A Bridge

Today is the last day in January and for the first time in my life, well, probably not the very first, I walked outside in a t-shirt and enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the cooling of the breeze.  Neighbors were pruning bushes, walking dogs, and rising bikes.  My "neighbor" about 15 houses up the street was in his garage with he doors open, watching television, so all was right. I count it odd when I don't see him and/or the television playing.  Enjoying such a day lifted my spirit. 

Reminiscing has been the mindset of the last few days.  Messners the country over have been celebrating and remembering with each other, the life of one man.  He called me "Angelina" and I allowed it.  To me, he represents affability, calm and thoughtful candor, humor laced wisdom, intelligence with humility, and a deep agape love.  Two summers ago this man, in his mid eighties texted me and asked me to come see him at a family reunion that was being planned. Without hesitation I made the 16 hour round-trip over the course of one day off work to attend.  I saw him this past August and as we said "goodbye," this is the last thing he said to me, "You always come.  No matter where you go, you always come back. I really like that."   You are dearly beloved, Uncle Neal, and I would always come if within my power to do so.  As another dear family member said to me, "it's about affection, not obligation."  What a gift to love and be loved. It paints a life with color, with purpose, with joy. 

Nothing says "life celebration" like the pulling out of old photos.  I went through some old photos and walked down some old trails this weekend.  My life has had some odd twists.  While I explore this, please note if you hold a place in my family, this path is from my personal perspective and is not meant to color your perception or dishonor those whom it involves....  

My parents grew up together. Their parents were good friends and spent a lot of time with each other as I understand it.  It is from this co-heritage that I come.  This means that there is a lot of history over a lot of years.  I kind of love it. The nineties were difficult because of it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.  I think when my parents divorced, it was difficult for my grandparents. Relationally, things are always challenging and then this happens and I am certain it is easy to gravitate and shelter your own child.  You take sides. You feel almost honor bound and vengeful to do so. I get it. I'm a parent and blood is thicker than water as they say, right?

I think before my grandmother died, my other grandma visited her and maybe some things were worked out. I can't and won't speak more to what I don't know.  This is the point that I find with joy on this trail.  This co-heritage is a heritage of faith.  This means that we all have the same past, and we are all going to the same heaven.  Both sides of my family know all about the other sides. When someone dies, I know I'll see both sides there. For all of my life there will be continued crossover and, no pun intended, for better or worse, I can think of nothing better.  I do not diminish the difficulty, because it's not perfect, nor will it ever be. It's awkward, sometimes, still to this day.  Where should I go? Where should I sit? Do I look like I am being preferential? I am the queen of small talk, do I need to employ that to fill the conversation gap?  But, part of this agape love that we need to have means we belong to Christ, we need to act like Christ.  I've seen some clear demonstrations in my family and it makes me so proud and happy for this heritage, joint heirs with Jesus and joined as family on this earth. 

Nothing says eighties birthday like boxed cake and sliced neopolitan ice cream.  Nothing says family like picnics with pop - Dad's Root Beer to be exact-  (you guys know I say "soda" now, right?) and fried chicken. While I went through photos, I smiled and cringed.  I remembered what it felt like as a child to be part of this family.  I remembered what it felt like to be torn in the middle of this family.  I remembered what it felt like to know I would always be a part of two worlds and welcomed nonetheless.  Part of that emotional unification came from the man we celebrate and honor this week.  He became a bridge that crossed a divide. 

Uncle Neal, it is clear that you are dear to many. More eloquent words than I can speak will be spoken of you in the coming days.  It is still true that if you asked for me today I would be on a plane tomorrow.  It is true that I would have welcomed you to Texas though you did not wish to come. It is true that I would have met you in the alternative location of San Diego.  It is true that I have adored you my whole life.  It is true that your presence will be deeply missed.  

It is true that we will meet again.

Until then.....  

How is life?

Life begins at forty.

It's a quote I've heard.  

I think what is meant...is that you're getting into the rhythm of your life when you are in your forties. You understand money better (sometimes.) Maybe you are able to do a 401k, maybe you are farther down the path of your job or career. Maybe you understand relationships better, friend or lover or familial. I think the statement is true, at least in some regard, for all.  You have at least learned a thing or two in the last twenty years that will aid you in the future.  You at least know what to avoid, if not what to embrace, thereby, you are getting into the rhythm. 

I am encountering another click around the sun this week. 

Today, my new ENT prescribed me a round of steroids because my uvula is in worse shape than an aged man (read: entirely too large - can you even swallow? Also read: your husband must love you if he can handle the snoring that led you to this point. He really does.) and my poor deviated septum (which of my brother's broke my nose as a child?) and enlarged turbinates give me a slim chance of breathing. 

I am a week into giving up my favorite beverages. Coffee and Diet Coke (everything carbonated). RIP to my best pals.  You brought me joy when I ate a slice of za and when I greeted the day or closed the day or just needed a friend.  In my hands you were the present to help me with the present.  It hasn't been too bad, actually, but it is a conscious decision to choose something else.  Mostly, it was habit and not need, mostly it was a desire.  This is not necessarily a permanent choice and this is not a declaration of: this is my resolution for a new me because it's January.  This is: I'm aged (rather, in my rhythm) and heartburn is literally killing me and so I'm giving this a go to see if the change helps and if I want to continue pursuit. 

I am on day 18 of a 60 day plan to read scripture every day.  Can I tell you how many days I failed already? Can I tell you? At least 8. I "catch up" but it's still an "L" in my rhythm.  Schedule your priorities, that's the ticket, and here I sit, not scheduling it.  Why is it so hard to read scripture? Why is it so hard to want to hear Jesus talking to me? Because everything else is so loud. Because I allow it.  I put my kids wanting, finally, to speak to me above that time. I put extra sleep above it. I put mealtimes above it because darn it, it's hard to think of an alternate beverage. 

I am on a plan to walk 2-3 miles per day around the neighborhood(s).  Texas is going to be my jam because I LOVE this. I love this so much. Walking and looking and seeing and smelling (darn it, someone is grilling EVERY day and why does it smell SO good down here?! They are killing me) and enjoying being outside daily in a way I never have before.   Guess what, I'm getting smarter, audio sermons and scripture.  Loving so, so much this time for a small bit of health but to enjoy God, the scenery/landscapes and any family member that chooses to join.  In Winter! I've acclimated already... so quick....so lame. 

A rhythm....

Life is full of them. 

Life begins at forty. Or changes begin at forty. 

For me the rhythm has been to look ahead to foresee all that might lay in wait. Planning always for "when work slows down," or "when my child wants to engage," or "when I have this dream kitchen," or "when I find the kindred spirit whom my heart will love." 

I have wasted time in the fruitless pursuit of the "when" that never comes.  

Life begins when you're forty.

In this rhythm I am setting, I am swinging for the fences.  (Baseball peeps, you know what that means?)  

Live. With everything. 

No holds barred. Knock on the child's door. Pick up that Bible again. Walk out your front door. See the doctor regularly and, yes, do the allergy testing AGAIN and take the therapy or have surgery on your nose, do it.  Your husband, your uvula, your kids, your soul, your body and mind will feel abundant. 

This is the life, the rhythm, to which you have been called.  Abundant life while in this temporary place (read: Texas or Earth.). I'm really excited about this phase. 

I feel tired because I haven't slept well in ages and yet not so, because these steroids are the bomb diggity.  But here I must close....

We only have so many clicks around the sun. I am so conscious of this every January.  I have repeatedly failed to be consistent in many areas of my life. 

Abundant life is mine for the taking.  I choose and sacrifice and make the moments in preparation for what God has in store. 

This rhythm, my life...grateful for every year I am given. One day, all these things mentioned will amount to a hill of beans save this....my soul. 

It lives forever and will be one day in the presence of Jesus.  Angela. For the love. Do this part well. This next click, please, do it well. 

One Small Candle

For me there is something so sacred about the space we create to express ourselves.   Each person has something that they employ for the expression, and when they are doing this one thing, they are fully themselves.

Writing is as personal an expression as any, and when a writer invites you into their space, such as through a book, forum, or blog, if you are patient, you will see a piece of their soul emerge.  I consider this a sacred space, but I do not fear the invitation of others into it; although, at times, I think some have withdrawn based on the content.  

This content today spills from my very heart onto this page.  

Humility is so lacking in the world around us, and this lack of humility is what will be the demise of men.  Man desires to be right above all else.  He will tout his opinion, he will declare his thoughts, and if he says it loudly enough, by golly, he will curry favor among his peers and be lauded above those who do not share his opinion.  He wants to be on top. He wants everyone to know that he is right.  Thus, social media takes the world into its hands and wraps it in a cloak of darkness.

The world has become loud and so to win it, we almost have to be quiet. Almost.

Like when a speaker will whisper and "FOMO" kicks in and the rustles quiet so that what is being said can be heard.

I know that the hope the world needs is Jesus.  It is less self and more, much more, of Jesus.

I hold my little candle within the cloak of darkness.  I feel squished.  I feel squashed.  I feel that I want to be as loud as everyone else who does not follow their own advice they so freely give.  I bite my tongue so many times, I am certain I taste my own blood, for want of sharing my opinions.  

The cacophony of self will continue and only get worse in the days and years to come, we cannot and should not expect it to be otherwise.  It is with prayerful purpose that I hold my tongue and choose to raise the banner of Jesus.   

I hold my little candle in a darkening world and pray the love I feel for you radiates. May it pour past opinions, feelings, darkness, and self.  I pray that in me, you will see a glimpse of the Savior who loves you even more than me.  

I am a daughter of the King and I walk this earth with the certain hope of the finished story.  

Middle Perspective

I am comfortably in the middle. I don't know why middle children complain because the middle is quite nice actually. Expectations are low. Production is high. Anything is possible in the middle. 

I am most comfortably in middle age at this point. While I do mourn the passing of time and that my Big Littles are going to be out of the house in the next few years, I find my own self quite grounded. 

Friends, the twenties are the worst years of your life.  It's a fact and if, for some reason, that was the opposite for you then consider the rest of your life on the downward slope. For the rest of us, life is increasingly better the older you get. You grow so much in the twenties and thirties so by the forties you are enjoying the knowledge of who you are and what you want to pursue in this life. Many times that leads to the "midlife" crisis where you realize that job you are doing because your 'rents paid your college tuition isn't at all what you want to do with your life and you change careers.  I never really had a career so I am not plagued by job doubt or regret; I do already know I am passionate about writing. 

Aside from the aging of the body, and the subsequent changes that occur, I have never felt more beautiful and confident in my own skin. I picture myself daily in reading glasses with a smile and a mug in my hands and it fits.  I am firmly moving into more of a matron status and it is the best thing since sliced bread.  Matrons. We're smart. We're confident.  We're capable. We're in the middle. We know what we want. We aren't afraid to pursue it.  The twenties and thirties drift away and we are left with life and the understanding that has been elusive. Aging is better. When you can put the insecurities of your earlier years behind you, it frees you to be effective.  And I think that's what middle people are, effective. 

Tell all your friends...celebrate all the birthdays.