Paperback Writer

To be completely honest, I don’t need to blog. I’m not taking you through a Julia Child cookbook with me, or reviewing the books I read. I’m just running my mouth, well…my fingers, for your reading pleasure. If there is such a thing as someone needing to blog, then it is my friend Nicole.

Nicole’s life has produced some of the wildest, funniest stories. Her husband and her father are slowly remodeling her house, one room at a time. Every day is filled with dry wall dust and the frustration of not being able to entertain properly in a living room with three walls, or a kitchen with no countertops. In her e-mails, she vents with a well-honed sense of humor and wry descriptions.

Also providing fodder for great story telling are her three sons. There are seven-year-old twins and an almost five-year-old. I so regret not hanging on to some of the e-mails Nicole sent me when her boys were younger. There were tales of a trip to Sea World that led one boy to a deep fear of dolphins, the misadventures of potty-training boys in a bathroom with shag carpet, and trying to get all three looking and smiling at the camera for the annual Christmas photo. Again, each story was told with dry wit tempered by a mother’s love. Not only did she leave me laughing, but shaking my head in wonder.

The thing is, Nicole has always been an excellent writer. Going back to middle school where we met, writing has always been part of our friendship. Nicole’s mother, who was our language arts teacher in seventh and eighth grade, always encouraged us to write because she loved to write. (Another classic story involves a teenage Nicole staging a coup and wresting creative control of the family Christmas letter from her mother).

With a love of writing drilled into us, and with our ability to write encouraged, Nicole and I attempted to write novels during summer vacation. During our first few years in high school, we channeled our energies into writing each other notes to be dropped into lockers or handed off to mutual friends. Even in those notes, Nicole’s dark humor is evident.

There is no doubt in my mind that, one day, when her boys are grown and her house is finally remodeled, Nicole and her husband will find (and remodel) their dream house in Maine. It will be there that she will finally put some of her ideas down on paper and a much larger audience will figure out what I’ve known for 20 years—this lady is an amazing writer.

Running Just as Fast as We Can

Over on her blog, Katie has been sharing some wisdom from her grandmother. I suggested that Katie begin recording her own wise thoughts and sayings, but as she is a busy lady with a charming little son, I will go ahead and start the list for her. Here are some things Katie has said that have stuck with me, be it for their wisdom, their truth, or their humor.

On Sunday jogging: “We will start by running downhill. After all, it is a day of rest.”

On Philadelphia: “People in Philadelphia like baseball. I remember flying overhead thinking, ‘Man, that’s a lot of baseball fields.’” Special note: In October 2008, as I sat on my couch crying tears of joy for the World Champion Phillies, it was Katie who ran to my house, grabbed me in a hug and said, “I’m just so happy for you.”

Borrowed from her grandmother: “If you have the truth, you don’t need tricks.”

On motherhood: “I figure, if you’re not going to do it for the second kid, why do it for the first?”

On pastors: “We need to pray that our pastors would sense what we need from them.”

On humility (taken from our other blog): “And then, King Ahab, the one that Kings describes as the most evil man ever, humbled himself in the sight of the Lord. He turned his laughter to mourning and his joy to gloom and God saw and He changed his mind.”

On anger (also taken from the other blog and the book of James): “My sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”

I hesitate to post this tonight because Katie and I are going running in the morning and I'm sure I'll come away with some new gem from her. It is a beautiful thing to see how knowing God's Word and loving God's Word have grounded her in godly wisdom.

We're Better Together

In the past seven years, at least 19 teachers have passed through fourth and fifth grade classrooms at my school. I say “at least” because I honestly can’t remember who was in some of those classrooms back in 2005 or 2006. The important thing to note is that two teachers have never left their positions. One is, obviously, me. The other is my dear friend, Shannon.

I’ve always known that Shannon and I have a great relationship—in and out of the school building—but when I look at it statistically, I’m amazed. How is it, when so many people have come and gone, that the two of us have lasted?

Believe me, it’s not because we’re so similar. Shannon is a storyteller and a nurturer. I’m businesslike and direct (I save my stories for the blog). Organization is more my thing than hers (those who know us are laughing because this is such an understatement). While one of us is early, the other is last-minute. We balance each other out, and this is one reason we’ve been successful.

Another reason we’ve been able to survive some rough years is because we’ve survived them together. The best mornings are those when we can keep the door that connects our classrooms open. We’ll stand in the back of our rooms, maybe eating Cajun chicken biscuits, and we’ll catch up. I imagine this is what neighbor ladies who talk over the fences in their backyards do. Sometimes there are stories to tell about her precious sons, or I need to vent about some of the drama that inevitably comes with a tightly-knit group of girlfriends. Sometimes we’re forced to talk about matters at-hand: whose parents have a conference today or last-minute plans for a science lesson. We’ve often joked about doing away with the wall that divides our classroom. We are quite comfortable bursting in and out of each other’s rooms. If I’m being honest, I enjoy Shannon’s interruptions. Other people interrupt me all day, but only Shannon makes me laugh every time.

In the seven years since we started working together, Shannon has transformed from a single girl with a little dog and big purse collection to a minivan-driving, home-cooking wife and mother. You would think that transformation would cause our friendship to change, and it has. Shannon’s journey as a wife and mother brought her to know the Lord, and that has only made our friendship stronger.

Gotta Spend Just a Little More Time with You

There’s a woman in my church who opens her mouth and says insightful things. When men are leading debates at congregational meetings, she will stand up and speak with wisdom and compassion from a heart that is beautifully feminine. For years I admired her from a distance, until one day she called me and invited me to breakfast.

Having breakfast with Debbie would have been enough, but during our meal, she offered me compliments! She wanted me to know that she knew it must be hard to be single in our church, but that she saw me doing it gloriously. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Since that morning, I’ve met Debbie at her office (Panera Bread) many more times and I have been richly blessed by her example.

Whenever I’m meeting a woman with children, I assume five minutes of lateness per child (ex. a woman with two kids is usually ten minutes late). Debbie, though entitled to 25 minutes of late-grace, is always early for our meetings. Her five children are wonderful, but I have been particularly blessed to get to know her oldest who are in the youth group at church. They are polite, well-rounded, inquisitive and helpful. Her youngest only knows me as someone who visits her mother. When she saw me at VBS last week she told me, “My mommy’s not here.”

Debbie’s spiritual mothering extends to refugees in our community and to the women she mentors. It was Debbie who gave me the image of always having one hand reaching forward and one reaching behind—being a disciple-making disciple. This simple principle has really informed my vision for women’s ministry.

She is always busy, and yet somehow always at rest. Others are drawn to her. You may have to wait your turn to talk to her on a Sunday morning, or schedule a Panera appointment a few weeks in advance, but I assure you, a conversation with Debbie is well-worth the wait.

'Cause I Live and Breathe this Philadelphia Freedom

I’ve been posting about people I love recently, along with my friend Hannah. She posted about her dog the other day, which gives me the freedom to post about a place I love: my hometown, Philadelphia.

Since moving away seven years ago, I’ve told people Philadelphia looks good in my rear-view mirror. This is not to say I only love it when I leave, but to say that I love it more now that I’m not there all the time. Perhaps this is the case with anywhere you live and leave, but having only ever lived in two places, I’m no expert.

What do I love about the city that loves you back?

First on the list would have to be the food. You can find a “Philly cheesesteak” on the menu just about anywhere (here’s a photo from Galway, Ireland), but you can only find the real deal in the greater Philadelphia area. The secret is the bread and its minimalist beauty. Acceptable toppings are cheese, onions, tomato sauce, and ketchup. Please don’t put mayo on it and, for the love of Pete, don’t call it a sandwich. Having devoted so much energy to the cheesesteak, I will whip through the other foods I seek out when I get back for a visit. Water ice, Tastykakes (now available in many NC Wal-Marts), hoagies, and soft pretzels.


I love the pride my fellow Philadelphians display. To be of this city is to be proud of something. For some it is their ethnic heritage, for some it is a sports team, for others it is a family member in the military or serving in law enforcement, and for many it is a combination of all the above. The house where I grew up sat catty-corner from a “tap room” called Fatheads. When the Flyers scored a goal, I sat on my couch and cheered along with the guys in the bar. I seriously missed this while I watched Flyers games in Carolina this spring. I also miss hearing last names like Tagliaferro and Kasperowicz.

The Sheetz vs. Wawa debate has raged on around me for years. To that argument, I offer this: Sheetz does not provide fee-free ATMs, nor do you leave smelling distinctly of coffee, cigarettes, and the freezer case. All Wawas have the same marvelous smell and, throughout my adult life in Philadelphia, they were the only place where people consistently held the door open for one another. So, there you go, another thing to love about Philadelphia is Wawa.

Philadelphia is the perfect distance from the beach. It is far enough away that you feel like you’re getting away, but close enough that you can still stop at the Wawa, use the ATM and head out to get a proper cheesesteak.

There are drive-through beer distributors and elevated trains. You can drive over at least four bridges to get to New Jersey and you can buy clothes without paying sales tax. Local news anchors are celebrities. It is the only place to be on the fourth of July and it is the home of some of my dearest friends and fondest memories.

Baby, I'm Amazed

December mornings are cold here in Carolina. Heading out at 5 in the morning, there's probably a layer of frost on your windshield that has to be dealt with before you make your way to the gym. It's dark, most of the town is still asleep, but you're committed to exercising, and so off you go. Sounds pretty rough, right? Now, imagine doing all those things and being in the early stages of pregnancy.

When I found out Emily was pregnant, we had been doing 5 AM gym trips for months. I was certain that her baby would not be able to endure all the weight lifting and high-kicking we'd been doing. Either that, or he would come out fabulously sculpted. It is a joyful thing for me to report that Emily's baby arrived in fine condition early this morning--just in time for a run on the treadmill.

I haven't known Emily for too long, but most of the things I know about her reveal a tremendous inner strength. From her summer in Chicago last year, to her endurance of some awful teaching situations, Emily has shown us a spine of steel.

In a large group, Emily will come across as quiet and laidback. While I'm working hard to keep the spotlight on myself, she's working just as hard to avoid it. In the one-to-one conversations, though, she opens up and is full of fun stories. Trips to Europe and South America, childhood adventures in Maine, dogs who conspire to break one another out of the invisible fence. Adventure seems to follow her, or perhaps she has been following it all these years.

Today, with the arrival of her little guy, I suspect the greatest adventure of all has found her.

Come What May

Dear Little Girl on the Right,

You sure are cute, standing their holding that little guy’s hand. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to tell you what will happen if you choose to hang on to him for the next 30-some years. You might want to sit down, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Literally. You will be riding shotgun when he gets in a wreck. On another occasion, you’ll be in the back of a cab careening through midtown Manhattan, and your boy there will roll down his window and say something condescending to the driver of the car beside you. The cabbie and the other driver will exchange angry words, but you will arrive safely, albeit shaken, to your hotel.

There will be happy times, though. If you choose to take him to your junior prom (and I highly recommend that you do), he will make you dance. Not for one or two songs, no, this guy will have you on your feet all night. You will snorkel in St. Lucia and watch Madonna ride a mechanical bull in Las Vegas. You will spend countless hours sitting beside him on the Cape May beach, alternately engaging in deep conversation and swimsuit critiques. Your high school friends will love him, your college friends will swoon, and your co-workers will be charmed. The guy is social club soda; he mixes well with everyone.

He looks pretty harmless now, but you will have some of the most gut-wrenching, agonized conversations of your life with him during a long weekend in Jamaica. Your friendship will be so broken it will be a couple years before you talk, or at least until you talk about anything that matters. A time will come, though, when God changes your heart and when you miss him so badly that you will drive six hours to have another hard conversation. You will seek restoration and you will find it.

And then the fun will begin anew. There will be more weekends in New York and more time on the beach. You will see how easy it is to love the person he loves best, and a few times a month when you answer your phone, he will be there, saying, “Yeah, how you doin’?”

So, little girl, you have a big decision to make. Will you hold on to this guy? I promise, if you do, God will use this little boy, in his little blue shorts, to teach you big lessons about forgiveness, reconciliation, and love.

Best wishes,
Joy

P.S. Your mother believes your present look is the only hairstyle that will ever truly work for you.

You Cannot Lose My Love

This morning I sang a solo at church. After the service, many people stopped me and let me know they appreciated the song, but the person whose compliment mattered most was my dad’s. As he was getting ready to drive away, he rolled down his car window and said, “Great job, of course.”

For me, it has always been this way. There is no one whose favor I want, or whose disappointment I dread, more than my dad’s. I suppose all girls are hard-wired to desire their fathers’ good opinion. It speaks to our deeper nature, the one that desires our Heavenly Father’s approval most of all.

If a girl is truly lucky, and this one is, she has an earthly father who is a walking, talking reminder of her Heavenly Father’s love.



Expressing our love for each other in words is not something that comes easily to my family—I think we’re still figuring out how to do it well. But we have always known how to show our love to each other. Some examples:

After the Christmas Eve service, I would wait for my dad to close up the church and then he would drive us home by way of Jackson Street, the street known throughout the city for its over-the-top decorations.

Although he worked full-time at a car dealership and was the pastor of our church, my dad was still available to coach our soccer teams. I wonder if he regrets all those times he told me to be more aggressive…

When I was little, he would read to me from the Children’s Story Bible before bed.

When I was grown-up, my dad left his church, his job, his friends, and the city he’d called home for 50-plus years to join his children in North Carolina.

You Gotta Get a Little Mud on the Tires

Just outside the Philadelphia city limits beats the heart of a country girl. I don’t know if she’s ever ridden a horse, and I am certain she’s never roped a steer, but if you want to go country line-dancing or grab a bucket of peanuts at the Texas Roadhouse, Heather is your girl. Back when there were few, if any, cross-over country acts, Heather was dragging me to the Pennsauken Mart (may it rest in peace) to get tickets to the country radio station’s anniversary concert.

My feelings about country music have changed over the years, but Heather has been a near-constant since our childhoods in Philadelphia (refer to yesterday’s photo). I don’t know anyone more circumspect with her Facebook friends. She wonders, “How many is too many? Should I accept this person? How do I hide this person’s updates? Will it hurt their feelings if I do?” For Heather, you see, it’s about quality, never quantity. She is a friend and teacher who invests deeply.

I have a nickname for her: Nana Heather. Like a doting Nana, she will send me clippings from TV Guide that she thinks I will enjoy (Yoga with Bob Harper? Yes, please!) and she is quick to send cards for any number of occasions. She is a passionate supporter of Philadelphia sports and, one of these days, so help me, we are going to a championship parade down Broad Street.

Heather has been caring for me in small things like texts, greeting cards and magazine clippings since I moved to North Carolina. For those closer to home, she is the friend who will travel great distances to meet you, who will sit with you while you’re on bed-rest. She is the teacher who will stay late to watch your game, or who will spend her weekend on IM or e-mail helping you study for an exam. She gives out of a deep love for her Heavenly Father, and I am thankful to be her friend—Facebook and otherwise.

She Thanks Her Jesus for the Daisies and the Roses

Deciding to join Hannah’s blogging project was easy. Deciding where to begin—not so much. Very recently I’ve written posts about my mom and my brother and, with Father’s Day on the horizon, I’ll get to my dad this weekend. So where to begin?

Starting with the friend I’ve had the longest is not as cut-and-dry as one would expect. I am blessed that three of my best friends have been in my life since we were toddlers. I’ve spoken to each of them in the past couple days, but only one has recently had surgery, so she wins and gets to go first.


For her recent birthday, I wrote Judy a list of things I love about her—one for every year she’s been alive. There were items from every season of our friendship on the list. Some stories are family legend and neither of us remembering them happening, like the time we ate soap and then threw it up all over the dining room table at a Mother’s Day dinner. When we were in middle school, Judy would write me letters—like real letters with stamps—and when we were in high school we took water aerobics classes and lowered the average student age by about 40 years.

Our biggest adventure, by far, was moving to North Carolina in 2003. Deciding it was time for a change, Judy accompanied me and made the difficult process of adjusting to a new town much more bearable. It was wonderful for me to watch her find friendships and community here, all the while enjoying a roommate who was a great cook and who appreciated a tidy apartment as much as I did. It was heart-breaking for me when she moved back to Philadelphia, although knowing her family and how close they are, I understood. On the bright side, I can get Tastykakes pretty often and I always have a couch to sleep on when I return to the big city.

Judy and I have grown up together—literally and spiritually. After so many years, we have earned the right to speak unflinching truth to each other. Sometimes our struggles are really similar and we’re both flailing. Sometimes one of us is standing on the dock throwing the life preserver. It is a precious thing to have a friend who can enter my present circumstances, recall my history, and point me to the God we both know and serve.

About the photo: It was taken at the playground across the street from the house where I grew up. At the top of the slide is Judy's sister Heather (tune in tomorrow for her), Judy is in the middle and that's little ol' me at the bottom. Judy and I were probably 3 in this picture, Heather about 5.

So Many Faces in and out of My Life

This week, my friend Hannah set off on an admirable project--writing a blog post each day about someone she admires. When I first read about her project, I was dismayed someone in my circle had beaten me to the punch--for this is an idea I've often considered.

Being the generous sort, Hannah encouraged me to join the fun because we could "keep each other on track and talk about it." It seems like a good time for me to take on such a project. First of all, it's summer and I have time to blog. Second of all, I have committed to writing every day this summer in some form or fashion. Next, it will help the guests for my 40th birthday bash begin to get acquainted. And, finally, I will be pleasantly challenged to come up with song lyrics to match the wonderful people in my life.

Diggin' the Dancing Queen

I don't generally use this space for movie reviews, but seriously, run--don't walk--to the Redbox and check out The Young Victoria. The costumes are to-die-for and the story is engaging, but what really got me was (spoiler!) how this film portrayed Queen Victoria's courtship and eventual marriage to Prince Albert.

I love that the movie didn't make Queen Victoria a total 21st-century feminist icon. We get to see the queen's vulnerability--her desire to do good versus her inexperience. And I really love that the movie didn't reduce Prince Albert to a simpering yes-man. So many movies portray men as weak comic foils, or as raging tyrants, but this rendering of Prince Albert was...dreamy--for this girl, anyway. He respected his wife's role, but he was sure of his own role as husband and father. Part of the couple's journey was figuring out how to balance authority and leadership in the palace and in their relationship. I'm so thankful the film-makers didn't shy away from these issues and didn't try to mold the characters into our culture (like all those folks who keep trying to liberate poor Jane Austen).

All too often, characters in books and movies fall into archetypes: the cold-as-ice woman who demands perfection, the blundering father who can't do anything right, the trophy wife, the "Cat's in the Cradle" workaholic. Entertaining they may be, but very rarely do we connect with them. In this film, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were far more nuanced and I found myself relating to the queen until I had tears in my eyes.

A Pirate Looks at 40

At lunch this afternoon, I was showing my friend Tonya something on my phone. Noticing my phone's wallpaper she asked, "Who are those pretty people?" to which I replied, "That's my friend, Lynne, and that's the Phillies center fielder."

Driving away from the restaurant, I began thinking how amazing it would be to introduce Tonya, my special-ed teacher friend in North Carolina to Lynne, my special-ed teacher friend in New Jersey. If only there was an occasion for me to bring them together. In fact, wouldn't it be wonderful to get all my girlfriends together? And so I decided, as I drove home this afternoon, that I will throw myself a 40th birthday fete and I will invite all the women who've been part of the journey.

Judy and Tabitha, who share a birthday and the experience of living with me, can share a few laughs. Jerusha and Tracey can talk IT and blogging. Emily will lead us all in Zumba dances and will bond with Jessica over Red Sox baseball and collegiate life in central PA. Amy and Kristen, the pastors wives, can swap stories while everyone named Heather gets acquainted. Liberty can put faces to names of all the Thursday night ladies. I could go on and on because, in the friendship department, my cup has been running over for years.

It would be exciting for me to have friends from different seasons of my life under the same roof. I wonder if it would be as much fun for them--hopefully we'll find out in a few years.

How Do You Measure, Measure a Year?

At the beginning of the school year, when Target rolled out its shiny, fun school supplies, I treated myself to a $1 pack of Diet Coke pencils. I kept one of those Diet Coke pencils on my homework clipboard and I used it every day when I checked homework. It lost its pencil-cap eraser and it got shorter, but it hung in there for 174 days.

Yesterday, a student forgot to bring a pencil to class, stole my homework pencil and lost it. I think that sums up the kind of school year it's been.