And The Walls Came Tumblin' Down

It may seem silly to some, to have a "word for the year" -- where you choose a word theme for your next 365 days, but I chose "Surrender" for the year 2020. I also hate the overuse of the term "Journey" but there's no more apt expression for where we are going. 

I love freedom. I stand proudly at any ballgame with my hand over my heart and loudly proclaim the National Anthem and the pledge of allegiance. When I think of America, I think of freedom. At the same moment, I think of all the sacrifices that people have made, people that actually laid aside their freedom to make it free for others. We are not worthy.

But in my personal life, I love freedom too. I might just err to the side of hedonism. I'm a closet Libertarian at heart, where I don't want government encroaching into my business. If I'm honest, I also don't really want anybody telling me what to do. Rebellion is my natural default, though you might not know it 'cause I sugar it up good. I shudder to think what life would be like if the Lord hadn't intervened. Funny thing is, here in my golden years (yes, the sun is golden right here), I am finally learning some of the things that I have resisted all along. I actually always loved a tough coach or teacher, ones that had the temerity to get in my face and not back down. As much as I hate to admit it, that's probably one of the things that make my husband so attractive to me...even though I'd like to kill him for it sometimes. We all need boundaries, walls, in our lives. I want to believe that life is a party and that I can do what I want. I'm a Christian and I'm not going to get over the edge, but I might want to flop my big hairy toe over it. 

One of the "acceptable" sins in the Christian world is gluttony. We can holler about alcohol and adultery and stealing, but you better not mention the buffet out back. It's one of those things that we all have to do (eat), but when to stop is a whole 'nother ballgame. And I have indulged my Christian freedom to eat way more than my quota. In fact, that's what I say to my grandkids when they ask why Yaya can't have a brownie: "Sweetheart, I've already had enough of those." And it's true. I've got eternity in heaven to get all the rest of the goodies. Down here, I've done had enough. And that's okay, really, it is. You'd think that was the death of freedom, but actually it's the opposite and I'm waking up feeling all giddy inside. Happy surrender!

Silver Linings

I looked in the mirror the other day, pondering when it was time to get my next highlight appointment with my beautician (who happens to be my newly-minted niece). I did a double-take as it seemed as if my hair was fresh from the salon. I checked my calendar to see when my last appointment was. It made no sense. It should be growing out by now. It was really early in the morning, the room was rather dark...the light of day finally revealed the truth: I went silver almost overnight! 

These crazy young folks are paying big bucks these days to get their hair "silvered." At first I thought it was awful, but then I started to see the beauty in it. Then there was some lady touting makeup for mature women. She had silver hair too and was gorgeous. My husband has always begged me to grow my hair out. It's already to my shoulders, but apparently men think their wives should keep the hairstyle they had when they were 21 and new brides. He has repeatedly asked me to quit highlighting my hair. "Let it go natural," he says. When natural is the color of dishwater and as limp as a noodle, Mama hoofs it to town to get some light and texture in there. I told him years ago, it was either highlights or a permanent. He opted for the highlights. I still shudder at the Poodle Years. I've been a happy camper, staying the perpetual blonde of my youth. This puzzling new development has left me perplexed. How did it happen that quick? Why did it happen? Am I missing crucial minerals or vitamins? I'm eating really good stuff right now, with no processed or artificial food. My fingernails are coming in like horse hooves and I feel like a million bucks. So why the emptying-out of all that color? I read in the Scriptures where it says, "Gray (silver) hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life." Hey, I might just take that one. Old age doesn't mean wisdom, necessarily. Well-worn paths can also be considered ruts, but it depends on whose wagon you're following. 

I remember the hoary heads of so many of the people I have loved, with the wish of just one more chance to kiss those dear faces. What I didn't know was that some of them were still ten years old inside and had no clue that they were old. Others gave up early and hung up their boots while they were still supple. Nothing can stop the march of time, but we can laugh at the future and not live in fear. For me, that is only possible because I know the One who holds my hand. 

More Precious Than Gold

The Scriptures say "a man of many friends comes to ruin." I didn't understand those words for many years. I thought a pile of friends was just peachy. Then I realized that, in truth, no matter how social or extroverted you are, you only can have a handful of good friends. There's just not enough time or juice to keep up with a gozillion friends. And a faithful friend is rare indeed. I have seen where bad friends take people down treacherous paths. I had one such comrade in my freshman year of college. She was more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Before long, she had me skipping class, staying up half the night and missing church. I had grown up with a simple and parentally-ordered life, so the advent of eating a whole package of Oreos or swilling all the Coca-Cola I wanted was wild partying, in my mind. I was the willing participant to these follies, much to my parents' chagrin. When I came home that first semester with a D in New Testament Studies and skinny as a rail, they didn't quite know what to do with me. I wasn't drinking or laying out with bad boys, but I was definitely out of control. When things began to teeter to the dark side, I had to take a hatchet job to our friendship. And it pretty much took an implement that violent to rend me away from her. There's a reason the Good Book says, "Bad friends corrupt good morals." My friend went right on down her path and ended up getting kicked out of school, on drugs, with a baby and no Baby Daddy to help her. But for the grace of God I could've tromped right into the mess with her.

I was reminded today of the value of a good compatriot when I had breakfast with one of my oldies but goodies. We go way on back to fourth grade. I have a few, very wonderful bosom buddies. They're all better than me. I probably pull them down. Honorable, conscientious, good, fun people. Salt of the earth. I've collected them over many years. They come from my many seasons of life: Mama, one from birth (my sister), grade school, college, our early years of marriage, church, family, another that I birthed (my daughter), and others that my sons married. They are the kindred spirits that link like DNA to your soul. Time and space don't matter. A year can go by and we link back up like sisters. 

This morning's talk with my dear old friend was pure gold. Memories, children, grandchildren, Mamas, work were all spun into a sweet amalgam of time, too short. True treasures are those moments and days where we get to exchange our lives. I don't want to ever take that for granted. 

Home Sweet Home

Every time there's a wedding in our family, Papa Bear likes to take the new family member around to see all the houses we've lived in over these 38 years of marriage. We've had quite an adventurous real estate history. Those reality TV shows got nuthin' on us. So we headed out with our daughter and her fiance last week, running all over metro Atlanta to tout our accomplishments. Many of them were still in great shape, some of them not so much. But when we pulled in to see our very first little house (I believe it was 800+ square feet), I was flooded with nostalgia and memories. 

It was in the slums of Mableton, on a narrow little street of tiny row houses next to the railroad tracks. We didn't even have a down payment. Ken's Pop gifted us $800 so we could buy it (it was a gift but we paid him back eventually). When we saw what our note was going to be, we were nervous. The house was a complete mess, not liveable and had to be gutted. When we got through demolishing the rot and ruin, you could see all the way to the other end of the house. There were massive holes in the kitchen and bathroom floors. I'll never forget Ken single-handedly picking up the cast-iron tub and hauling it out of the house. He was a beast.

It was a tough time. We were living with my folks, I was pregnant with our first baby, and we were trying to learn how to do things we had never remotely attempted before. Ken thought he had married a sweet honey of a gal, but with all those pressures, the hellcat came out and he didn't know what hit him. We worked our tails off, my Daddy teaching Ken how to do basic carpentry and my Mama teaching me how to sew, paint and put up wallpaper. It was an unexpected gift that was tortuous in many ways, but also laid the foundation for our future endeavors. In a few short months we moved in. I was very great with child, extremely tired and frankly scared. I would sit with my hands on the whirling dervish that was my tummy, wondering how in the world I was going to raise this young'un. I didn't want to mess it up. I kept asking the doctors if he was not huge, because it seemed like I had an elephant in there. They kept reassuring me that "it" was measuring normal size and that it would probably be around 7-1/2 pounds. They also said that it was a girl, because of the heart rate. But I knew it was a son, sure as shootin. I had had dreams. And he moved around in there like a bull moose. He ended up being my smallest, at 10 pounds, 8 ounces and 22 inches long. He's 35 years old now and still a bull moose, but with a heart of gold.

Seeing that little house again made me misty with remembering my baby son. We were young, strong, hopeful and clueless. I never knew I could love something as much as I loved that wriggling, wailing bundle of man-child. I saw us as standing in the face of all that is evil in the world with God on our side and the wind at our back. Time and troubles etch away at us, but it pays to remember the noble purposes of our youth. God often uses those waves to propel us over the course of a lifetime, else we might cave when the going gets rough. Thankful...