A Highlight of My Life: Part 1

Friends, it has been a busy season.  October and June have got to be the worst months of the year for hectic chaos.  While I am not a fan of the old "turn the clocks back," I almost welcome the dark, quiet reprieve of November.   It means you are allowed to rest, in your sweatpants, with a cup of coffee on a Tuesday night at 1830.  No one is going to judge you because, guess what, they are doing the same thing.

People have asked me repeatedly to write about my experiences these last few weeks. I haven't had quite the right amount of time, but now I might be able to take a deep breath, and write.

If we're good friends then you will know I have just celebrated my fifteenth wedding anniversary. All you need to know is that this means I was married at the ripe age of 10 for I am far too young to have all that sage wisdom and experience.  Not quite true, but the time indeed has gone so quickly.  The person I was then, thank goodness, I am not today.  The person I am today, thank goodness, my husband still loves.  He is perfect for me in every way except height and something really has to give about that.  It was quite difficult to scurry after him like a church mouse as he traipsed around Europe.  God has shown great mercy and favor over my marriage and I am grateful for that gift.  So much living in these years, may there be more to come.

I have been trying to join Ryan on his business trips to Europe for years.  All the wives have been and I had yet to darken the door of a plane and get there.  It was decided, when Ryan received a voucher for travel after a flight delay, that this would be the year I could go.  I was set to join him six days into his trip. On the day of travel, we experienced torrential rains in upstate.  It rained and rained buckets but it did not occur to me that I would experience travel delay until I got to the airport, and in fact, experienced travel delay.  Nothing could dampen my spirits as I heartily ordered from the Chick Fil A menu and plopped down to enjoy southern hospitality for the first time in months.  It looked like I was going to be re-routed through Frankfurt, adding an additional layover to my itinerary.  I wasn't overly pleased, because it was going to be a long flight time and I'm a lonely solo flyer, but still I persisted in feeling joy when all around me angry people roasted the customer service agents.  I met a mouse friend at Gate A3, who I promptly named Gus-Gus because I was headed to see a fairy tale castle.  It felt like kismet.  

Upon landing at Dulles, my almost dead phone prompts me that my flight will be leaving in approximately 45 minutes.  Relief washed over me with the knowledge that the arriving plane I was to depart my international leg on was also delayed into Dulles. I might avoid the Frankfurt reroute and make my original timeline.  But we taxied.  And taxied.  My stress level is rising because I've never been to Dulles, and although Ryan gave me the rundown it just wasn't going to be easy with limited time.  I deplaned at ground level and walked into the forsaken, back alley bowels of the airport in terminal A.  Hello?  Buehler? Buehler?  Is this an airport or what?!  It's so quiet.  There is no McDonalds.  I run through what appears to be several switchbacks.  Up and back, up and back, through hallways. Forever.   Following the signs for....that's right....terminal D.  For the love.  

Got my video game running guy mojo going on....and I head down, down, down to the train that will take me to terminals C and D.  I hop on the right train and check my phone, the battery percentage is in the teens but my time until departure is not too bad.  The train stops and most of the passengers get off and I stay on.  This is most likely not a good sign but I'm committed.....to heading straight back to where I started.  Apparently, I was supposed to get out at C and then walk to D from there.  No problem, I'm cc1ool as cucumber as I nonchalantly hop off this train and walk back to my starting point to try again.  Peeps got no idea that I'm riding circles around the airport, because if they do that means they too are as lost as I.  I enjoy that 90 second train ride as I prepare to sprint for the next 15 minutes.  And, sprint I do, from C1 to D26.  It's like the movies. I run up all the stairs, avoiding the escalators, and just keep running.  I'm basically dying.  Literally. To get to Europe.  I cannot wait here for four hours, take an 8 hour flight to Frankfurt, wait there for four hours and take a flight to Amsterdam.  My life suddenly, as I see it, is over if I do not make this flight.  People stare. All the people turn and stare as I run.  I'm struck at the oddness because if people are running anywhere, it's definitely in an airport.  This is not unusual. I'm going with it being my video game running guy stride that is likely no on YouTube somewhere...   As I am about to physically pass from this life at D23, three gates from my destination, I turn my head to the right and see 5 doors that appear to be entrances from security or something.  Here, I realize, is where that blessed people mover car object thing that only lives at Dulles, lands. 

It's sole purpose is to carry folks from Terminal A to Terminal D.  

Let me say that again.  It's sole purpose is to transport Angela from A1 to D23 in probably eight minutes.  Of sitting down.  No trains. No stairs. No CPR needed. 

I am the very last person that boards the flight bound for Amsterdam, but not before taking four precious minutes to buy a bag of Reese Pieces and Twizzlers that will be our mainstay snackies for all 1600+ miles by car across Europe.

I can already tell this is going to be one of the highlights of my life, because I clearly have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  

Prepare for take-off.

Enough for Reese Cups

October is here.  It came in so quickly, just like I always say.  You never notice the exact moment when summer relinquishes its hold and you are in the middle of autumn color and chill.

Each step of the journey wearies me, as if old age is upon me too fast. I crunch about in the day to day, weary, oh so weary.  I'm not sure if my peers and colleagues quite feel the same aches in body and soul.

I've had a lovely three day weekend, full of respite but actually not respite.  It is an annual tradition for my family to try to gather in the fall and spend a few days together.  If you are familiar with us, you might be able to picture it, if you are not so familiar you might wonder what it looks like.  The time is meant to strengthen ties, to eat lots of good food, to rest, to fulfill some wanderlust, to argue, to conquer or suffer defeat, to know that this group bound by blood is also eternally bound by friendship.

If you are not parted by distance, if you are not part of a larger family, then the scenes might not play and replay the same for you as it does for me.  I always look forward to the time, more so, as years pass.  You can't understand what it is to age in the heart until you are, in fact, aging in the heart.  The seasons continue to pass so quickly, the seasons are draining me, especially the season I will be in for the next solid 3-4 years.   Everywhere I turn, people need support.  I am the supporter, the giver, the leader meeting needs, the listener, the adviser.  I don't mind the role. I don't mind the responsibility.  I think though, that for a solid three weeks now, I'm trying to give on empty.  I'm waiting on the edge of the group, peering in, wanting to participate, but feeling unable to dive in despite my desperation for my bucket to be filled.

You must already know that I am the youngest in my family for we are dear friends.  In that role, I am cared for and protected.  I might not quite know how the world works because I am to young, but one day, I will know.  The others will help me.  It is their role to provide for me.  Into this world I step a few times per year.  Already the roles are changing and that dynamic is not nearly as pronounced as it once was.  I am more an equal, it will continue to change.

Four households converging into one is recipe for disaster.  Nothing can change that.  Four sets of house rules, four sets of shower schedules, four sets of food and beverage needs, four sets of hierarchy into one chaotic, strong willed engine that powers through the extended family experience.  What I know is this, we can, have and will survive the 45 minute whirlwind pack-up with our love for each other still intact.  If you can survive that, you can enter the gates of Mordor without fear.

Do we discard the leftover salad?

Uh, no, I think there are starving children in Africa.

Well I know that I don't have the space to take it back because all my ice is gone.

Does this sock belong to your child?

Go back in that bathroom, someone left the soap in the shower.

Who threw away my cup of coffee?!

Wait, why is this salad on the counter?

Don't throw that out!!

Where is the charger for my phone?

Where is the charger for my Kindle?

Where is the charger for my kids' phone?

Kids, go back upstairs and clean that room.

Babe, you left your sweatshirt on the dock.

Nope, not my sweatshirt.  Ask the kids.

For the love, why is the salad still not being dealt with?

No, that is not my sweatshirt.

I'm throwing the salad out, last call.

Again, no, on the sweatshirt.

Have you seen my sweatshirt?  Yep, Ryan is looking for the owner.

YOU ARE THROWING AWAY THE SALAD?!!?!?

And.....that's a wrap, we'll see you next year.

It is so much fun.  It is so much chaos.  It can also have a lot of angst in the middle. But in the end it comes out right.  It fills your bucket, even if you feel like you have to force yourself into it because you don't have the energy.

At the end, at the very end, when the house is quiet....  It's early morning. Your room is in China with the mice and cold breeze, so you trek through the dark to use the bathroom in Switzerland.  You stay in France because it's easier than going back to bed, in the dark, down the twisty stairs.  You broke your foot once trying that nonsense.

You are bundled up on the couch, reading, the light is just beginning to show over the lake.  Your mom comes in, smiles and walks over to hand you a Reese cup.  You tell yourself to remember this.  "Remember this, Angela."  You remember hearing just yesterday from your stepfather's lips that your mother loves to eat Reese cups for breakfast.  She walks over to the window. "Remember, this, Angela, remember what she looks like as she watches the sun rise.  It's just you. Her. The lake."  This snapshot of time is so tiny, so tiny, and so precious.  It doesn't really mean anything at all, and yet it does.  You are almost 40 and you are her baby and she is giving you a Reese cup at 0630 in a quiet house on Keuka Lake in NY.  And she is beautiful.

Hold onto this moment.

Do this every chance that you get.

Even if you think you are rather grumpy and not quite right.  And currently emotionally empty.

Enter the gates of Mordor without fear because the group beside you loves you.  Enough for Reese cups.

Grace Flows Down and Covers Me

It's Monday, isn't it?  

Can you just feel that it's Monday?

I can think of several things I should be doing, but, alas, I'm sitting at the keyboard, emptying my heart. Because indeed it is Monday and I feel heavy.

I've been burdened the last few weeks with the idea of "measuring up" to Jesus.  Do you know what I mean?  Have you been there?

I legitimately have been talking to myself all day about it.  Things like, "I can't believe you still cannot let that go" or "Why are you so opinionated?" or "Why do you think you know best?"  That last one, though, for real.  Ryan says, "That's why you're the boss because you always know the right thing to do."  He says that because I say that.  Drivers say that.  People with a "driving" personality - they think quickly, they know they are right, they plunge ahead with decisions and people usually follow.

But.  I don't think Jesus is like that.  I believe He has more compassion.  I believe He has more consideration.  He is humble. 

I don't know but I wonder if I run over people.  In my life.  Do I run people over without consideration?  I'm "in charge" in a variety of places and I have a lot of people that I lead in different capacities.  In some ways, I'm used to "giving orders" and I wonder if all these jobs stack up and lend itself to overbearing.  

I've really been struggling with the idea of following Christ for years and feeling like I'm nothing like Him.  I'm supposed to be like Him but I think I must not appear anything like Him to those around me. I feel weakness instead of strength.  I feel like I'm letting Him down.  I know that if anyone is watching me, and they are, they must be disappointed too.  I should be a better person than I am.

In all this mess, in all this sorting, I've been reading in my devotions about peace in God's presence.  About meeting Jesus face to face each day, how He delights in knowing me.

When I feel like the ugly black sheep in God's family....

This is what I hear....

Under my mercy come and wait
until we are standing face to face
I see no stain on you my child....

I have many, many flaws but I'm seen without stain because of Jesus.  He knows I'm hopeless, He knows I'm never going to get there, so He says I, Angela, am enough for you.  I am enough.  I paid your debt because I love you.  The best way to be like me is to know me, to spend time with me.  To find and feel my peace in this world full of trouble.

Today, especially, I feel so undeserving of such grace and mercy.  

South of the Mason Dixon

Have I ever mentioned that I do all my writing on a smart phone?

One tiny little screen. No spellcheck.  No clear visual.  No great ability to backspace or delete.  

I've officially set myself up a bit of an office space.  It's for the whole family really, but how much easier to access things you would like to view...  I can shut the door and write in private.  I can backspace to my heart's content.  Delete whole paragraphs with just a few clicks.  It's amazing, and permanent, which helps guide me to a space and place of writing more often, which in turn is fulfilling.  Right now I am thinking about going downstairs for a cup of coffee to complete the scenario but I believe I should hold off on that.

Tomorrow is the first day of a new school year and my kids are feeling anxious.  No one is quite ready and honestly, I am not quite ready either.  The next several weeks are going to be busy, full of good things, but tiring, nonetheless.  I feel like this summer, unlike most, flew by.  I am often ready for the fall season and barely give the passing of summer a nod, but this year, I'm a little depressed.  

It is safe to say that I have firmly established a place in the northeast.  With each passing year, roots have spread and gained good ground, but they are not deep enough yet to keep me from casting a wandering eye toward other places.  South.  My heart seems like it was always meant to be there. Somewhere south of the Mason Dixon line there lies a space for plants, deep green grass, big trees, a big porch with a swing, and a kitchen that smells like pumpkin pie and coffee. I'm sitting in that kitchen and writing a letter to you, dear friend. It would go something like this..

Dear (insert your name here),

It truly is amazing that I am sitting in this place today. I  have been dreaming of it my whole life.  I do not regret the years leading to this moment for they have been full of life, full of people that grow older and dearer in my soul, and full of learning.  I am much wiser today than when I started out on this journey of ten million steps that led to none of the spaces I entered into the itinerary.  How can you enter something and go to the opposite place?  It's still a mystery to me but that God alone orchestrates my life.  I hope to tell my children the stories one day. I hope to explain to them how a man  (or woman) can set about something and the end result will look so much different and more beautiful than anticipated. I would not have traveled to Utah.  I would not have sent a husband to war.  I would not have denied myself the opportunity to become a nurse. I would not have had miserable pregnancies that, in essence, shortened the family I planned.  I would not have moved to New York.  I would not have put up with being treated poorly at work, always feeling for some reason that I needed to stay.  I would not have denied myself the job opportunity I so desired. I would not have ended up back at the same job.

Oh, dear one, I set out to conquer the world.  I was going to be a nurse, married with 3-4 children, living in northeast Ohio, but with my eye on the south. I was going to eat Sunday dinner with my family each week.  I was going to have game nights with my siblings and my kids were going to thrive in the network of family.  I was going to be successful at all the things I put my hands to doing.

You know what?  None of my plans included writing.  It was never a dream to dust off or an ambition to pursue.  Writing was borne out of the deep and dark loneliness that I encountered in Eagle Mountain.  It was a way to reach out and communicate with others not living right outside my door.  It brought me immeasurable relief to tell the stories of my life.  I didn't have to know someone was listening, I just had to know that it was going out somewhere.  Writing has proven to be a passion I didn't know I wanted or needed and that came to me so gently through the unfolding of the plan.

It's just like my Jesus to allow me the opportunity to have a wonderful job, a job that was equal to my strengths and surrounded me with people to love and serve.  A job that was refreshing when I needed it and a job that ultimately brought healing to my heart.  At this job, I came face to face with my enemies, the people that I swore to hate with every fiber of my being but prayed to be able to love and forgive.  Can you imagine seeing the person that you despised every day?  A person who hurt you so deeply?    Imagine a moment so divinely orchestrated that you could look them in the eye, offer your hand and your heart for a second time, and show them the love they do not deserve, but need.  I didn't think it was possible, but Jesus gave me a gift.  He gave me a temporary job that might just have been for this specific purpose alone, for he completely closed the door for the job to continue, although it was originally planned that it would. He saw my pain, He heard my prayers, and He formed a plan to heal my heart. I still think of the pain of being turned into CPS, but it does not hurt nearly in the way it once did.  Not nearly the same and all because I took a temporary job.  Strange, isn't it?  But it's just the thing I am going to tell these boys of mine, it's just like Jesus, sons, you can trust that He will answer and it almost never is like what you are expecting.  Keep that in mind when your heart is full of sorrow. 

I do go on so, this letter is quite long by now,  but there lies so much evidence of God in my years and it feels good to tell you.  I know you will understand for we have been friends for quite some time.  My ability to chatter endlessly certainly doesn't surprise you and you always graciously say how much you enjoy listening.  It's probably not at all true but I am thankful you indulge me.  

I'm sitting in this kitchen years later than I anticipated. In retrospect, my sphere of influence has been far greater than I could have imagined. My heart has known such change, joy, service, honor, fullness.  God has given me far more than I was willing to reach.  I would have kept myself in a tight, confined space and He opened up the world to a chubby, short, blue eyed girl from the Midwest.

I better close for now.  It must be time to start frying the chicken to go with this here pie.  I sure do miss seeing your face.  Come for a visit.  There is always a place for you with me.  We'll talk about the hard things and then we'll look for the places that God shines His light.  We know we're getting older and the grey hairs are coming, but this journey continues to be joyous, and full of surprises.

Lovingly Yours,

Ang

A Pastime Much Like The Present

It's not a new statement that I continue to go through transition as a parent, as a wife, as an aging woman.  I was told awhile ago to come up with some hobbies, so far, one thing I've decided to pursue, is gardening.  I have always loved gardens - I visit them in almost every city (vacation) I go to if I'm permitted and indulged.  Unfortunately, I never know what plants and flowers to have in my own.  I think I can see myself tooling around with one of those little green carts. I can see myself taking tea and writing in a space I have created for rest and enjoyment. It's going to take some research and possibly more garden visitations to understand what I need to do, but it is a firm goal. Down the road I shall be a gardener like Samwise. Send all your tips and strategies to NY c/o The Old Acre.

I wonder, though, if gardening is actually an art that lives in the soul. Like writing.  Can you learn how to be a gardener, sure, but it is something that is innate?  Are all the best ones "naturals?"

I love that we are individually gifted.  Each person has special God given talents and we get to use those for encouragement and enjoyment.  There is nothing more affirming than when someone tells you, "You are so talented at ____" or "You have touched my life with _____." It's a compliment that starts at the surface and drip drops all the way to coat your soul.  Compliments that take a little time to digest are my favorite.  I'm not very good at accepting compliments initially, but you can bet, as only a writer can, I mull over your words until my brain and heart connect them, and then I'll smile, even though it might be 2 am.

You know what else I love?  That we can share with others the things with which we are gifted.  You can help me to understand gardening, or sports, or math.  The latter being fairly unlikely actually.  It is actually a very good bonding mechanism - sharing and learning - or it could totally ruin a relationship.  Tread carefully.  But truly it is a special experience to learn with someone who is gifted and passionate.

I'm a writer who hopes one day to become a gardener.  To walk among the things that you helped raise from a tiny seed.  It's like a second chance at motherhood; gardening brings out some of those same experiences, joys and woes.  Like your children, you know the seasons are temporary and you get to soak them up.  Your plants brighten your days and enhance your years.  Just like your kids you hope they will always come back. To your heart.

Chances Are

I believe that there are moments that change lives. Can you think of any?  Can you point back to a day that changed the arc of your life?  Maybe it's an event, maybe it's meeting a special person.

We live day by day in moments, spaces of time that mostly are not defining, in fact, they are usually pretty ho hum. But in every life there are specific seconds that change the journey.

Finding out I was going to become a mother was one such moment.  To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement, frankly I was certain I was too broken to be any good at this job.  I worried for months and then I worried through labor, which wasn't exactly short but was doable, and then I worried through pushing which was not short and was not doable.  When my peanut was finally handed to me, I knew there would be no end to worry.  And I knew I would forever be grateful.

Arriving in Utah in August of 2006 was heart wrenching, sending my mother home on a plane after our cross country drive was more than I felt I could bear.  The weight of loneliness ate through my heart day after day living in the west desert.  It was the very beginning of a molding process that would end with confidence and a strength I never knew was possible.  God really had a sovereign plan for this time in my life; He knew I had it in me all along because He put it there.  I would have never willingly chosen that path and I am grateful for a Father who has His hand upon my life.

Bringing home a pet seems simple and yet, it was a brand new experience that I never knew I needed.   I am such a pile of goo with this guy and as far as I'm concerned he can have anything he wants.  It's like being a Grandma in your thirties.  This baby son has mellowed me and Lord knows I need it.

You can't imagine the changes that come sweeping down through a life.  If we all knew what was coming we'd hide away never to see the sun or feel the falling leaves.  What a shame. Life cannot be predicted and that's a good thing,  for some of the best things in my life have been unplanned and sometimes, initially unwelcome.

Tomorrow has brand new moments.

Tomorrow has change.

Chances are something will change the trajectory of your life.

It's exciting, no?

Expressionless

I have a secret.

Buried deep in my heart is an ocean of words.

Can I tell you another secret?

Sometimes it is hard for me to express myself.

And it's the hardest usually when it's the most important.

I want to curl up with you and unburden my heart, but mostly I want to hold it all inside.  For all my words, for all my talking,  I often don't want to share.  Not with many people. Sometimes not with anyone.  

It has been an unusual week, the demands have proven to be too much and I mercifully succumbed this evening to quiet, candles, respite and tears. 

I can't exactly name my feelings for they are many.  To be asked, "What's the matter?" is ludicrous for I simply couldn't answer.  I can tell you a few things in specific but it is the larger, overwhelming picture that haunts me this night. 

I have too many responsibilities at my paid job.

I have too many responsibilities at my church job. 

I am pulled in too many directions everywhere I turn, and I resent it. Greatly. 

I have not recovered from the exhaustion of working so many hours coupled with a very quick road trip to Ohio to visit precious relatives, (some also from out of state), and then heading straight into a 12 hour inventory.  I was physically ill for a solid day, but it was worth it.  

My great aunt passed away and her funeral was Tuesday.  I can't stop thinking about it, and her.  I hope some nice things were said, and yet, I worry it was not entirely so.  Because the first thing anyone would ever say about her was, "She was downright mean."  A hard, hard women indeed, to the core, and I wish I knew the story of how it came to be.  Everyone has a story and people become what they live and what they endure.  She was the last surviving person in her family, and that in itself must be sad.  

My kids are at cousin camp and I received amazing pictures today of a fishing trip. The very first photo was of my aunt (in town for the funeral) and my two sons.  She had a big smile and looked so much like my Grandma that I instantly burst into tears. Followed was a photo of my grandpa with my sons.  He loves to fish and I love, love, that he is with them today.  He looks old; my heart cannot contain the love I feel, it slides down my cheeks unchecked and soaks my shirt.  I know that time is precious and my children will have this memory of him.  I'm grateful.

I'm a writer at heart, yet sometimes I can't explain.  Sometimes I just need you to know as you sit here with me in the quiet.  Look in my eyes, read the silence, and let it fall between us as the crickets sing outside the window, and the candle flickers into the summer night.