Goin' Down to Mama's

Zumba Dreams: Revenge of the Two Left Feet

There are some great dancers in my Zumba class, many of whom gravitate toward the front of the room, surrounding Instructor Denise's stage. I gravitate toward the back of the room, against a wall. (I've thought of taking a personal tent under which to hide my Zumba stylings, but I fear the other ladies might think me odd. People bring in yoga mats all the time. Surely a discrete pop-up tent wouldn't be that much of a stretch? But I digress.)

This was my return engagement after missing a week with a cold. And last night I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that Denise halted class—perhaps in mid- "Uptown Funk," though the soundtrack is fuzzy—and told the front row to "Stop all that dancing! Quit putting so much movement into it!" I remember feeling very smug, in my dream: I was the one doing it right all along! You're not SUPPOSED to have rhythm! And coordination? That ruins EVERYTHING.

I wonder what I'll dream before the next class? I'm envisioning Denise on her headset, summoning me to the stage for an important announcement: Class, I can't help noticing that some of you are still staying on beat and appear unable to trip over your own feet. So I've brought in a special consultant. Watch and learn.

Sunday Morning Serenity

The older I get, the more unsettling I find Palm Sunday. Scripture lets us see, on the one hand, the in-the-moment joyful celebration of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem and, on the other, the overwhelming pain and suffering that lies in the very near future. Part of me can feel the hope and excitement of those crowds crying Hosanna and greeting Jesus with palm branches. And part of me wants to warn them: You don’t get it. You don’t know what’s coming.

Easter’s great joy is that the pain and suffering which followed Palm Sunday is not the end of Jesus’ story, but the beginning of His second chapter—and ours. As we read about the crucifixion and burial, watching Christ’s followers mourn His loss, we could offer these words of comfort: But you don’t get it. You don’t know what’s coming.

If any man serve me, let him follow me;
and where I am, there shall also my servant be:
if any man serve me, him will my Father honor. 
Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? 
Father, save me from this hour: 
but for this cause came I unto this hour.
Father, glorify thy name. 
John 12:26-28

[Image by Ian L @ Freerangestock.com] 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheeto Says: "I Need a Moment"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. It's tax season. Need to gather up the W-2s and so forth. There's work to be done, chipmunks to chase, etc., etc. But I'll be much more productive if I take just a moment to collect my thoughts. Shouldn't take long. Be with ya in a sec."

—Cheeto the Cat

Sunday Morning Serenity

Just recently, my mother and I were talking about all the cold and flu bugs going around, and I told her that I couldn’t remember the last time I was sick. Well . . . that just changed. Dave had it first, and now it’s my turn. Hank and Cheeto the Cats have to wade through boxes of Kleenex and bags of cough drops to get to my lap. So I am struggling to write a sentence or two between sneezes.

Kleenex aside, this week I was reminded of an important lesson I seem to forget far too easily: Be careful which voices you listen to.

I let myself get derailed by some negative comments which, a few wiser voices pointed out, weren't exactly coming from a reliable source. On the flip side, a post that I wrote about my new cardio workout was shared a couple of times on Facebook, and I got all kinds of fitness encouragement from complete strangers.

I’m not saying you should ignore constructive criticism, listening only to people who tell you that you’re wonderful. But you should only listen to people who want you to be wonderful, those who believe in you and want good things for you.

I chose the daisy picture today because I'm thinking of my friend Missey, who was never afraid to tell me when she thought I was off base but always did so from a place of love and respect. Daisies, "happy flowers," were among her favorites. For me, they're a reminder of her courage and positive attitude, for the way she loved life and appreciated every day. They also put the world in perspective. There are plenty of thistles and thorns out there. We've got some serious daisy planting to do. Let's be about it.

A good man brings good things
out of the good stored up in his heart,
and an evil man brings evil things
out of the evil stored up in his heart.
For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.
Luke 6:45

 [Image by Eric Yuen @ Freerangestock.com]

 

I Zumba. Fear Me.

An hour or so ago, I dragged my aged self home from my new favorite workout, a Zumba class heavily infused with hip hop. I've never listened to much hip hop music for the same reason that my parents never listened to Pink Floyd or the Eagles—wrong generation. And when you hear music that's brand-new to you, it has a way of sticking in your head. Not only that, but it will bubble up when you least expect it. Since I started this class, I could be strolling through Pet Supplies down at the Piggly Wiggly, innocently making my Fancy Feast selections, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear a driving beat and the words shake it like a pom pom, like a pom pom, shake it like a pom pom . . . This, in turn, gives me an overwhelming urge to bust a move, as the young people say. I am 52 years old. I have no business bustin' a move in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly. But it goes beyond that. Zumba makes me temporarily feel TOUGH. I know it's an illusion, of course, just the music working overtime on my imagination. Still, if those ladies down at The Pig should wanna rumble, I like to think I could handle myself.
[You, too, can Zumba with Denise at Lifetime Fitness, Vestavia.]

Sunday Morning Serenity

My word for the past week is inadequacy. Not a good word. Not a hooray-for-me word. It reminds me of the beauty shop Pekingese. When I was little and would accompany my mother to the beauty shop (we didn’t have “salons” in my home town) I would entertain myself by playing in the dryer chair. Unfortunately, one of the shops Mama frequented was the home of a particularly sneaky little Pekingese who would hide under that chair and nip at my heels when I least expected it.

Feelings of inadequacy are like that beauty shop mischief-maker, hiding out and waiting to inflict painful where-on-earth-did-THAT-come-from nips. My most recent wounds came from silly mistakes and bad judgment calls, those moments that make me say to myself, “Seriously? You’ve lived this long and you’re still not smart enough to avoid THAT nonsense?” On the flip side, God put in my path wonderful friends who kindly helped me untangle the hairball I had created.

I have other dear friends, however, who are dealing with much bigger issues, overwhelming struggles that make them wonder if their best will be good enough to make it through. To anyone who feels that way, I would say read Isaiah chapter 40. Go ahead and read it right now. Hey, I can see you and you aren’t reading it. Go read it now.:)

Isaiah 40 is that wonderful chapter promising comfort to Israel, the one that has the beautiful “every valley shall be exalted” passage. But the whole point of it is to tell God’s people that their best ISN’T good enough and never could be. That’s where grace comes in. Verse 16 says “Lebanon is not sufficient for altar fires, nor its animals enough for burnt offerings.” My Bible didn’t have a specific note on that verse, but I know that Lebanon was known for its cedar trees. So I think what Isaiah is saying is that there aren’t enough trees to build enough fires to offer enough sacrifices to make us worthy. Our best is inadequate. That’s what Easter is all about—God providing what we couldn’t, answering our inadequacy and imperfection with mercy, grace, and comfort.

So if you’re feeling inadequate, just remember—we all are. But we’re also accepted, comforted, and loved.

He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary
and young men stumble and fall; 
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:29-31

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,
so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

 

Daddy Says: "You're A Big Deal"

On a sunny summer morning over ten years ago, I was walking on the beach with Daddy, getting ready to break some news. I dreaded it. I knew he wouldn't like it. And I was prepared for big drama. With a little help from the soothing waters of the Gulf of Mexico, I worked up the courage to say, "Well, Daddy, the company wants to send me to England to work for three weeks." His mouth flew open. And then he said very calmly, "What did they say when you told them you wouldn't go?" Then he laughed and wanted to hear all about it. My over-protective, opinionated father has this strange knack for understanding when I really need to do something that terrifies us both. When I least expect it, he gives me that nudge I need to take flight (and given my fear of heights, I sometimes need a pretty big nudge—one might go so far as to call it a shove).

He also has a wonderfully inflated sense of my importance in the world. Refusing to accept the notion of casual business attire, he will NOT believe me when I tell him that a freelance writer like me, who does most of her work in a home office with designated seating for each cat, really doesn't need a wardrobe of expensive suits. His answer: "You're a big deal. You need to dress like it."

On this, his birthday, I would like to say thanks, June Bug, for always making me feel like a big deal. I hope I do the same for you. Because you're a really big deal to me. Happy birthday!

Sunday Morning Serenity

The time change caught me by surprise this morning. Even though Mama has called to remind me throughout the week, I still managed to fall asleep without changing the clocks last night. (Plus, I always have to go through that business of "Now is it spring forward and fall back, or spring back and fall forward?":) Between my senior moment with the clocks AND sleeping late, which I rarely do, I am way behind this morning.

Even so, I'm excited about spring. Yes, it's still freezing cold outside, but I'm flipping through garden catalogs every chance I get. Will this be the year I plant iris bulbs and peonies for the first time? Perhaps. Will I finally master tomatoes? Doubtful. And yet I asked one of my Mater Master friends to go through a seed catalog and circle his picks. I feel myself shifting into clean up/weed out/start fresh gear. And that's exciting, especially when you feel, as I do, that your "personal winter" has been unusually long and hard.

While I know the time will come when I must do battle with the honeysuckle vine I long ago planted (yes, planted) in my front yard, I always look forward to its first blooms. They remind me of my childhood, when we lived with my maternal grandmother. Grandme wasn't truly fond of many things, but she loved honeysuckle. In the spring and summer, she would place clippings of it in vases and drinking glasses filled with water, which she scattered all over the house so we could enjoy that sweet fragrance. The honeysuckle isn't blooming yet, but it soon will be.

Warmer days are coming. Sunshine to replace ice and rain. Flowers to plant, sunsets to celebrate on the deck, Sunday afternoons to spend on porches flooded with conversation fueled by sweet tea with extra lemon . . . A new season is almost here.

Feeling the hope of renewal today. 

Sunday Morning Serenity

In an unusual development, I woke up this morning thinking about Barney Fife. I attribute my reflections on the good deputy to a combination of warmer weather and an upcoming Easter practice with my friend Jane, our church organist. Together, they brought to mind that wonderful Mayberry choir, desperately trying to overcome Barney’s vocal stylings as they saluted the season: Welcome, sweet springtime, we greet thee in song . . .  

Barney’s trouble, much of the time, was that he didn’t fully understand what was going on around him. He tended to jump to all the wrong conclusions and act accordingly. That left his best friend, the much wiser Sheriff Taylor, constantly working behind the scenes to smooth the way for him. Remember that super-sensitive solo microphone Andy came up with? It not only saved the choir concert but spared Barney a painful truth he wasn’t ready for.

I know I’ve had my share of Barney moments (and will likely have many more). I often miss the message of what’s happening around me, and that makes me jump to all kinds of misguided conclusions. The cure for Barney moments is faith—believing that even though you can’t see the whole picture right now, someone wiser than you CAN see it, and it will all make sense to you eventually.

Two passages in Hebrews speak to faith in a powerful way. One (Hebrews 4:2) refers to the Israelites whom Moses led out of Egypt. Because they rebelled against God, they were not able to enter His “Sabbath rest”:

 . . . but the message they heard was of no value to them,
because those who heard did not combine it with faith.

So it’s not a lazy proposition. We have to bring something to the table—faith—to allow God’s word to come alive in our lives. He can make the music, but we have to be willing to step up to the mic.

The second passage (Hebrews 11: 1-3) uses creation to talk about faith:

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for
and certain of what we do not see.
This is what the ancients were commended for.
By faith we understand that the universe
was formed at God’s command, so that
what is seen was not made out of what was visible.

What is seen was not made out of what was visible. I’ll be thinking of that idea this week—the things we can’t see shaping the tangible world around us. And I'll probably have that Mayberry choir singing in my head for at least the next three days:) Here's Barney and the choir.