My Sweet Tucker

I met Tucker another lifetime ago. Neither of us much resemble the people we were back then. If you could have searched the campus for two people who had the least amount in common, chances are you would have picked us. But, like some crazy magnetic force, we kept ending up together over and over again.
I was a party girl in those days. He was an overly serious 60 year old man trapped in a teenager's body. We both needed someone, and we were there for each other. I was convinced he was going to be my best friend for life but never anything more. He knew we would spend the rest of our lives together. I was in a serious accident the summer after we met, and from then on, I knew he was right. We belonged together. And from then on we have been; always together.
Tucker and I grew up together. We were mere babes when we married and neither one of us knew a thing. We had nothing, but we had each other. (and when there is nothing else, that is an awful lot)
I wish I can say the past 13 years have been one blessing after another, but that wouldn't be true. There has been a tremendous amount of heartache and regret. There were times when my words and actions devastated the man I love, and times when he acted like a stranger to me. Those moments were so very hard. Where do you go from there? As hard as those hurdles were they were so very necessary. One of the lessons of our Fireproof class was that the deeper one's marriage falls, the higher the possibility for it to be redeemed. I believe this is true with all of my heart. Had our struggles not been as fierce as they were, I'm sure our reward would never has been so wonderful.
Today I feel like Tucker has always been a part of me. We can flash each other a look and instantly know what the other is saying. There is a commonality we share between us, that could never be duplicated by anyone else. I spent the afternoon with him today, and I felt just like I did when I was 18 years old and holding his hand for the very first time. "Look at this wonderful guy I am with! Aren't I the luckiest girl in the world!" And he still makes me feel like that cute, little 18 year old!
God is not promising us easy marriages. He doesn't say that as long as you remain the same 2 people you were when you got married then all will be fine. You can not possibly grow without changing. The person you were the day you got married had not been subjected to the life experiences that came following your wedding day. People change. Those changes can be hard and so scary. You have to love your marriage and your God enough to love your spouse even when it feels impossible.
The many metamorphoses that Tucker and I have gone through in our marriage have not been easy in the least but with all my heart I thank the Lord that we went through them; that we loved God enough not to bail when it felt like the thing to do. I am so thankful for the husband I have, who I love more every moment of every day, all the while knowing that tough roads still await. I pray that God continues to bless us with His strength so that we can see each other through whatever comes our way.

Thank God

We were lucky enough to host the Connors again this year for Thanksgiving. It has become quite a nice tradition between the two families. The kids have literally grown up with one another so the relationships among all of them are very easy going. Every year these few days prove to be fun and relaxing for everyone.
It really is something how the Lord works. We say it all of the time, but when you slow WAY down to think about it, it really is just amazing. Janet and I really became "friends by accident." I'm sure when we met neither of us would have expected traveling hours to share Thanksgiving together, but... We are all very different people, but we honor those differences in one another and have developed close bonds because of it. Janet, to me, has become somewhat of a lighthouse. When I feel lost at sea, she has a way of bringing me back. Most of the time, I am sure she doesn't even know it.
So here is where the Lord comes in. It has been a very hard few months. There have been a lot of constant, little stresses. Just when I felt like I was getting my head above water, a wave would come and knock me back down. By the time the Thanksgiving holiday rolled around, I was wiped out. Having my friends visit really was what I needed. It really is funny. I look back on that week and try to gather what it was that really made the difference for me. Of course, not going to work and drinking a lot of beer helped, but it was just the friendship; knowing that I could eat pumpkin pie in pajamas for breakfast and that my friend would be doing the same, being able to sit in the den and knowing I didn't have to "entertain," watching my children snuggle up to their 'Aunt Janet' and 'Uncle Jimmy,' being able to look at little Sarah and Nate and still remember the moments I found out their momma was carrying them, staying up late and playing games...it just goes on. 13 years ago the Lord knew that these two families were going to be important for each other. He put us in each other's path so we could enrich our lives. It is so nice to realize that even though we may not have a clue what we are doing in our own lives, He is guiding us. He is sending us what we need to get through each day. It may come in the form of friends. It may come in the form of health. It may come in the form of wisdom. But he is looking after us, and making sure we are taken care of. I think, that that is what I am most thankful for this holiday season.

Jingling Bells

Tis the season.
We all have come to expect the familiar ringing of the brass bell outside all of our favorite retail shops this time of year. As we walk up to the entrance of the store we see that bright red bucket and hear the constant ringing of the bell held by the very hopeful hand of a Salvation Army volunteer hoping to get our attention and perhaps some spare change. Many times we are too busy, or don't want to deal with the inconvenience of rummaging through our pockets to find a donation. But, there are those times when we look at the shivering body of that eager helper, and know that our small sacrifice is worth so much more to many than the cost to ourselves. It is in these times that we slow our selves down long enough to realize, THIS is Christmas, and this is what matters. Sometimes we just require a little extra reminding.
Today, I decided it was officially time to start the "Christmas shopping panic." Although I still have more than three weeks to go, it seemed like the proper OCD way to go. After work, with toddler in tow, I decided to hit a favorite shopping location of mine in the hopes of crossing a few names off my list. Sure enough, when I reached the door I saw the familiar sight of a Salvation Army volunteer ringing her bell. Because Patch was in a hurry to meet up with a friend of his who had already gone in, I thought I would stop by her bucket on the way out. My shopping extravaganza was anything but, however I did manage to pick up a few things after a leisurely stroll throughout the store. When we exited the store I noticed the sound of the bell was intermittent at best. I looked over to the ringer and saw that she was leaning on the wall, turned AWAY from her bucket chatting wildly on her mobile phone. I should have been above it, but I just could not bring myself to drop a penny in. Though I know the money would have gone to serve a wonderful cause, the thought of someone taking such a cavalier attitude while asking people to GIVE what little they may have (in a recession no less) really rubbed me the wrong way. What happened to the days of graciousness?
The Christmas season has just begun. I know my family will drop money in several buckets around town, as we do every year. But today's experience really has tarnished my naive attitude towards charity. I want to feel as though my contribution means something. That by taking the time to donate, I am improving the situation of someone else. Today I only felt as if I would be interrupting a phone call.

I Know Nuthin'

I am a seasoned mother. There are so few experiences I have not encountered through the raising of my four kids, that I am without a doubt an expert in the subject of parenting. I speak with such overwhelming authority to the parents of the students in my class, because, after all I know everything.
Well...
I think God has an enormous sense of humor. Just to make sure we don't get a little too carried away with our opinions of ourselves, He throws us curve balls every now and then. Like after I had Emily, the most docile child on the earth, I was convinced colic was just something bad parents made up because they couldn't make their babies happy. Enter Baby Elizabeth...I became convinced that I had been wrong with my initial hypothesis. Colic was not only real, it was enough to send someone over the edge.
One would have thought that lesson would have been enough to teach me that my limited experiences, do not make me an expert, but no. (some people never learn)
My final child is Patrick Bryan. Anyone who knows him, knows him by Patch. Patch was what Tucker and I decided to call him way before he was born, in an effort to prevent the inevitable Pat or Patty, and to bless him with a fun and unique name. Thus, Patch. It conjures up images of doctors who dress up as clowns, happy scarecrows, energetic mutts, and dastardly pirates. Perfect!
So this little guy was born and has by far lived up to his name. Every thing I learned in my years as a preschool teacher and a mother is null in the face of my Patch. It is not that he is bad, per se, he just is well, Patch. The only thing I know for sure, is that I can expect what is unexpected.

I miss my friend.

I miss my friend.
She passed away in February of 2008, but I feel like I just talked to her the other day. It makes me sad to think that life has been able to resume normally since she died; shouldn't daily operations have been altered forever in her absence? I logically know life doesn't work that way, but my heart does. I really miss my friend.
From the moment I met her, even before I met her, she was warm and welcoming to me. She made me feel accepted and special and wonderful. She personified grace in every way, and even though the same has never been true for me, she loved me and she showed it unwaveringly.
I have never met anyone who did not like her. Whenever anyone learns of my connection to her, they always respond with, "oh, she was such a sweet lady." And she was- such a lady and so very sweet. She spoke to everyone and wanted everyone to feel taken care of and spoiled. She treated the house painter as she would treat a friend. Everyone was entitled to respect, and she went out of her way to show it.
She loved to throw parties. From big, garish holiday parties, to backyard croquet matches, every detail was thought of- the food, the drink the music. She relished in making sure everyone was having a ball. Truly, nothing made her happier.
She loved her dogs. They were just as much members of her family as anyone. They would follow her around the house all day, and the little one would often ride along on errands with her.
She always was such a classy dresser. She wore bright colors that showed off her dark complexion and she always had her hair and nails done. She had what seemed like millions of different pairs of shoes to coordinate with all of her outfits. Again, no detail was overlooked. In fact, after she died and I was cleaning out her drawers, I was amazed that her drawers were organized by color! It was when she began to put less effort into her daily wardrobe that I realized my friend was really sick.
As wonderful as she was to everyone around her, she did not feel the same way about herself. She never felt good enough. No amount of praise could penetrate the level of disapproval she felt for herself. She constantly tried to ease her hurt with all of the wrong things. She knew it wasn't good for her, but it was what she had. The people who loved her tried everything to help her. Everything. I always hoped that one day I would say something in a way that would really click inside her, and she would be okay. I guess I never did find the right words.
I watched my beautiful, vivacious friend slowly poison herself. This fiercely independent spitfire, became a decrepit and home bound woman, who relied on paid around the clock care. Up until her dying day, I was convinced she would come out of it. If anyone could turn it around, I believed she could. She had been given so many second chances before. I guess we all took for granted the fact that they would one day run out.
The day she died, she didn't open her eyes at all, but she responded to what was being said by smiling and different facial movements. I sat by her side almost the whole day. I talked about funny things that had happened and how silly my kids were. I told her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that I wasn't always the friend to her that I should've been. I held her tiny, little hand and I brushed her hair out of her eyes. When she seemed uncomfortable, I tracked down a nurse to ease her suffering. Maybe I somehow thought that if I was diligent enough, something would change. Maybe I was just so scared about losing her that I couldn't stay still or be quiet. Maybe I was so worried that she was frightened that I wanted her to know that there were people around who loved her and were looking after her.
I was not there the moment she died, but many people who loved her were. She died peacefully and gracefully. And with her dogs.
I miss my friend. In a few months, she will have been dead two years. That thought takes my breath away. How can anyone so full of life, be no longer here? How does that happen? How is that fair?
In the time since her death, I have called on her often. I have heard her voice and seen her smile in my mind a million times. For that, I am so extremely grateful. I hope that I never stop missing her. I don't want to become complacent in my sadness of her passing. She needs to be remembered and talked about. Her good qualities need to go on in the people who loved her, and her illness needs to be etched in our hearts and mind forever. It is crucial we never forget how she suffered, so that we too, will not follow that path. That is what she would want for us. I do know this.
I believe she is looking down on me. I know she can hear everything I am saying now, and she doesn't want me to be sad. I am confident that if she could call me right now, she would try to lift my spirits with some slightly off-color humor and the promise of a lunch out together soon. The thought instantly makes me smile, but also breaks my heart.
Oh, how I miss my friend.

My Emily

The other night I was reminiscing about the day Emily was born and someone asked me how I remembered all of that. My answer? I remember everything about the pregnancies and births of each of my kids. I ordinarily have an awful memory, but something about those times in my life has left indelible marks within me.
Emily turned 12 years old the other day. Twelve. That is a whole new realm. (sporadic heartbeats occurring) She is in middle school, has tons of friends, talks on her cell phone all of the time, and has an obsession with a certain Hollywood vampire. Pretty typical, really. She is a very well adjusted, happy 12 year old. But, she's twelve...
When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was an unmarried 20 year old with a less than stellar record. I was a really crazy kid. But the moment, sitting in the upstairs bathroom of my Grandma's house, when the two lines appeared, changed my life in an instant. I cherished the life that grew within me. I was thankful for the rescue of my life that it represented. I read every book I could read and prepared in every way possible for this new little person. Tucker and I were married and began our lives as young, completely naive, children playing adults. Overnight we grew up. The transformation was immediate, and enormous. There was no other option.
Emily was born on the coldest day of the year. Perhaps God's way of shaking us awake and saying, "Here you go, get ready!" There was our Emily. More beautiful than anyone could have ever imagined. Everything I knew about life up until that point was suddenly void. All that matter was this angel squirrming in my arms.
Now she is 12. Twelve! How has it been twelve years? It feels like one of those movies where they fast forward a decade in the next clip. I watched her grow into the beautiful young woman (breathe in, breathe out) that she is, yet somehow, I feel as though I just brought her home from the hospital.
It is inevitable that our little chicks grow up and fly away. People have been telling me that since the beginning. I just can not fathom that one day that means that that precious, little newborn will be off in the world without me.

A Little Drop Of Rain

I was recently talking to a single friend of mine who claimed his life was so different from my cushy, suburban lifestyle, that I would be "terrified" to live in his shoes. This all stemming from a conversation on responsibility and growing up. I believe I was somehow meant to feel inadequate to handle his "edgy" life. Oh, my.
Terrified. Yep, I have been there on more than one occasion, but honestly, "a little drop of rain can hardly hurt me now."
These are lyrics from a favorite song of mine. It would be hard to find many words as true. You get to a certain point in your life, through certain circumstances, where your soul has literally grown armor to withstand tragedy. I have had my fair share.
I do not wish to in any way downplay the experiences anyone else has been through, by claiming mine were more tragic. I believe we all get our fair share. But my life challenges belong to me, and have made me who I am.
This friend announced in this conversation that he is an atheist. Hmmm.... for so many reasons I did not know how to respond to this. It seems often times this is the card rebellious teenagers pull when they are hoping for shock value. My theory is that he is in the same place in his life for whatever reason. So, supposing he is an atheist, yep, I would be terrified to be in his life. Without the love and guidance from our Lord, being completely susceptible to evil...yep, I wouldn't want to be there. On the other hand, suppose he was just blowing smoke about the whole atheist thing to make some point. Again, I would be terrified. Last time I checked it is not a smart move to denounce God for any reason. I am not sure he is terrified enough, but unfortunately he is still in that "if it feels good- do it stage." Ahh, we were all young once right?
A little drop of rain can hardly hurt me now. It took me so long to get to this point, and on some days, I still run screaming from those little drops. But I know one thing for certain. God is with us. At all times. Whether we want Him there or not. He knows our troubles and He knows the outcomes. He promises us an everlasting life in His kingdom. Our earthly troubles are so inconsequential compared to the Glory of God our Father. This is why I know that I can handle whatever it is that is in my path. This is why I will not become "terrified" in the way that this friend expects. This is where the armor has come from.
I hope my friend is able to enlighten himself enough to realize that he will not lose his "edginess" by committing his life to God. Perhaps, he might find that all of the things in his life that are missing, might suddenly be found. He too, can learn to walk in the rain.