Fun Club
The bicycle dress made its debut at Fun Club last night. Here I am in this picture after scaling the wall in my friend Deb’s neighbor’s backyard to grab what obviously was the perfect photo op. The minute we saw that bicycle flower planter I knew what I had to do. That’s the kind of fun we have at Fun Club. It all started over 25 years ago. Four dear friends and I decided we needed more fun in our lives. Life had thrown us some curve balls, as it promises, so we began meeting monthly to just have fun. The best part about Fun Club is that inevitably at some point during the evening something sends us into that kind of belly laughter that makes your face turn ugly, your lungs gasp for air, and more recently your bladder beg for mercy. The other best part about spending time with true friends is the afterglow. The feeling of love, acceptance, and gratitude that washes over you. Friends are gifts, if we let God be the giver. Women in particular, are wired for relationship. We need to be connected, to feel we belong, to feel supported and cared for. It starts early and never goes away. I wasted so much time and energy in pursuit of my best friend. After much disillusionment, but before I started begging, I gave up. I heard a speaker talk about the importance of, and the blessings inherent in, surrendering all areas of our lives to God. She asked the question “In what area of your life have you not surrendered?” I realized I needed to surrender my need for relationship to God and let Him take over. I had to trust He knew me even better than I knew myself. Boy did He. Best thing I ever did. God began to gift me with all kinds of “friends” as soon as I handed it over and broadened my definition of friend. God gifts us with all kinds of people in our lives to connect with, to feel supported by, to feel cared for by. They aren’t at all what you would have picked if left to your own devices. That’s the fun part. They come in all ages, colors, and backgrounds. They stay for years or they come and go. You don’t know their birthdays or maybe even their last names but you share your stories and learn from their wisdom. And sometimes...
My Bicycle Dress
I took a fun summer road trip to a part of Wisconsin I had never been to before. It’s called The Driftless Area. This area comprises southwestern Wisconsin, southeastern Minnesota, north eastern Iowa, and the extreme northwestern corner of Illinois. This area gets its name from the fact that it was never covered by ice during the last ice age therefore the area lacks the characteristic glacial deposits known as drift. That is just a sampling of the volumes of fun facts I learned and first time experiences I had during my stay with John and Jamee. I learned about birds. The CatBird has a call that sounds just like a cat. The Cowbird lays its eggs in other birds’ nests. The Grosbeak female is a force to be reckoned with at the feeder and some birds like grape jelly. I learned about gardening. There is a trick to knowing which carrots are ready to be pulled out of the ground. Potatoes grow in clusters. Nasturtiums are edible and I still don’t like onions, even homegrown ones. I heard the sound of a coyote at night. I gazed open-mouthed at the Big Dipper. I watched a bird feeder for an hour straight and never got bored. All these things left a lasting impression on me. However, it was a conversation I experienced that really grabbed hold and won’t let go. We were chatting about spiritual things one afternoon and John shared something he had read. He said Bob Buford, author of the book Halftime and founder of Leadership Network once said that he believes that on the final, final exam, there will just be two questions. 1. You learned about my son, Jesus, what did you do with that? 2. I created the one and only you. Why weren’t you more like you? That second question haunts me. Like the coyote call at night. I can’t get it out of my head. I created the one and only you. We were knit in our mother’s womb perfectly. Each and every part of us was custom made by the Creator. The unique combination of our physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual parts are found in no one else. And they are perfect. They are to be treasured and made known to the world. Flaunted with gratitude. Why weren’t you more like you? Yikes. Where do I start. How many times have I spoke what someone else wanted to hear? Or kept quiet for...
The Unscripted Moments
I just got back from a family vacation in Door County. Like most vacations, a lot of planning and organizing went into this get-away. With eight adults and seven grandchildren there were the numerous texts to coordinate everyone’s schedules to find just the perfect window of opportunity to gather us all together. There was the hunt for the right place and fingers crossed that our dates and theirs coincided. Along with the meal planning for fourteen, arrangements for Stan, our four legged family member, packing for every imaginable scenario, and figuring out when to hit the road so that naps were a real possibility, we were all praying that no one got Covid and had to stay home. And after all that planning and preparing and predicting when we arrived, we realized we had no milk. We did have plenty of bug spray, Neosporin, and marshmallows though. I learned early the value of planning ahead. I have learned much later the beauty in letting life happen. I was reminded on this trip that God hides in the unscripted moments in life. The moments that catch us off guard and take our breath away. I experienced many such moments on our vacation. The moment I slipped on the rocky downhill path while golfing. I took one of those cartoon worthy falls, arms and legs everywhere. My ten-year-old grandson, James, took my hand to help me up and held my hand until we were on flat ground again. I noticed how he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. The moments when little baby June would wake up from a nap and before she focused her eyes, her legion of cousin admirers would swarm her throne to kiss her head and poke her nose. Like workers bees around the queen. And then there was the cherry pie night. When in Door County, you must have something cherry. We didn’t plan ahead, so when my son-in-law called the closest pie place, they had just closed, but he talked them into staying open five more minutes and he would be right over. (Thank you to The Cherry Hut in Fish Creek!) It turns out the place had outdoor fire pits and a huge lawn to run around on, so we all went. What a magical evening it was. The sky was like nothing I have ever seen before. It looked like a movie backdrop, it was so perfect. (See the picture above.) And...
It’s My Birthday For Heaven Sake
It’s a rainy, gloomy day today as I sit down to write. The kind of day that strikes terror in the hearts of moms with kids off school for the summer. Boredom seems to come easily and quickly to this younger generation. I don’t remember being bored as a kid. I’m sure I was from time to time, but my mom was really good at coming up with creative, and at times kind of crazy, ways to fill the time. She had a home office set up and would let me type on her typewriter and pretend to be a secretary. We would play “church” with hosts that we made with a shot glass and slices of Wonder Bread. We used the shot glass to press out the perfectly rounded circles of fluffy bread. The tabernacle to store the Wonder hosts was my brother’s little metal safe where he kept baseball cards and coins. And then there was Bunko. My mom loved to play Bunko. She was way ahead of her time. She’d love to see how that game has become a staple for suburban moms needing a night out. This was just one of the ways my mom loved so well. She anticipated our needs and went out of her way to provide them. I liked that. I got used to that. I expected that. I thought that was love. As my mom got older, things changed slowly but surely. I found I had needs that she didn’t anticipate or provide. I remember when I felt this shift profoundly. It was my 38th birthday. I was waiting for the usual phone call from my mom and dad wishing me a happy birthday. Soon it was close to supper time and I still hadn’t heard from them, so I called them. My mom answered and chatted like it was any other day. Finally, I said, “Mom, it’s my birthday.” She yelled to my dad in the background like it was his fault for not reminding her. He yelled “Happy Birthday.” This lapse in memory was a wakeup call for me. I was too dependent on a human love that was subject to human failings. I needed to grow up, and grow toward the One who was waiting for me. God was gently calling me to an incomprehensible love. Lasting love. Love even deeper than a mom’s love. A love that anticipates and provides forever and...
Just Enjoy It
I have been so encouraged lately by your responses to my blogs. There was Geri who almost choked on the banana she was eating as she began reading the last blog about my banana face. And Karlyn who was amused by that same blog and suggested you all send pictures of your own “food faces.” (Please do) To top it all off, my daughter and I were on a walk in the local park when we were approached by a woman and her beautiful Collie. She called me by name and said how much she enjoys my blogs. She gently commanded me to keep writing them and asked God’s blessing on me. I was glad to have my daughter there as a witness to the love and encouragement God provided me through those kind words spoken in a random encounter with a divine messenger. (Thank you Patty) Your feedback is always encouraging, humbling and exciting! In fact, it has created a monster. I can no longer go anywhere without seeing something that makes me say “Ooh, now there’s a blog!” Case in point, my granddaughter, Emily, and I were just strolling the sidewalk at a nearby strip mall and I spotted the scene in the picture above. Right away I see, in that somewhat odd occurrence, the fun and carefree-ness that we have been talking about the last few weeks. It brought such a smile to my face and Emily’s. A weird but memorable bonding moment with my granddaughter! I’ve also received a link to a video from Jane and a book from Deb that focused on our Belovedness. That along with an insightful conversation with Ann about the importance of having an attentive heart has reminded me once again of how loved we all are and how our days can be filled with goodness and freedom and joy if we are attentive to the unseen, not the obvious. The book I received is called The Life You Long For- Learning to Live from a Heart of Rest by Christy Nockels. In the chapter entitled “The Farm-Table Epiphany,” she shares how she heard God say ”Just enjoy Me,” as she was reflecting on Psalm 37:4 which reads: Take delight in the Lord and he will give you your heart’s desires. She goes on to say: He didn’t speak audibly, but my heart filled with a knowing that it was Him. It had been a long while...
Keep Your Eyes Peeled
If you are reading one of my blogs for the first time, I promise they aren’t all this strange. I apologize in advance if you were hoping for inspiration or words to live by. I’m not sure that is going to happen this week. Unless you’re inspired by another example of the strange images that seem to show up in my food. I’m not sure what to call it. What happens is, the food I eat not only keeps me alive, it comes alive. Yes, you heard that right. If you don’t believe me, check out my blogs from July 7 and July 18 of 2021. It’s been pizza, muffins and now my banana that looks like a small dog. (See picture above) I sent the picture to my sister and she replied, “I saw a mini Yorky at Panera today that looked just like that.” The heart of my spirituality is seeing the Divine in the ordinary. You know from past blogs that I tend to “see” the presence of God all around me, not just in the more traditional places like church. I am passionate about sharing my God sightings with anyone who will listen. However, this food phenomenon has me speechless. I’m not sure what to make of it. What I do know is that it is ironic and a bit amusing that these occurrences have happened in the summer months of June and July. Perhaps it’s God’s invitation to that carefree-ness I wrote about last week. A reminder to hand over our cares even if just for a day or an hour to him. Free ourselves to rest more, laugh more, and feel more deeply God’s loving presence. I think God stays very busy trying to get our attention so He can fill us with the knowledge of his constant companionship and deep and abiding love for us. In summer He really ramps it up with the beauty of the landscape, the smell of the flowers, the songs of the birds, and the absurdity of my banana. He’s everywhere. Keep your eyes peeled! Joan...
Carefree
This morning I woke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun peeking through the blinds, and a mild breeze through the window. That combination triggers a brain pathway that automatically transports me to my childhood and the carefree days of summer. They were the best. Long, lazy days filled with simple pleasures. The sound of the Good Humor truck that made us drop whatever we were doing and run. My August birthday party where I was queen for a day at Par King, the local mini golf course. The endless days spent in the forest preserve behind our house playing “Lost Girl Scouts” or re-enacting scenes from Little Women. We would set up camp sites in the brush with pots from our kitchen set hanging by ropes from the branches and the plastic corn cobs and baked potatoes stuck in the ground ready to harvest. Then there were the carnivals my sister and cousins and I would put on for the neighborhood. We spent more time designing, coloring and distributing the flyers than on the carnival itself. And the annual, anxiously awaited, visit from my summer buddy. Our neighbor two doors down who was like a pseudo grandma to me had a grandson, Gary, who was my age. He came to visit her for a week each summer. We were best buddies for one week each year. Feasting on crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (we only had creamy peanut butter in our house) and playing for hours with Nikki, the black poodle as Gary’s grandpa played "Give My Regards to Broadway" on the organ. Such carefree days. What happened to those? I can’t quite pin point when, but things changed. Life lost it’s carefree-ness. Everything got complicated. The Good Humor truck became obsolete. Birthday parties and mini golf became babyish. Playing in the woods all day seemed a bit dangerous as did Gary! Once we realized we were a boy and a girl, everything seemed to change. And crunchy peanut butter showed up on the high cholesterol list. I want it back. I find myself longing to feel that freedom again. To feel totally absorbed in the moment like when I was back in my childhood. When I didn’t have enough of a past to get stuck in and didn’t really think about what tomorrow would bring. That’s why I love being with my grandchildren. It’s where I can live each moment as the gift...
The Horizon
“We stay on the positive path by shifting our gaze a little at a time, until all we see is the horizon.” That is a quote from ABC’s Good Morning America anchor, Robin Roberts, in her book Brighter By The Day. A good friend gave the book to me last week. She texted me that she keeps going back to her favorite parts so she can be continually thankful and maintain a positive outlook. The last few weeks I have been unable to shift my gaze from the here and now. I have been laser focused on sad facts and paralyzing hopelessness with the state of our world. I was in a funk and far from the positive path. This quote really spoke to me. It was a funk buster so to speak. I realized that each day we can choose to slightly shift our gaze from the things that weigh us down to the bigger picture. Little by little. When the heaviness of the here and now tries to flatten us, we can shift our gaze ever so slightly to the unknown yet unrelenting horizon of goodness and hope and God. But we need help to shift our gaze. I have felt that help this week. I could sense it in my spiritual bones. I was being attended to. I think God read my blog last week and used people and situations in my life to comfort me and soothe me and help me shift my gaze. In addition to the book I received, another friend sent me a link to a Matthew Kelly video reflection on John 7:37-39. “Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.” “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.” He went on to encourage listeners to imagine streams of living water washing away our pain, heartache, fears, doubts, resistance, and resentments and filling us with hope, possibility, peace, and tranquility. He reminded us that in the midst of this moral, ethical, and spiritual desert that we find ourselves in these days, God will refill and refresh. Then he challenged us to take the time to visualize those streams of living water every day for a week. A gaze shifter. Then to top it all off, yesterday was Pentecost Sunday and our granddaughter, Maggie, made her First Communion. Pentecost Sunday is a celebration of the coming of the indwelling Holy Spirit, a powerful show of God’s incredible...
Life Goes On?
Life goes on, they say. I’m having a hard time adopting that motto these days. I’m finding it hard to go on with my usual daily routine in light of the tragedy we once again were faced with in the deaths of innocent children and their teachers in a school in Texas this week. I’m mired in sadness and a fiery anger in my belly that I don’t know what to do with. I can’t just pray and move on this time. Uncharacteristically, I emailed my Wisconsin senators. I don’t usually do that because I really don’t think it makes any difference, but it was a concrete thing I could do to release some anger. I’m not well versed in the history of gun control legislation or the state of mental health facilities across the nation, so I couldn’t argue real intelligently, but I could argue emotionally. I begged that they would take the time to see how the collective spirit of the American people is in pain and the helpless feeling we all have when these tragedies occur and life goes on. I can’t say I felt any better after pressing the send button. I forced myself to watch the national news and look at the faces of those sweet children and their teachers. I cried and my belly burned. As I prayed, I couldn’t look God in the face. I was a bit miffed to be honest. This morning as I was pondering it all, the refrain of a church song popped into my head. The song is called We Remember and the last line of the refrain is “We remember, we celebrate, we believe.” I felt those words as God’s olive branch. A help for me and my belly. The prescription for how to move forward. Take the time throughout this Memorial Day weekend to remember not only those who lost their lives in service to our country but those who lost their lives just being children or teachers. Remember the faces. Remember the families. Celebrate the ten-year-olds and the teachers you know. I have a front row seat in the lives of both. Our grandson, James just turned ten. The age of most of the children we lost this week. With those double digits comes a double life. By day, they are feisty, opinionated, seemingly self-confident, and brutally honest (James told me I should brush my hair as we were Face Timing yesterday.) But...
Just Rest
These two regal gentlemen were strutting around in the parking lot behind our condo last week. Their lady friends were focused and hard at work in the woods, foraging for food, and looking for the best place to call home for their impending gang. I guess we should cut these toms some slack and realize that they are protecting their better halves, but it sure looks like the females bear the brunt of the work. Funny how nature mirrors life. I was listening to a podcast a couple days ago called We Can do Hard Things with author Glennon Doyle and her sister, Amanda. They were addressing the emotional burn out that many are experiencing due to the pandemic and other worldly catastrophes that we are witness to because of the global reach that our modern technology affords us. In the podcast they said that we were only made to handle the stress in our own worlds, not the stress of the whole world. There is enough stress as a result of life’s challenges in our families, workplaces, schools, and neighborhoods, our villages so to speak. We weren’t wired to take on the stresses of the whole world. But that is exactly what we do. And women tend to do it more than men. Studies have shown that women are suffering from emotional burn out at a much higher rate than men. They cited a theory in Kate Manne’s book, Down Girl, that posits what is called the Human Giver Theory. It is based on the assumption that humanity is divided into Human Givers and Human Be-ers. Human Givers feel it is their responsibility to make sure the Human Be-ers needs are met. Human Givers see that role as their moral obligation. Women tend to be Human Givers. The caregiving role often falls to us women. We see it as our moral obligation, especially as we grow in our discipleship and our desire to really be God’s hands, feet, and heart in this world that is hurting everywhere you turn. When we feel it is our moral obligation to give, give, give and not receive, it’s no wonder we become emotionally exhausted. We can become exhausted from caring too much for too long. But are we really called to care SO much for SO many for SO long? Could our caring be out of whack? Maybe we need to listen more carefully to God’s whispers of just...