Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

Cheeto and I had our serene Story Shack time interrupted this morning. By crying and shouting. We had left the front door open to listen to the rain and heard, instead, a young couple next door having an emotional “discussion” in their driveway. She left. He left. I’m hoping they ended up at the same place and made up. The whole thing made me sad.

Dave and I rarely blow up at each other. We have our disagreements (“I know it’s annoying to have cat food in three rooms of our house, but Cheeto likes options”), but we rarely have those major upheavals any more, the kind with lots of crying, where you’re not talking to each other and end up feeling exhausted and drained once it’s over. I guess we’ve been through too much together to put each other through that.

I have no idea what those young people next door were fighting about. Maybe it was big. Maybe it was something trivial that got blown way out of proportion. Either way, I think some of the most hurtful episodes between two people—whether they’re friends, spouses, siblings, whatever—come when we just aren’t hearing each other, when we aren’t working hard enough to understand the other person. It’s like that wonderful scene in To Kill A Mockingbird where Atticus advises Scout to climb into someone’s skin and “walk around in it” before passing judgment.

We need to talk to each other. Listen to each other. Feel for each other. Walk around in each other’s skin. Peace and understanding to you this Sunday morning.

[Image by Chance Agrella @ Freerangestock.com]

Sunday Morning Serenity

I really should remember who said this, but I can't: "If you're not where you're supposed to be, then you can't be who you're supposed to be."

I thought about that this morning as I took a long walk on the Gulf. There's something about the sound of that water that de-clutters my mind and lowers my blood pressure. In Biloxi and Gulfport, the contrast between bustling beach burg and serene waterfront is easy to experience because there's just a block between the busiest highway down here and the beach. Traffic noise and lapping water are just a short walk apart. 

It made me think—about how I think. Sometimes the distance between bumper-to-bumper mind traffic and calm, clear reflection isn't very far. We just have to get where we're supposed to be—wherever that place is that puts us back in touch with ourselves. Maybe it's a beach or maybe it's a mountaintop. Maybe it's a back porch swing with a cup of coffee, early in the morning before the world wakes up.

I often forget how important those slices of solitude are. But they matter. They're as necessary as that cup of coffee.

Hoping you claim some little pockets of tranquility for yourself this week.

Sunday Morning Serenity

I have to write a romantic scene in my next manuscript (which is due March 1, tick tock, tick tock), and those are without a doubt the most difficult for me. They can go seriously cheesy in a matter of words. For a study break and possible inspiration, I watched some old—we're talking 1980s—clips from Days of Our Lives. (One of the biggest phone bills I ever had in college resulted from a long-distance call with my friend Sheila when I was at Baylor and she was at Auburn. We watched an entire episode of Days "together" even though we were several states apart.)

My soap opera study break didn't help because real love isn't like that. I don't think I've ever burst into a room and exclaimed to Dave, "I can't help myself! I'm madly in love with you!" If I had, he would'v'e called my doctor.

So as Valentine's Day approaches, what is real love like? What does it look like and sound like, especially as it ages? 

It's a bouquet of grocery store flowers for no particular reason other than he was at the grocery store, and he knows I love flowers.

It's the sound of a running dishwasher that I didn't have to load:)

It's a spontaneous road trip with somebody who loves stumbling onto an old Dairy Dip as much as I do.

It's uncontrollable laughter over something completely silly.

It's a date night. 

It's exploring new places together.

It's visiting old friends together.

In short, it's . . . together. No matter what.

 

Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud. It does not dishonor others,
it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
1 Corinthians 13: 4-5 NIV

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Want to hear the scariest question I know? What if my best isn’t good enough?

That one has trailed me forever—as early as craft hour in Vacation Bible School, when I just couldn’t seem to glue that macaroni, onto whatever we were gluing it on, in an artistic pattern. (Early clue: I’m verbal, not visual.)

What if my best isn’t good enough has reared its ugly head more often than usual over the past few years. But I had one of those Oprah “a-ha” moments with it a while back, and I’ve tried to carry that lesson along with me.

Here’s my big revelation: Whenever your best isn’t good enough . . . it’s not supposed to be. I know. Sounds self-defeating. But it’s actually liberating.

For me, it came through volunteer work I was doing. I did it for years, building a program together with friends, and it was growing and thriving . . . until it wasn’t any more. I worked harder, prayed harder, tried harder for two years. And then during one of my whinier prayers—“but I’m working so hard”—I got the divine message. It’s not about how hard you’re trying or how determined you are. It’s about whether this thing you’re committed to is part of God’s plan. Maybe it isn’t. Or maybe it was for a very long time, but now there’s new work to be done, and you need to let go of the old.

As my friend Theresa once put it, “My season has passed.” But there’s always a new season after the old one. Spring’s coming.

My shepherd will supply my need:
Jehovah is His name;
In pastures fresh He makes me feed,
Beside the living stream.
He brings my wandering spirit back
When I forsake His ways,
And leads me, for His mercy’s sake,
In paths of truth and grace.

From "My Shepherd Will Supply My Need," 
Lyrics by Isaac Watts