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Control Freak

June 2, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 0 Comments

Hello, my name is Rebecca and…

I’m a control freak.

Yep. Don’t judge. You probably are too.

Oooo ya’ll, I love me some control. I don’t even mind being at fault for a problem… just so I get to call the shots. Here’s the thing with that: You can’t really control things like hurricanes, divorces, failing health, car accidents… oh yeah and OTHER PEOPLE. You can’t control other people. This includes, but is not limited to, husbands and children.

Summer’s here, you know. My annual pit of despair opens its mouth yet again as I anticipate sending my big kids to Florida for a few weeks. Without me. Outside my control. Ugh.

Something’s different this year. This year I’ve decided to avoid the P.O.D (pit of despair). Not goin’ in.

God and I have had a few talks over the last few weeks. Here’s something that caught my eye…

JOB 37

14 “Listen to this, Job;
stop and consider God’s wonders.
15 Do you know how God controls the clouds
and makes his lightning flash?
16 Do you know how the clouds hang poised,
those wonders of him who has perfect knowledge?
17 You who swelter in your clothes
when the land lies hushed under the south wind,
18 can you join him in spreading out the skies,
hard as a mirror of cast bronze?

19 “Tell us what we should say to him;
we cannot draw up our case because of our darkness.
20 Should he be told that I want to speak?
Would anyone ask to be swallowed up?
21 Now no one can look at the sun,
bright as it is in the skies
after the wind has swept them clean.
22 Out of the north he comes in golden splendor;
God comes in awesome majesty.
23 The Almighty is beyond our reach and exalted in power;
in his justice and great righteousness, he does not oppress.
24 Therefore, people revere him,
for does he not have regard for all the wise in heart?[b]”

You know what? I’m not in control of what goes on with my babies when they are away.

Know what else? God IS.

Truth be told, I waste a lot of time and emotional energy trying to control the uncontrollable. Trying to make sure nothing bad happens. Trying to shield and protect and oversee. Trying to improve and revamp and adjust.

Yeah, God totally has it.

I think somewhere along the way I decided that my broken heart was evidence that God wasn’t quite able to handle my life. So of course it would be better if I took over. Right.

As evidenced by four miserable, depressing, sickening summers… that didn’t work.

This year, I’m leaving the control in God’s hands. That’s actually a joke because it’s always been there. Let me try again. This year I’m not going to waste my time obsessing and worrying about what God controls. He will be faithful to my children just like He has been to me. I’m just going to love my kids, be grateful for my family and enjoy my life.

Hmmmm…..

Now what kind of freak will I be?

Lime-life

May 29, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 2 Comments

It all started with three fateful words, texted to me by my friend, Janet. (That’s Janet, of butt blowdrying fame to any who have been reading for a while…) Anyway, back to the text:

Key. Lime. Pie.

From the moment I read the words on the screen of my iphone, I knew. I would be making a key lime pie.

To set the scene for you, about a week ago someone gave an industrial size bottle of key lime juice to my husband, the chef. I was thrilled. Overjoyed. I have a thing for key limes.

Just try. Try to think of something that doesn’t benefit from a twist of lime. I know! You can’t!!

Is that KEY LIME in those glasses?

Then over the weekend while walking through Walmart minding my own business, I happened to pass a sale on bags of adorable little key limes. What good fortune! Those would go perfectly with everything I intended to mix with my lime juice. So I bought them, of course, and some coconut vodka just in case.

Can I just tell ya’ll that limes are totally one of my favorite things God makes? I just love ‘em.

So I’ve used my juice over the last few days to paint a lime-ey ribbon through cocktails, homemade salsa, water, and tea and fed these lime laced labors of love to anyone who put their feet under our table.

And then of all things, Janet texts me about a key lime pie she was having and, not one to be outdone, I knew it was time for the pie. At first I got out my favorite cookbook, going for a “busy days pie” using ready made crust, whipped cream, condensed milk, and lime juice. Then I realized I had no ready made crust on hand, neither did I have whipped cream. A younger, sillier me would have given up, but nah…

I simply made my own graham cracker crust! It was easy! I have a three-year-old, so graham crackers are a given.

Then I went for a recipe I found here, and it too was easy. PLUS it still called for condensed milk and who doesn’t love that stuff?? I may or may not have dumped a little lime juice in the bottom of the can after I poured most of its contents into the mixing bowl and eaten the lime juice and leftover condensed milk with a spoon. What? You know you’d do it too!

Anyway, I also didn’t have whipped cream, but I DID have whipping cream. (There’s a difference.) So after I picked up my Mackenzie from youth group and while my darling little pie was cooling in the fridge, the whipping cream lived its dream… fulfilled its destiny… it got whipped.

Mama's piece of pie

So now I sit, alone, all others in the house slumbering peacefully. But I made a pie. And I ate the first piece. You know, out of good will toward the rest of the pie eaters that may come along, I willingly took the always-misshapen, difficult-to-cut first piece upon myself. Don’t tell, but it wasn’t misshapen at all. It cut like a perfect custard pie with all the preservatives in the world. You’d never know it was haphazardly homemade by a silly girl who is lime-crazy.

Limes, especially ones of the key variety, remind me of Florida. They have their roots, their history in Florida and so do I. I love a bunch of people in Florida so limes make me cry in a happy/sad/lovely sort of way. (What? You don’t cry over fruit that reminds you of people you love? Then I won’t mention the various levels of emotional breakdown I have over green beans, corn, home canned tomatoes or fresh navel oranges.) So I can’t have Florida (you know, the people I love that live there) but I CAN put key limes in everything possible and know that the salsa on my chip, the wedge in my tea, or the pie on my plate is smiling back at me, reflecting a little bit of who I am.

I love limes, ya’ll. And pie. And my mama and daddy. Lime Life is good.

Lime life photo by Caleb, age 3

All Natural

May 20, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 1 Comment

Around our house we’ve got a little trend going. We’re keeping things natural. We haven’t really talked about this. It’s not a bandwagon we’re on or anything, we’ve just been enjoying a lot of natural, simple things…

Local produce from Hollygrove Market and Farm.

Our weekly produce haul

Creole tomatoes growing in our yard.

Little Baby Creole Tomatoes

Mint Juleps with mint we grew ourselves.

My mint!

A new/old shelf from an onion crate found in the neighbor’s garbage.

Our new/old crate/shelf!

A made from scratch Mother’s Day brunch at home.

Mackenzie's Mother's Day Brunch

These days natural things are kind of rare. Natural foods, hair colors, clothing, body parts… they’re an oddity rather than the other way around.

My natural lips plus a little unnatural lipstick!

Even things that say “natural” on the label usually aren’t really natural at all. I’ve been thinking how the same goes for our relationships, with God and with each other. Natural, honest, calm communication is rare. What we normally experience is flowery, fake, frantic and fraught with double meanings if not all-out untruths.

Being part of a house church provides a very natural, basic way of expressing my faith. I find myself more and more uncomfortable with manufactured spirituality. My own included. Have you ever heard someone pray aloud and wondered if they really talk to God that way in private? Heh. I’ve wondered that about myself. There comes a point when the “pre-packaged” expressions of spiritual speech just don’t nourish anymore. Just like a wrapped granola bar can’t compete with a warm homemade oatmeal cookie, the boxed and labeled premixed prayers and conversations cease to satisfy a craving for true, authentic interaction with the Father God and His other children.

I’m not talking about prayers like The Lord’s Prayer here. I’m speaking of those expressions, fillers, things we say just because it’s expected or because we don’t know what else to say. I have a few pet peeves like using “Amen?” to ask for agreement or understanding, the “unspoken” prayer request, or asking an omnipresent God to “be with” us. You know the type of thing. Could be a figure of speech or just saying fluffy stuff in prayer or conversation with another person rather than getting to the real, natural expression of actual thought and concept. I’ll be first to admit that sometimes I’ve said nothing in prayer because other than platitudes, I had nothing to say. Yeah, God wasn’t surprised. I find my “out-loud” prayers with my family and my church family are sometimes stilted and awkward as I struggle to keep it natural rather than resorting to something prepackaged or formulated.

I’d like to see my life, in prayer and conversation, filled with less prepackaged things like “Fine, how are you?” and more home-grown stuff like “I don’t tell you enough, but I love you.” or “You know I really respect you, admire you, or even disagree with you.” I’d like to stick to natural words and concepts that are real rather than convenient but empty words that fill time but don’t really accomplish any communication. And ya’ll can hold me to it.

Mint Julep with homegrown mint.

Here’s to natural!

Us

April 30, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 3 Comments

Just had our fourth wedding anniversary. We had a lil’ weekend getaway.

There was this.

And this.

Oh… and this (yes, I did!)

Our getaway involved several hours alone to just reconnect. We’ve had lots of “you and me” but building an “us” has been a bit more challenging. Sometimes it seems our four years have flown by. Sometimes it seems an eternity since we’ve struggled through so many things.

We’re still working on it, but it was really good to be reminded that there is more to us than pee-peeing on the potty, driver’s ed, 4th grade homework, and eating your vegetables. We’re more than what we fight about, more than our perpetually empty checking account and perpetually packed to-do lists.

To keep it real, ya’ll, we’ve sometimes acted as if neither of us learned a darn thing from our first failures. We’ve approached this marriage like two dummies expecting to “stick in a thumb and pull out a plum” as my daddy would say. Oh, we knew second marriages are difficult, but OURS would be different, right? Right. Keep on dreamin’, honey.

Four years and about four MILLION “discussions” later, we are learning how to stop collecting retribution for past hurts from each other, though we had nothing to do with each others’ pasts. We are learning (who, me?) how to leave well-enough alone, how to give each other some space for grace. We’ve finally begun to quit trying to force our individual ways of doing things on one another and instead we’re starting to figure out our COLLECTIVE way of doing things. I think we’re about to get on the same team here, people!

We ain’t perfect, yall. But things are lookin’ bright.

And Honey, if you read this sometime… I had the best weekend with you. Happy Anniversary!

The Easter I Couldn’t Plan

April 2, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 1 Comment

Oh law, did WE have us a wonderful Easter or what?

We did!

Growing up I have a lot of special Easter memories. Many of them involving an Easter dress WITH a bonnet or a hat. Mmmm hmmm. Many memories also involve a musical of some kind, or a passion play.

This year, however, we made some different memories with our family. On Saturday night we attended a Messianic Passover Seder with our Origins family. I had so much fun hearing again the story of Passover and drawing the parallels to Jesus, our Lamb of God.

Easter morning,while my darling picked up our 60 pound crawfish order from the seafood merchant, I made Hot Cross Buns! (Click on the phrase to see my inspiration) Please tell me I’m not the only person who played the song in first grade piano lessons and on the recorder in third grade and never knew it was about buns with crosses on top. Please.

Anyway, they’re evidently somewhat of an Easter tradition. Perhaps not a southern one which would explain why I had no idea. But when Joy the Baker put a post up about Cross buns I knew I had my Easter morning breakfast plan. I do love Joy the Baker. I love anyone who knows the value of a carb as much as I. A sister in all things sweet, she is. Anyway, since I’m nowhere near as awesome as Joy the Baker, my crew got whop cinnamon rolls (you know, the kind where you WHOP the can on the counter to pop it open) with icing crosses.

It’s the thought that counts, yeah?

And since we had a big group of 15 for house church (Easter crowds everywhere, ya know!) it also took a dozen biscuits, NOT whop biscuits thankyaverymuch, and a breakfast casserole with enough cheese to bind us all together if you know what I mean, to feed everybody. Oh, and two pots of coffee. Don’t tell, but I love the feeding everybody part the best about house church. Give me Jesus, a table full of biscuits and butter, a hot pot of coffee, a bunch of people, and it is on like pecan my friends.

As a matter of fact, Janet’s dad was telling God when he closed us in prayer how he had loved sharing house church with us, it had seemed a little like what we’ll all do in heaven… sitting together enjoying each other and talking over all He has done. I hadn’t exactly thought of it that way before, but it’s true. A little bit of heaven is practiced in my home every week. I’m loving it.

And as if that weren’t enough, the coffee hadn’t even cooled before people started arriving for phase two of Easter festivities: the crawfish boil.

Ya’ll, there were kids everywhere, family, friends, faces to love all OVER the place. We killed a BUNCH of crawfish, hunted eggs, laughed and talked.

It was incredible. And I don’t even eat crawfish.

But people I love DO.

Just as everything was winding down, everybody dragging their happy, crawfish-stuffed selves to their cars and heading home, it started to rain. It was a lovely, soft rain just perfect for a visit with one of my favorite people who happened to wander over from down the street. God blessed me with some relatively quiet moments to chat, eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs, and enjoy the company of yet another person I love.

After the rain, Janet and Ray’s electricity went out so they came back and piled on our couches and we ended the day watching the Bible on TV and drinking another pot of coffee.

I’m sure I could have never planned a more perfect Easter weekend. Good thing I didn’t really plan it. I mean, we knew we’d attend the Seder, we ordered the crawfish ahead, I schemed over the cross buns and all that stuff. But those weren’t the things that made the weekend perfect. It was the love of friends and family, the love of God, all blended up together to make a level of exquisite-ness not able to be conjured up through human effort. What better way to celebrate a miraculous, resurrected Jesus? I can think of none.

Unforced Rhythms of Grace

March 27, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 1 Comment

This came from a great blog I follow, Margaret Feinberg. I really like Margaret’s books. Check her out sometime.

Anyway, this scripture was taken from The Message paraphrase. The phrase “unforced rhythms of grace” keeps echoing in my mind. I’ve been learning a bit about those unforced rhythms over the past few years. When I took piano lessons as a kid, I had this old thing called a metronome. It FORCED me to keep a certain time, meaning any rhythm I played had to obey that particular speed. I didn’t enjoy that thing. You wouldn’t know it, though, by the way I lived for a long time. I lived by some very forced rhythms.

Get all A’s. Do everything right. Make sure you live up to expectations. Never let ‘em see you sweat.

I have to be honest, I’m so used to marching to a very strict beat, that unforced rhythms aren’t too comfy for me. Or weren’t. Now I’m learning to bask in them. Enjoy them. I’m liking what happens when I stop trying so hard and leave it to God for real.

Sunday morning was house church, of course. We’re on four years of house church now. That means we’ve been meeting since I was pregnant with Caleb. That means Caleb’s ALWAYS been a house church kid. Can I tell you a secret? I’ve been SO scared that somehow my littlest love would know less about God or love Him less than my big darlings. They WERE ministry kids, after all. They went to the Sunday Schools and VBSes and Summer Camps and all that stuff. They got rocked in the church nursery by ladies that love Jesus and came home with lipstick marks on their cheeks and clothes that reeked of grandma perfume. How would Caleb EVER begin to match their God-stuff pedigree? Back to Sunday morning.

We sat in the living room finishing up house church and were closing with prayer. Caleb came to my lap and sat there quietly while Janet prayed. He whispered to me “I want to pray.” I said “Ok, Mrs. Janet is talking to God now and then you can pray.” “No,” he said “All of us pray.” I finally caught on that he meant he wanted us to say The Lord’s Prayer together, as is our tradition every week. Janet finished and another person chimed in his prayer, then I let everyone know Caleb wanted us to pray the Lord’s Prayer. As we did, my baby boy prayed along with us, keeping up with the words, and finishing up with a loud AMEN!

In a very quiet way, I realized that our unforced rhythm is being used by God to work His grace in all our lives. He doesn’t need my metronome to tell Him how to show Himself to me or my children. As I’ve been trying to keep my eyes on Him, follow as best I know how with brothers and sisters and babies He’s given to me, He has still caught the heart of my boy. And this Sunday, my babies worshipped alongside their dad and me, another dad and his kids, a single guy, and another couple who have become as close as family. They had someone to play in the yard with them, hug them, affirm them, and little Caleb had his choice of laps to occupy and arms waiting to wrap around him. God’s family played out right in our living room as it does week after week. Simply loving Jesus is catching, my friends! Perhaps it’s those unforced rhythms of grace that capture our hearts anyway, no matter where or how we engage with the church. It’s Jesus Himself that becomes so wonderful, so irresistible, so all-sufficient. It’s been Him all along.

My church “metronome” went out the window a few years ago, and I won’t lie, it ain’t easy to let go of all my church-ey labels and security blankets. Sunday mornings look like this instead of a pew-filled sanctuary. I’m learning to simply love God, follow Him sincerely, love His word, and walk humbly with the people He places along the same path. I’ve pried my fingers time and again off of the old confidences I held because of my Christian pedigree and I’m learning to look to God as Conductor. These unforced rhythms are making for a lovelier sound than I ever thought possible.

Jesus’ Stepdaddy

March 20, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 0 Comments

Chef: “I bet you don’t even know who St. Joseph is!” Me: “Oh yes, I do! He’s Jesus’ Stepdaddy!!!”

An excerpt from an actual conversation that took place between my husband and me around St. Joseph Day about 5 years ago. Ummm… yeah. That was before we were, ya know, liking each other and stuff.

Today was St. Joseph Day and our annual St. Joseph altar was held at St. Francis Villa. If you’ve never experienced a St. Joseph Altar, then mark your calendar for next year and live a little, would ya? But take my advice, don’t just go and be a visitor to an altar. You gotta get BEHIND THE SCENES, stay all day, and really see what it’s all about. Italian food, Italian mothers, Italian traditions, and regular old garden variety love and laughter. Oh, and cookies. It’s very much about cookies.

I have to tell you that first altar we did together was rough. I wasn’t too sure about anything Catholic or Italian and he wasn’t too sure about a Baptist girl running a time honored Catholic Italian tradition. We laugh about this now, and looking back, we know that our work together on that project was the beginning of our friendship, however rocky it may have been. Our friendship blossomed, needless to say. There may or may not have been a stolen lemon involved, as St. Joseph altar legend advises.

Anyway, the altar has become a treasured tradition for me, not just for the joy it brings to our residents and the fun and friendship that happens on that day, but for me it’s a reminder. Another reason to celebrate Jesus. A reason to think about how He was a real kid, and went through real stuff…like having a step dad. You know, the scripture gives us a major clue about Joseph when it tells us he planned to divorce Mary quietly once he discovered she was with child. He had other, much more vicious and vindictive options. He could have made her pay for the humiliation she brought to him. With her life. But nah… he planned to go quietly on, refusing himself the satisfaction of vengeance. It takes a pretty awesome guy, ego TOTALLY in check, to make that kind of decision and let something like that go. Of course when the angel appeared to Joseph and clued him in on the plan, he was on board with God. He then allowed his life to be overtaken by that Boy, moving himself and Mary to Egypt to protect Jesus. How many guys would do something like that for a child they didn’t father?

It always strikes me when I hear the altar blessings on St. Joseph day, how they refer to Joseph as a protector of children. I’ve known the story of Jesus’ birth for as long as I can remember, but I haven’t often stopped to consider the way Joseph protected the child Jesus. What an example to dads everywhere, stepdads especially.

I still don’t claim to be any kind of expert on Catholic or Italian things. I’m just glad to be part of a day of such fun, such love, such generosity… and glad to be reminded of the man who was Jesus’ Stepdaddy.

And one last little shot of a resident lovin’ on my baby. Too cute to resist!!

Goodbye, Old Friend

March 18, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 4 Comments

A sad goodbye was said today. My old buddy, the Melitta Mill and Brew Coffee Maker bit the dust.

I have no memory of where I got this coffeemaker, but I’ve loved it. I think he came along in the aftermath of Katrina. I don’t remember buying him, but don’t remember having him before the storm. Wierd, I know. Anyway, it grinds and brews. It’s programmable, so it has greeted me with hot coffee many mornings. Ol’ Mill and Brew had one drawback. He was a lil’ complicated…needed somebody who knew just which buttons to push, just how to make him work. So I was saddened to discover that someone worked Mill without that special touch. A tiny little tab that held the top closed during brewing and grinding was snapped off.

See it there in my hand? The tiniest little piece broken off and the whole pot gone to…. well… gone to pot!

There are a lot of lessons in this. I stared at that tiny broken piece and God reminded me that sometimes the most insignificant seeming piece can be the difference between working and not working. I’m reminded that God values me, even when I feel like the tiniest piece of forgotten black plastic. He values the little ones in my home and expects me to do the same. He values the small details like smiling while I help my husband and holding back a remark about what I’d rather be doing. He values the itty bitty details like remembering a name, taking time to notice when someone’s had a bad day, and looking my kids in the eye. Little things, my friends. They DO make a big difference.

Sometimes I get frustrated because I can’t pull off the big stuff. It was nice to be reminded that it’s the little stuff that often makes the biggest difference.

These are the new guys! I couldn’t afford another Mill and Brew (those things are EXPENSIVE, makes it even more puzzling that I don’t recall paying that much for a coffee maker…still no clue where I got it…but I have a feeling some kind soul gave him to me. Thank you, whoever you are!) so I got a Wal-mart special and a cheap-o grinder. I think I’ll call them Sylvester and Tweety!

In other news, have ya’ll seen YouVersion? No clue how I’ve survived this long without this app. It even reads OUT LOUD to me! I can set it on my daily reading and it reads scripture to me while I’m getting dressed, doing makeup, whatever. I’m into this, ya’ll.

Also, MY BABY DROVE for the first time! I know. It’s crazy!! I’m so proud of her. She did great! Driver’s Ed class and permit, here we come. He’p me, Jesus!

Also here’s a couple shots of last Thursday evening with the Jeffries-Hyman family. We bake, yall!

Mackenzie’s rosary bread for the St. Joseph Altar.

The whole gang workin’ away!!

Man, my life is full of good things! Love!!!

Jam

March 13, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 3 Comments

Jesus told a story about a farmer. Check it out here. This weekend our little church group studied this parable and the whole weekend seemed to carry a theme of sowing and reaping, planting and growing. The Parable of the Sower always reminds me of my Dad, my Papa, and home. I have vivid pictures of my faithful dad planting his garden every year, the joy found in the process, and the harvest at the end. It’s a precious story, so close to my heart.

In an attempt to do a better job of putting healthy food on our table, and to teach our babies that food really comes from God’s earth and not a brightly colored box, we’ve been frequenting Hollygrove Farmer’s Market. I love the idea of supporting local farmers and eating fresh food. After our Sunday morning spent with the Sower, what better to do than head out to the farm and market? I couldn’t resist this picture of the inner city bunnies! (Bunnies to left behind the kids) It inspires me to see an oasis of a garden in the middle of our crazy city.

Anyway, with the market’s bounty, and thanks to a Winn Dixie buy one, get one free sale on Plant City strawberries, I made jam.

Few things, my friend, are more comforting and confidence-boosting than making your own jam. I put on an apron and for a while behave like the women of my roots, the heroes of my faith and heart. When I was a kid, there used to be a song “God Loves to Talk to Boys While They’re Fishin’.” I think there should be one about how God loves to talk to moms while they make jam.

God and I talked about how I want to be the “good soil” Jesus spoke of in the above mentioned parable. The soil that produces fruit. Too often I’m the thorny kind, or even the hard, stony kind that won’t accept a seed at all. I want to produce fruit, to grow in my faith. But sometimes the process doesn’t stop with a gorgeous, fresh, red berry. Of course, there’s something to be said for ripe, plump fruit. But then there’s the further process of making the jam. The washing, the cutting, the crushing, the heat. All these turn the fruit into something that can last. Something sweet and enjoyable that can be tasted long after the harvest has come and gone.

Could it be that the Grower of All Things sees me, a plump lil’ berry in His hand and says “I’m gonna make some jam with you.”? Why do I fight and scream and worry and fret over the difficulties in my life, when all along, He could be making jam? Is He really using all my craziness to make me sweeter and longer-lasting? Lord, I hope so. Some days I wonder why he’d bother for a second with me, but even in my wildest moments my heart cannot escape Him.

Oh ya’ll. I do wanna be sweet. I do want to last.

Me & Jesus… we makin’ jam.

That’s Ya’ll Boyfriend

March 6, 2013 in Thoughts Poured Out with 3 Comments

Oh. My. Goodness.

Fun doesn’t do it justice. Fabulous is a gross understatement. Ca-razy might come a little closer but still not quite accurate.

We. had. an. INCREDIBLE. time!!!

Considering the jam-packed nature of both our lives and schedules, it’s nothing short of a miracle that Christy and I carved out three days to spend alone together.

Wellll… not quite alone, really. There were hosts and hostesses, patient friends, waiters, waitresses, bartenders, tour guides, jazz musicians, streetcar operators, and plenty of other colorful characters who pitched in to make our weekend happen. Not the least of which would be two fantastic husbands who played Mr. Mom, and contented themselves with a seat on the bench while their two wives played starting positions on the team of ENJOYMENT. They made life happen without us and were genuinely happy to see us have fun. Those are great guys, I tell ya.

As I mentioned in my last post, it’s been seven years since last we attempted such an indulgence. We had a lot of making up to do. And we did a darn good job!!

When you’ve been friends for ohhh, twenty five years or something, there begins to exist between you a language all its own. Inside jokes, knowing looks, laughter for no apparent reason… all these are part of the weaving together of hearts and lives through friendship. I joked with Christy this morning that if we create many more memories like this, we’ll be telepathic with so much shared experience. It really feels as though she is more with me and I with her, even though we aren’t with each other at all. But we share so much, and have added in heaps and piles to our shared stuff over the past three days. I lost count of how many times one of us said, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

It’s not easy, you know, to share that much of your heart with another person. Especially one that isn’t legally bound to you in any way. Especially when 777 miles separate you physically. Especially when both of you drop in bed exhausted at the end of every dizzying day with no desire to say another word to another person. Especially when life takes twists and turns and opinions and perspectives twist and change like a kaleidoscope. Especially when the once black and white fades into a misty gray that nearly blinds you both. But we’ve managed to do it somehow.

This weekend was epic. We talked and laughed. We sat in silence. We looked each other in the eye. And told the truth. We acted dumb and silly, and we acted smart and serious. There may have been a powdered sugar incident.

We walked in a cemetary, sang in a bar, took a tourist-y tour or two, walked down St. Charles, and down Bourbon. We walked along the river, ate beingets, drank coffee. Explored a unique house or two, took streetcars at night, crossed the Mississippi (thanks, Janet, Bex, and Mary!), ate chocolate for breakfast, and took in some incredible jazz. And that’s just the stuff I can tell out loud!!!!!!

I feel like I’ve been on a month’s vacation. That’s how much good was done in my heart. I feel challenged to be a better me because of hanging out with her. I can tell that girl how I really feel about anything. She may or may not agree, but she’ll still be on my side. I’m so grateful for friendship. It is to me one of life’s most precious gifts. Laughter doeth good like a medicine… and we’ve had a near overdose.

So thanks, Christy, for teaching me how to be a friend, grow a friendship, disagree and still love, and risk being vulnerable. Thanks for paving the way for me to have the richest of friendships with the other jewels God has bedazzled into my life. Thanks for the gift of knowing. Thanks for the gift of acceptance. Thanks for coming 777 miles to make crazy, profound, embarrassing memories with me. And dear reader, should you find yourself thinking, “I don’t have a friend like this.” GET ONE!!!

And Christy?

THAT’s ya’ll boyfriend!!

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