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.