad's daughter. I missed my OBU friends. I missed that 'there & then' jerk. I was lonely. It was so simple to be the out-of-touch, can't-get-hurt, don't-care-if-you-miss-me-when-I'm-gone girl. So simple to preserve myself by hiding in a cocoon spun of self-reliance. Eventually, I was forced to open up and let folks in. INNERVIEW changed everything. 60 consecutive hours spent in & out of a 15-passenger van...sing it with me: "Nowhere to run to, baby. Nowhere to hide...". Those folks were exposed to glimpses of the real me. I loved those trips. I loved those friends.

Over time, God sent many friends who shared His desire for my good, and were faithful stewards of the emotional reserves I offered. Most importantly, He sent Philip, who could see with Spirit eyes, the beauty hidden deep within my heart. God gave Philip the patience and compassion to help me dig out of my dysfunctional pit. I love them both for that.

Throughout those years of having very few friends, I know Jesus loved me. He was my friend, though I had done nothing to deserve it. His message to me was (in stark contrast to others) "I am a 'here and now' kind of guy...and I'll always be able to say to you, 'I'm here now." Thank You, Jesus!

Back to that advice I mentioned earlier. I think no matter what kind of people we relate with - and there are sure to be many various types who come into our contact for many different reasons. If we are friends of God, then we will model His friendship. I realize I'll have friends who know me better and friends who spend more time with me than others, but I don't want to use people for my gain. I don't want to shun people just to avoid being inconvenienced or annoyed.

There must surely be a Godly way to befriend people. To speak the truth in love. To joyfully give and receive tender care. To offer our time and talents to God so He can work all things together to heal those who need healing....'cause there's really no way to tell what's going on beneath the skin. Couldn't we live our life as one great big, friendly "invitation"?

Even before opening Pandora's facebook, I had entered a new season of bountiful friendship. I thank the Lord. I want to be a good friend. I want to put others' needs before my own, and simply trust the Father to meet my needs. If I know Him, He'll probably use some of those very fun girls who I call "friend" to bless my healthy heart.

John 15:12-17
[Jesus said] "My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.
You are my friends if you do what I command.
I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.
You did not choose me, but I chose you ...
This is my command: Love each other."

Veinte Uno

"JAMEY" and CARI 1987

J-dub turns 21 today. I can remember being on a youth mission trip in Mexico the day he was born. I called home to check on mom about 9pm and there was no answer...I knew my parents had no late-night social life, so I assumed they had gone to the hospital to give birth to my new Home-Ec project! I cried when I realized I missed his birth. I missed him...and I didn't even know him yet.

He was such a pretty baby. Dark, plump, and smiley. His first year of life was my first year with a driver's licence. One day I was running an errand in the "good times van" with James harnessed into his new, plush car seat. His seat faced forward, positioned on the captain's chair closest to the big sliding brown door. I say "positioned" because "secured" would be inaccurate. As I came to an abrupt stop at a red light, the car seat tipped forward until it rested on the front passenger seat. I saw it lunge forward in my peripheral. I panicked, thinking James had been thrown to the floor. I quickly pulled into the next parking lot available. I threw open my door, darted around the van, and frantically opened the sliding door. There he was. Safely suspended over the walkway between the two seats. He dangled his feet over the expanse as though he were seeking thrills at a theme park. With his chubby fist clinched around the straps of his 5-point harness system, he giggled. I set the car seat back into position and tightened the seat belt strap. Then as he looked at me with those innocent ebony eyes, I couldn't take it. I just started bawling. I unstrapped him, held him close and pledged my undying devotion to his health, well-being, and life-long pursuit of happiness.

His second year was our family's first year in Washington State....which turned out to be my only year in the Northwest. I have sweet memories of coming home early in the afternoon from my lightly-loaded senior year to share ice cream and silly stories with "Jamey". There is a photograph of him and me on my first day at OBU. Mom was behind me and as James hugged my neck, she captured his saddening sobs. She was so thoughtful to keep us in close communication despite the 2000 mile gap. Mom would send pictures, artwork, and even tape-recorded messages from James to me at college. All the girls on my hall anxiously waited to hear the next "adorable thing my baby brother said".

By the time he entered Kindergarten, we were all living in Texas again. It was that year that he announced his name would then be "James"...not the babyish name "Jamey". It tickled me that he thought he was so grown up. That wasn't the last time I'd be tickled in such a way ;) He proudly served as the ring bearer in our wedding. During the rehearsal he was sorely offended when he found out the rings tied to his silk pillow were from the aisles of Hobby Lobby. "You can trust me!" he pleaded with me at the back of the church. Philip and I looked at each other and as we looked into James' eyes, we recognized the resolve in his countenance. We cautiously tied a couple thousand dollars worth of jewelry to a beautifully embroidered pillow and offered what would be the first of many opportunities to successfully handle responsibility. He came through like a pro!

The next year, I remember looking across the funeral home to see a little 7-year-old perched on one of the sofas near a lamp. He was dressed like a little man. He was calm. He listened patiently as people shared memories and stories. He would have to wait a lifetime to see his dad again. He was smiling as he chatted with folks, but the brightness in his eyes to which I'd grown accustomed had darkened a bit.

He was able to come with mom to stay with us after Landen's birth. His famous quote concerning my culinary technique: "I love to eat Cari's food...you can really tell she uses her brain when she cooks." He held baby Landen with great confidence. It's amazing that he and Landen share the same age span as Luke and Mari Alice. The rest of his school years were spent in B-town. We were limited to phone calls, the occasional letter, and seasonal visits. Ranger games every summer, Cowboy games in the winter, Spring Breaks and family fall vacations to Missouri. I missed a lot of his everyday life. But by most accounts, those were the "punk" years...Lord bless my mother!

It's been three years since he moved his stuff into our dining room and started sleeping in the bay window. Though he was committed to those drafty accommodations indefinitely, the Lord saw fit for him to have his own room. James was such an encouragement during that transition. Philip was working hurricane Katrina when he wasn't ironing out the details for a new job. I was house hunting, and packing, and trying to remain calm. I remember James said to me one day, "God knows where we're gonna live. He's not gonna hide it from us. He's not worried." Well stated! The week before we moved into this house, Philip and I found out we were expecting Johnson #7. James' enthusiastic involvement over the next several months kept the morale high, and childcare costs low.

We are so blessed to have him in our lives. He's so awesome with our kids. In so many ways he is helping to shape their lives. Mari is apparently musical because James sang to her & played the guitar to settle her down on datenites. From her time spent with James, Ashlin has learned the discipline of truthfulness and the value of a vigorous laugh. Ardyn never tires of James' presence, though she is quick to take advantage of his overnight travels as she camps out in his "comfy, cozy bed". With James, Luke finds comfort in his genetic potential and basks in the reciprocity of quality time. From James' example, Landen has discovered the secret to being completely cool: start with a limitless wardrobe, establish a personalized gesture of greeting, and ultimately don't worry about what anybody else thinks about you.

Together, James and Philip have agreed upon the importance of focused attention during conversation and the peaceful, easy feeling of a good, growly, bear hug. I'm not big on the hugs, but I treasure our kitchen discussions. I love his company. He brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes 'cause we're laughing so hard....other times because his sensitivity to God's Love is sincerely sweet...and other times 'cause I can't possibly do another rep of 15 with 30 pounds.

Thank You, God, for James.