I was Lynnette's maid of honor in my favorite bridesmaid dress of all time. This one had a tiny sheer train on the back of the dress - LOVED it. This was the wedding where I was the accidental homewrecker.
59 minutes ago
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The Ready Made Family Wedding
You do not even want to know how many bobby pins were in my hair for this updo. I think it was fifty-some. Anyway, this wedding was the one where the mother of the bride tried to fix me up with the brother of the groom - a newly divorced, father of one. This picture was an attempted remake of a picture taken of my sister Julie at my sister Lori's wedding. Julie was in her bridesmaid dress and cowboy boots. Here I was in my purple dress and white tennis shoes. Problem was - the shoes didn't make it into the picture. Thank goodness digital cameras have arrived now!!
The Wedding Where NOTHING Went Wrong
This was the one flawless wedding - at least as far as I can remember. This was when my college roommate, Amy, got married. The gloves were the worst part. They were "one size fits all" but they fit skinny arms much more comfortably than fat ones. On me they felt like those gloves people have to wear when they have - what is it - circulation problems? Again - not sure about the hair....
Bridesmaid Round One
Here was my first round of being a bridesmaid. I loved the dress, but it was a nightmare for me. (Just to refresh - this was the one that the store measured me wrong for and then the dress was too small and then the zipper broke and then the whole trip was a disaster. Nevertheless, it was a great wedding and I was very happy to be part of it! (Speaking of disaster - check out the hair!!)
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Happy Halloween two days early!! I was halfway through writing this to you when I got out my stash-o-printed columns and realized I’d written the SAME THING last year. I need new material.
So…as you may or may not remember, Halloween is a holiday I love, but it’s one I do not participate in using traditional methods. I love the candy, and I love the excuse for a party. Unfortunately, my budget loves neither. I cannot afford to buy a trunkload of candy that may or may not be picked up by the begging anklebiters of the community. And I certainly cannot afford to eat said leftovers.
Let me tell you why. Friday, I was invited to go to a costume party that our secretary was having at her house. She even offered to provide the complete costume for me – since I have so few lying around the house. I was going to go as a Princess (of course…what else?) and she had a dress and shoes and jewelry and help for my hair and the whole nine yards. I arrived at her house about an hour and a half before the party started, and while the hot rollers heated, she helped me into the dress.
Except I was too fat to fit into it. Now there is nothing worse than getting to the end of the world’s worst day, being comforted in knowing that you get to be a Princess for the night, and then finding out WOOPS! Congratulations – you are too fat to be a Princess. Correction. There is one thing worse. Coming home after such a tragedy, kicking off your shoes, and stepping (in socks) in a fresh pile of cat puke.
So as I said, I certainly cannot afford to eat leftover candy. Or any candy, for that matter.
In the meantime, I’ve decided that this year has to be better than last year’s Halloween. I’m borrowing selected details from a special edition of my column that I sent to only some people. I’ve edited it to eliminate disgusting details – but perhaps you can enjoy the rest of it:
I’ve never cared for doctors, primarily because every time I go, I have a “that would only happen to you” experience. Like when I went to a clinic with strep throat and got the gamut of questions ranging from “What did your grandparents die of?” to “Are you sexually active?” It’s a sore throat, people. Let’s try to stay focused, shall we? Or the time I went to the dentist and was sedated…but the sedation didn’t sedate.
So for me to even make a doctor appointment was a rather significant occasion in my life. And had I not been worrying that I was dying, I’d never have picked up the phone. See, in Bekah-land, you’re either 100% healthy, or you’re dying. Why would there ever be a middle ground of treatable illness? I figured I’d walk in the office, he’d take one look at me, and say, “I’m sorry, but you have about four hours to live. Please say your goodbyes.” The three week wait to get in to see the doctor, as a result, was pure torture.
The night before my appointment was Halloween and I spent the evening hiding from Trick-or-Treaters, per my annual custom. I spent extra time in Bible study and prayer, hoping it would calm me for my visit. Well, the particular thing I was working on that night parked me in John chapter 14. Perhaps this will ring a bell: “In my Father’s house are many mansions. I’ll be coming back tomorrow to get you.” Oh…perhaps I went a little off text there at the end.
Several weeks before that, the house down at the end of the block had a significant party that lasted until the wee hours. The banner hanging from the porch the next day marked it the “Josiah-palooza.” I don’t know Josiah, but his palooza resurfaced that night in the form of a Halloween extravaganza. So at midnight, I tossed and turned in bed, mulling over “if it were not so…I would have told you…I go to prepare a place…” with Josiah’s latest palooza as my background music.
After a few precious hours of sleep, I sat in the waiting room surrounded by sickies and fellow hypochondriacs. A woman old enough to know better came out of the rooms in the back and handed a piece of paper to her friend while loudly asking, “Do you want to see a picture of what they took out of me?” I crossed my eyes and went back to answering questions on my form. “Do you smoke?” Circle yes. “For how long?” Ever since I walked in the door of this office. “Do you drink?” Pen in: Do you provide complimentary ones? I’ll give it a shot. Literally. (KIDDING, Mom and Dad!)
A nurse with the personality of a ceramic toad came to the door and called my name. I made my way to the back with her where she instructed me to step on the scales. I don’t believe in scales. I jokingly said, “Do I have to?” She gave me a rather annoyed look and said, “Well you don’t have to.” Good grief, woman!! I got on the scales and closed my eyes tightly to avoid the news we all already know – too fat to be a Princess!
She left me in a room with an announcement that the doctor would be with me shortly. I learned that shortly is 23 minutes. 23 l-o-n-g minutes filled with zero reading material. When shortly was over and the doctor arrived, he extended his hand and introduced himself. I immediately crinkled into a meltdown and said, “Hi, I’m Rebekah and you’re going to wish you’d called in sick today.” I cried the rest of the way through the appointment until he announced to me that he didn’t think I was dying.
My favorite part was the end of the appointment. I’d had to don a lovely Charmin evening gown, and when the consultation was over, I had no idea if the doctor or Ms. Ceramic Toad would be back in for any reason. Was I supposed to get dressed and leave? Or wait for instructions? I scrambled back into my clothes in a Riverdance-esque fashion and cautiously opened the door. I stuck my head out into the hall and made eye contact with the first scrubs-sporting person I saw. “Can I leave?” I felt like a kid fleeing time out!
So until my next near death experience – I’m not going back to any doctors. And no more reading John 14 on Halloween!! OR eating candy!
So…as you may or may not remember, Halloween is a holiday I love, but it’s one I do not participate in using traditional methods. I love the candy, and I love the excuse for a party. Unfortunately, my budget loves neither. I cannot afford to buy a trunkload of candy that may or may not be picked up by the begging anklebiters of the community. And I certainly cannot afford to eat said leftovers.
Let me tell you why. Friday, I was invited to go to a costume party that our secretary was having at her house. She even offered to provide the complete costume for me – since I have so few lying around the house. I was going to go as a Princess (of course…what else?) and she had a dress and shoes and jewelry and help for my hair and the whole nine yards. I arrived at her house about an hour and a half before the party started, and while the hot rollers heated, she helped me into the dress.
Except I was too fat to fit into it. Now there is nothing worse than getting to the end of the world’s worst day, being comforted in knowing that you get to be a Princess for the night, and then finding out WOOPS! Congratulations – you are too fat to be a Princess. Correction. There is one thing worse. Coming home after such a tragedy, kicking off your shoes, and stepping (in socks) in a fresh pile of cat puke.
So as I said, I certainly cannot afford to eat leftover candy. Or any candy, for that matter.
In the meantime, I’ve decided that this year has to be better than last year’s Halloween. I’m borrowing selected details from a special edition of my column that I sent to only some people. I’ve edited it to eliminate disgusting details – but perhaps you can enjoy the rest of it:
I’ve never cared for doctors, primarily because every time I go, I have a “that would only happen to you” experience. Like when I went to a clinic with strep throat and got the gamut of questions ranging from “What did your grandparents die of?” to “Are you sexually active?” It’s a sore throat, people. Let’s try to stay focused, shall we? Or the time I went to the dentist and was sedated…but the sedation didn’t sedate.
So for me to even make a doctor appointment was a rather significant occasion in my life. And had I not been worrying that I was dying, I’d never have picked up the phone. See, in Bekah-land, you’re either 100% healthy, or you’re dying. Why would there ever be a middle ground of treatable illness? I figured I’d walk in the office, he’d take one look at me, and say, “I’m sorry, but you have about four hours to live. Please say your goodbyes.” The three week wait to get in to see the doctor, as a result, was pure torture.
The night before my appointment was Halloween and I spent the evening hiding from Trick-or-Treaters, per my annual custom. I spent extra time in Bible study and prayer, hoping it would calm me for my visit. Well, the particular thing I was working on that night parked me in John chapter 14. Perhaps this will ring a bell: “In my Father’s house are many mansions. I’ll be coming back tomorrow to get you.” Oh…perhaps I went a little off text there at the end.
Several weeks before that, the house down at the end of the block had a significant party that lasted until the wee hours. The banner hanging from the porch the next day marked it the “Josiah-palooza.” I don’t know Josiah, but his palooza resurfaced that night in the form of a Halloween extravaganza. So at midnight, I tossed and turned in bed, mulling over “if it were not so…I would have told you…I go to prepare a place…” with Josiah’s latest palooza as my background music.
After a few precious hours of sleep, I sat in the waiting room surrounded by sickies and fellow hypochondriacs. A woman old enough to know better came out of the rooms in the back and handed a piece of paper to her friend while loudly asking, “Do you want to see a picture of what they took out of me?” I crossed my eyes and went back to answering questions on my form. “Do you smoke?” Circle yes. “For how long?” Ever since I walked in the door of this office. “Do you drink?” Pen in: Do you provide complimentary ones? I’ll give it a shot. Literally. (KIDDING, Mom and Dad!)
A nurse with the personality of a ceramic toad came to the door and called my name. I made my way to the back with her where she instructed me to step on the scales. I don’t believe in scales. I jokingly said, “Do I have to?” She gave me a rather annoyed look and said, “Well you don’t have to.” Good grief, woman!! I got on the scales and closed my eyes tightly to avoid the news we all already know – too fat to be a Princess!
She left me in a room with an announcement that the doctor would be with me shortly. I learned that shortly is 23 minutes. 23 l-o-n-g minutes filled with zero reading material. When shortly was over and the doctor arrived, he extended his hand and introduced himself. I immediately crinkled into a meltdown and said, “Hi, I’m Rebekah and you’re going to wish you’d called in sick today.” I cried the rest of the way through the appointment until he announced to me that he didn’t think I was dying.
My favorite part was the end of the appointment. I’d had to don a lovely Charmin evening gown, and when the consultation was over, I had no idea if the doctor or Ms. Ceramic Toad would be back in for any reason. Was I supposed to get dressed and leave? Or wait for instructions? I scrambled back into my clothes in a Riverdance-esque fashion and cautiously opened the door. I stuck my head out into the hall and made eye contact with the first scrubs-sporting person I saw. “Can I leave?” I felt like a kid fleeing time out!
So until my next near death experience – I’m not going back to any doctors. And no more reading John 14 on Halloween!! OR eating candy!
The French Braid Gone Bad Wedding
This was my sister's wedding - where I sported the French braid held securely by a rubber band meant for braces. But look at me being a good little helper - picking up all the flower petal mess I'd made after the wedding was over.
Wedding #1
My October 15th post was all about the weddings I've been in - and I found some pictures of them! I thought I'd post them in a couple of posts - but it appears my computer would like each to have its own separate post. I'll be here forever!
If you want to catch up with the full stories, just go to the Sunday, October 15 post, and you'll find them.
Anyway - here is my very first wedding - this was when the ring bearer, shown with me here, made fun of my imaginary dog, Lassie.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Goodbyes
I got an email today from my brother-in-law that had news I didn't quite expect to read just today. Back on October 11, I posted a blog about catching up with the Littlefields. When I was out in Kansas, I had a chance to visit with my former pastor and his wife. And this week, he died. I still can't believe it when I look at that picture. It was taken one month ago today. Though he's been ill for some time and on dialysis for quite a while, he seemed stronger than I envisioned he might. He carried on a good conversation and prayed over us before we left that day. He scratched out their email address on a scrap piece of paper and gave it to me.
And he only had a month left. So hard to think about. When I remember him, I can still hear his warm and loving voice over the speakers in our church. He sent cassette tape greetings on ahead in the weeks prior to his arrival at our church. He wanted to let us know how excited he was to meet all of us. He wanted us to know his voice. He loved his people - and we were blessed to have him lead us.
I knew when I walked out of his house that day, that my goodbye to him was likely a forever goodbye. I don't get to Kansas often. But what a treasure it now is to me to have had that hour with him last month. To see him serving faithfully in what were his last days. To be blessed by his prayer one more time. And to be able to say goodbye.
Naomi, I'm praying for you!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
What’s in a name?
Depending on the name – the answer might be uncontrollable twitching.
I was listening to the radio this week while I was at work and they had a whole hour long call in show about names. The people calling in told about their own names or the names of their children – what they meant, how they came to be “the name” and how they felt about them now. It was kind of interesting to hear the stories of how names came to be. Many were chosen because of the meaning behind the names or because of others who had that name before.
So this whole program sent me down a long trail of thought. See, I don’t have kids yet, so I’ve still got the luxury of thinking about what I’d like to name these children someday – if I ever have any. When I was little, it was easy. My best friend and I both had notebooks where we kept lists of names we really liked. By the time we quit keeping the notebook list, mine had gotten so long, it could have been a “name the baby” book by itself. But back then things were so simple. I would write down names just because I liked the sound of them or because I thought they fit well with the last name of that week’s crush.
And back then, I truly hated weird names. My name is not altogether weird, but the spelling was highly unusual back then. Today, I actually know more Rebekah’s than Rebecca’s. But back then, no one I knew would spell my name the way mine was spelled. So I spent the majority of my life saying, “Actually it’s R-e-b-e-k-a-h.” And then I’d politely listen while the person on the other end of my conversation commented on its uniqueness and wondered where my parents got it. So I vowed I would never name my kid anything weird.
And then I started working in Financial Aid. In this respect, it’s much like a teaching job, I imagine. You start to encounter a lot of people who make you roll your eyes – or cross your eyes – or gouge out your eyes. And suddenly, a name alone can send you into convulsions that seem to never end. And in the process, said name – a perfectly good name – is ruined forever. There are now dozens and dozens of names I can never use because of those who have gone before, proudly carrying those names into the X list of Bekah’s planning.
So now that I’ve marked off 80% of possible names to avoid twitching, I have to deal with the next issue, which is longevity. I cringed when Julia Roberts named her kids Hazel and Phineas. I wanted to say “Why don’t you just put them in the nursing home now?” These older names that are coming back have a beauty all their own, but I just can’t sit and rock my baby girl and say “Oh, my beautiful Ava” and not think of my one great aunt that was about 112 before I ever met her! And on the flip side of that, I’d love to hold a baby Brittany, but when she’s in line for dentures, I just can’t see the name fitting anymore.
I’ve also recently learned the travesty of name-stealing. This was new to me. But all my friends have all their baby names picked out. And apparently it is in very poor taste to take a name already selected by a friend. Who knew? And even worse, they don’t tell their names, so that no one steals them, but then if you announce your name for a baby you already have cooking, they say, “Oh that was our name!!” WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW!! (By the way, I’ve never had this happen to me, since I have no children – I’ve just heard stories. Just to clarify.)
I don’t know whether or not you’ve ever seen the movie “Where the Heart is” (GREAT movie!) but the nurse in the hospital named her kids Brownie, Praline, Cherry, and Baby Ruth. I’m starting to see the wisdom in that. It would solve so many problems.
So all of this to say…I am now back to square one on names. The ones in my childhood list are gone. They’ve either been ruined by someone I encountered in my job, they have a definite age marker, or they’ve been put on layaway by my friends. So this leaves me with no choice but to pick something totally weird and when the kids complain, I’ll just say, “Sorry you have to keep explaining it – I totally feel your pain. You’ll get over it.”
Having said that, Braeya was one of my girl names. I had picked it out and had it on this famous “layaway list” for my someday baby girl. But when I got my little Braeya, I had decided I wasn’t having kids after all. So rather than waste a perfectly good name, I used it for her.
Now I’ve decided it would be nice to have kids someday. But we’re going to have to stick with boys – because those are the names I still have.
Depending on the name – the answer might be uncontrollable twitching.
I was listening to the radio this week while I was at work and they had a whole hour long call in show about names. The people calling in told about their own names or the names of their children – what they meant, how they came to be “the name” and how they felt about them now. It was kind of interesting to hear the stories of how names came to be. Many were chosen because of the meaning behind the names or because of others who had that name before.
So this whole program sent me down a long trail of thought. See, I don’t have kids yet, so I’ve still got the luxury of thinking about what I’d like to name these children someday – if I ever have any. When I was little, it was easy. My best friend and I both had notebooks where we kept lists of names we really liked. By the time we quit keeping the notebook list, mine had gotten so long, it could have been a “name the baby” book by itself. But back then things were so simple. I would write down names just because I liked the sound of them or because I thought they fit well with the last name of that week’s crush.
And back then, I truly hated weird names. My name is not altogether weird, but the spelling was highly unusual back then. Today, I actually know more Rebekah’s than Rebecca’s. But back then, no one I knew would spell my name the way mine was spelled. So I spent the majority of my life saying, “Actually it’s R-e-b-e-k-a-h.” And then I’d politely listen while the person on the other end of my conversation commented on its uniqueness and wondered where my parents got it. So I vowed I would never name my kid anything weird.
And then I started working in Financial Aid. In this respect, it’s much like a teaching job, I imagine. You start to encounter a lot of people who make you roll your eyes – or cross your eyes – or gouge out your eyes. And suddenly, a name alone can send you into convulsions that seem to never end. And in the process, said name – a perfectly good name – is ruined forever. There are now dozens and dozens of names I can never use because of those who have gone before, proudly carrying those names into the X list of Bekah’s planning.
So now that I’ve marked off 80% of possible names to avoid twitching, I have to deal with the next issue, which is longevity. I cringed when Julia Roberts named her kids Hazel and Phineas. I wanted to say “Why don’t you just put them in the nursing home now?” These older names that are coming back have a beauty all their own, but I just can’t sit and rock my baby girl and say “Oh, my beautiful Ava” and not think of my one great aunt that was about 112 before I ever met her! And on the flip side of that, I’d love to hold a baby Brittany, but when she’s in line for dentures, I just can’t see the name fitting anymore.
I’ve also recently learned the travesty of name-stealing. This was new to me. But all my friends have all their baby names picked out. And apparently it is in very poor taste to take a name already selected by a friend. Who knew? And even worse, they don’t tell their names, so that no one steals them, but then if you announce your name for a baby you already have cooking, they say, “Oh that was our name!!” WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW!! (By the way, I’ve never had this happen to me, since I have no children – I’ve just heard stories. Just to clarify.)
I don’t know whether or not you’ve ever seen the movie “Where the Heart is” (GREAT movie!) but the nurse in the hospital named her kids Brownie, Praline, Cherry, and Baby Ruth. I’m starting to see the wisdom in that. It would solve so many problems.
So all of this to say…I am now back to square one on names. The ones in my childhood list are gone. They’ve either been ruined by someone I encountered in my job, they have a definite age marker, or they’ve been put on layaway by my friends. So this leaves me with no choice but to pick something totally weird and when the kids complain, I’ll just say, “Sorry you have to keep explaining it – I totally feel your pain. You’ll get over it.”
Having said that, Braeya was one of my girl names. I had picked it out and had it on this famous “layaway list” for my someday baby girl. But when I got my little Braeya, I had decided I wasn’t having kids after all. So rather than waste a perfectly good name, I used it for her.
Now I’ve decided it would be nice to have kids someday. But we’re going to have to stick with boys – because those are the names I still have.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Still My Girl!
Cassie
Cassie's next substate game was a tough fight - and in the end, their team lost. But what an incredible season!! Almost forty wins and only one loss. She did a great job and I'm amazingly proud of her!! I'm so glad I got to watch her play some games in this best season yet.
That's My Girl!
I can't be there to cheer in person, but I can cheer in my heart!!
There's my girl - serving her heart out!
I just listened to the first game of substate and the Rangers won in two games!! The annoying announcer was gone and in her place was a very nice man who did his job well AND threw in some pretty impressive compliments about Cassie and her friend Megan. They play one more game later tonight, but I just wanted to cheer about this last game. GREAT WORK, CASSIE!!! I love you!!
Friday, October 20, 2006
Go Rangers!!
(I tried to upload a couple of pictures but apparently, despite two restarts, my computer is not in the mood today. I'll try again tomorrow!)
Tomorrow, my niece's volleyball team goes to substate. This is the first year they've gotten this far - at least since she's been a part of the team. I'm so excited for her!! They are 37-0 right now, so win or lose, they've had an amazing season.
This past Tuesday night, when they played in regionals, I was able to listen to the game because it was carried on a radio station that broadcasts on the web. Let me just tell you about that for a minute. Tuesdays never end in my world. Tuesdays are the days of forever overtime and dinner that doesn't start until about 10 p.m. So it was a refreshing diversion for me to be able to stay awake amid the mounds of paperwork. But I'll let you in on a little secret in case you don't know me that well: even though I'm not a diehard sports fan, I can get very into games. Attitudinally into games. I suddenly mistake them for Wal-Mart, and I get ugly. So there I sat, running reports and stapling papers, randomly yelling at my computer.
The announcer (who needed fired, but I don't think you can fire volunteers) kept interspersing her own opinionated commentary into the game. I'm new to volleyball, and I'm a visual person. And other than my niece and her best friend, the names were all new to me as well. Do you know how hard it is to keep terms and names straight when you can't see any of it and some ding dong is sitting there saying things like "Well that just doesn't seem right...uh...oh wait - what are they doing? Oh!" GOOD GRIEF, WOMAN!! KEEP YOUR MIND ON THE JOB!! Whew. Okay, I'm back now.
Prior to this particular season, in my world, dig is what you do to a hole to plant a flower, spike is a really adorable hairstyle on the two year olds at church, a sub is someone to make fun of when he or she tries to run a classroom belonging to someone else, serve is what you do on a church committee or when you work at Applebees, and set is a complete collection of dishes. So needless to say, while I parked at the desk trying to translate all these words into their true game meaning AND trying to remember which last names went with which teams, I did not have time for her unsolicited thought pattern.
I'll be back at the desk tomorrow to listen to the substate game. I hope someone else covers the radio crowd. And...GO RANGERS!! HAVE A GREAT GAME!!! Cassie, no matter the score, I'm so proud of you!!
This past Tuesday night, when they played in regionals, I was able to listen to the game because it was carried on a radio station that broadcasts on the web. Let me just tell you about that for a minute. Tuesdays never end in my world. Tuesdays are the days of forever overtime and dinner that doesn't start until about 10 p.m. So it was a refreshing diversion for me to be able to stay awake amid the mounds of paperwork. But I'll let you in on a little secret in case you don't know me that well: even though I'm not a diehard sports fan, I can get very into games. Attitudinally into games. I suddenly mistake them for Wal-Mart, and I get ugly. So there I sat, running reports and stapling papers, randomly yelling at my computer.
The announcer (who needed fired, but I don't think you can fire volunteers) kept interspersing her own opinionated commentary into the game. I'm new to volleyball, and I'm a visual person. And other than my niece and her best friend, the names were all new to me as well. Do you know how hard it is to keep terms and names straight when you can't see any of it and some ding dong is sitting there saying things like "Well that just doesn't seem right...uh...oh wait - what are they doing? Oh!" GOOD GRIEF, WOMAN!! KEEP YOUR MIND ON THE JOB!! Whew. Okay, I'm back now.
Prior to this particular season, in my world, dig is what you do to a hole to plant a flower, spike is a really adorable hairstyle on the two year olds at church, a sub is someone to make fun of when he or she tries to run a classroom belonging to someone else, serve is what you do on a church committee or when you work at Applebees, and set is a complete collection of dishes. So needless to say, while I parked at the desk trying to translate all these words into their true game meaning AND trying to remember which last names went with which teams, I did not have time for her unsolicited thought pattern.
I'll be back at the desk tomorrow to listen to the substate game. I hope someone else covers the radio crowd. And...GO RANGERS!! HAVE A GREAT GAME!!! Cassie, no matter the score, I'm so proud of you!!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Braeya the Blogger
Braeya the Blogger
It didn't take long for Braeya to adjust to life here. She has made herself most at home. And, I might add - most underfoot. Since it has been five years since I had a kitten in the house, I forgot how they tend to get right in between your feet while you walk and leave you feeling so guilty when you accidently kick them and they tumble away...a little ball of fur.
Braeya, however, has decided that she needs to be a part of everything that goes on here:
If I have dinner, she needs dinner. And not Fancy Feast on a plate either. She wants pork chops or pizza or chips or whatever it is that I'm having.
If I go to bed, she needs to go to bed - exactly in the same spot I'm trying to use to sleep. In fact, when I wake up in the morning, I have to check for her before I stretch just so I don't accidentally kick her off the bed.
If I watch TV, she curls up in my lap and watches with me. She's probably the only diehard Grey's Anatomy cat on the block!
If I go out to mow, she stands at the back door, propped up on her hind feet, watching my every move and crying because she's not allowed to come out and join me.
If I take a shower, she sits on the toilet lid and waits (rather impatiently) for me to be done so she can jump in and lick the drain.
If I scrapbook, she runs away with the glue sticks and the paper scraps and then once she's properly lost her treasuer under the washer or behind some piece of furniture, she comes back for more.
And every single time I sit down to blog, you guessed it. She has to help. Sometimes she stands on the keyboard and causes me to create interesting words (so far, no obscenities), but most of the time she just plops in front of the screen and follows the mouse arrow. Do you know how hard it is to read blogs with a cat hoarding the screen?
Nevertheless, I would not trade her for anything - even when she scares her brother and unplugs my internet connection and leaves wads of white fur on my purple bedspread! Because when that purr starts and she looks up with those big blue eyes - it's all over!
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Driving home from Sarah’s wedding yesterday, I found myself reliving some wedding memories from over the years. I’ve been in a lot of weddings – serving in various capacities – but one thing that remains pretty constant for me throughout them is the lack of boredom. There’s always something, it seems, in a Bekah-wedding.
My first ever wedding involvement (that I remember anyway) was when I was about five, and I was a flower girl for the first time. Mom curled my hair and dressed me up in a frilly pink dress and I walked down the aisle on the arm of a handsomely-clad-in-gray ring bearer. I guess I must have done okay in my role, but all I remember was that at the rehearsal, I ended up crying in the corner of some room because the ring bearer made fun of my imaginary dog, Lassie. I’m just so glad I was neither one of our mothers trying to sort out that mess. How do you explain to your son that he shouldn’t make fun of imaginary dogs? How do you explain to your daughter that having such a pet only lends itself to torture from five year old boys? I’m sure I don’t know.
My next wedding was my grand finale as a flower girl – and this time, the wedding was my sister’s. Mom arranged for me to have my hair French braided at a beauty shop near my grandmother’s house, so my other sister drove me there bright and early on wedding day to be all braided up. The hair lady got clear to the end of my rather long hair and discovered she had no ponytail holders. She did have braces, though, so tightly pinching the end of my hair with one hand, she dug a braces-rubber-band out of her purse with her other hand and somehow managed to get that itty bitty thing around a fat wad of hair. It stayed! But what hair lady starts a French braid without checking first for a rubber band?
I think I was wedding-free for a number of years after that, and I’ve already written a whole column about the weekend out in Delaware for my college roommate, Christina’s, wedding. (You know…my dress was too small, then it broke, then my dinner was served at the reception with the produce sticker still on the baked apple, then my next-day lunch got to be a soggy mess in the bottom of a cooler?)
My second bridesmaid attempt was actually uneventful, but then came the wedding where I was the maid of honor. The groom’s brother, who was engaged, was the best man. Somehow, through a turn of events that I clearly missed, I found myself in the following scenario at the reception. I gathered dutifully with all the other single girls for the catching of the bouquet (a tradition I truly hate) and found myself next to the best man’s fiancée. She wasted no time in reminding me of their engagement as a means of “this is mine to catch,” I believe. I was all too happy to let her have it. Much less pressure on me. Not ten minutes later, as I just minded my own business, she stormed through the maze of tables, glared at me so hard that I actually went to blend in with a whole group of people that I didn’t even know, just so that I could hide from her, and ran out the door. I had no idea what that was about, but I soon found out. As I was leaving, the best man asked me out. I said, “Aren’t you engaged?” He said “Well, not anymore.” Can I just say that the bride and groom’s honeymoon was the longest 2 weeks of my life? I had to know if I had wrecked one home at the start of another. The bride assured me that none of it was my fault – although it did make for a good story! (By the way – we never went out, and today he is happily married to someone else!)
And just to carry on the tradition, at the next wedding where I was a bridesmaid, the groom’s brother (best man, you know) happened to be newly divorced. At the reception, I looked up from my plate to find that he and I were the only two members of the wedding party still at the table, and just then, the bride’s Mom walked up to me. Though I know she thought she was being quiet, she said in a loud voice, “What about him? He’s a nice catch! And you’d have a ready made family.” I could tell by the smirk I could see out of the corner of my eye, that he had not missed the comment! I about crawled under the table.
I decided to give up being a bridesmaid. Too much drama. So I took up wedding coordination for a turn. After the ceremony, when the church was almost empty (thank goodness!), and the band played on, I made my way to the front of the sanctuary to blow out the candles at the back of the platform. The platform at our church is made up of movable pieces, which is great for being able to configure things however you want. It’s bad when the aisle runner covers a gaping hole between two angled pieces. I very gracefully fell straight into it in front of the entire band. How humiliating. To follow it up, at the end of the reception, I sat down with the first food I’d seen all day. I had just shoved a giant bite of delicious lemon cake into my mouth when I heard the emcee say, “The bride and groom want to thank Rebekah for all her hard work today – where is she?” I gave my best chipmunk cheek smile and waved.
So I think that about brings us up to yesterday. The day was pretty uneventful, but about 5 minutes before the party walked down the aisle, an usher pulled me aside and said, “So, I hear you used to date the bride’s brother.” I raised my eyebrows – surprised that this information had made its way to him. I nodded and asked why he brought it up. He said, “Oh, I was going to fix him up with the redhead.” (That would be me.) Just then some people showed up and he had to get back to ushering. A couple of minutes later, Matt walked by, so I yanked him aside. “I hear someone was going to fix you up with a cute redhead??” He just laughed. I asked him what happened and he said, “Well, we were all standing around talking and he said that weddings are a good place to find dates, so he was going to find me one. Just then, you walked by and he said, ‘Hey, what about her?’ So I said, ‘Yeah, she’s my ex-girlfriend.’” And that is just one more for the book of Bekah-weddings. An attempted match-making with my own ex-boyfriend.
My first ever wedding involvement (that I remember anyway) was when I was about five, and I was a flower girl for the first time. Mom curled my hair and dressed me up in a frilly pink dress and I walked down the aisle on the arm of a handsomely-clad-in-gray ring bearer. I guess I must have done okay in my role, but all I remember was that at the rehearsal, I ended up crying in the corner of some room because the ring bearer made fun of my imaginary dog, Lassie. I’m just so glad I was neither one of our mothers trying to sort out that mess. How do you explain to your son that he shouldn’t make fun of imaginary dogs? How do you explain to your daughter that having such a pet only lends itself to torture from five year old boys? I’m sure I don’t know.
My next wedding was my grand finale as a flower girl – and this time, the wedding was my sister’s. Mom arranged for me to have my hair French braided at a beauty shop near my grandmother’s house, so my other sister drove me there bright and early on wedding day to be all braided up. The hair lady got clear to the end of my rather long hair and discovered she had no ponytail holders. She did have braces, though, so tightly pinching the end of my hair with one hand, she dug a braces-rubber-band out of her purse with her other hand and somehow managed to get that itty bitty thing around a fat wad of hair. It stayed! But what hair lady starts a French braid without checking first for a rubber band?
I think I was wedding-free for a number of years after that, and I’ve already written a whole column about the weekend out in Delaware for my college roommate, Christina’s, wedding. (You know…my dress was too small, then it broke, then my dinner was served at the reception with the produce sticker still on the baked apple, then my next-day lunch got to be a soggy mess in the bottom of a cooler?)
My second bridesmaid attempt was actually uneventful, but then came the wedding where I was the maid of honor. The groom’s brother, who was engaged, was the best man. Somehow, through a turn of events that I clearly missed, I found myself in the following scenario at the reception. I gathered dutifully with all the other single girls for the catching of the bouquet (a tradition I truly hate) and found myself next to the best man’s fiancée. She wasted no time in reminding me of their engagement as a means of “this is mine to catch,” I believe. I was all too happy to let her have it. Much less pressure on me. Not ten minutes later, as I just minded my own business, she stormed through the maze of tables, glared at me so hard that I actually went to blend in with a whole group of people that I didn’t even know, just so that I could hide from her, and ran out the door. I had no idea what that was about, but I soon found out. As I was leaving, the best man asked me out. I said, “Aren’t you engaged?” He said “Well, not anymore.” Can I just say that the bride and groom’s honeymoon was the longest 2 weeks of my life? I had to know if I had wrecked one home at the start of another. The bride assured me that none of it was my fault – although it did make for a good story! (By the way – we never went out, and today he is happily married to someone else!)
And just to carry on the tradition, at the next wedding where I was a bridesmaid, the groom’s brother (best man, you know) happened to be newly divorced. At the reception, I looked up from my plate to find that he and I were the only two members of the wedding party still at the table, and just then, the bride’s Mom walked up to me. Though I know she thought she was being quiet, she said in a loud voice, “What about him? He’s a nice catch! And you’d have a ready made family.” I could tell by the smirk I could see out of the corner of my eye, that he had not missed the comment! I about crawled under the table.
I decided to give up being a bridesmaid. Too much drama. So I took up wedding coordination for a turn. After the ceremony, when the church was almost empty (thank goodness!), and the band played on, I made my way to the front of the sanctuary to blow out the candles at the back of the platform. The platform at our church is made up of movable pieces, which is great for being able to configure things however you want. It’s bad when the aisle runner covers a gaping hole between two angled pieces. I very gracefully fell straight into it in front of the entire band. How humiliating. To follow it up, at the end of the reception, I sat down with the first food I’d seen all day. I had just shoved a giant bite of delicious lemon cake into my mouth when I heard the emcee say, “The bride and groom want to thank Rebekah for all her hard work today – where is she?” I gave my best chipmunk cheek smile and waved.
So I think that about brings us up to yesterday. The day was pretty uneventful, but about 5 minutes before the party walked down the aisle, an usher pulled me aside and said, “So, I hear you used to date the bride’s brother.” I raised my eyebrows – surprised that this information had made its way to him. I nodded and asked why he brought it up. He said, “Oh, I was going to fix him up with the redhead.” (That would be me.) Just then some people showed up and he had to get back to ushering. A couple of minutes later, Matt walked by, so I yanked him aside. “I hear someone was going to fix you up with a cute redhead??” He just laughed. I asked him what happened and he said, “Well, we were all standing around talking and he said that weddings are a good place to find dates, so he was going to find me one. Just then, you walked by and he said, ‘Hey, what about her?’ So I said, ‘Yeah, she’s my ex-girlfriend.’” And that is just one more for the book of Bekah-weddings. An attempted match-making with my own ex-boyfriend.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Sarah's Wedding
The sanctuary was absolutely beautiful!! I took several pictures for my running "remember this" series of pages in the scrapbook.
Sarah - very calm for every moment of the wedding. Her Mom made her dress - what an amazing talent that I can only admire. Even if I learn to sew in a straight line, I think hems will be my limit.
Today, my friend Sarah got married. She and I have known each other for about seven years now, and her wedding was everything I always knew it would be. Like me, she has known for years exactly the way she wanted her wedding - and I think every dream came true for her today!
I was so impressed with her calm spirit when, five minutes before the seating of the mothers, the minister discovered he did not have the vows! She very calmly arrived in the hall, fully in her wedding attire, handed off her bouquet, and told us she just needed internet access and she would print off the vows! Fortunately, one of the ministers was running the sound booth (her officiating minister was not from the church where she was married) and he let her into his office to print out the vows. No Bridezilla for us today! She was the picture of cool!
I was her personal attendant and spent the day picking up flowers and cakes, pinning on flowers (without sticking anyone, thankyouverymuch), running messages around, tracking down extra bobby pins, and trying to snap a picture here and there. Here's just a few of the ones I got!
Friday, October 13, 2006
P'stomachs and P'livers
I'm back to rumor quenching. It seems to be my new Friday activity. Last Friday I tried to turn the rumor mill about my dad into a fact mill by letting you know that he does have cancer, but that it's contained and his upcoming surgery should be the end of this episode.
HOWEVER. It has come to our attention that the type of cancer he has is still in rumor form. So today I'm here to set the record straight. Dad has prostate cancer. This is not to be confused with prostrate, which is not a form of cancer, but how angels fall.
Mom called a few days ago to say that she'd heard it was rumored that he had a much more threatening form of cancer...one that also started with a P, but she couldn't remember what it was. I suggested perhaps the p'stomach or the p'lung or even the p'liver, but she didn't think those were right. But alas, this week I heard the rumor myself - and the incorrect story circulating is that he has pancreatic cancer. That is not true.
So I believe I've set it all straight now. If you have questions - feel free to ask. I probably don't know the answer, but I sure can find out for you!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Catching up with the Littlefields
While I was out in Kansas a couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to catch up with Fred and Naomi Littlefield who were my pastors several years ago. I think they came to our church when I was about a fifth grader and stayed until maybe my freshman or sophomore year of high school.
I loved the years that they served at our church. Naomi took me under her wing and helped me adjust in those painfully awkward years. She cheered me on as I took a step to join the church choir, she supported my initiative to start teaching the kids during our midweek service, she loved to see me work in the nursery, and she backed me up when I wanted to join the handbell choir. Where other pastor's wives might have told me I was too young or I needed to do things with kids my age - she pushed me to try new experiences and keep doing the things that inspired my heart.
My freshman year of high school (I think) - my parents took me to a county-wide meeting for the churches in our denomination. I thought the trip odd, because we didn't usually attend those. I sat in the back of the service and scribbled away probably on an old bulletin. Suddenly I realized the man at the front was in the middle of giving away an award and the activities of the person being described sounded remarkably familiar. A moment later, my name was called, and I had to walk to the front of the church to receive a certificate. I had no idea what to say or do - the whole thing was a shock to me!
The award was a leadership award for youth in the denomination. Most of the recipients had been in upper high school or college. I was the youngest one (to that point) to be nominated. And Naomi had nominated me. As she sat in the other services and heard the achievements of the others, she decided I was doing just as much as they were and there was no reason why I shouldn't get that award. I still have the certificate I received that night - and a beautiful memory of a pastor's wife who believed in me.
And Pastor Fred - he was a great preacher. It was under his preaching that I first started taking notes in church (no small feat!) - and I still have much of it hidden away for reference. He had such a loving heart for everyone in his congregation, and I thought the world of him.
I'd not seen either of them since they moved away to pastor another church, and it was so wonderful to get to see them both again. Mom and Jeff and I sat in their living room and Naomi served us the most delicious punch with little flowered napkins - always the hostess she is.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Sunday, October 8, 2006
This is Miss Braeya back in June, the first night I brought her home.
This is Mr. Kaegan last March on his fifth birthday.
Kids are awfully cute. This morning I was standing in church, just singing away, when I felt a tap on my elbow. I looked over to see if someone was trying to get in my pew but there was no one there. That was odd. I definitely felt a tap. So I looked down, down, down…way down…and there stood Ben. Four-year-olds are on a much shorter eye level. He’d been sitting a couple of pews back with his mom and decided he wanted to take a break and come up to visit me for a song or two. I rescued him from a nose-picking adventure and we looked at a few pictures of Savannah and Liam that were passed up the rows of pews from their mom to me. Then he was done and ready to go back to his home pew.
Just a little minute – but just a cute one. Ben’s fun. I love it when he comes over with his mom and brother. She and I watch TV and Ben and Isaiah run around the house, chasing the cats and dumping all the toys out of the green laundry basket. Last week when they were over, Ben yelled for me to come upstairs where he parked on my bed to watch Nickelodeon on the little TV. I hurried up there to see if anything was wrong. He was stretched out in the middle of the king size bed, propped up on all the pillows, hands behind his head and his legs crossed with a blanket nearby, just in case. I asked if something was wrong and he just smiled and said with great wonder in his voice – “There was a Hot Wheel on TV!” J
Most of my friends have kids, and I am Aunt Bekah to more non-related kids than I am to my own flesh and blood. I have my own car seat, a stack of toys, books, sidewalk chalk, and crayons…and I have a wish list of other things it might be handy to have around, like a high chair, pack-n-play, and stroller. If it weren’t for the kids and their adventures at my house, my scrapbooks would be half as thick as they are. But I wouldn’t trade any of it.
However, I do have to say, there are times when it’s awkward to only be the aunt and to not have kids of my own. Maybe someday I will have my own – but until then, I have had to find a way to make a place in a world full of talk of potty-training, safe toys, sippy cups, the appropriate order of food introduction, and a host of other conversations. Most things I have an opinion on. And in most of them, I seem to stand alone. But I can’t say anything because I’m not a mom. And for those of you who are non-moms with me, you know the cardinal rule is to keep your mouth shut because if you’re not a mom, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.
This week I emailed my best friend about a very random subject, which led us to talk about her college roommate. Lynnette caught me up on what was happening in Susan’s life and said to me, “She’s a pet mom like us.” My eyes lit up at that statement! Sure, Susan lives three states away and I haven’t talked to her since Lynnette’s wedding. But we have a new thing in common! We’re pet moms!
Lynnette and I began discussing the way pet moms should stick together just like moms of humans do. In fact, we decided to start our own group. You’re familiar with MOPS? (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers?) We’re going to start a MOP group – Mothers of Pets. And in fact, we’re going to call the original group MOHPS – Mothers of Human Pre-Schoolers.
While other moms get together to discuss the enormous unfairness of their kids only wearing shoes for two weeks before outgrowing them, we will discuss the greater unfairness of the loss of one corner of a favorite shoe to a naughty puppy. While MOHPS swap ideas of how to con their HPS’s into eating enough vegetables, we MOP’s will swap strange stories of why a cat will beg pork chop bites and then promptly snub a warm, soft French fry. Moms will carefully think out a plan to determine how much time per day their kids will be allowed to watch TV – and what shows are on the approved list. We will turn the TV on as we leave the house so the poor lil guys have some company while we’re out!
Kids are cute – very cute. And maybe someday Lynnette and I will each join the ranks of MOHPS. But in the meantime, we’re thrilled to have our own group going. A group where we fit in with the faithful few who have, for the time being, limited the parenting skills to the pet arena. So Lynnette, pet-mom of Belle, and I, pet-mom of Kaegan and Braeya, proudly launch our own club!
Just a little minute – but just a cute one. Ben’s fun. I love it when he comes over with his mom and brother. She and I watch TV and Ben and Isaiah run around the house, chasing the cats and dumping all the toys out of the green laundry basket. Last week when they were over, Ben yelled for me to come upstairs where he parked on my bed to watch Nickelodeon on the little TV. I hurried up there to see if anything was wrong. He was stretched out in the middle of the king size bed, propped up on all the pillows, hands behind his head and his legs crossed with a blanket nearby, just in case. I asked if something was wrong and he just smiled and said with great wonder in his voice – “There was a Hot Wheel on TV!” J
Most of my friends have kids, and I am Aunt Bekah to more non-related kids than I am to my own flesh and blood. I have my own car seat, a stack of toys, books, sidewalk chalk, and crayons…and I have a wish list of other things it might be handy to have around, like a high chair, pack-n-play, and stroller. If it weren’t for the kids and their adventures at my house, my scrapbooks would be half as thick as they are. But I wouldn’t trade any of it.
However, I do have to say, there are times when it’s awkward to only be the aunt and to not have kids of my own. Maybe someday I will have my own – but until then, I have had to find a way to make a place in a world full of talk of potty-training, safe toys, sippy cups, the appropriate order of food introduction, and a host of other conversations. Most things I have an opinion on. And in most of them, I seem to stand alone. But I can’t say anything because I’m not a mom. And for those of you who are non-moms with me, you know the cardinal rule is to keep your mouth shut because if you’re not a mom, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.
This week I emailed my best friend about a very random subject, which led us to talk about her college roommate. Lynnette caught me up on what was happening in Susan’s life and said to me, “She’s a pet mom like us.” My eyes lit up at that statement! Sure, Susan lives three states away and I haven’t talked to her since Lynnette’s wedding. But we have a new thing in common! We’re pet moms!
Lynnette and I began discussing the way pet moms should stick together just like moms of humans do. In fact, we decided to start our own group. You’re familiar with MOPS? (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers?) We’re going to start a MOP group – Mothers of Pets. And in fact, we’re going to call the original group MOHPS – Mothers of Human Pre-Schoolers.
While other moms get together to discuss the enormous unfairness of their kids only wearing shoes for two weeks before outgrowing them, we will discuss the greater unfairness of the loss of one corner of a favorite shoe to a naughty puppy. While MOHPS swap ideas of how to con their HPS’s into eating enough vegetables, we MOP’s will swap strange stories of why a cat will beg pork chop bites and then promptly snub a warm, soft French fry. Moms will carefully think out a plan to determine how much time per day their kids will be allowed to watch TV – and what shows are on the approved list. We will turn the TV on as we leave the house so the poor lil guys have some company while we’re out!
Kids are cute – very cute. And maybe someday Lynnette and I will each join the ranks of MOHPS. But in the meantime, we’re thrilled to have our own group going. A group where we fit in with the faithful few who have, for the time being, limited the parenting skills to the pet arena. So Lynnette, pet-mom of Belle, and I, pet-mom of Kaegan and Braeya, proudly launch our own club!
Friday, October 06, 2006
Rumors
Well I've gotten enough phone calls now to know that the rumor mill is up and running at full speed. So in case you're a wonderer who hasn't wanted to ask, I'll just go ahead and answer your questions for you.
My Dad has cancer. He found out on September 12th and has spent these past few weeks having tests, talking to other people who have walked this road before, and praying about which of the presented options to take.
The bone scan and CAT scan revealed that the cancer is contained - it has not spread to his bones or lymph nodes. For that, we are very thankful! That was an enormous relief to him - and to all of us. After being offered options of surgery, some sort of treatment implantation (this would be why I was a writing major rather than a pre-med major), and radiation, he has decided to go the surgery route.
His surgery is scheduled for November 3rd. He is very optimistic about the success of the surgery and his recovery. He's never requested to keep this news a secret - his opinion is that every person who knows could be another person praying! Because of that, and because I love my Dad and want the biggest possible praying army working for him, I wanted to contribute to the rumor mill. Turn it into a fact mill. And a praying mill.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sunday, October 1, 2006
Well, this week was huge in Bekahland. Most of you know that I went on vacation and in fact – flew for the first time. If you are one of the ones who didn’t know that, I’ll give you just a moment to reattach your jaw. I know, I know. Bekah flew? Shocking.
I flew out to Kansas to watch my niece play volleyball. She is a junior in high school and this was the first time I’ve ever been able to watch her play any sport. It was a great time – she played three matches (or whatever they’re called) in one night and won all three of them, so that was great to be able to see!
Mom had the distinct pleasure of flying out to Kansas with me to watch Miss Cassie play. The distinct pleasure part was in being able to share my first flying experience. If you were to write her, she may have other words to describe it. I’ll leave that to her.
Before I get to my point for the week, let me just tell you my initial reactions to flying. Not only had I never flown, but I’d also never been in a plane or seen a plane in person (other than from the inside of an airport), so this was my first trip down that shaky fake hallway and into the plane. I was in front of Mom when we boarded the first plane, and the moment I stepped inside, I stopped in my tracks and thought (hopefully not out loud) You’ve got to be stinking kidding me. THIS is a plane? The one on Lost was so much bigger!!! This was just a little two-seats, one-aisle, two-more seats adventure. So I sat down by the window and started praying. I wanted to listen to the stash of music I’d brought to coach me through the experience, but they made us put away all electronic devices.
So instead, I was forced to rely on my memory of music. Somewhere from the recesses of my brain, I pulled out the lyrics to an old Gaither Vocal Band song…Jesus, I believe what You said You’ll do…Jesus, I believe You really love me…Jesus, I believe You really care…Jesus, I believe You died to save me…and at the crossing, You’ll be there...Oooh. No. Time for a different song.
We had the most hysterical flight attendant on that plane. His name was Collin and he did not buy into the traditional “Exits are here, here here,” two finger pointing business that I see mimicked on TV. He just kind of gave us the general rundown of the rules. I was familiar with the way the oxygen masks work, as I vividly remembered the crash scene from Lost when they fell from the ceiling before Oceanic Flight whatever it is fell from the sky. Anyway. At the end of his speech, Collin said, “The bathroom is located at the rear of the plane. It’s tiny, folks. We tried to save space by holding back on paint and wallpaper, but I don’t think it helped. I recommend deciding what you want to do before you go in and then back in or walk in as appropriate and don’t change your mind once you’re in there, because there’s no room to turn around.” He definitely eased my flying jitters!! (Not to mention that he gave me a certificate and a chance to go into the cockpit – after we landed – to meet the pilot and co-pilot.)
On the last flight home, Mom and I sat on the left side of the plane for the first time in this journey, and I was smack in between the wing and that little swirly engine thing. (Another vivid memory of Lost – that first episode where the guy gets sucked into the engine right after the crash. What a bummer! Live through the crash and get sucked into a jet engine two minutes later!) So while I tried to keep my mind and eyes OFF that thought, God took the opportunity to teach me a little lesson.
It was pretty overcast, as we were headed straight into a storm, but a few times, I was able to see the ground clearly. I wondered how many hundreds of miles I was able to see from my vantage point. Little pin-size dots were houses, I knew. Cars were too small to see and roads were like thin threads stretched out everywhere. I’d look at one cluster of houses and then another that from where I sat seemed to be only a foot or two apart. I wondered how many miles separated them really.
I’m in the middle of this 30 day faith growing experiment that God has sent my way, and He is so good to remind me of my faith and how it needs to be grown and stretched. And that day, He showed me how different things look from a new vantage point. Down on earth, so many miles might separate the people in those housing clusters that they might never know each other. To see each other might require great effort and much time. Yet from where I sat, it seemed much easier. The obstacles of roads and mountains and rivers were nothing from my point of view.
And God reminded me that’s how it is with Him. In all these areas of my life that He’s working in right now, I have no idea how He plans to accomplish some tasks. They seem impossible or issue-laden to me. But from where God sits, there’s not a thing in the way that He can’t easily fix. I just have to trust the way He sees things.
Flying was fun. I am not ready to trade in an office job in favor of the drink cart down the narrow aisle. I would fly again – although I’d prefer to wait until my ear unplugs and my head cold clears up. Perhaps that would make it just a tiny bit more comfortable. I had a great time watching Cassie play and would love to see her more! But I have to say that nothing compared to that little lesson that God shared with me on the flight home when I sat between the wing and the engine.
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