The Rest is Still Unwritten

I’ve been at the beach this week. While I sit in my beach chair, I think big thoughts. I ponder. A lot of things I think about are between God and me, some I share. As a result, my time here has not produced any fruitful blog posts. Before I leave, I will share some posts that I started in my mind, but probably won’t finish.

Public places where it is acceptable to pick a wedgie.
1. The beach.
2. Exercise class.

Why do families on vacation argue so much? Do they always argue, but when on vacation they just do it openly? Or is it the disruption to routines and sleep schedules that makes everyone ornery? Maybe sharing a small space for a week wears thin quickly?

In a related thought, I have overheard parents on the beach talking to their children in very abusive, belittling ways. I’ve also heard parents asking their children to do something five or six times and then giving up without the child responding. It makes me thankful that Shannon and I are able to get compliance from our students without shouting, begging or being unkind. But with that thought comes conviction. Let’s face it, a child being shouted at and called names at home is going to bring that baggage into the classroom. That child is probably going to need discipline and correction at school, probably a lot of it. Am I providing correction in a way that builds up the child, or tears him or her down? Am I correcting with kindness, or with the impatient frustration he or she gets at home?

Over the past few days I have been blessed to spend hours in conversation with some of my very best friends. The three who visited me here have been in my life since we were toddlers. Maybe it’s all the beach-sitting I’ve been doing, but I think of our friendships being like the tide. Sometimes, we’re really close and our lives overlap. Other times, the relationships recede and there’s dryness and distance. The good news is, these friendships are always there and they will always be there.

I'm Just Carryin' on an Old Family Tradition

Earlier this week I was cleaning out my pantry. It had gotten pretty disorganized in there and summer vacation seems like the best time for this sort of job. As I was tidying up I had a breakdown.

My dad’s dad was known for his stockpiles of stuff. When I discovered six unopened boxes of Crystal Light packets, three opened boxes of them, and enough canisters of Crystal Light to make 32 quarts of beverage, I called my mother and cried into the phone, “I’ve become my grandfather!”

I can’t drink a Dr. Pepper without thinking of him. My grandparents lived in Philadelphia, so we usually visited them once a week while we were growing up. One of the first things Dave and I would do when we got to our grandparents’ house was head for the mudroom behind the kitchen and grab a Dr. Pepper. There were always cases of soda back there.

If we ever got a toy or a game that required batteries we waited until we went to Pop & Gig’s house (that’s what we call them, go with it). Pop kept a box full of batteries in the back of the house (beside all the Dr. Pepper), so we would just raid the battery box and begin playing.

This year for my birthday, a couple of dear friends sent me a Taste of Philadelphia box. In it were Goldenberg’s Peanut Chews, a kind of candy my grandfather always kept on his kitchen table. If someone had handed me a Dr. Pepper while I was eating one of those peanut chews, I probably would have forgotten where I was.

Pop, and my father and I after him, could not resist a good deal. If he saw something on sale and it wouldn’t go bad, he bought it. But here is the thing about Pop—when he bought this stuff, I don’t think he bought it just to have it. He bought it because someone else might need it or want it. In the 16 years I knew him, I never saw him drink a soda and it wasn’t his Walkman using all those AA batteries.

Pop was wise about his money so that he could be generous. He bought shore houses for the family to enjoy. He and my grandmother gave Dave and me a weekly allowance. He bought me so many McDonald’s hash browns on Saturday mornings that I started to look like one. He would take us out for steak dinners and, during the meal, would ask, “Did you get enough to eat?” No matter how you answered the question, he would cut off a piece of his steak and put it on your plate.

As I think about Pop, and my dad, on this Father’s Day, I am thankful for the lessons they’ve taught me and for their tradition of stocking up. But if there’s an area where I really want to grow, it’s to learn their generosity. So if you need some Crystal Light, call me!

One more anecdote about Pop, unrelated to those above: A couple weeks ago while I was ranting about being at the shallow end of the family gene pool, my dad pointed out that Pop's genes gave me my singing voice.

Who's That Girl?

I have never been someone who sweats a whole lot. To illustrate my point, I will share the two times in my life when I can remember sweat rolling off my face.

First, the summer before eighth grade at basketball camp. We worked out in an old gym with a few oscillating fans to cool us. After a summer spent lying on the couch watching Dirty Dancing every day, my middle-school body was not used to such exertion.

The second occasion was the summer I worked at Sesame Place. A few times, instead of my regular character bodyguard duties, I was assigned to wear a character costume and walk around the park greeting children. As soon as the final snap on the Honker costume snapped, my pores ranneth over.

Even when I trained to walk a half-marathon a couple summers ago, I didn’t have much of a sweat situation (although one day after consuming a Power Bar Gel, I sweat salt, like “could put it on corn-on-the-cob” salt).

So given this history of sweat, I am increasingly surprised by how much I sweat these days—like good, roll-down-your-face sweat. This morning I soaked the bandana I wore to the gym. At first, I was simply going to add this phenomenon to the “30 Ain’t No Joke” list, but I’m beginning to think there’s something else going on.

I think this gym thing is changing me from the outside in.

The outside results are kind of easy to notice—old clothes are baggier, new clothes are smaller, I am, apparently, sweatier. The inside results are more subtle; I’m just beginning to be aware of them. One thing I’ve noticed is that this girl who never left the house in sweatpants will now go to the gym and then run errands. I have been around town in stretchy pants, bandana, pig tails and a t-shirt that says, “Happy Birthday, Peachy!” I’m using my blow-dryer less (and my clothes dryer, for that matter). I’ve joined Freecycle. I eat granola!

Part of me hopes I’m on my way to becoming one of those gangsta old ladies who does whatever she wants and is like, “What are you going to do about it? I’ve got newspapers in my house older than you are.”

But the super-self-aware part of me worries that this is just another phase I’m passing through. Today my feet prefer flip-flops, but wasn’t there a time they wanted knee-high boots? Today I’m wearing a t-shirt and air-drying my hair, but it wasn’t that long ago that I sought out Ralph Lauren and Clinique. (Who am I kidding? I still love me some Ralph!)

So I’ve decided to enjoy where I am, for as long as I’m here. Maybe the Joy-of-the-future will laugh at me some day, but I’m not going to sweat it.

It's Two Bare Feet on the Dashboard

Summer vacation is almost here. By this time next week, 10:00 at night will not have to be bedtime.

After receiving some good advice around Thanksgiving, I decided this would be my “summer of intention.” As I consider possibilities for ministry in my future, I want to know what it would look like to fill my days with conversations that are meant to encourage, support, and ultimately, point people to Christ. Is there a need for this kind of ministry? And if so, am I built for it?

These are the big questions I hope to chew on this summer. To that end, I am composing a mental list of all the things I want to do this summer. Here’s what I’ve got so far.

Note: Since I still have my teaching job awaiting me in the fall, there needs to be some vacation in the summer of intention; therefore, there are some fun things on here too.

Sit by the pool with my girlfriends.
Regularly meet with two recent high-school graduates before they head off to college.
Go for a jog/walk with Tracey.
Catch up with my long-lost mentor.
Read the ever-growing pile of books on my nightstand.
Visit Campus Outreach students during Summer Beach Project.
Go to a Phillies game (this could be tricky).
Buy an enormous drying rack for my clothes; use the dryer less.
Take a couple former students to the movies with Shannon.
Read, mark and inwardly digest the Bible.
Spend quiet days by myself, allowing the Lord to restore my soul.
Keep working out every day; add morning cardio classes to my regimen.
Miss my workout partner like crazy.
Have coffee and conversation with lots of people.
Try quilting, or at least find a quilting class I can try.
Talk about starting a multi-generational small group for women.
Facilitate the second meeting of the women’s book club.
Tell my story.
Visit old friends.
Be purposeful.
Build houses and friendships with high school students.
Swim in the ocean.