Joe

This post was originally published on June 11, 2009.

We got a new car last week. Yes, even in “this economy” people are buying new cars.

Of course, the car I was driving was breaking down on a regular basis and didn’t have air conditioning and the tires were bald and in order for us to take the road trip we’re planning for later this summer we’d have to RENT a car to get there and there’s NO WAY I’d sell it to anybody I knew. But, hey, we could have made it work for another year or so.

Anyway, I just have to say that buying a car is one of those truly distasteful little “chores” that I honestly hate to do. Good thing we don’t do it very often. I mean, it’s stressful, expensive, and just a little bit tawdry what with all the paper-sliding-across-the-desk and “let-me-go-talk-to-my-manager” stuff that goes on. It’s just icky. In my opinion.

But it had to be done, so B and I headed for the car dealer a couple of weeks ago to take a test drive. Now, mind you, the work had already been done and the deal was just about sealed before we even set foot on the lot thanks to the internet and my husband. So when we arrived we met a salesman who handed us a key and off we went.

The car was fine. The salesman wasn’t. All he did was say, “Turn here” or complain about his other customers while texting someone from the back seat. Truthfully, he was kind of annoying. Not engaging. Just basically there for the ride.

B and I talked about our salesman, Joe, on the way home. About how he never showed us any features of the car. How he never really probed to see if we were interested in buying. How he never SOLD us the car.

We were kind of annoyed that he would get the commission for selling the car that we already knew we’d be buying.

So the day came last week for us to take delivery on our new car (that’s car dealer lingo—don’t you like it?). I took Kate with me because I just didn’t want to deal with Joe by myself. Plus, I like taking Kate with me—she’s a great conversationalist.

I had warned her about Joe as we were driving there. I told her that I found him to be kind of abrupt. Basically, I didn’t have very much nice to say about him.

Joe met us at the door and showed us our car with the newly installed roof rack. Then he led us inside to start with the paperwork. He quickly rambled on about the sale, the numbers, and the warranty. I didn’t hear much of what he said because he was talking so fast. He flipped through leaflets and brochures and handed them to me with such speed that I just piled them up and thought, “I’ll just have B look at them later.”

At one point Joe had to leave us to go check on something. I looked at Kate, rolled my eyes, and said, “See what I mean?”

She looked straight at me and said, “He hates his job.”

“What?” I said, kind of startled at her abruptness. “You think?”

“Yeah, Mom. I mean, wouldn’t you hate this job too? It’s obvious . . . he hates his job.”

“Maybe so,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean he has to be a jerk about it.”

“You’re right, but I bet if you got to know him he’s probably not so bad,” Kate said. “Give the guy a chance.”

So we agreed that if we had the chance, we’d try to get to know Joe a little better. When he finally came back he explained that it might be a little while because a customer ahead of us was buying two cars for his business. There must have been only one paperwork person because we had to wait while they processed those two cars first.

Finally, Joe asked if we had any questions about the car.

Um, yeah, like how does it work? What are the features I should know about? Anything cool I should know how to do?

We walked outside and looked at the car. Joe showed us where our I-pod plugged in, that was cool. And how the back windows roll down, also cool because my previous mini-van didn’t have that feature. Other stuff like that.

After that, we went back inside to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

So, I dove into the deep end and asked, “So, Joe, how long have you worked here?”

And thus began a conversation that humbled me to my core. Because my daughter was sitting beside me proving to me what a jerk I had been.

Over the course of a mere 20 minutes we learned that Joe had worked at this dealership for four years, and that he’d been selling cars for two years. We learned that he grew up downstate and headed straight for the Marines after high school because his cousin, whom he idolized, had gone to the U.S. Naval Academy.

Unfortunately, during the first couple of years in the Marines, Joe was in a car accident that caused a broken leg in three places, had a Titanium rod placed in his leg, and also received a fake knee. Joe’s naval career had ended with that accident.

We then learned that Joe had dreams of becoming a lawyer, but that those dreams were temporarily on hold because the woman to whom he had been married and for whom he had put his education on hold so that she could get her Master’s degree had left him as soon as she finished school. Joe hadn’t even finished his Bachelor’s degree. He’d like to, though, and then go to law school. The selling cars thing was just helping him save some money so he could go back to school.

In that short time we also learned that Joe plays the cello—he’s been playing for 16 years. He’s going to play in the wedding of one of his buddies in September—Pachelbel Canon in D.

Joe also has a dog. A bulldog named Nimitz. We got to see pictures of the dog on his Blackberry.

So, you see, in just 20 short minutes (O.K., it was probably longer because we had to wait a LONG time for the paperwork guy) we got to know Joe. We learned that Joe probably does hate his job. That he’d for sure like to be anywhere but where he is right now, selling cars. We learned that Joe has a painful past and is carrying around a load of hurt but he’s trying his best to get it together.

When I was younger, my dad always told me that in order to win people over, you have to get them talking about themselves. Just by asking a few questions, you’ll get the other person talking about their life and they will think you are just about the best person EVER.

My dad also said that a successful conversation is one in which you never reveal anything about yourself, not because you want to keep things private, but because you got the other person talking about himself so much.

That’s kind of how it was with Joe. Sure, we told him a few things about us and our family. Kate told him about her finals last week and her college search process. But mostly, I think the conversation was a success because we got Joe to talk about himself. I would guess that most of the time his customers talk about themselves, seeing him as important as the paper on the wall.

As we drove away in our new car, Kate and I weren’t looking at the gadgets and gizmos sitting in front of us. Instead we drove away with a bit of heavy-heartedness for our new friend, Joe. We talked about his pain and how a life without Jesus is always messed up in some way.

I admitted to Kate that she was right about Joe. I should have given him a chance. I should have seen that there was a story behind his behavior.

But my selfish self got in the way again. That ugly part of me just wants to think the worst of people and not see them as broken, which most likely they are.

I am so glad that Kate took the time to teach me a different way of seeing people like Joe. My daughter, who is wise beyond her years, reminded me of something I should have already known—that people everywhere, no matter who they are, have a story that’s just waiting to be told.

Yes, I am a teller of stories. This blog proves that. But I hope that I will also be a better listener to other people’s stories. That will make me a better writer and a better person.

We Have a Winner!

Thanks to the few of you who played along yesterday. I had so much fun reading your hilarious comments! My favorite was Carolyn's who thought we were going to an Amish village. Really? My family at an Amish village? That made me laugh out loud.

Anyway, congratulations to Tammy who used Google and her knowledge of my family to figure out where we're going next week. Tammy guessed The College of William and Mary, which is one place we're going and the answer to clue number 3. The other two clues should have pointed you to the other two places we're going.

So, here are the answers to my clues. . . .

Clue #1 - No gum chewing allowed. This should have pointed you to the cleanest public transportation system in the country--Washington D.C. Metro. I've ridden the Metro before, and I have to say, it's pretty nice compared to, say, the London Tube. There's even carpet on the floor of the trains! They couldn't keep it that nice unless they enforced strict rules of no eating, no drinking, and no gum chewing.

Clue #2 - Three on your head. This should have made you think of a tri-cornered hat which is the ever-popular fashion statement in Colonial Williamsburg, VA. We'll be going back in time to before our country was founded to see how they lived back then. None of us have ever been to Williamsburg before, but I've been assured by many friends that we will enjoy our day there. We're a little skeptical, so I'll let you know.

Clue #3 - 1693. This is the year that the College of William and Mary was founded. Yes, we were still under the rule of England at that time, so this place is OLD. In fact, it's the second oldest college in the country. Tammy used her great powers of observation to note that we have a child who is looking at colleges right now and W&M is near the top of her list.

This entire trip came out of a little power struggle between B and myself. (Who us? Really?) We both wanted to take Kate out to visit William and Mary, and neither of us would give in. Late last spring it kind of went down like this:

"I want to take her."

"No, I want to take her."

"No, I want to take her!"

"Why don't we all just go?"

And so, yet another great road trip was borne. Have I mentioned that our family loves road trips? I'll definitely have a Travel Tuesday post for you in a couple of weeks that should be lots of fun. With pictures, even! (I've been a little short on pictures around here lately.)

Next week I'll be featuring a few of my favorite posts from the past year. If you're new to my blog, you might enjoy a further peek into our wild life.

And Tammy, I may just bring back something fun for your little sweetie. Congratulations!

Let's Play a Game

School's right around the corner which means that we must get into that old state we call denial and take a vacation.

Last year, as you may recall, we took an amazing trip to Switzerland and returned home on the day before school started. Like any good mother, I sent my children off to school on the first day with an amazing case of jet lag. That was so I could sleep off my own jet lag without any kids around to bother me.

This year's end-of-the-summer-because-isn't-that-when-everyone-goes-on-vacation trip will get us back a couple of days before school starts and will not involve jet lag. Car lag, maybe, but not jet lag. Just even writing that makes me so sad.

Anyway, I thought I'd give you a few clues as to where we're going (which is actually two places). I'll be "clue-ing in" throughout the day, so check back often.

And just to make it fun, the first person who guesses correctly (who isn't related to me or doesn't already know where we're going -- Jennifer, that's you) will get a nifty souvenier from our vacation.

Clue #1 - No gum chewing allowed.

Clue #2 - Three on your head.

Clue #3 - 1693

Birth Order Blues

My in-laws spent the night last night. This morning, while enjoying a few minutes on the porch, we got to talking about their first-born son, my husband. J, my father-in-law, was telling my girls about how their dad paid for most of his college education, something we all agreed would be impossible to do today.

The girls sat spellbound as their grandpa practically burst his buttons telling them about how hard their dad had worked all his life. He even took his first job—a paper route—at age 8. He has since held jobs as a butcher shop cleaner, a grocery bagger, a park district worker, and then into banking. We regaled stories from college when, during our senior year, B worked 40 hours a week while also taking a full load of classes.

He’s such a first-born.

Now, my in-laws have every reason to be proud of their son. My husband. B works hard. He’s always worked hard for everything he has. I’m proud of him too.

But as they talked, Abby and I caught glances between us and smiled. We’re both middle children and, according to all the “birth order” stuff that’s out there, we’re not quite as industrious as those first-borns ahead of us. We like to take things as they come, which makes us more flexible and easy-going. It also makes us more independent (which, I have to add, my darling Abby most certainly is, and I would guess my mother would say the same about me). But would we choose to work when we could play? Ah, probably not.

Eventually the conversation turned to my own first-born, Kate. We quickly realized that she has held jobs for a good portion of her life thus far. She babysits, she’s scooped ice cream, and now she shelves books in the library. All before her 18th birthday.

She’s such a first-born.

This trait in my daughter became even more glaring to me this afternoon. As I sat with my computer, she said, “Hey, Mom. Why don’t you sign me up for the ACT test in September while you’re sitting there?”

Huh? She’s already taken the ACT test, and she did very well. So I asked her, “Why are you taking it again? You did fine.”

But “fine” wasn’t good enough. She wanted to see if she could do better. The middle child in me could no more comprehend wanting to take that test a second time than I could imagine flying to the moon. Why on earth would she put herself through that to get one or two points higher?

I’m such a middle child.

So I registered her for the test. But during the registration process the student has to answer all kinds of questions, so, of course, I had to ask her the questions.

“How far away would you like to go for college?” Less than 10 miles. (Just kidding! That’s my personal bias coming out, but we did have a good laugh about that one.)

“What field of study would you like to take?” What else? Literature.

“What’s the highest level of academic degree you would like to achieve?” I wonder if she saw my jaw drop to the floor when she said, “I’d like to get a Ph.D.”

Such a first-born.

How about you? Where are you in the birth order? I'd love to hear your stories.

“That’s What I Get for Praying”

Remember that line from the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life”? It’s what George Bailey said right after he got punched in the mouth.

I’m pretty sure it’s what I said after I took the phone call last Wednesday night.

“That’s what I get for praying.”

All summer, as I prepared to go to the She Speaks conference, I had been praying for several things. That my publisher meetings would go well. That I would learn a lot. That I would be open to whatever God had in store for me. That I would be obedient to whatever He wanted me to do.

Little did I know that my prayer would take a very interesting turn. . . .

Last Wednesday night, as I was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a few minutes talking with B after dinner, the phone rang. It was a woman from our church who had just heard that I would be driving to camp the next morning to pick up Maggie. She told me that a dear missionary woman from our church desperately wanted to go to camp to see her two children who had been there for two weeks, just like Maggie. Did I have room in my car to drive this woman to camp and then to bring her two children home with us?

My heart sank like a rock. I told my friend from church that I’d think about it and call her back, and immediately my mind began to conjure up every possible objection I could think of.

I had planned to take Abby with me on the seven hour drive to camp and was really looking to the time alone with her. Seems like we don’t get much time alone these days. I also knew that I would be driving one of Maggie’s friends home and really wanted some time to talk to the girls about their time at camp.

I didn’t even know this woman. I knew who she was, and I also knew that she didn’t speak English well. This would be a struggle.

And where would she stay? Had she thought about that? I mean, really. How do you just decide on a whim that you’d like to go pick up your kids at camp without doing the necessary planning?

But I did a mental assessment of the seats in my car and realized that I had just enough seats left—three—to accommodate this woman and her children. And I also knew that our hotel room had two queen sized beds in it—Abby could sleep with me.

B and I talked it over for a few minutes. Well, I talked; he stared at me. Finally in utter frustration I cried, “Why are you staring at me?!” He just calmly replied that he knew I knew what to do.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do it! I don’t want to have to force conversation for two days. I want time alone with my own children, not someone else’s. I don’t want to do this!” I think I may have even clenched my fists and stomped my foot.

And then I picked up the phone and told my friend I would do it.

Sometimes you just know you have to be the answer to someone else’s prayer, and this was one of those times for me. But I also knew that she was the answer to mine: “Whatever you want, Lord. I’ll do it.”

This is a test. This is only a test.

Yeah, I get it.

So last week I stretched myself yet again and drove a complete stranger seven hours up to camp to pick up our children. And I welcomed her into my hotel room for a night. And I picked up her two children (who happened to be delightful) and drove them home.

Sometime during our drive home I asked her how she had met her husband and she laughed, saying that it was a very long story. “Well, we’ve got nothing but time!” I told her as I pointed to the road and the six hours of driving in front of us. And so she began the most interesting tale of growing up in Ethiopia, attending dental school in Russia, meeting her husband through the mail (!), moving to Sweden with him, and finally landing in the United States. It is the most amazing tale of trusting God to lead and of being willing to be obedient to Him.

I was fascinated. The story teller in me just listened (carefully, as I had a bit of a hard time understanding everything she was saying to me) and tried to take in the magnitude of how God led this woman all over the world, literally. A couple of times I think I even had to remind myself to concentrate on the road because I was concentrating so hard on her story.

The time flew, and pretty soon we were pulling into her driveway. Her kids jumped out, happy to be home, and she and I hugged. I felt like I had made a new, special friend.

So what did I learn? I learned that obedience isn’t always easy, and sometimes it’s pretty darn hard, but that there is a blessing in knowing you’ve done the right thing. And I also think there’s a certain joy that God gives you when you’ve done what He asked. I know I got a real kick out of hearing her story.

That’s what I got for praying.

Hello! Is It Me You're Looking For?

No, not Lionel. Me! The Wild Mom. I know I've been out of commission here for a few days.

But I have an explanation in several parts. You're surprised, I know.

First, just from sheer exhaustion from She Speaks, I took my time collecting my thoughts and put up two pretty informative and powerful posts if I do say so myself. And I intended to opine even further, but my week got away from me as some weeks do. Maybe this week I'll have more to share on the conference, but no guarantees. I think I've given you quite enough to chew on for now.

Second, remember how we take care of a home for missionaries? Remember how last summer I very nearly killed myself taking care of that home for missionaries? And how my friends came to my rescue? Well, the people who were living there this past year moved out last week--just as I was leaving for She Speaks. I didn't even think about the home while I was gone, and then suddenly on Monday I slapped myself in the forehead and said, "Oh my gosh, I have people coming soon!" So I spent a good portion of the week running around buying some new things for the house, arranging to have carpets cleaned, and meeting with the repair man.

Really, the furlough home isn't much of a hassle at all until you have to transition from one family to another. Or if your family happens to call you in the middle of a snowstorm to tell you that their carbon monoxide detector is going off and what should they do? Other than that it's smooth sailing.

Third, I got two of my chickadees back last weekend, but I still had one to go. Maggie was still at camp, and I thought it might be a good idea to go collect her this week. I'm sure those counselors didn't want to keep her there when all the other campers had gone, although she does tell a funny story, or so I've been told, so she might have provided some fun entertainment. So on Thursday I headed up to the Northwoods. Oh, it's so beautiful there. Every time I go up to camp I kick myself for not spending a few extra days putting my feet up on a dock next to a lake. And every year I say, "Maybe next year."

Maybe next year.

Anyway, this year's trip to the Northwoods was more eventful than usual. Don't you know I'll have a post about that coming up very soon. I promise.

Fourth, have I mentioned that missionary furlough home? My people arrive today and it's 95 degrees outside at 8 a.m. (not that that matters at all, but I thought I'd throw it in for dramatic effect). I'm pretty much done with the house, but I did spend a good amount of time there yesterday.

Fifth, "Julie and Julia" opened this weekend and I can't wait to see it so I think I'll do that tonight.

O.K., so are you caught up with my life now?

Exhaustion + missionary housing + collecting kiddos in WI + lifeingeneral = no blogging.

I do love you and will try to do better next week. Except that we will be getting ready for vacation and having my in-laws come for a night this week.

Life. It's a party, huh?

What I Learned at She Speaks, Part 2

I cannot even count the number of papers I’ve graded over the years. Hundreds, for sure, if not thousands.

And every time I picked up a paper to be graded I thought to myself, “Just give this student something, even if it’s one thing, that will help her become a better writer.” I truly thought of the comments I wrote on students’ papers as teaching tools and an important part of my job.

Unfortunately, not all my students thought of my comments that way. I remember one guy in my class who got a pretty bad grade on one of his papers—I think it was a D. (Hey, I’m no pushover as a teacher, let me tell you.) So this student asked me if he could stay after class to talk about his grade and his paper. I spent 30 minutes after class with this student, walking him through his paper line by line, word by word, comma by comma, explaining what he had done wrong and what he could do to make his paper better.

When I had finished what I thought was a pretty thorough analysis of his paper, he looked at me and simply said, “So what if I just don’t agree with you?”

What?! Are you kidding me? I have just spent 30 minutes with you and you just don’t agree with me? I’ll be honest, I wanted to throttle the kid.

Talk about not being teachable.

But for every student like that I had ten who really wanted to learn how to improve. Those were the students who took advantage of my rewrite policy—they could rewrite any paper they wanted and I would take the higher grade of the two. Pretty lenient, I’d say. Sometimes students would get higher grades, sometimes not. It was those who really made the effort to make their writing better who improved and did well in my class.

Believe me, I know how difficult it is to get a paper back and to read, “Expand here” or “Frag” (ugh) or “Try this . . . .” I have seen students’ faces fall as they read my comments; students who had entered my classroom hopeful that day sometimes left defeated.

Did I like being the bearer of bad news? No. Would it have been easier to just give everyone an A and call it a day? Sure. But would that have made me a good teacher? Absolutely not.

Now, my students always had a chance to get even with me at the end of the semester when they filled out the dreaded evaluation form. I remember the first couple of semesters, getting those evaluations back and feeling crushed. Like I hadn’t done one thing right. I questioned my own intelligence, and I often wondered who I thought I was to actually think I could teach college students.

But after a while I came to realize that people have baggage. We all do. We bring to the table all of the junk from our morning or from our childhood or from our church. When receiving comments, we often forget to take them in the spirit the comments were intended; rather, we bring all our insecurities and our dislikes and our past failings and pile them into the reading of one simple sentence.

And when I realized that, reading evaluations became much easier. Sure, someone in the class might have wanted me to have devotions before every single class (probably because it took up five or ten minutes of teaching time!), but someone else might have preferred that I not try to impart anything spiritual to the act of writing. I suddenly realized that I am never going to please everyone. I only need to please the One who matters.

All of us who attended She Speaks this past weekend, myself included, brought baggage with us . . . and I don’t mean the kind with wheels. We all brought insecurities, deep hurts, past failings. And we also came with great expectations. Expectations of gaining new blog readers or of getting a speaking gig or maybe even of getting published.

What I learned this weekend was that sometimes our expectations and our baggage can collide in a big way, leaving us hurt, dejected, downcast.

Before I left for the weekend I knew this could be a problem for me so I prayed for a teachable spirit. Thankfully, God answered that prayer so that when my second publisher meeting didn’t go so well (AT ALL), it didn’t bother me. I just asked the editor some questions, learned a little something about their publishing house, and went on my merry way. Believe me, that would not have happened a few months ago. If I had not prayed about this, I know that my own tendency would have been to feel crushed, defeated, disheartened.

So what did I learn this weekend? I learned that, for me, my expectations need to be set low so that I don’t get disappointed (that’s baggage in case you didn’t recognize it). I also learned that I need to be careful with the people around me who might have bigger expectations than I do.

Mostly, I learned to pray for a teachable spirit. It made all the difference for me this weekend.

What I Learned at She Speaks, Part 1

I went into my She Speaks weekend feeling just slightly intimidated. I felt like God was nudging me out of my comfort zone—He has been for a while—but this was way, way out. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend an entire weekend with a group of type-A women who had written books and spoken to big groups and who have actual readers on their blogs. All things I don’t do or have.

But I went, primarily out of obedience, and I was blessed. My spirit was revived and I left feeling absolutely peaceful about what had taken place.

This week I’m going to be writing about a few things I learned at She Speaks. Today’s lesson: A little kindness goes a long way.

Like I said, I knew NO ONE going into this weekend. Sure, I had met a couple of people through blogging, online, but that’s not the same as getting to know them in person. So when I got off the plane in Charlotte I took a deep breath and thought, “Well, here I go.”

I had to find a shuttle to get to the hotel, and as soon as I walked outside I saw a group of well-dressed women standing around talking and laughing. They could not have been sweeter as I introduced myself. I had a great time talking to Amy and Lisa (who doesn’t have a blog but hopefully will soon) in the shuttle on the way to the hotel.

As I was walking through the lobby to check into the hotel, I heard someone shout, “Shelly!! There you are!” I turned around and saw Jo-Lynne walking toward me with her arms out to give me a big hug. She had recognized me from my picture right here on ye old blog. Friends, I cannot tell you what that meant to me. First of all, I was scared, so to have someone reach out to me like that was a welcome relief. Second, Jo-Lynne is a rock star in the blogging world (I know this because she's listed in my Mom Agenda under "Mom Blogs") and I am the dung on a circus elephant’s toenail, so to have someone like her greet me so warmly was just like handing me a warm towel fresh out of the dryer and wrapping me up in it. Such a blessing.

Jo-Lynne and I chatted for a few minutes and she immediately invited me over to meet a couple of other bloggy rock stars: Tina (Antique Mommy—she’s over on my right sidebar) and Dawn. They were all heading out to lunch, so they invited me and my new friends from the shuttle to come along. Just like that I felt embraced and a part of things. It was just beautiful.

I have to tell you, that was not an isolated incident. Wherever I went I met people who were genuinely interested in me. Asking questions. Looking me in the eye. Commenting on my dress (can I tell you that I enjoyed that just a little?). Seriously, though, it is rare to find people who are genuinely interested in you and your success.

And then there’s Lysa. Dear, sweet Lysa. She’s not only a rock star, she’s a real person. I counted more than three times that she stopped and made a point to come over to me to see how I was doing. Me. Little old me. Now, I’ve met Lysa a few times, but to tell you the truth, we’ve never had an extended one-on-one time of conversation—she’s much too busy for that, and I don’t fault her for that at all. But she calls me her friend, and that means so much to me. She’s the real deal, that Lysa.

My weekend was bookended by kindness. Jo-Lynne provided the front bookend, and Leslie provided the back bookend. As I was leaving the hotel, dragging my suitcase behind me, I passed a woman in the hall and we exchanged glances. Suddenly she came over to me and said, “I feel like I have to meet you. I’ve seen you so many times this weekend, and I feel like I know you. Do we know each other?” Turns out we didn’t, but we had a couple of things in common. Like, she lived in Florida and I’m here in Illinois. You know, the usual stuff. (Just kidding!) No, Leslie has two daughters, just about the same ages as two of mine. She knew someone from Wheaton. But here’s the cool thing . . . that someone would take the time to say, “I think I’d like to meet you,” and then actually act on it.

As I write this post I’m deeply convicted. I attend a big church full of type-A women who can sometimes feel threatening to me. I feel like that circus elephant’s toenail dung so often as I walk through the hallways, wondering what I have to offer. But then I wonder . . . how many other women at my church feel like that too? And what can I do to foster an atmosphere of genuine warmth and good-cheer among ourselves, right where we are?

Before we left for She Speaks, we were encouraged to get rid of our sense of competition for the weekend. To just treat one another as beloved sisters and to encourage each other in our calling. That truly was the spirit of the weekend, and it felt rare to me. Special. And you know what? It works!

I hope that I can learn from that and transfer that feeling of encouragement to the women at my church. I would love for our huge Women’s Bible Study that meets on Wednesday mornings to be a place where women could open up, be real, be inviting, and NOT be competing. And I hope that can start with me.

Stay Tuned . . .

Ahhhhh. That's me breathing a sigh of relief and contentment to be back home from She Speaks in North Carolina.

"Where's the post?" That's you wondering where my She Speaks update is.

Well, wouldn't you know, there's a story here. The post is forthcoming. I actually wrote it this morning on my laptop. It's sitting downstairs on the kitchen table.

But, true to form, I did something stupid this weekend. I dropped my laptop in the airport. Kerplunk! Actually, it was perched in my bag on top of my suitcase and it fell off, so I didn't so much drop it as I wasn't attentive enough to it.

At any rate, my laptop seems mostly fine, but I can't get my wireless connection to work, so I'm on the kids' computer right now.

And between that little glitch and getting caught up with my daughters whom I haven't seen for over a week and my husband whom I missed and Amy who was out of town when I left, life's just a little busy right now.

All that to say that if you're here looking for a She Speaks post, PLEASE come back later today. I have to re-type the whole thing on this computer and it may take a while, but I hope to have it up later today.

Until then, I'm off to spend time with my friend and my girls. See you later!

Beautiful Nail

First of all, if you haven't seen the video I'm going to link up to at the end of this post, be sure you go see it. You will laugh so hard!

But first I just have to tell you this story.

Now, I'm not much of a girlie girl (don't ANYONE say anything now!), and I don't get regular mani/pedis, but I'm going out of town tomorrow and I desperately needed someone to scrape the crud that's been growing on the bottom of my feet this summer. Nice image, huh?

Now, the nail place I go to is kind of hit or miss with me. Sometimes I get a fantastic pedicure, other times not so much. But the last time I was there I got a newish (that's new-ish, not Jewish or fewish or pewish) girl who did a fantastic job. So I asked her her name, thinking that the next time I came back I'd ask for her specifically.

Her name was Tammy which inwardly made me giggle. (See video below for the significance of this.)

So today, when I walked into the nail salon, I marched right up to the desk and said, "Is Tammy available for a manicure/pedicure?"

The guy at the desk looked at me with this funny look, gave me a wry grin, then said, "Ah, yeah." Then he turned around and said something in whatever language they speak in there to the woman sitting at the table behind him. She kind of chuckled, looked at me funny, and replied in whatever language they speak there.

Now, while these two were chattering back and forth, I saw the girl who told me her name was Tammy giving a pedicure to someone else. No biggie, I could wait. So I started to leisurely look through all the polish to find the just-right color.

All of a sudden the guy tells me to go sit at one of the pedicure stations and another woman, who I know isn't Tammy, sits down to do my pedicure. She doesn't even acknowledge that Tammy is busy or that she'll be doing my pedicure today. She just grabs my foot and gets to work.

At this point I am so flummoxed by what's going on that I just don't say anything. I'm completely confused. What happened to Tammy? That totally is what she told me her name was. I remembered because of the video you're going to watch in just a minute. As soon as she told me I thought, Well, that will be easy to remember.

So, being the non-confrontational person that I am (don't ANYONE say anything again!) I just sat in the chair and let girl-who-is-not-Tammy do my mani/pedi. Because I don't speak whatever language she speaks and maybe her "other" name is Tammy too.

Whatever.

O.K., so that's today's adventure. Now go watch this video and enjoy a good laugh on me.

What Do You See?

Yesterday, as I was perusing blogs for a few minutes, I read one in which someone asked, "What do you see?" so I thought I'd answer that for you all today.

What I see today is an empty house because all three of my children are away this week.

I see a clean house because my husband and I don't make messes and not clean them up.

I see fresh sheets on every single bed and beds that will stay made all week long.

I see a computer I can actually get my hands on so that I can print out some things I need.

I see the bottom of my sink because it's not filled with dishes.

I see bathroom floors--they're white. (Who knew?!)

I see the bottom of the hamper in the kids' bathroom.

I see towels that are hung on rods and not thrown on the floor in a puddle.

I see a dog who just isn't herself this week.

I see grass that should be cut and weeds that need to be pulled and plants that are thirsting for water.

I see the note that one sister left for another before her trip.

I see photographs of past vacations and a brochure for one about to be taken.

I see college recruitment pieces that flood our mailbox every day now.

I see school supply lists.

I see my future.

What do you see today?

Oh Boy, It's Going to be a LONG Week

I feel like I'm living in the twilight zone this week. Everything is jumbled and different and strange and confused. Nothing looks like it's supposed to look. It's like I'm living in a black and white world that is supposed to be in color.

See, all three of my girls are away this week, scattered across the country from Wyoming, to the inner city of Chicago, to northern Wisconsin. I'm sure they're all having wonderful times doing what they're doing, but this week is really challenging me to put my money where my mouth is. I say I trust God with my kids, but do I really?

On Sunday afternoon, the first real backpacking day for Kate who's out in the Tetons with her youth group, our phone rang, and it was one of the leaders. Kate was having trouble breathing, experiencing asthma-like symptoms . . . except she doesn't HAVE asthma . . . and would it be O.K. to use another girl's inhaler? Ah, yes.

I found I had to really pray to steady myself, to go back to what I know about God in order to not worry too much about Kate. We haven't heard back from the leader, so I'm assuming Kate is fine. They won't have contact with the "real" world until Thursday night.

On Sunday, Abby left for a missions trip in the city. Before she left I made the mistake of looking up their location on Mapquest and found that she is deep in the heart of the "bad" part of town. Gulp.

So I've been praying--not just for her safety and protection (that goes without saying)--but moreso for my heart. Do I truly believe that missions projects like this are worth it to teach my daughter some important things? If so, I need to let her go, and I need to trust that God will take care of her. No matter what.

Yesterday, Maggie left for camp. The same camp where there are lots and lots of horses to which Maggie is highly allergic. Last year she was pretty much blowing her nose and puffing on her inhaler for the entire two weeks. But she insisted on going back.

And I have to ask myself, are the things she'll be doing and the lessons she'll be learning more important than her not feeling all that great during the time she's there? Most definitely. And she wasn't at all worried about her allergies. It was worth it to Maggie to go back to camp, so I need to trust that God will work out her situation too.

Here's what I know about this week. I have absolutely no control over what happens to my kids. Zero. I can't run out to Wyoming and check to make sure Kate is breathing. I can't put a fence around Abby and tell her to stay within the boundaries. I can't hold Maggie's hand if she gets sick. I just have to trust that they are all O.K.

But the funny thing is, if I really stop to think about it, every day of their lives is SO not determined by me, and I have little control over much of any of it. I have much less power than I like to think I have, that's for sure.

So, in this funny Twilight Zone of a week, things may be out of my control, stuff could happen--kids could get hurt or sick or worse--but I choose to believe that they are in God's control. And there is no better place for them to be.

And the winner is . . .

Congratulations to Emily at The Pilot's Wife who won the $25 Starbucks gift card! And here's the cool thing . . . she gave something away on the Blog Hop too. Except that her giveaway was something a little bigger and better than a $25 Starbucks gift card. She was giving away a thrill ride in her husband's airplane.

Yeah! No kidding!

Now, I'm no believer in karma, but I do believe in paying it forward, so I guess this is Emily's reward for giving out such a great gift.

Congratulations, Emily!

Welcome to the Blog Hop AND My Seven Quick Takes

Hey, I’m killing two birds with one stone today, and I sincerely hope that's not offensive--forgive my ignorance if it is. I’m participating in the usual Seven Quick Takes, sponsored by Jennifer at Conversion Diary, and I’m also participating in Robin’s Blog Hop. Try real hard not to be confused here.

Jennifer has us list seven random things about our week, and Robin wants us to introduce ourselves to new bloggy friends. So, in honor of both of these wonderful women who have figured out Mr. Linky and actually use him, I’m giving you seven snippets of information about me. Welcome to my Life on the Wild Side!

1. I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now, and I’m not tired of it yet. In fact, I love it! And the reasons I started the blog still stand today. I still, however, have very few followers, so if you’d like to follow me it would make me over-the-moon happy.

2. My tagline, “Because every day is an adventure” is so true! My kids get sick of hearing it, but you can see for yourself here and here and here.

3. I’m married to my college sweetheart, B. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have found a friend and partner like him.

4. I have three daughters who keep me on my toes. My oldest is looking for a college right now and reminds me on a regular basis that one year from now she’ll be gone. Believe me, I am more than aware of this.

5. I have some wonderful friends who also keep me on my toes. I am blessed beyond belief to have a small group that cares about me and Amy who feeds me.

6. Cooking relaxes me and makes me happy. So does Food Network. You can check out a couple of my favorite recipe posts here and here.

7. I enjoy giving things away, so if you’ve read to the bottom of this post and leave me a comment telling me one thing you and I have in common, I’ll enter you in my $25 Starbucks gift card giveaway. Just make sure I have your email address so I can get in touch with you if you win.

Thanks for stopping by and please . . . come again!

Make a Good Choice, My Friend!

I have a riddle for you today: What is sometimes frustrating, often corrupt, and always entertaining?

No, not parenthood!

Anyone who lives near me knows I’m talking about Illinois politics, of course.

We’re famous for corrupt politicians on the city, county, and state levels. I’ve actually heard that people won’t come visit us because of our nasty reputation. And I’m not singling out one political party over another in this—both parties in Illinois have their challenges in the integrity department, that’s for sure.

It seems that people who run for public office in Illinois tend to have an attitude of looking out for Number One, if you know what I mean.

Which is why I found it exceedingly refreshing to read about our Illinois Attorney General, Lisa Madigan, last week, who made the ever-important decision to put her family above her political career. See, Lisa is a go-getter. She’s been a pretty good AG, from what I can tell. She hasn’t been caught up in scandal. She’s basically kept her nose to the grindstone and done her job.

Which is more than I can say for some. Ahem.

Anyway, Lisa Madigan, probably because she has a pretty good reputation, was being talked about a lot in the media. It was thought that she could probably run for Governor or even Senator (to replace Winnie the Pooh . . . I mean Roland Burris) and get the job. Either one.

But last week, Lisa announced that she wasn’t going to seek either the governorship or a senate seat because, according to an article I read in our local paper, “To hear her tell it, she has a job she loves and a family, including two small children, she wants to be with.”

The article goes on to quote Lisa Madigan: “At the end of the day, I have a job that I am deeply committed to, and extraordinarily satisfied by, and not everyone can say they have a job they love, and have a wonderful family they love as well. So that’s how I came to the decision. . . . Obviously, I’m cognizant of the fact that we have two wonderful, little daughters, and I want to be around to see ‘em.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty much blown away by a woman who could have been Governor, or even Senator, who chose to stay in her position because of her family. I don’t have big enough hands to applaud loudly enough for this woman.

And then I think about the example she is setting for her own two daughters, and I think that’s pretty great too. She’s not saying you can’t be a mother and have a satisfying career at the same time. She’s not saying you cannot be fulfilled by having a family (she obviously is). She’s just saying that sometimes in life you have to make hard choices and, for her, that time had come.

Can you imagine people whispering in your ear, “Come on, run for the Senate. You’ll have a beautiful townhome in Georgetown and you’ll get to go to all the great parties. Oh, and you’ll have the ear of the president because you’ll be sitting in the seat he once occupied. Come on. Just do it!”

I don’t know about you, but for me the temptation would have been very great. Not so much about the senate seat, but the parties and the townhome in Georgetown would have been reeeaaal sweet. Just keepin’ it real here, folks.

I’m sure Lisa thought about those kinds of perks, and probably many others that I’m not privy to, and weighed those in her mind for a long time.

But then, I imagine, she looked at her family and said, “No. The time away is too much. I want to be around to see my daughters grow up.” And then she made an intentional decision that will affect all of their lives forever.

I wish more parents thought through the consequences of their actions and made intentional decisions like that.

Choices. Those are what we’re all faced with every day. Will we choose to put the needs of others in front of our own desires? Will we choose selflessness over selfishness? Will we choose to affect the next generation instead of worrying so much about our own reputation today?

I talked to my girls about Lisa Madigan’s story over dinner one night, and we talked about choices we have to make in life. I told them about how, after Kate was born, I decided to put my Ph.D. on the backburner because I didn’t want to have to pour myself into my studies and my baby at the same time. I didn’t have it in me to do that. Other mothers have made a different choice in that area that has suited them very well, but, for me, I couldn’t divide myself like that. Too hard.

My girls were surprised to hear about that. They asked if I ever thought about going back to school now that they are older. I told them, no, I didn’t, because I’m too old (!) and, to be perfectly honest, I just don’t want to work as hard as I’d have to work to get it done. I gave up that dream, and it was O.K. Really O.K.

Sometimes I think our kids have to know these things about us. They need to know that we have sacrificed some things for them. It’s not a guilt-motivated thing, just a life-lesson thing.

Because life is all about choices.

You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up

Warning: The tale you are about to read will make you weep. If it doesn’t, you have no soul.

Today was going to be a great day. It was the one day of the summer that I probably look forward to more than any of the year. It’s the day I pack my little darlings in the car and drive for a little over an hour to a blueberry farm where we get to stand in a field, pick berries, and sweat. It’s glorious, and it’s a tradition that we’ve held to pretty much since before Maggie was born.

Today was going to be the day.

But it wasn’t.

Oh, we left our house at nine o’clock this morning, alright. We drove down the highway. We even suffered through a traffic jam for about 45 minutes while singing “Mama Mia” hits. We finally made it to our destination, albeit a little late, but very excited to start filling our little metal pails with blueberry goodness.

But as we drove to the gate of the farm, this is what greeted us:



For those of you who can’t quite read the sign, here’s what it said: “We are closed until Monday, July 27. We finished the 1st pick and the berries need more time to ripen for the 2nd pick. We have large crowds.”

Every one of our jaws dropped as the realization of the situation came upon us. I very nearly drove into the ditch.

“WHAT?!” we all screamed at once.

No blueberries. No blueberry muffins. No blueberry coffee cake. No blueberry crisp. No blueberry pie.

The blueberry farm’s predicament was truly our demise as we realized that today was it. The only day we could work in a trip to the farm to pick blueberries. Next week, all the girls will be gone on different trips, so there was no chance we could go back.

My heart started to sink and sink fast. I knew we had to do something (believe me, the thought of parking down the road and sneaking into the berry farm actually crossed my mind for a minute), so we headed into the nearest town to the diner we always hit on our way home, and we ate lots of greasy food at 11:00 in the morning. Disgusting, I know. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

And then we headed home. Dazed and confused we were, and suddenly Kate realized that we (O.K., I was) moving through the five stages of grief.

Here’s kind of how it went down:

Stage 1 – Denial. “OH NO! This can’t be happening! How could they do this to us?” This was the point at which I contemplated hiding my car in the woods and sneaking onto the property. Who cares that I didn’t have a bucket in the car? I’d figure something out. I just knew I HAD to have those berries.

Stage 2 – Anger. “I called last week and they said they’d be picking for three weeks! They can’t do this!” My rational brain was completely gone by now and my crazy-out-of-my-mind brain took over, thinking of every possible reason I could have to take that berry farm to court. Don’t they know this is the ONLY day all summer that we could get out to their lousy farm to pick their scrawny berries out in the scorching heat?

Stage 3 – Bargaining. “They might not have enough berries for everyone, but maybe they would have enough for me. Maybe if I offer them a little more money, they would open the gate to just let my one little car through. We wouldn’t take too many. There would be plenty left for next week’s suckers pickers.”

Stage 4 – Depression. “You girls go ahead and eat your lunch and drink your milk shakes. I couldn’t eat a thing. I’m just too sad.” And on it went, throughout lunch and the drive home. Me, shaking my head, pounding my fists on the steering wheel (I guess that takes me back to the anger stage, doesn’t it?), and saying, “I’m just so sad” for the next hour or so.

Stage 5 – Acceptance. Truthfully? I’m not there yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be there.

I sure had different expectations for today’s blog post. I was going to come home and take pictures of the freezer bags filled with blueberries stacked up on my kitchen counter. I was going to bake a pie and show you how beautiful it was.

Instead, I’m sitting, still depressed, on my porch writing this sad tale of woe.

The saddest part, to me, though, is that we didn’t make it to the blueberry farm last year either. We were either out of town or too busy, so we didn’t go. And now this. Does missing a tradition for two years in a row make it not a tradition anymore?

Because if that’s the case, I’m sadder than I even was this morning.

Out of my Comfort Zone, Part 2

Back in March, if you were reading my blog back then, I told you about some growing I was doing. Some stretching that needed to be done. Some stepping out in faith that I felt I should do.

I told you about a conference I was thinking about attending called She Speaks. I told you about the challenge my dear husband gave me to send out ten queries to magazines to see if I could get published.

Well, guess what! I completed the challenge, and I got one magazine to say they'd give me a shot. (I'll have a story in the November issue of P31 Woman magazine, if you're interested.)

In less than two weeks I'll be getting on a plane to Charlotte, NC to attend the She Speaks conference. I'll be taking the speaker's track, so I have to bring two short speeches with me--one is a three-minute introduction of myself and a bit of my testimony, and the other is a five-minute Bible teaching time. I'll be evaluated by a group of my peers and someone from Proverbs 31 ministries. Yikes!

I have felt all along that God is asking me to push myself just a bit. To challenge myself to do something a little out of my comfort zone, which is why I signed up for the speaker's track. I mean, the writing track would be a piece of cake, right? (Just kidding!)

But I kind of thought, why not do something I never thought I could do? Thus, the speaker's track.

But I'm stepping out in faith in another way, too. The conference offered two 15-minute meetings with publishers while I'm there, and before I knew it, my fingers were pushing the "yes" button on my computer while my head was screaming, "No! No! No!" So for the past couple of months I've been writing a book proposal and learning what a "one sheet" is and writing an elevator pitch. It's craziness, I tell you!

And I'll tell you another thing. I'm terrified. Not like an I-can't-function-because-I'm-so-scared terrified. Just a little niggling in the back of my mind that says "You have to do this pretty soon" kind of scared.

For the past three or four months, since I started thinking about going to She Speaks, I have felt God's nudge in the small of my back almost every day. And just about every day I have taken very tiny steps toward a goal I never even knew existed and that I'm not quite sure is clarified in my mind just yet. But I'm trying, every day, to be obedient to what I think God wants me to do, even if I think He's nuts.

(Sorry, is it bad to call God nuts?)

Anyway, let me get to the point of this post. I've never done this on my blog before, but I'd like to ask you to pray for me. I honestly don't know what's up with all of this. I really like my life the way it is, and being shaken up is not what I'm looking for. But if God has other plans, I'm open. I'm willing. So would you please pray for my time at She Speaks and for my speeches and publisher meetings? Please pray that I would just be obedient to whatever God wants me to do.

Thanks, friends. You really do make my day.



P.S. I'll try to go back to being funny tomorrow. I'm much more comfortable there.

Sorry, Mom. You just knew this had to come out.

Did you hear the story on the news this week about NASA losing their very first footage of the first lunar walk? Yes, probably the most famous piece of video tape in history was lost, somehow, somewhere, by someone at NASA. You know,Neil Armstrong? "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind"? That one. Gone.

Thankfully they had made copies.

Even though it was kind of funny, in a sick sort of way, to think that an organization that big and that important could manage to lose a tape that significant, I had to empathize with NASA.

Twenty-four years ago I got a phone call from my mom, just a few weeks after my wedding.

"Shell?"

"Yeah?"

"I have some terrible news."

At this point, I thought someone had died, so I braced myself.

"What happened, Mom?"

"Your wedding video is gone."

Much relieved that it wasn't a death, I asked her what happened.

"I accidentally taped over it, and I've been sick about it for days. I just didn't know how to tell you."

After picking myself up off the floor from laughing so hard (I chose laughter over anger in that moment, and I'm so glad I did), I asked Mom what was so important that she just had to tape over our wedding.

(Brace yourself now . . . )

Oprah.

Yep. Oprah.

So this week, as I heard about NASA losing their video tape, I wondered if they've checked their Oprah footage.

Or called my Mom. Maybe she knows where it went.

Annapalooza

For you created my inmost being;you knit me together in my mother's womb.I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;your works are wonderful,I know that full well. Psalm 139: 13-14

They are the words no parent ever wants to hear: “Hey, Mom. Check it out. I’ve got this weird lump on my abdomen.”

And the diagnosis no parent ever wants to get: Cancer.

The life no parent ever wants to lead: Hospitals. Chemotherapy. Radiation treatments. Clinical trials.

But not for you—for your child.

The summer before her senior year of high school the daughter of my friend, Laura, discovered a mass on her abdomen, just below her ribcage. Very quickly, Anna was diagnosed with neuroblastoma—the most common form of cancer for infants, but extremely rare in older children like Anna. There is no known cure for this cancer.

What has followed has been seven excruciating years of clinical trial after clinical trial (traditional forms of treatment have not worked for Anna), hopes raised and hopes dashed, and a journey of trusting God no matter what the future holds.

Laura and I are Margarita Mamas—part of a group of PTA moms whose kids went to elementary school together. We used to meet once a month, after PTA meetings, but now we're lucky if we get together a couple of times a year. Life gets like that, you know. But boy, do we have fun! We’ve shared joys and sorrows, milestones and bumps along the way as our children have exited elementary school, survived middle school, enjoyed high school, and headed off to college.

Laura's news, seven years ago, affected us all. As a mother, I could only imagine many nights of crying out in fear for my child in the solace of my room or walking with shaky legs toward a hospital that will do who-knows-what to my daughter. It’s funny though, when we get together those are not the things Laura focuses on. Instead, Laura has chosen to focus on the good—the successful treatments, the shrinking tumors, the graduations and landmarks in Anna’s life.

And always with a smile and a laugh. Laura’s positive attitude is contagious and one of the reasons, I am sure, that Anna has done as well as she has over the years. In the years since her diagnosis, Anna has graduated from both high school and college, and now she has felt called to start a foundation to raise awareness and funds for neuroblastoma research.

As Anna mentions on her website, we don’t hear much about neuroblastoma because most of its victims cannot speak for themselves—they are usually under the age of two. But Anna feels that God can use her to speak for these children and to raise awareness of this incurable disease.

This Saturday, July 18, Anna is holding a fundraiser, the proceeds from which will go to support neuroblastoma research. She’s calling it Annapalooza, and it’s going to be great. If you’re in the Chicago area, I hope you’ll stop by Community Fellowship Church on the corner of North Avenue and St. Charles Road from 3-9 p.m. There will be silent auctions and raffles, bands and food. WGN radio celebrities will be there too, interviewing Anna. If there’s any way you can, please come on out.

If you can’t make it on Saturday, or if you live out of town but want to help, there are several things you can do. First, check out Anna’s two websites: annabanana.org and annashope.com. You can read all about Anna’s journey and about neuroblastoma there.

Second, donate to the cause. You can do that on her websites or by purchasing one of her uber-cute Anna’s Hope necklaces. I have one, and every time I wear it I am reminded to pray for Anna.

Which brings me to my third and most important point. Please pray for Anna and her family. She is certainly not out of the woods, and she continues to fight this beast of a disease. It’s got to be a struggle, but Anna is always smiling—you can see her warm and bubbly personality coming through on the video on her websites. I know that the millions of prayers that have been prayed on her behalf have uplifted her through this struggle.

This morning I read these words in the book of Daniel as Daniel was pouring out his heart to God for his people: “We make this plea, not because we deserve help, but because of your mercy.” I think this applies to Anna as well as all of us. Not because she deserves help (not that any of us do!), but because of God’s mercy, we plea for her healing and for her life. He has been so merciful over these past years--I’m sure my friend Laura would agree--and we pray for His continued mercy in the future.

God bless you, Anna.

Now go to Annapalooza!

Switching Seats

We’re creatures of habit around here. We just can’t help ourselves.

We like Trader Joe’s Free Trade Breakfast Blend coffee in the morning--black. I only use Tide. Every Saturday morning at 8:30, B takes the girls out to breakfast to the same little dive they've been going to for years.

And we sit on the left side of church, sixth row back. We used to sit in the fifth row, but that’s the wobbly pew, so we switched to the sixth row a couple of years ago.

Boy, did that cause a stir!

So, a couple of weeks ago, when Kate said, “Mom, why do we always sit in the same place at church every Sunday? Why don’t we ever sit anywhere else?” I started to get real nervous. A change was in the air.

Did I mention I’m a creature of habit? Change does not sit well with me.

“Ah . . . um . . . well . . .” I stammered, knowing full well what was coming next. I thought about giving her the explanation that we were really secretly Anglicans from the 1700s and that we had paid for our pew, but I didn’t think that would go over real well, so I just stammered some more.

“Why don’t we just try sitting in a different place next week?” she asked. Ah, the innocence of youth.

Never one to be called a fuddy-duddy, even though sometimes I really am, and always up for a challenge, I put on my most cheerful face and my most enthusiastic voice and said, “Sure! We can do that!” even though inside I was dying a slow and painful death and thinking that this would somehow go terribly wrong.

So the next Sunday, B and I were the first ones to "our" pew—sixth row back on the left—when suddenly I said, “Hey, remember, Kate wanted to try sitting in a different place this week?”

Oh. Yeah.

So B and I decided to move to the opposite side of the church. Sixth row back. (Come on now, you really couldn’t expect us to completely change our ways now, would you?)

What happened next was truly strange. It was like I suddenly became OCD and just couldn’t, for the life of me, walk like an adult over to the “other” side of the church. My stomach tightened and my palms began to sweat. Because what might happen to me over there? I mean, who are those people who sit over there? What if they don’t recognize us? What if they don’t want us sitting on their side of the church? What if they don’t like us? What if? What if? What if?

B pulled me out of my stupor and dragged me to the “other side.”

“Come on! This will be a fun experiment.” I wasn’t so sure.

Maggie had just arrived in the sanctuary, so we dragged her along with us. We sat down behind a family we actually know, so I started to relax a little as we got settled in, but as I looked around me I barely recognized anyone.

Oh my gosh, what if someone thinks we’re visitors?! How embarrassing would it be to say that, no, we're not new; we’ve been coming here for over 25 years? I desperately wanted to get up and run back to my beloved sixth row pew, but, glancing over, I noticed that it was already taken.

I gotta say, the service was weird for me. Out of whack. The music was dissonant. I couldn’t sing. I almost forgot the words to the Apostles Creed which is one of those liturgical beauties that I’ve been saying since I was about ten. Frankly, it was hard to concentrate on pretty much anything. (Sorry, Jay, but I couldn’t pay attention to the sermon that week either.)

And the coup de resistance was when the little boy sitting behind us did what so many little boys do—he let one fly during the sermon. And then giggled with his little sister. Since none of us were paying attention to much of anything except our new surroundings, we all had to try to hold in giggles too. What a mess!

Last week, as we drove past church one day, one of the girls said, “What a stupid idea that was.”

“What idea?” I asked.

“Thinking we should sit somewhere else. Let’s never do that again.”

We all agreed that we missed our beloved little congregation on the left side of the church. And while we love our friends who sit on the “wrong” side, we just can’t join them. Because they’re right. And we’re left.

And that's just the way it has to be.

Anybody else ever try switching seats in church? How did it go for you?