Day 47

Patriots' Day, April 15, 2013.

In Massachusetts, Patriots' Day is an official state holiday commemorating the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the first battles of the Revolutionary War.  It is celebrated every third Monday in April, and most widely marked by the running of the Boston Marathon.

The Red Sox also play every Patriots’ Day beginning at 11am, making it a great package deal for the sports fan.  The vast majority of the runners are making their way past the 25th mile marker in Kenmore Square just as the baseball game is finishing up and the stadium is clearing out.  I have probably attended the Sox/Marathon twin bill about 6 times in my life (between visits up from Texas and living here).  It’s just an amazingly awesome experience!  

So it was only natural that Austin and I were seated in the grandstand seats behind the first base line that day.  Beautiful blue skies.  Spring chill in the air.  A Sox win.  And a quick visit with friends from Connecticut.

By the time we made it into Kenmore Square, the crowd lining the street was 10-15 deep.  We were able to find some holes to peek through and cheer a few runners on. Packed like sardines, we inched toward the subway entrance.

“Do you want to go to the finish line and watch?  Or just head back home?” I asked Austin.

“Let’s go home.”

“You sure?  I know a back way… we can skip the crowds.”

“Yeah, I’m just kinda tired.”

“No worries, buddy.”

So we slowly fought our way down into Kenmore and onto the Green Line.  Jammed into the train car what seemed like the rest of humanity, we unloaded quite a few of them at the next stop.  It happened to be the closest stop open to the Finish Line.

After waiting for another long minute without moving, a voice came over the speaker announcing that everyone must get off the train.  The station was being evacuated.  I rolled my eyes at the inconvenience.  Seriously?  (Little did we know then, that the bomb had just exploded above ground at the finish line.)

As we exited the doors at the top of the station, I made a split-second decision NOT to turn left toward Boylston Street, simply to avoid the crowds in order to get back to our car the quickest way possible.  I tried to check twitter to see what was going on.  Couldn’t get through.  I tried calling Rob.  Couldn’t connect.  I realized something big was happening.  So I texted Rob we were ok.  I texted my sister we were ok.  Just in case.

As we walked down the back alley, police were beginning to throw up barricades.  I overheard one officer mention the possibility of a “secondary” explosion.  I’m not a rocket scientist… but I quickly realized that meant “primary” had occurred.  I decided then to lead us as far away as possible from any potential targets.

We camped out for a few minutes on the sidewalk of one of the Back Bay streets as the sounds of ambulances and emergency vehicles grew louder and more frequent.  I eventually found an MBTA officer who was able to tell me that all of Boston was shut down, but Cambridge was still running (which is where our van was parked).  Eventually we walked across the Mass Ave bridge, along with hundreds of our closest friends, into Central Square and onto the Red Line.  By 7pm that evening and 3+ miles of walking, we were home safely.

I am heartbroken over so many things that day.  I am also thankful for so many things that day.  Had Austin agreed to go to the finish line, we would have been extremely close the the second bomb that went off.  Also, had we turned left after exiting upon evacuation, his little eyes would have seen much devastation, blood, and things he could never unremember.  

We went back to the Sox game for Patriots game the following year.  It was and important and healing step for us both.

Day 36

I always made fun of people who used online dating sites.  Yeah, well.

I lived in a brownstone apartment in the Fenway neighborhood of Boston.  I was working at a residential treatment facility for adolescent girls in Arlington.  I knew Milton and Ginger, who lived about 30 miles south of Boston; and Allyson, who lived about 45 miles west of Boston.  I had made friends at work, but most of them were 20-somethings out of college.  

I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, but I thought dinner and a movie would be a fun thing.  So I signed up on match.com and was enjoying the occasional date and conversation.

Until Rob came along.

Our first email was during a Celtic playoff game.  I lost count of the number of back-and-forth exchanges.

Our first phone call was over three hours long.  I was extremely tired at work the next day.  

Obviously, we hit it off.  

Rob’s wife Lynne had passed away from breast cancer, and Rob Jr was 6 at the time. They both stole my heart, and I quickly went from not looking for a relationship, to married and being a mom, in a matter of months.

Rob says he’s not sure he would do it again had he known what I meant by “package deal” with Spunky… but we all know better ;-)

Day 35

Mike Yaconelli.  Oh how I miss him!

We were chatting on AOL messenger one day in April 2001.  The conversation was bouncing back and forth about my job, his speaking engagements, etc.  Then out of the blue, this pops up on the screen from him (and I quote):

"Here's what I think. I think you are too comfortable. I think you stay there because change sounds too scarey and painful I think you stay there because it's like staying home, it's safe, comfortable and it's slowly killing you. You didn't ask me, but I'm telling you you need to take a risk, run from this place and when you do, you will discover the Christy who is buried somewhere screaming to come out."

No one ever accused Yac of not telling it like he sees it!

I had been contemplating a change, but not very seriously.  But when someone 2000 miles away crystal-balls your life, it wakes you up.  I left the office to meet a friend for lunch.  I got out of the car and told him, “I think I’m moving to Boston.”

And that’s where it all began.

Day 34

It never feels good to know you are not wanted.

There are some moments that, for one reason or another, are burned in our memory.  This is one.

I was driving northwest on Hwy 183 in Austin in my silver Mustang, top down.  It was March. Shawn Mullins’ “Lullaby” came on the radio, and I started bawling like a baby.  I don’t mean just crying.  I mean, tears streaming down my face, toddler heebeejeebees kind of crying.  The kind of deep heart crying that I thought I was going to have to pull over.

Ev-er-y-thing’s gonna be all right, rockabye, rockabye

Ev-er-y-thing’s gonna be all right, rockabye

I had been holding it in for, oh, a few days since Mike had told me the news.  Gerald thought it was time for me to go.

Riverbend was not run like your typical church. It was more like a business, with Gerald as a Pastor/CEO.  It was a really efficient way to get things done, with a board of trustees for accountability.  The ministry was handled by the ministry team, deacons, etc.

So when Gerald made a decision, it usually stuck.

I had been mulling over my options.  (a) Leave before he has a chance to tell me to.  (b) Start looking for another job.  © Stay and make him force me out.  But there on the freeway, God and Shawn Mullins grabbed my heart.  Everything’s gonna be all right.  Rockabye.

I surrendered.  I figured God was bigger than both Gerald and me.  He had put me at Riverbend and He would need to be the one to lead me away.  

So I decided to try to find new ways to minister.  I began writing a daily devotional for the congregation.  At that point in time, daily emails were innovative - hey, what do you know!  And the distribution list quickly jumped to close to a thousand.  I also edited and published a book of comeback stories written by Riverbend members.

I never heard anything negative again from Gerald.  In fact, our relationship deepened, and when I did decide to leave over a year later.  It was on God’s terms.

Rockabye.

Day 33

One of my friends had season tickets to the San Antonio Spurs through his work.  On occasion, he would invite three of us to join him for a game.

These were the days when the Spurs still played in the Alamodome.  David Robinson and Tim Duncan were the Twin Towers, and winning came often.  In fact, they won the NBA Championship that year.  This wasn’t simply a basketball game invitation, however.  This was an experience.  A package deal.

It begin with the drive down to San Antonio.  Always filled with laughter and  embellished stories.  Then dinner was at the “Top of the Dome Club.”  This was a pre-game VIP buffet spread for certain season ticket holders.  Always great food.  Seats were about 8-10 rows up, free throw lane extended.  I mean, seriously.  Who wouldn’t say yes to that invitation?

One of my favorite moments of those game days, was during the dinners.  David Robinson’s father seem to always be there.  Same table.  Same chair.  Anyone would know it was him… they are carbon copies of one another.  We would walk by and politely say, “Hello, Mr. Robinson…”  He would always return the greeting and smile.

We saw David at an NCAA tournament game this past Spring, and I had a chance to tell him this story.  His eyes lit up when hearing about his father.  He relayed that his dad still lives in San Antonio, still attends all the Spurs games, and still has that great smile.

Some invitations have lasting effects.

Day 32

It was 1998. Gerald had been leading annual trips to Israel and the Holy Land for several years by then.  People from across the nation who watched his TV ministry would go, as well as several Riverbend members.  Each year, he would also take a staff member or two.  That year was my turn.

After landing at Tel Aviv, we began our time in Galilee and Northern Israel, then spent some time at Masada and the Dead Sea, and stayed the last few days in the Jerusalem area.  It was an amazing journey that became even more meaningful on this side of the trip, as having been there provided context for the stories I had grown up learning, and continued to share and grow in.

One of my most favorite moments occurred as I was just seeing the Sea of Galilee for the first time.  A friend of mine and I had wandered through a cemetery (imagine the dates on those stones!) and down the street toward the water.  Just as we reached the port, a party barge was coming in to dock.

It was loaded with people.  Lots of dancing.  Lights flashing.  And music playing.  No less than…  The Macarena!

I couldn’t decide how to feel.

Should I be upset that this was my welcome to the Sea of Galilee?  The place where Jesus called his first disciples?

Should I be offended that the Macarena was blasting on these very waters - these sacred stormy waters - that Jesus himself once calmed?

And then it hit me.  This was probably not much different than what it was like in Jesus’ day.  It was just the 1998 version.  Whatever the Macarena party boat looked like back in 30 A.D., I’m sure it was cruising over these very waters.  And I’m sure Jesus was very well aware.

So I just chuckled to myself.  And welcomed myself to Jesus’ world.

Day 31

One of my all-time favorite books as a child was Barney Beagle (and any of the sequels).  As it turns out, two beagles were the finders of one of the best treasures of my life.

I had just returned from a quick overnight trip to Louisiana.  Joey showed me a shoebox containing a t-shirt and an ugly black-and-white, palm-sized, rat-looking thing.  Upon closer inspection I found it to be a kitten, dirty and barely alive, eyes still closed.  The beagles had sniffed it out behind the fence.  It had been abandoned by it’s mom.

I called my college roommate who lived in town.  Her husband was a veterinarian.  After getting instructions and well-wishes from him, I set out to purchase a tiny pet bottle, milk, a heat lamp, and the other things he said just “might” help him survive.

He made it through the first night.

And then the second.

He didn’t like his first bath very much.  But he loved his bottle.  Every.  Four.  Hours.  Even at 2am. 

He opened his eyes on the third day.  He would sleep under the heat lamp until hunger awoke him.  He would cuddle up under my hair on the pillow case after his bottle.

I took him to work.  He stayed in my office for the first few weeks.  In a box under the heat lamp.  He quickly outgrew the shoebox, but stayed relatively contained for quite a while.  People would stop by to check on him; ask if it was feeding time; ask if they could feed him, hold him, etc.  Funny.  Nobody asked if they could litter train him!

Spunky became the little guy everyone pulled for to make it.  One of my preschool friends affectionately called him "Skunky.”  He was the hero to many.

Well, make it he did.  He made the move with me from Austin to Boston.  He’s almost 19 now.  He’s been with me through many ups and downs.  He’s made me laugh and made me want to throw him out the window.  I’ve often called him my cat-dog-human.

He’s one-of-a-kind.

Day 30

Our youth ministry office was in a temporary building down the hill from the main building.  David and I were brainstorming how to reach middle school students, when we decided to host an evening week-long event.  We called it “The Zone.”  Mind you, this was long before ESPN and everyone else started using the phrase…

So the week was something like VBS on steroids.  David, Joey, and I divided the kids into teams and assigned them a color.  We had games, goofiness, and Bible Study.  On Monday, we started out with 30 or so kids.  By Friday, we had well over 100.

We had theme nights:  the obvious color night, backwards night, twister night, and polar night. We awarded points for everything… theme-related points, points for winning, points for listening, points for cleaning up, points for brown-nosing, being a good friend points, etc.   It was some of the most fun of my life.

On color night, each team wore items of clothing of their team color.  They dyed their hair blue, red, purple, and green.  They brought hats and gloves and backpacks in team colors.  Signs, balloons, you name it.  We played games by color.  We talked about Joseph.

For backwards night, we wore our clothes and hats backwards.  We walked backwards.  We balked tackwards.  We played games backwards and tried to put toothpaste back into the tube.  Losers were winners.  We talked about how the world’s value system is often backwards from God’s.

On Twister night, we played the biggest, most craziest game of Twister you can imagine.  We spent most of two days spray-painting red, blue, yellow, and green dots on a 100 x 50 foot piece of thick polyethylene.  475 of them to be exact.  Our maintenance crew built a 4x8 foot spinner.  Left Foot, Right Foot, Left Hand, Right Hand.  It was amazing.  We talked about how we are all connected.

On polar night, we cranked the AC down as low as it would go. (I think we still probably owe Riverbend something on that electric bill.)  Everyone wore their ski gear and cold weather clothes.  We played penguin and winter-themed games.  But the best game of the week, was the ICE RACE.  We took 100 lb. blocks of ice, cut them in half, and used them as “chariots” for races.  After covering the floor with polyethylene (and spraying it with a bit of soapy water for a little effect), we taped out an oval course.  One person sat on the ice block, their partner pushed.  Halfway through, they switched.  Cold buns, slippery feet, and falling bodies provided tons of laughter for all.  I honestly can’t remember what we talked about.  I just know we bonded over laughter and love and togetherness.

Those days were some of my best times.  We may not have discovered deep spiritual truths together, but if those times allowed those preteens to find out that love and laughter can be found in the community of faith?  Then, yes.

Day 29

1995.

I am sure there were some good things that happened during that year.  Probably some pretty great ones, even.  But it was such a dark year for me that I have trouble digging any of them out.

Austin TX had only been my home for about 14 months.  While acquaintances were numerous, close friends were still being developed.  At the time, there were about two couples that held that designation.

Of these two couples… early in the year, one mom walked away from her husband and three young girls.  Four months later, the other husband had a tragic wreck leaving him in the hospital for weeks, followed by a stay at Hazelden, and circumstances that led he and his family away from Austin and Riverbend.

So in a matter of months, my world turned upside down in a swirling tornado of grief and confusion.  I found myself crying at the drop of a hat, no longer interested in things I usually enjoyed, lacking energy, and wanting to sleep all the time.  In other words, extremely depressed.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.  My days and months had  consisted of moments such as:

• Tucking three little girls in bed who simply wanted to know where their mom was, and if daddy would find her that night.
• Holding and rocking a tiny preschooler through a thunderstorm, waiting for her grandparents to arrive at midnight.
• Being so devastated from the news that my cries have no sound, they come from the depths of my core, causing me to double over.
• Working 80 hour weeks, covering for my coworker so he wouldn’t lose his job.
• Trying to figure out who to trust, among those who at one time I had never doubted.

I began therapy.  The verbal and pharmaceutical kind.  I hated admitting a little pill could regulate my emotions.  But it gave me a chance to regain my footing.

It was a dark, difficult year.  But like both good and bad times, thank God it didn’t last.

Day 28

New Year’s Eve just isn’t complete without a few fireworks.

It was a family party in a sense.  Most of the ministerial staff and a few close friends were gathered there with their families.  To the best of my recollection, there must have been about 20 or so adults, plus the kids. 

We were celebrating at a family’s home on a cul-de-sac in an Austin development that sat high up on a hill.  The view was great and the weather was chilly, but a typical Texas winter night… the kind that calls for a light jacket. 

At some point in the evening, fireworks were deemed necessary.  So the host along with his buddy, climbed in the truck and drove off to collect.

To say they accomplished their mission would be more than an understatement.  They might as well have been towing the fireworks stand behind the truck upon their return!  I honestly don’t remember what amount they spent, but I want to say it was in the triple digits. And I don’t mean with a one in front.  They had every sort of firework one could imagine… from the tiniest firecracker to the largest-go-boom!!

Everyone circled up for the show.  It was awesome!  Until.

About five minutes in, a faint siren begin to grow louder.  And louder.  Then another siren joined it.  At some point, someone realized they were was coming up the hill.  Then it registered.

Fireworks.  Illegal.  City Limits.  We.  Are.  In.  Them.

RUN!!!!

I promise you.  I have never, before or since, simultaneously felt such opposing emotions.  Insane hilarity and tremendous fear.  Everyone was scrambling.  Into the house.  The neighbors back yard.  Behind trees.  Under cars.  A few of the guys tried to salvage what was left of the fireworks by throwing them in the back of the truck.  Several of us jumped into the empty pool in the backyard and crouched silently against the inner wall.

In the end, “we" promised to stop shooting them and the police and firefighters drove away with the remaining fireworks.  We all climbed out of the pool and pantries, from behind the trees and cars, and gathered together once again to bring in the new year. But to this day, I cannot see fireworks, or even hear them mentioned, without remembering the people and events of this night.

And I laugh.

Day 27

We were joining several other churches for youth camp the following summer.  It was 1993.  We had reserved Country Camp, just outside of Columbus, TX, as our location.  It was Spring, and about 7 or 8 of us youth ministers, along with a couple of the guest leaders, were meeting at the camp to plan the theme and activities for the week.

Most of us were already friends and those that weren’t, had some connection to the group and bonds were quickly formed.  As par for the course, we talked and laughed and planned well into the early hours of the morning. 

When we retired to sleep in the cabins - you know, check them out for a night, know where the kids would be sleeping - we quickly discovered that there were no windows.  NO windows!  No windows meant that when the lights were turned off, it was DARK.  As it, can’t see your hand in front of your face, dark.  And of course who would have thought to bring nightlights???

Lee Ann and I were the only ones in our cabin.  David, John, and the rest of the guys were in another.  The plan was for us all to drive back to our churches the next morning.

There was a knock on our door.  I can’t remember which one of us stumbled our way through the darkness to open it, but the sunshine blinded us when the door opened.  It was 11:30am!  Luckily, one of the guys had waken up, because all of the rest of us had overslept!  With no way for the daylight to creep into the cabins, and all of us being up so late, we had completely slept the morning away.  

Nothing bad happened other than all of us getting back to our offices quite a bit later than we had planned.  But I will never forget the feeling of falling asleep in complete and utter darkness. 

Day 26

For years, I wondered what might have been.

I was youth minister in a northwest suburb of Dallas, TX.  It was my first summer there.  I invited a close friend of mine to fly in for the weekend and speak to the youth for Sunday morning Bible study. 

He arrived on Saturday morning, in time to join us for a staff retreat that day.  There were only a handful of ministers on staff - about five or six - so spouses were invited.  Or in my case, my friend.  We went to someone’s ranch for the day for a little R&R, food and fellowship, prayer, and exercise (which for me ended up being a quite competitive match of doubles tennis with my friend as my partner). 

After the retreat, he dropped me off at my apartment on the way to his hotel. I went to sleep that night feeling kind of couple-ish.

Which leads to a side note:  my friend of a decade, albeit a long distance one, probably knew me as well as anyone.  We talked frequently.  We wrote letters.  We prayed together.  We had seen one another over the years when possible.  I had harbored a crush, although we each had shared the ups and downs of our own relationships.  I had finally resigned myself to the reality that it was simply not to be.

And now this.

Sunday was great with the youth group, and Monday’s goodbye was, well difficult.  Contrary to our openness, we never talked about anything happening in our hearts that weekend.  Little did I know, leaning on the window of his rental car, that it was really goodbye.  It was the last time I saw him.  

We stayed in touch for about a year, then life circumstances shifted and our relationship changed.  No more calls or letters.  No more visits. All attempts to connected were denied.

I guess I’ll never know exactly why.  I have my guesses.  It took me almost 10 years to let it go. 

Grief comes in all different forms.  Someone doesn't always have to die to lose them...

Day 25

I can’t remember exactly what it was that decided to make us go for it, but we cut out on Wednesday night church early: the pastor’s intern, the college minister, the interim youth minister, and the music minister’s son.  We got permission, kind of.  Well, we must have, considering the music minister’s son was only a young teenager.

Anyway, there was some special on Texas Rangers baseball tickets. $4 off, I think.  That meant we could sit in the bleachers for only five dollars!  By the time we got to Arlington Stadium, the bleacher seats were sold out.  So we upgraded to seats behind home plate, but in the upper deck for $9.  Not a bad deal.

However, on our way from the outfield to our upper level seats, we spotted five empty seats about seven rows up behind the Rangers dugout.  It was already the third inning, so we slid into those seats, knowing there was a possibility we would need to move upstairs when the ticket holders arrived.  

Inning after inning, no one came for the seats.  Inning after inning, Nolan Ryan threw hitless baseball.  By the time the sixth inning rolled around, we were talking about the fact that we were probably good with the seats for the evening.  We weren’t talking about the possibility of a no-hitter.

Each time Ryan walked off the mound after the sixth, seventh, and eighth innings, we were close enough to see his eyes, his expression, his determination.  Hope-filled tension filled the stadium. By the ninth inning, no one was sitting down anymore.  The stadium held its collective breath with every pitch. Following the final strike, Nolan Ryan gave a smile and a fist pump before being smothered by his teammates.  To borrow a phrase, the crowd went wild.  Including us!  He had just pitched his record-breaking 7th no-hitter!

No one left the stadium for what seemed like the longest time.  Even after the applause had stopped.  Even after Ryan had exited the field.  No one wanted to leave.  It was a moment to be lived in.

Day 24

Who says good entertainment has to be expensive?

Pam and I were roommates.  We were also seminary students.  By definition, neither of us had a lot of money.  We would often go to Sam’s on Saturdays around lunchtime.  Between all the samples they were serving, we could actually make a lunch out of it!

We also loved to fly kites.  There was a giant flag at a car dealership near our apartment.  It served as a gauge for times when kite-flying would be successful.  If the flag was flying, it was a kite day.  If it was drooping, no dice.

But our all-time favorite cheap entertainment was known as binocular-riding.  It was simple, really.  One of us drove.  One of us rode in the passenger seat… looking ahead through binoculars.

It’s amazing what a little shift in perspective will do for a car ride.  When what you see is much farther down the road than you actually are, it’s scary, crazy, fun, exciting, thrilling, and downright terrifying!  You believe you should be turning, but you’re still going straight.  You think you should be stopping, but you’re still going fast.  You see a car stopping in front of you, but you aren’t.  But you can't take away the binoculars.  You’re laughing and crying and screaming and holding on for dear life.  Two-lane winding roads are the best!  It is fun for both the driver and the passenger!

We had more fun on a gallon of gas with a pair of binoculars!  It wasn’t about how much we had, but what we did with what we had.  It was about friends being together.

Day 23

Six Flags of Texas season passes are worth their weight in gold to locals.

Or at least they were to two seminary students who were crazy about roller coasters.  For the price of two-and-a-half admissions, you could go as many times as you wanted, and stay as long or as short as you wished!

My friend Pam and I were attending Southwestern in Ft. Worth.  We were yet to be roommates, but each of us were ministering in churches that were only about two miles apart.  Each also required us to be present on both Sunday mornings and evenings. 

What better way to spend that time in between, than riding roller coasters?  So Pam and I bought our season passes.  We would pack a sandwich lunch, meet after church in one of the parking lots, and then drive to Arlington.  We would ride as much as we could fit in, make it back home in time to shower, and get back to church on time. The Texas Giant wooden roller coaster was fairly new back then, but I remember one afternoon after a storm had passed through, we must have ridden it five times in a row before the line reformed!

(I think all that Sunday fun might have finally made up for all the missed ”Wonderful World of Disney’s” from the Sunday nights of my childhood. ;-)

Day 22

I went to the Summer Olympics in Seoul, 1988.

I’m not lying.  I really did!  BUT... not as an athlete.  I was a member of a team of college students and a handful of adults from Action Ministries working with Athletes in Action.  The opportunity came about quickly, and I jumped on it. It helped that my best friend Pam and some other close friends were going.

I returned with some incredible memories and souvenirs.  Among them, sharing my faith with Koreans, athletes and tourists; scalping tickets with Pam to watch gymnastics and basketball competitions; learning to use the extremely low toilets that existed in the hostel where we stayed; realizing why there were very few dogs roaming the streets; attending rally events with Carl Lewis and Willie Gault; sleep on pallets and waking up to the sound of golf balls being hit on building-top golf ranges.

But I must say that my most vivid memory is that of being in the back seat of a taxi.  Rule number one of driving in Seoul: whoever’s front bumper is ahead of the other, has the right-of-way… even if only by an inch.  NYC traffic has nothing on Seoul.  

After landing at Inchon Int'l and clearing customs (with armed Korean military guys everywhere), our group was divided up into taxis to be taken to our destination.  Rob Fix and I were in the same cab.  After a few minutes of riding, we began to see the same McDonalds and other buildings over and over and over.  Our driver was muttering to himself and looking again and again at the business card with the location he had been handed.  Finally, he pulled over behind another taxi, got out and began conversing.

Rob and I looked at one another.  We were in a foreign country.  Lost.  Away from our group.  With nothing but a taxi driver and a business card as our hope.  I clutched my backpack a little tighter, knowing that at least I had my travelers checks, passport, and my hard-copy (carbon-copies) return plane ticket home.  Worst case-scenario, I could survive for 10-days and at least fly back home.

As it turned out, our driver finally delivered us to our group.  But that feeling of “Oh, $*%&” still lingers…

It’s always good to remember that no matter how lost we may feel, we always have our ticket back home.

Day 21

Working at an activities center at a church in college definitely has its perks.

My last couple of years at Baylor I worked at FBC Waco.  During the summer I was a day camp counselor and during the school year, a basketball referee and facility manager.  Andy and Ben were two  others who worked there the most.

While the job in and of itself was fun, the after hours were even better.  At closing time, we locked the doors and took care of our end-of-day duties.  Then came the important decision: go home and study, or stay and play?  We would often give it the obligatory few seconds of debate… then call a couple of friends and head back into the gym.

We would play pick-up games for hours on end.  H-O-R-S-E came into play when there were fewer of us.  But when we lowered the nets to 8 feet?  Then things got really crazy.  Some of my favorite memories are playing twenty-one on the short hoop… college kids with competitive fire and monster dunks.  It’s amazing none of us ended up in the ER.

Making the most of every opportunity, every moment.  The keys to life.

Day 20

Back before Nerf developed their high-powered, battery-operated, multi-bullet dart guns, there were college students with simple single-shot (but reloadable) dart guns.

It was my sophomore year and I had a huge crush on this guy.  But always one to play it cool and go for the friendship first, there was a group of us that developed and enjoyed hanging out and just having tons of fun.  One of our favorite things to do was play a big kids nighttime version of cops and robbers.

The bad guys would have a chance to hide inside the apartment, while the two “cops” waited outside.  After a brief countdown, the door would be thrown open and it was… well, mayhem.

The rule was simple.  You were hit, you were out.

But the strategies got a bit complex.  And hiding places became extremely creative - on top of kitchen cabinets, inside the fold-out couch, etc.  We discovered that if you aimed at the light switch, you could often hit someone's hand as they were trying to turn on the lights.  We also figured out that if you turned off the electricity at the panel, they got extremely frustrated with the light switch... not to mention it remained quite dark! I remember once, even a firecracker or two were thrown toward the door.  We often played into the wee hours of the morning.  To say we created our own fun is an understatement.

Life isn’t always about getting what you want.  Mostly it’s about enjoying the ride along the way.

Day 19

My freshman year at Baylor was coming to a close. For one reason or another, my dad was unable to come help me move my stuff back to Minden.  With too much stuff to fit in my car, I was in a bit of a pinch.

The night before I was to move out of my dorm, the phone rang.  (Yes, it was the phone in our room.  No, we didn’t have cell phones yet.)  It was my friend, Tony, from Minden.  

“Hey! I’m downstairs.”

“You’re where???”

“Downstairs… In your dorm.”

He was in the lobby of Collins Hall.  I had mentioned my dilemma to him a couple of days earlier, and he had decided to do something about it:  He drove to Waco to bring me home. 

It was one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.  It was also Tony being Tony. 

It seems like the best gifts in life are those when we give of ourselves.

Day 18

Our high school softball team had made it all the way to the state semi-finals.  We were scheduled to host the following Friday.  I played third base.

On Tuesday during practice, I took a bad-hop grounder to the end of the middle finger on my right hand.  I shook off my glove and grabbed my hand, hopping around in the dirt.  When I stopped a moment to look, it was bloody and swollen.  A trip to the doctor and X-rays revealed it had shattered the bone at the end of my finger.  They drilled a hole in the nail to relieve the pressure, but I couldn’t bend my finger for days due to the swelling.

I was devastated.  Pain, I could tolerate.  Being out of the game, I couldn’t.

I tried throwing lefty.  I tried gripping the bat with just my thumb and finger.  I tried anything I could think of to make myself a worthy contributor to the team.  Nothing worked.  I finally had to face the reality that I was not going to compete in the state semi-final - my last opportunity to compete as a high school student.

Gameday came all-to-quickly.  I cheered.  I coached third base runners.  I encouraged my teammates.  Toward the end of the game, the coach let me pinch run.  I’d like to think I made the best of the situation.

Sometimes things just happen that are out of our control.  All we can do is roll with it.

Day 17

There was a day my junior year in high school that I thought for a while, that my life was over.

Seriously.

School lunches were actually pretty good back then, at least at my school.  Even so, a pizza from Pizza Hut always sounded better.  A few of us had developed a habit of hanging out in the coaches’ office during lunch and on this particular day, had talked, begged and pleaded our way into ordering pizza for lunch.

The only issue was going to pick it up.

My friend Sharon and I were selected, but since it was a closed campus (and you had to drive right in front of the school doors and office windows to leave), we had a problem.  Solution?  Coach Kelly says, “Take my car.”

The room fell silent.  Anyone within the city limits knew that no one brushed against, breathed on, or dared touch his car.  It was his baby.  And here he was telling us to DRIVE it???

So with my heart racing 200 bpm, we slowly cruised past the school doors off the campus.  Just after we passed through the gates, I reached up to adjust the rear view mirror… and the whole thing came off in my hand!  Nothing was left on the windshield! My heart stopped along with the car.  We were dead.  Check that: I was dead.

I tucked the mirror into the console and we started scheming.  We went to my house and tried super glue.  No luck.  We went to Sharon’s house and tried epoxy glue.  No luck.  Finally we picked up the pizza and returned to school.

It wasn’t a matter of if I was going to tell Coach Kelly what happened.  It was when.  I knew he was going to kill me.  And I didn’t want my humiliation to be too public.  I couldn’t eat.  He knew something was wrong.  “What took so long?" “Did you wreck my car?” “Why aren’t you eating?”  “Are you sure you didn’t wreck my car?”

Finally we asked him to come outside.  Through my fearful and apologetic tears, I told him about the mirror.  He started laughing.  I wasn’t sure whether to look up at him, or run.  “That old thing?  It’s been coming off for a while now.  I need to get it fixed for good.”

It’s not very often that do I not reach up to adjust my mirror without remembering this story, and how two teenage girls thought that super or epoxy glue might do the trick.  

Some bonds simply require stronger adhesive and attention.

Day 16

My sophomore choir tour trip was to Washington DC.  We sang our way through the Southern states and up into Virginia, traveling on a chartered bus and staying with host families along the way. 

Staying with families was one of my favorite things to do. It was also one of my most challenging. An introvert by nature, I was always extremely anxious about which family my roommate(s) and I would end up with. At the bare minimum, you always hoped the church screened its families well enough that you didn't end up with some psycho or filthy hoarder.  But those chances being extremely low, I just hoped for people who I could feel relaxed around and get to know fairly easily. Ok, honestly?  I hoped for a family that would say "Here's your room... See you in the morning!" 

But in spite of my initial worry, most of the time we ended up with gracious hosts who we chatted with into the night.  Those experiences of staying with host families overnight were great times of growth and getting to know people outside of our small town and our comfort zone. I wouldn't trade it at all. 

Once in Washington, we toured the monuments, sang and played handbells in the rotunda of the Senate building, and even watched a classmate take the plunge into the Reflection Pool on a date (yes, that might get you arrested in today's world... but it got him 20 bucks!). 

We spent a couple of days or so enjoying the city. It was a different Capital back then. We were allowed to tour at our leisure in small groups with occasional check-ins, with the only stipulation being that we didn't ride anywhere on the Metro subway. 

It was a great time with friends... both old and new. 

Fact:  It is possible to make it from the Metro stop near the Lincoln Memorial to the Pentagon, get off, walk around, and get back between check-ins. 

Day 15

I made a “C” in Driver’s Ed.

We were lucky enough to have it taught at my high school for a term during our freshman year, so we didn’t have to take it from an outside agency on our own hours or our own dime.

However, this meant two things:  one, it was taught by a coach and two, you were with all of your friends.  That was a dangerous combination, especially in a small town small school.  Classroom lectures were filled with laughter and sarcasm, and driving hours included practical jokes and stops for ICEE’s.  Believe it or not, we all learned to drive quite well and responsibly in spite of it all.

That “C” was always the black mark on my high school record. Though thankfully it didn’t count on my transcript and has always been kind something to joke about.  But the truth is that my Driver’s Ed term occurred during the same school year as the death of my mom.  All of my grades suffered then, because... well, you know.

Sometimes people do things we don’t understand or act a certain way that may be out of character simply because we don’t know the backstory.

Day 14

My mom had died two hours earlier, after a fierce seventeen-month fight against oral melanoma.  I was 14.  

It was about 5pm. People were starting to come and go. Food was beginning to flow into the house. 

I had already been out in the driveway shooting baskets. That was my typical method of dealing with things: stress, anger, excitement, indecision, sadness, you name it. Now I had moved my party of awkward grief inside to the piano, my next favorite outlet.

I had been sitting there ten, maybe fifteen minutes.  Playing a little, then just staring blankly through the lines of music.  Playing some more, then staring.  I heard someone walk up behind me.

It was Richard, my youth minister.  He didn’t say anything.  He just sat down beside me on the piano bench, put his arm around me, and stayed there.  I honestly don’t remember how long we sat there.  It was quite a while.  I do remember that neither of us spoke a single word.  There were tears and sniffles.  At some point, he hugged me, told me he loved me, and left.

The gift of presence.  It made all the difference in my world that day.

Day 13

We lost almost all of our games during our ’78-’79 Jr. High basketball regular season.  Let’s just say our team was a little light on 8th graders… one to be exact.  

However, when it came time for the state tournament, there were two tournaments.  A 7th grade championship and an 8th grade championship.  We entered the 7th grade one.  (I’ve never quite gotten past how unfair that was to 8th-grader Judy, but…)

Since we had been playing tougher upperclass competition all year long, we were ready.  We advanced into the quarterfinals fairly quickly before the competition stiffened.  After winning a close game at THCA in Shreveport, we travelled to central Louisiana for the championship game.

The score went back and forth.  It was a tie game just as time was running out.  The ball was passed to me.  I was at the top of the key.  I shot the ball and watched.  The buzzer sounded.

It went in!!

Sometimes the defeats in our lives prepare us for the victories ahead.

Day 12

My childhood wasn’t perfect.

But it was close.

I grew up with family who loved me.  I never went hungry or without clothes or a place to sleep.  I can’t remember feeling unsafe (except for those times when my friends and I were doing something stupid).  I had friends across the street and next door who were almost always around to play; and my church and school friends spent time at my house and I at theirs.  There were the normal ups and downs… but life was good.  And summers were the best!

I spent a lot of time at the pool.  Our girls age group was pretty darn good and won a lot of events and meets. There were five of us that rotated in and out of relays and enjoyed lots of wins.  I found my individual success in the breaststroke.  Coach Taylor was a tough, but fun coach.  Meets were exciting and happy times. Summer mornings consisted of practice, then I’d bike home for lunch and anxiously await the 2pm opening of the pool again for the afternoon.

My neighborhood friends played little league.  So late afternoon, I’d go with their family to the park and watch them and a bunch of my other friends play baseball.  Well, I'd watch the game a bit and play cup-ball in the sandlot a bit, too.  Mr. Jud more often than not took us to Dairy Queen for ice cream afterward.  We would jump in the back of the El Camino and head up Middle Landing.  If anyone happened to have hit a homer during the game, they would be there, too.  For a burger - compliments of Mr. Jud.

I also went to camp that summer.  There were 8 of us from Minden that went.  It was nice to successfully make the whole week 

and actually enjoy myself!  (I had tried the camp thing once before during the summer after my first grade year… I lasted until the middle of the second day before I called my mom to come and pick me up.)

When you’re a kid - good, bad, rich, poor, abusive, safe - it’s your world.  The only world you know.  Looking back from here. Mine was certainly a good one.  I was blessed.

Day 11

I almost wasn’t.

When my brother (born in 1958) was only a few weeks old, there was a fire in the old bank building in downtown.  My dad had gone up the ladder to fight; but when they brought him down and laid him in the street, he was blue and unresponsive.  Had Happy Turner not ripped off his mask (giving him the chance to be revived), neither my daddy - nor I - would be walking this earth today.

My dad served as Asst Chief for the Minden fire department for years.  His best friend and farm business partner, T.C. was the Chief.  While the department was a volunteer force, it had one of the highest ratings in the state and was made up of a great group of people.  Still is today.

In his closet was mounted a bell.  The big 8” alarm kind that you used to see in the halls of schools.  Whenever a fire call came in, it would ring the box number in our house, too.  Four rings, pause.  Three rings, pause.  Four, rings, pause.  Box 434.  The the chart in our utility room would tell my dad where in town to go.  

On my mom’s nightstand was a list.  Seven names and numbers.  Whenever the alarm went off, no matter time of day or night, the list was called.  No hello, when the call was answered.  Simply “Box 4-3-4.”  I loved when she let me make the calls... I felt so important!

But most times when the alarm sounded, you could find me running to the utility room.  I would grab my dad’s bunker gear (boots, pants, and suspenders - all in one piece) place them by the garage door, and wait. As Dad stepped into the boots, I would help him strap the suspenders over his shoulders.  As he walked out the door I would pat him on the back and then (as I had heard my mom say many times) I would call after him … “Be careful, Daddy. I love you!”

The actions we mimic almost always have a back story.  Learning it can be both helpful and important.

Day 10

So in the summer of 1976, my parents signed me up to play softball.  Small town, mid-70’s, youth sports was nothing like it is today.  The league was for girls 9-12 years old, of which I was the youngest. 

Our games were in the daytime, and my mom and dad both worked.  My collegiate sister was able to get some time off of her summer job to come watch me every now and then.  But I really didn’t mind not having anyone there to watch me play.  Really, I didn’t.

Why? I spent most of my time playing Right Field (where the ball never came).  And I struck out.  Every single at bat.

Except once.  I walked.  Once.

At the end of the season, they handed out three individual awards on our team.  Much to my surprise, I won my first trophy.  Best Sport Award.

No matter your performance, how you respond does matter.

Day 9

Most days, you could find my friends and I outside playing.  Whatever season it was - football, basketball, baseball - we were playing it.  And then throw in kickball, tag, building forts, chasing bad guys, fishing, swimming, you name it.  We also had bikes to get us where we wanted to go.  Or to jump ramps and play games.

One of our more dangerous games about this time was ramming the back tire of another person’s bike with your own bike.  It took some balance and moxie to stay upright, but the last one standing was the champion.  Our parents found out about our little game, and had instructed us to stop playing it - for obvious reasons.

A few days later, we were playing again.  Judson hit my back tire with his front tire and I went down.  A bloody knee and hand that needed a little hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, and a Band-aid or two.  I went inside the house, quietly tiptoed into my mom and dad’s bathroom where the first aid stuff was kept.  Startled when my mom walked in, I waxed eloquently about how I tripped and fell when I was running.

About that time, the doorbell rang.  It was Judson, who sheepishly apologized for ramming my bike.

Let’s just say Judson wasn’t the one who got in trouble.

The truth always comes out.  Eventually, 

Day 8

My sister graduated high school in 1974, and attended Northeast Louisiana University (now known as University of Louisiana - Monroe).  Two good things came out of this for me.

First, I moved into her bedroom.  It was much larger than mine, was painted sky blue, had a built-in desk, and its own bathroom.  And don’t forget the shag carpet!  You betcha I was stylin’.

Second, she let me come spend the weekend with her at college every now and then.  In her dorm room!  Now, I’m not sure how much she had to pay her roommate and suite mates to let her little 8-year-old sister invade for the weekend.  But it was definitely worth it to me!  Dorm life, cafeteria food, walks around campus… and a t-shirt from the book store.

Anytime we take the time to make memories with family, it’s worth it.

Day 7

I only had a paid babysitter once in my life.   

Across the street and down two houses (literally 50 yards away), lived my maternal grandmother, Mama Willis.  She was at our house most days, and for most of the day on those days.  My mom and dad both worked full time.  She would cook lunch for my dad (and mom when she was able to come home for lunch).  She obviously watched after me and made sure that I was safe, fed, and somewhat entertained.

On certain days of the week, she took me with her to her “meetings.”  These were gatherings at church with other senior adults.  I loved these times!  I got showered with lots of hugs and attention.  From when I was in pre-school through the summers of my elementary years, I would go and listen to their stories, their struggles, and of course, their adulation.

Mama Willis taught me how to love friends of all ages.  She also taught me how to shell purple hull peas. There’s no telling how many bushels we put away.  But my favorite times were when she was watching her "show."  As the World Turns was the backdrop for many an extended back-scratch as I snuggled up with her on the couch.

I didn't grow up hooked on soap operas, but I did grow up hooked on love.

Day 6

Believe it or not, I took 5 years of dance classes.  Tap and ballet.  And threw in 2 years of jazz just for good measure.

It all started in the first grade.  One day a week after school, my friend and I would gather our book satchels (as we then called backpacks) and our dance bags.  One of our moms would take us to dance class taught by Mrs. Cox.  

As Spring arrived, we ordered and received our costumes for the recital.  A different costume for each dance number!  It was so exciting… until two days before the big day.

There were these little red spots.  All over me.  And they started itching.  Really bad.

Yep.  Chicken Pox.

I ended up missing my first dance recital.  I missed the awards ceremony at school (although my dad proudly stepped in and accepted mine).  I missed the end-of-year class party.

My parents were my heroes.  But I learned during those couple of weeks that there were some things they just couldn’t change.  And now I know that as bummed as I was, it probably was just as painful for them.

Day 5

Some of my most favorite and earliest actual memories (and I know they're my own because there are no pictures) are of riding in the pickup truck with my daddy.  On the way to kindergarten on school day mornings, we would play the guessing game for when (or about where in our route) the cold engine temperature light would go off.  He would let me win most times, although now I know he always had a pretty good idea of when it would happen.

But the very best times were when I would go with him to feed the cows at the pasture on Bayou Avenue.  Because on the way home, he would let me DRIVE!

I would sit in his lap.  The gear shift was on the steering column, so he would do that, the accelerator, and the brake.  But I would get to steer!  From just across the railroad tracks by what I affectionately called the “stinky bridge,” by the old Minden cemetery, and all the way up to Pine Street, I would proudly place my little hands at 10-and-2 o’clock.  Focusing with all my might, I would carefully guide that light yellow 1967 Chevrolet between the middle and the right side of the pavement.  Then I would crawl back onto the bench seat and stand beside him with my arm around his neck, for the rest of the ride home to dinner.

It was only later that I realized his hand was holding onto the bottom of the steering wheel.  Even when I thought I was in control - or even out of control -  I was in good hands.

Day 4

I was one of the earliest beneficiaries of Sesame Street.  Susan, Bob, Mr. Hooper, Big Bird, Ernie and Bert, Oscar the Grouch (who was originally orange), and Kermit the Frog were some of my first TV friends.

Each episode was sponsored by two or three letters and one or two numbers.  Each time I watched the show, I would wait, watching and hoping to see if “C” or “Y” or “4” would be one of them.  Because.  Didn’t Mr. Hooper know my initials?  Didn’t Big Bird know how old I was?

You can only imagine my delight then, when on the same day, both “C” and “4” were the featured characters!  It was the best day.  Ever.

It’s great when dreams come true.  No matter how big.  No matter how small.  No matter how early.  No matter how late.

Day 3

The early years aren’t really memories, so much as what I remember being told.  There was a family trip to Arlington, Texas.  I think it included Six Flags as well.

Somewhere there exists a picture or a family movie of us at the motel out around the swimming pool.  At some point, I apparently took an unapproved leap into the pool.  Which was immediately followed by my mom.  Clothes.  Watch.  Everything.

Rescued, obviously I survived.  And my mom survived.  I’m not sure about the watch.

I was just glad to know that I was worth saving.