Salty Conversation

IMG_5701

Colossians 4: 6 Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person. ESV

      Often, the smallest comment can go a long way in helping a friend feel less alone, more normal, and more empowered to love her hubby better.

Here are a few examples of some conversations, seasoned with Salt.

      Head in the Window

    When I was much younger, having a rough time in my love life, my Bible Study leader saw me load up my stroller after a morning class. Her car happened to be parked near me, so she came over to my open window and poked her head in (almost too far for my comfort). With a sparkle and a wink she asked, “Hey, Girl, how’s it goin’?” Glancing back at my year-apart toddlers, she added, “Hey, have you gotten any new ‘nighties’ lately?”

    What!? Did I look deprived, depressed, or debilitated!? I was not particularly happy with her point blank accosting of my love life. I felt a wee bit “buttonholed,” you could say. But I prayed on the way home, asking God why this question bothered me.

    Then I realized it wasn’t the topic. Nor that her words were inappropriate. It was that I inwardly winced at doing the work of forgiving, taking more initiative, and thus improving my marriage relationship. I was put into the position of having to take stock of my attitude. (I had been wearing those Granny Gowns quite often lately…)

    God has used the “head in the window” experience to give me more courage to say something to women, even tho’ I might not say that

     Here are a few more examples of what I mean.

     Sharp-eyed Friend

    My girlfriend came over for lunch and noticed that my bedroom was changed around, spruced up a bit. “Hey, you really fixed up your room! Nice! But what did you do with the TV?”  

    Here was my golden opportunity to reply, “Well, the TV wasn’t much help to our love life, so we took it out. Now we are more “tuned in” to each other at bedtime…”

    Big Tub

     Another time, when some friends showed us around their new home, the bathroom  “centerpiece,” a whirlpool tub, could hardly be ignored. So instead of ignoring it, I said, “Don’t you love the big tub? I hope you guys get good use out of that. Man, we’d sure use it if we had one!!”

    You’re right. She had nothing to say. Quick change of topic. “My, the mashed potatoes are so creamy!” (dinner conversation quote from “While You Were Sleeping.”) But this didn’t spoil the evening. It may have improved the evening for both couples! (Our tub may be smaller, but…)

    Restroom Conversation

    Have you ever overheard a church restroom conversation?  I once heard a woman say to another, “My folks are keeping the kids this weekend, and we’re going to (a romantic place) for his birthday.”

    “Oh, really?”

    “Yup. That’s the only birthday present he wants…. a whole lot of special alone time. And he’s going to get it.”

   The tone I picked up was celebratory and grateful. And, well, I loved overhearing it so much I decided to book a hotel for my husband’s next birthday.

    Our marriages are truly meant to change the world.

    But platitudes don’t work. Pat answers with rote phrases we’ve heard all our lives don’t work, either. People need success stories, or an approach that’s been proven in the here and now, like yesterday. Our complicated, often confusing, up and down love life could actually bless others, simply by our perspective. We are learning and leaning on Christ for help, so we have seeds to sow. Those “salty” out loud seeds may cause a friend to ask,  “How does she have such a good attitude about sex? Hmmm…does God live in even this part of everyday life? Do I really know Him? I guess I should be less selfish in this area…”

   Remember that the value of salt in Bible times wasn’t only for flavoring, but even more for preserving. We are to preserve Truth, and hinder the deterioration of marriage.

    Here’s the Salty Challenge:

1.) LEARN something to improve your own marriage in this area, and then..  

2.) ACT on what you learned.

3.) Then look for an opportunity to SAY something to a friend – appropriately – when the time seems right.

   I can’t tell you how much you girls have encouraged me by your comments!! Have you ever discreetly spoken up on behalf of great love-making in marriage? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Facing Loss

20150331_182130-1

It was November of 2014. Our mouthwatering ribs on the breezy patio of Longhorn Steakhouse tasted even better being near the ocean. If the first item on our ToDo list was eating ribs, the second item was to discuss our future beach condo. This weekend getaway provided uninterrupted, relaxing time to dream. Retirement, my hubby’s reward for a lifetime of hard work, must include the romantic sound of the surf and sand between our toes.

     In an instant, my husband’s eyes flooded with tears and he buckled in excruciating pain. He grabbed his napkin and covered his mouth with another moan.

     Though we didn’t realize it yet, in that moment, life as we knew it, plus our hopes and plans for the future, vanished. We got through the night with ibuprofen, and headed home in the morning where the dentist confirmed sad news of immediate oral surgery. My husband’s wince of pain had come from a deep crack in a vital tooth. One procedure led to another issue, and in the end he lost all his teeth. I will spare you the details, but bone crushing was only part of it.

     Anxiety and depression mixed with physical pain form a terrible force. Engulfed by sadness, we found that even normal hugging and tender kisses had to be suspended because of pain in neck, jaw, and gums. If that weren’t enough, my husband lost his appetite, and worse yet, his sense of taste. Over six months he dropped forty pounds. Also, we both faced a new face – one I saw every day for thirty-nine years, and one he once knew in the mirror whenever he shaved.

    A few months later, with the hardest procedure only a week past, time ran out for “the biopsy.” During the holiday season our doctor had noticed his PSA lab numbers rise, putting him at risk for prostate cancer. So, in spring, not able to put it off any longer, he submitted to the prostate biopsy.

    When “the call” came, my husband buckled once again.

     Notice I said he buckled. I, on the other hand, sucked in my breath, set my (intact) jaw, and moved ahead. This cancer was caught early! We are in great position for complete recovery. We can get through this. We will be fine.

    “Come on, Honey, we’ll hear the options and take the one best for us.”

     We decided to go the route of radiation. Forty-five treatments, five days a week, nine weeks. As the treatments began, he slipped farther and farther away from me emotionally and physically. Tired to the bone, he fell asleep by eight each night. I inwardly railed. A sort of panic set in. What will become of us?

      In actuality it was me. What about me? What about our relationship? What about our plans? Somehow the “us” got lost in the “me.” And the “him” got left out. As a result he felt even more pressure. He asked for space. He asked for time. Time to grieve and to heal. But I didn’t want to give it to him or take it for myself.

     Walking the house at night, I planned how to engage and encourage. I cajoled him, and (there it is) I lectured him on “trust” in the Lord. I became that “‘dripping wife” of Proverbs. My situation went on the altar, then off the altar, then back on again. But much more off than on. I didn’t help us, or me, and definitely not him. How could I help when all I could see was my own agenda going up in smoke?

      And I finally did it. I reached out. I called the American Cancer Society.

      You thought I’d say I prayed. Well, I’d been doing that. Or you thought I meant I found a certain scripture. I have dozens of them, they are all wonderful. No, I called the American Cancer Society because, well, I couldn’t carry on any more without some expert terrestrial input. I needed someone to read between my “going forth” lines, ask the right questions, and get me to face my reality. It took a while to get there, though. Extremely condensed, our conversation went a bit like this.

     “Hello, I’m calling about a support group for wives of cancer patients. Prostate cancer.”

     “Okay, tell me your situation.”

     “Well, I uh, so I like to help people, uh, and if there isn’t a group, I’d like to start one… because I want to know if other wives are experiencing the losses, uh, the problems, we are.”

     “My name is Bonnie. Maybe I can help you. What are you feeling?”

     “Well, he says he wants space, but I know he needs connectivity more than space…”

     “He’s asking for space?”

     “Uh, yes. But I just worry that if he sort of drops out of the game now, we might not be ‘us’ again when all the treatments are over.”

     “Do you think maybe he’s asking for space, but you are the one needing connectivity?”

     “Maybe.”

      “Your husband’s cancer diagnosis, as well as his mouth situation, will mean a new ‘us.’ Can you accept that whatever you thought your life was going to be no longer exists? Will you not give him the space he needs to process that? And also give yourself a time of grief?”

     At that, my wall began to crack. She went on.

    “What you do have is today. Only today. We can’t mold tomorrow. Your husband needs support. And so do you. But you need support other than his. He has all he can handle on his plate right now.”

     Saying goodbye to Bonnie, I decided to give in to grief. Just because I’m so good at denial doesn’t mean I hurt less. I work and work and fix and fix. I blame. I manipulate. I deflect the real pain of the situation. I put it off for another day – a day when it may be worse and there are hurt people to whom I must apologize. No, best face it head on. The plans, the dreams, irrevocably changed.

   Yet that is not to say our future is dashed to pieces, either. To say things will never be the same is not failing to trust God. It is just reality. When I read Solomon’s words in Ecclesiastes (“a time for everything under heaven…”) I see loss in a more eternal perspective. Loss can be refining. Loss gives us empathy for others. Loss is a vital part of life.

    It seems that in Autumn losses begin to mount up. They actually mount down, because they are really holes. Holes that can swallow our joy and pull us down into their pit of sadness and depression. Yet, does anyone’s life turn out like they thought it would?

    So what do we do?

20131003_153707

    I plan to grieve. I must grieve the loss of what I thought my marriage would be like. Mind you, I give God room to do “above and way beyond anything I could ask or think” for our final years. He’s definitely not through with us yet! But it won’t be like I thought it would. It will be His kind of good, His kind of wonderful, because He is good. Our future may involve ribs by the ocean.

     But it may not.

    

Is Marriage a Matter of Completion or Trouble?

Genesis 2:18. Then the Lord God said, It is “not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” (ESV)

People through the ages have debated the meaning of this passage. Many have said that a woman, essentially a wife, actually “completes” the man (as some texts translate), and that the celibate or single man is incomplete because his aloneness is “not good.” It follows then that “helper” means a whole lot more than “helper,” but becomes “completer.”

However, Paul teaches in I Corinthians 7 that the anxieties of marriage actually distract a man from the spiritual life, because now he has responsibility – or “trouble.” He implies that singleness is a legitimate and reasonable permanent state, for the purpose of pursuing a life work that would be best accomplished without a woman. He wishes that all men were like him, having no wife.

Some think this passage refers to a compensatory “gift” or ability to be complete without a wife, and that this “gifting” may be lifted at some point, freeing him to marry when a task or ministry changes. Interestingly, we must assume Paul did have a wife earlier in his life, for he was a Pharisee, and Pharisees were required to be married.

So how do we reconcile these two perspectives of scripture? In one perspective, marriage equals completeness; in the other, marriage equals trouble. Can both be right at the same time?

Well, since we are discussing God’s Holy Word, they must both be right. To say the single man, as incomplete, lives a frustrated existence until his “completer” comes along, says much of one’s belief about God. We might even justify this man’s engaging in brief, unfulfilling sexual exploits while he waits. But this flies in the face of God’s express laws regarding purity of heart, mind, and body. Would God either require or sanction such a sad temporary state, much less a perpetual one? We must assume that a celibate person can be psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually complete.

The irony in all this is that single people think all their problems will be solved if they find a great mate, while married folk often look longingly at the freedoms of the single person!

We are told that God, in Christ, provides everything we need to be happy and fulfilled whether married or not. (“And my God shall supply all your needs…”) Not only does God bring a mate for His glory and the procreation of the world, but also for the molding of our character through suffering. Marriage then is neither a right, nor a distraction, but a dynamic role we play in a covenant earthly relationship patterned after Christ and His Bride, the Church. Paul warns us to enter it seriously, knowing it will demand more of us than we thought it would.

Screen Shot 2015-08-02 at 9.53.46 PM

It is essentially a sacrificial relationship which God Himself can fill and make beautiful.

Marriage then is a desire awakened (our Genesis passage), kept on the altar of love to Christ until it is fulfilled; over a lifetime it is God’s furnace of refinement (our Corinthian passage). So, whether going through a difficult time in marriage, or wrestling with unmet needs as a single person, the arduous (practically impossible) work of the believer is to trust Him to give us just what we need each day.

This is our trouble and our completion: To know Him. For only in Him are we complete.

Whatever Happened to Sunday Best?

I must be getting old. (Did I just say that?!) I still stand in front of my closet wondering what to wear to church. Yet I feel conflicted by – tradition. I truly enjoy the variety I see each Sunday. I don’t go to church to impress others with my clothes. I’m going to worship God.

So my appeal today isn’t to look good for looking good’s sake. I think we should dress with purpose and honor, suited to the occasion. Is church special? Should it rank as high as a date night with hubby? Or serving as a juror? Or going to work in a bank or store?

20150712_102442-1

The tradition of dressing up for church began to die about twenty-five years ago when pastors of mainstream churches, desiring to connect with John Doe in the pew, traded in their clerical robes for jacket and tie. Eventually a white shirt with no tie led to a golf shirt with khakis. Now our pastors sport a golf shirt with jeans – or a simple t-shirt. Their progression, or regression, whichever way you see it, coincided with the massive trend toward more informal places of worship – gyms, school auditoriums, and pavilions in parks. This informality paved a path for all of us to dress down for church.

But whatever happened to “Sunday Best?”

Let’s look at both sides of the issue. On the side of going casual, we help those who aren’t sure about the Bible (or church or God) feel more comfortable. In his letter to the churches, James spoke against personal pride and even a hint of discriminating against the poor. Youth pastors just want their teens to show up; and taking them any way they come to church is a good thing. Families with children do well to get their brood out the door, much less all dressed up; so by welcoming them in relaxed attire we keep the priority where it should be. On worship.

On the other side, church (ie. the building, whether a gym or classroom or living room), represents a hallowed atmosphere, a Divine Presence. Historically, a silent hush divided the space between the outside world and the pews or folding chairs. Music filled the rafters with awesome devotion for Someone bigger than any mere space.

So as a larger body of believers, why do we regularly dress down for corporate worship, and dress up for a wedding or funeral or job interview?

Maybe the “biggerness” of God actually led us to want to stand more honest and real before Him. Great-looking people all lined up in a row, dressed in “Sunday Best,” may present an “appearance” of all being well. And don’t we want to seem A-okay? No, we want to BE A-okay. Though we live messy, struggling, imperfect lives, on Sunday we could dress up to show that He is our only hope for being A-okay. Our dress could show honor toward Him.

Whatever Happened To Sunday's Best

I choose to celebrate the variety. Maybe there’s no such thing as “Sunday Best” anymore. While you may come to church in your most comfortable clothes, I may continue my Sunday routine in front of the closet door. I don’t want you to compliment my outfit, though. I just want to feel, well, normal in my skirt and blouse– not somehow out of place. As soon as I get home, the shoes will fly across the room and my cute little toes will dive into my jeans and flip flops.

But for awhile, I dressed up to show the world that church (and honor of my Lord) ranks high enough on my priority list to pause and think about what to wear.

Six Helps for the Autumn Mom With Kids at Home

In the refreshment line at a wedding recently, I saw my friend’s face from a distance, smiling her polite public smile. Attractive children of various heights stood close by. Seeming only half present, maybe she was remembering her oldest daughter’s wedding a year before. I stopped to chat. After a few minutes, I leaned in a bit. “We need to get caught up.”

“Yes, sounds great,” she said. “How about coffee next week?”

I often say, “The fifties are the best!” And I believe it with all my heart, even more since I’ve passed that decade. But I knew the stress on my friend’s face. The never-ending drives all over the county to sporting events, big meals to prepare in exhaustion, in the middle of menopause. I remembered wondering how the “prime of life” could so miserably fail to deliver. I remembered the anxiety surrounding my heavy responsibilities.

We’d both made the same decision– to continue bearing children past the forty-year milestone. Why did we do it when the most challenging job of our lives might have been done by the arrival of autumn?

The question has varied and logical answers. For one, motherhood gives most women a profound sense of purpose. The job itself can become a fulfilling identity, one of gargantuan, generational proportion. The sense of its significance can trump all thoughts of “How old will I be when this last one turns 18?”

Also, The Empty Nest (or the idea of it) seems to carry a fear of “oldness” or “doneness.” It leaves a slight sense of being set aside, of having to reinvent oneself. The sole role of grandmother, though a wonderful experience for the “older” woman, doesn’t fit me “just yet.”

And those tiny eyes, so full of adoration, intoxicate! As utterly exhausting the prospect, a baby’s perfect innocence softens the hard crust around our hearts. Infants’ care and nurture produces oxytocin in our brains, and this euphoric hormone makes us feel relevant and alive, even young! Today’s moms can design the day’s agenda, look great with makeup, exercise to boost energy, and choose clothes to make pregnancy and “infant wearing” quite sexy.

Together, Boomers and Gen Xers have pulled off the sleight-of-hand trick of the century- shaving at least decade from the stereotypes of age. Thirty became the new twenty. Forty the new thirty, and fifty the new forty. Those who chose the miracle-working fields of dermatology and plastic surgery led the charge toward the “Fountain of Youth.”

Slick sleight-of-hand? Well, our children don’t think of sixty as old as we did when we were young. They do think of it as old, just not AS old. (Hollywood certainly helped in this area! So the empty nest comes later. Way later. Many women who, at fifty, might have embarked on a new career and enjoyed grandchildren, instead find themselves up to their neck in plans for one child’s wedding as well as the promised birthday party of a seven-year-old.

Sound familiar? It does to me. My daughters came thirteen years apart. To feel young enough to make the older one proud, (who am I kidding?… to feel good) I primped more for an event. My skincare routine made what once took minutes now take almost an hour- an hour I couldn’t quite find in my day. I had to be Super everything…friend, mom, and wife, all in virtual perpetuity.

That’s what I saw in my friend. Heard in her voice. The weight of perpetuity.

Stress. And guilt. Because we often feel required to choose between the younger ones and the older ones. With only so much energy, one set would sometimes have to manage without me. How would we not feel guilty? And what does guilt do? It quickens the fade of the younger woman.

She’s standing there in the reception hall in a designer outfit. Her eyes say, “How do I hang in to see the littlest one married – or off to her own life? And isn’t that a terrible question?”

What does she want now? Or Need? (She actually told me. I was grateful for her honesty.)

In two words, More Husband. In one word, Romance.

And I can relate. It has been reported over and over again, that of the many themes of the fifties, a return of interest in romance tops the list for women. In the forties romance often takes a dive due to the raising of kids and teens, plus wide hormonal swings. Afterward, the windfall of extra time in the fifties causes couples to once again notice each other across a crowded room.

Husbands have been patiently waiting for that spark. They want quality time again, like the pre-children era, eons ago. And well they should. For we are all designed for lasting romance. Our hearts long for it, even as hormones settle down. We instinctively welcome a new dawn of enjoying all the hard work of the decades behind us. With or without kids at home, however, this takes intentionality, work.

IMG_4783

The following list of helps for the Autumn woman with children still at home comes from the lady who’s been there. Me. These rules of engagement helped my husband and me keep both alive and sane..

1. Take more time for yourself. With older kids to watch the little ones, get the mani-pedi. (Looking back, I wish I’d just spent the money.) Read more books. Delegate all the work around the house you possibly can. Take long baths and long walks. Go to the gym. You need it all, now more than ever.

2. Guard a once-a-week date night with a vengeance. Now you have built-in babysitters. And for goodness sake, don’t come home until all are in bed. (Getting back while the kids are up doesn’t end the date, shall we say, nicely.)

3. Make a household quiet curfew several nights a week. This will allow time for peace and quiet. All will benefit from it!  Get the young ones to bed earlier, and older ones to their rooms by nine or ten. The curfew might well extend to mornings on Saturday. (We tried to take one Saturday morning a month for hanging out alone- either in our room or out for breakfast.)

4. Make your bedroom an off-limit zone to all, unless invited. Make it a romantic haven, complete with sofa or soft chairs. Have candles and music easy to set up. Make it a place for you to recharge – alone – at any time. (A lock on the door? Yes.)

5. Reward the older kids, date the wee ones. With more responsibility teens should get some perks, as well as special outings with adults. The young ones love special dates individually. Ours “littles” felt sidelined with all the schedule demands of the older ones, as well as the needs of the married ones! (I wish I had given our “second set” more special time.)

6. Take a Weekend Getaway per quarter (3 or 4 times a year) to set aside time for romance. This means away from home. (An “in town” overnight trip qualifies.) Guard these times to recharge your romance.

    Are you raising a second set of kiddos? Don’t let your marriage suffer. If you work hard to set aside time for your husband and you, you will be recharged for the next social event. When someone with all their kids gone (like grown up gone) comes up to you, you’ll smile, knowing that in practically days, it will be you.

Sometimes I Wish I Were A Prodigal

Okay there it is. I am the “Older Brother.”

I see the kid dragging toward the house,

Dad running out to meet him.

I smell steak cooking on the grill,

See the wallet dump a wad of money for the party.

What? Excuse me...I stayed home, worked my tail off.

Why can’t I be the one who messed up, learned huge lessons in a short time,

Got his head screwed on right, and lived happily ever after?

Sometimes I wish I were a prodigal.



You know, some of the sharpest people were once prodigals.

Moses, Saul of Tarsus, Henry V, Samson.

(Well, I guess Sam doesn’t count because he died without his steak dinner)

I see former divas and stock broker escorts,

Women prodigals, now writing the motherhood and marriage books,

Lavishing the wealth of all their lessons in the conferences.

They make us “Older Brothers” howl at their stories - until I inwardly scream,

What happened to me? Why couldn’t that happen to me?

I wish I were a prodigal.



Now mind you, I have little interest in being famous, infamous, or doing bad things.

My sins, though undramatic, are real enough--

You know, zeal for God while holding tight (like glue) to my money,

Occasional grumbling, some jealousy.

Maybe the rare gossip fest, and a few moments of indiscretion.

If you throw in judgemental pride

And….well, more than a little unforgiveness,

I hang my head and wonder, is there any hope for “Older Brother?”

I wish I were a prodigal, too.



Can I grasp the reality of what Christ did for me

Without experiencing the prodigal’s public... Shame?  

I sure hope so, for I don’t want THAT!

Surely bigger and badder in-your-face wastefulness isn’t

The only way to humility...

...To admitting that I may be worse on the inside than he ever was.

That I hate him being the new good guy,

That he makes me see how nasty I am.

Sometimes I wish I were a Prodigal.

Thirty Seconds to Laugh Out Loud…Go!

Thirty Seconds To Laugh

Sometimes I can laugh at myself. Once, in the dark aisle of the Majestic Theatre, I stumbled trying to get to my seat. Thankfully I didn’t land in someone’s lap, but the thought of it struck me as very funny. A few months ago I ungracefully sailed from someone’s foyer into their living room. And several years ago I fell backwards into a bed of cactus (written in detail here).  In these moments I couldn’t help myself. I laughed like a lunatic. Maybe a nervous tick? (no pun intended.).

But sometimes laughing is no laughing matter. It’s just plain work.

Recently, someone passed me off like the proverbial “chopped liver.”  Someone I believed cared for me. When after several days the “special person” didn’t hear me out, I felt trapped in a junior high-ish inner drama. I thought I would burst with codependent frustration.

A few days later, while walking into the grocery store, I felt embarrassed about it all. Your pity party has gone on way too long. It’s left spoiling chip dip and stinky, moldy dixie cups all over the place. It’s time to get a grip.

Time to get a grip. Not time to pretend it never happened. Not necessarily time to fix it. (Heaven knows, I’d tried that..) Not even time to confront. (I’d actually done that, too.) But time to see something else through my progressive bifocals. I hadn’t felt like laughing in days, and I hadn’t. Nothing seemed funny. The acute pain, no longer cute, now reduced to a dull ache, left behind a sadness that began to feel like– sin.

Sheepish, ashamed, I got my cart and entered the produce end of the store.

By the time I passed the flower department I knew my answer: to laugh. I must laugh in thirty seconds or fade away like the Witch of the West (or East? when doused with water). I could almost picture a pool of blue jean and orange t-shirt mush. There I’d lie, or not lie, gone, except for the clothes. The tabloids would read, “Texas Woman Melts in Produce Aisle.” Or “Agitated Texas Woman Disappears While Shopping.” How silly. Surely, agitation could never cause such an extreme reaction. Ah, but we know it can. Disney has perfected witches who get mad and swirl around and round until they swirl out of existence.

So I sort of laughed at that thought.

Then I tried to snicker a bit at the green peppers. Not even a bit funny, I realized the pretend “ha” wasn’t working. Somehow I had to sell this thing. I glanced around, made sure no bored produce man or inquisitive shopper saw me.

“Ha, Ha, Ha!” I ventured out loud.

Maybe the green peppers weren’t funny. But the apples might be.

I don’t know why the stickers grabbed me. Every single apple – a sticker?  Who did that? Probably a machine nabbed them as they tumbled all helter skelter down some padded conveyor belt. This gave me pause, but my thirty seconds still weren’t up.

Why did each one need identification? Sure, there were many varieties. Could that be the reason? And who would make sure every apple had a sticker? This struck me as a funny job. I thought of an old “I Love Lucy” chocolate conveyor belt episode. I have to find that episode.

Then the smile took over my face and I chuckled. How much more important than apples (or chocolates) are we? Does our pain have some purpose? Does someone care? Am I stickered?

Yup. And you are too. I realized that taking control of my mood had to become more important than cuddling a cold, empty latte cup. I can control my mood when I realize how little control I have over my circumstances. I can control my mood when I see my needs and desires in a more realistic perspective.

Have you perfected the Laugh on Command? I am working on it. I need to keep a rolodex of funny, yet true things about myself and the world, and how cosmically absurd this fact is: I am loved. I am loved by the One who has stickered me for a purpose. I’m created and identified for a purpose.

Hanging around happy people helps. Do you know someone you hear before you see? Our family laughs just thinking about Jarrod. We don’t even have to be around him. He doesn’t live a charmed life any more than anyone does. He just chooses to see everything in it’s funniest light. So at almost forty-nine he’s perfected the skill of controlling his mood.

You hear Jarrod before you see him. It’s the laugh.

Can you laugh, if you had to, in thirty seconds? Now, go!

Five Ways Autumn Beauty Enriches the World

How Autumn Beauty Enriches The World

As I tweezed my almost invisible eyebrows the other day, I actually drew blood. Ouch! Why do I submit to magnifying mirrors? It’s only in their larger-than-life perspective those wild hairs even appear. I wondered, why does Vanity still hold me hostage?

On this day, suffering this “injury” brought back the memory of tweezing my mom’s eyebrows in her fifties and sixties. As a teen, I’d stand behind her chair with her head tilted back on my rib cage, and gingerly pluck microscopic hairs from her translucent skin. Every once in a while I’d grab a bit of flesh and her little squeal would bring me back to concentration. I would think, “Will my skin ever be this loose? This un-elastic, this wafery thin…? Yet she asks for this torture!

Smiling today, I know. Youth slips away slowly. The thick, dark hairs (which once made tweezing almost a matter of forest control) become pale by years, decades, not months. Gradually they turn in all helter skelter directions, and we continue to pluck in spite of both blindness and pain. We don’t succumb easily to any of it- the lines, the loss of muscle tone, the changing complexion. We push against it with the same stiff demeanor of those very hairs, and with all the seriousness a magnifying mirror can muster!

However, I strongly believe that beauty with aging enriches the world.

We should (and I use that word carefully) stand tall, pull back those shoulders, and go out the door knowing we own the wisdom of, well, years of experience. Not just years, decades of it. Decades of perseverance, mess-ups, successes and failures.

So today I offer my top five reasons why autumn women who keep working on beauty make the world a better place.

  1. Our Husbands Appreciate It.

Whether we dress up or wear yoga pants and a t-shirt, the amazing fact remains, husbands see us as the young girl he married… a lovely face, a wonderful body (even with ten extra pounds), a winning smile, charm and wit. What miracle keeps us looking very much the same to him over the years? No one can explain it– it remains a mystery. Now, though they appreciate us most when we’re naked, all the original qualities thrill him year after year after year…and when he’s proud of us, he’s a happier, better man.

  1.  The Young Who Fear Aging Need It.

If we work on replacing youthful color and see ourselves vibrant and alive in the mirror, our health improves overall. It’s an attitude. All the makeup and jewelry in the world can’t overcome a negative attitude, but those things help produce a positive outlook. If you never wore makeup, it’s okay. But if you decide at 50 or 60 to begin, you will likely take off a few of those last ten years, and look perkier.

Why look ten years younger? To feel ten years younger! During my trip to Canada I had the pleasure of meeting a 106 year-old lady in the nursing home. She walks with a walker, wears pearls, pink lipstick, and a stylish outfit. You can find her chatting with those who stop at the coffee shop. She’s proud of being a woman, and causes those who meet her to fear growing old a little bit less.

  1. Our Children and Grandchildren Appreciate It.

Aging parents remind children of their own mortality. They desperately need a model up close and personal. Should we shield them from our aches and pains? Not necessarily. But a smiling, warm, and positive mom or grandmother makes them proud. If we took a reasonable amount of time to be beautiful, they’d love showing us off more. They may even want to be first to run up and introduce us to their friends.

  1. Workplaces Are Transformed by It.

One of my friends worked in an extremely stressful care-giving job. A key requirement for the job was to wear make-up and keep a stylish haircut. These habits didn’t transform the employees into more productive workers, but somehow showed others they felt more up to the pressure. And thus they became more effective.

In any setting, skill, not hair, gets the job done. But beauty helps make the workplace a more pleasant place. Proverbs author Solomon says,  “…beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord will be praised.” Can she be both at the same time? Of course. One just lasts longer. Even while she fears the Lord and honors Him, her radiant appearance puts the icing on the cake. It shows she is aware of her femininity to His glory. She reflects His beauty in her own. What a way to show the world your faith!

  1. Society Sees God’s Design for Sex in It.

Nothing reflects the sexual dynamic of marriage like a couple in love. So what in the world would this have to do with beauty? A few years back, my hubby and I were touring in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado. We saw an older couple, each with white hair, zoom by in a red Chevrolet open convertible. Her scarf blowing in the wind and their smiles gave me a picture I kept in my head. “That’s us in ten years, Honey!” I said. They drove past quickly, so their actions had nothing to do with my impression. It was her beauty sitting beside him.

What does this mean? Whether with her husband or alone, shopping, working, an autumn woman’s countenance can show the world the dynamic I admired in the couple above. Of course  women who wear makeup and dress beautifully might be single. Or have no love life. But a woman who cherishes her role as her husband’s lover, (or acts as though available for that), and gives off a pleasant aroma wherever she goes, inadvertently broadcasts the purpose of marriage – to reflect the relationship between Christ and the believer, his Bride. That’s a sermon the world craves. Do you know you preach a sermon about aging?

So I’m not just talking about physical beauty. If a woman’s outward beauty becomes her highest priority, she appears shallow and both “deceitful” and “fleeting.” As John Piper reminds us, “He is most pleased when we find our desires filled in Him.”

“I Want a Love Like Mom and Dad Have”

IMG_4765

Good, they’re both home.

He parked the pickup behind his parents sedans already in the driveway. I’ll remember the code when I get to the door. With only a two-day break before second semester started, it seemed right to surprise them. Climbing out of the truck, moist grass welcomed his feet. One easy hop took him up the three steps to the door.

Yes! 9158. Music, ever so faint, leaked from inside, hurrying him in. In the quiet front hall, a familiar warmness flowed over him. So good to be home. He hung his coat on the stair rail and headed in the direction his nose usually pointed him. Mom’s famous soup! The almost intoxicating aroma intensified the closer he got to the kitchen. And the music swelled too. They’re home alright.

You’re just too good to be true….Can’t take my eyes off of you.

You feel like heaven to touch, I want to hold you so much,

You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.”

The moment seemed sacred, them not knowing he stood watching. His dad swayed his mom to the song as if nothing else existed. She smiled up at him, totally engrossed in his embrace, until he twirled her around and she caught sight of her youngest son in the doorway.

“Uh, hi, Dad, Mom… sorry to barge in, but it is only five, and I didn’t think I’d be… but, dang it, you told me last year to start knocking… I’m sorry… I forgot.”

“Hey, hey, Bud, no problem!” John hugged his boy and then dropped into the closest chair, grinning. “We’re decent, aren’t we? Good to see you, Son! Come on in, sit down…what brings you all the way from Virginia?”

As the three chatted about “the latest” in the tiny den by the kitchen, Jay soaked in his surroundings. This was the life he left behind almost four years ago. Why would he just now see it? They’d always shown love for each other. So why the lump in his throat just now? Could it be the non-breakup, break up he’d just been texted last week? Could it be the series of divorces he’d heard about lately? Or maybe he’d talked to enough girls now- dated enough- to find only a few who said their parents truly liked each other.

“Mom, Dad, I hope I have a marriage like yours. You guys make it look easy to be happy…”

Can there be a higher compliment than this? One of my sixty-something friends shared this story while we chatted over coffee. Her son had toasted a similar version at their 40th wedding anniversary party. Then she said this:

“Our kids are jealous of us. They see us kiss in the kitchen, dance in every room, and laugh wherever we are. They wonder out loud when will it be their turn!”

Growing older isn’t on anyone’s bucket list. But it happens to most of us. And it presents a double challenge. Is my purpose in life bigger than my age, and am I in love with my mate?

Do you have that marriage? Did your parents have that marriage? Who do you know with that marriage? I can’t wait to hear about it!