To the little things

{Breakfast by candlelight, in the summer? Whyevernot?}

I’ve taken to walking a few mornings a week.  I don’t really love it… mostly because it cuts down on my coffee time.  The only thing that gets me going is the thought of what awaits when I return home …  breakfast of scrambled eggs and fresh veggies, rosemary bread with a slice of cheese, fresh fruit … cooled glasses of milk and juice … candle light … 

At this point some of you may be wondering what’s worse–the fact that I bribe myself to exercise with food, or that I light candles in broad daylight!  

But I’m a firm believer in enjoying life’s simple pleasures. 

And that’s what I wish for you, dear readers.  We’ll be celebrating Labor Day (or Labour Day, as the case may be) in the US and Canada.  And that means a long weekend!  But be your weekend long or short, I pray you’ll get the most of each moment–savor your food, use the good china … and yes, light the candles morning, noon, and night …    

Hopeless romantic

It’s true, I am a hopeless romantic.  The key word being hopeless.   *le sigh*

This fact was only reinforced as I read My Life in France, by Julia Child.  Loved it.  I loved reading of Paris, marketplaces, and culinary delights (though it made me terribly hungry); I loved reading of clever Valentine’s Day cards, photography, and adventures (misses too).  And I loved reading of tables filled with good food, fine wines, and the company of friends.  

It’s the best of life, my friends …

Of course, I did chuckle a bit toward the end. She wrote of going to their summer home in France for the last time. The people who had made it come alive, were no more; so she traveled with her niece and her family, to hand over the keys and say goodbye. She wrote quite matter-of-factly. C’est la vie!  Therefore, she could not imagine what could possess her niece burst into tears one day. Alors!  I understood fully.

Personally, I like to think us romantics make the world a bit brighter … when we’re not crying, naturally.

Double dutch day

If you happen to be in or near the Boise area today (Wednesday, March 24th, 2010) and you double dutch – bring your team into Flying Pie – because today’s your day!  Click here for details …

Those of you who’ve known me only in my current, sedentary state, may be surprised to learn I was the double dutch cham-peen, back in the day.  Oh yes, it’s true.  Except maybe for cartwheeling through, I could double dutch with the best of them.  It was one thing that made spring so welcome - for the first time in months we could get back out there and jump for all we were worth.  The minute that bell rang for recess, we’d grab our ropes and head for the blacktop.

They were carefree days of fun and laughter …

My how the years of passed since then.  The last time friends witnessed me double dutch, I was at RA camp.  We arrived late, the camp was dark – there wasn’t much to see outside. But it was a warm Texas night – the sky was bright with stars.  We couldn’t bring ourselves to go indoors.  So a group of us girls decided to double-dutch. The fact that we had no ropes didn’t phase us in the least. We simply made believe – and made believe so well, the guys gathered around for a closer look.

We laughed and cheered, just like we did when we were young … 

Every once in awhile, when no one else is around, I’ll pretend to double dutch. I put my hands up, feel for the rhythm of the ropes, and then jump in … Cin-da-rella, dressed in ye-lla, went upstairs to kiss her fe-lla, made a mi-stake and kissed a snake, how many doc-tors did it take .. 1 … 2 … 3 …

Before I know it, I’m laughing once again…

Give it a try sometime.  Pay no mind your age or ability – or the fact that you have no ropes. Pretend. Call it exercise if you must; but jump in with all your might.  Sure, we may not boast a team to earn us a free pizza a Flying Pie … but we just might find something more.  You see, the cares of the world are hard pressed to hold tight when you double dutch.  Even if we feel the fool at first, for a few moments in time, we can go back – we can be young, footloose and fancy-free.

It’s what makes double dutch so fun as a kid; and oh-so magical as an adult.

Weddings …

My cousin Jen married her High School sweetheart last Saturday. It was a lovely wedding, filled with white twinkling lights, tulle, and red rose petals. Her sister sang, her father performed the ceremony and almost – just almost – made it through without choking up. His baby girl was getting married.

The evening was a blur of hugs and camera flashes. True to form on my father’s side, family members surrounded us one minute, the next, they were gone – a fine example of exit en masse. Then there were two, said my mom.   

With that, the only thing left to do was head for the dessert table. On the way we greeted my great uncle. He looked at us, blinked, and said, Oh, I didn’t recognize you. You see, the last time he saw my mom at a wedding he chortled and said, We’re all getting older aren’t we… Therefore, this opening line was my cue to exit. Without so much as a ‘how are things’ I turned on the balls of my feet and walked away, quickly, before he had time to utter, We’re all getting fatter aren’t we …

Of course, by the time we made it to the food, three grapes and an apple wedge were all that remained for the chocolate fountain; but there, at the end of the table, were three cupcakes waiting just for us. Mmmm… cupcakes …

My favorite part of the evening, however, was the Father/daughter dance. I have a soft spot for father/daughter dances; there’s nothing quite so precious as a girl dancing with the first man she ever loved. But this one was special. You see, a great deal of the people present were at one time or another Assemblies of God – that may be Holy Roller to you. Dancing, in the Assemblies of God, is wrong … so very, very wrong. If you want to take the fast track to hell, drink wine – add dancing to the mix and you might as well grow red horns right then and there because it will happen. Oh yes, my friends, dancing is just that bad.

Yet they danced all the same. First the bride and her dad; then slowly, father-and-daughter by father-and-daughter, others joined in. They were young and old, practiced and not-so-much. Some didn’t build up the nerve until the very end, but they did it. They may have bumbled about, not having a clue what they were doing, but their daughters didn’t care.

As I sat there watching them dance I knew if Jesus had been sitting there, in person, He would be smiling too. His first miracle, after all, was turning water into wine at a wedding. Some try to explain that away as well – he wasn’t yet matured, wine was the only safe beverage to drink. But I think it was something more. I think He knew the key – holiness is available for the taking in good times and  in bad, in religious acts and everyday. Yes, we most often see it in prayer and fasting, in worship and outreach. But if we pay attention, we’re just as likely to catch a glimpse of holiness on a dance floor, filled with the purest of love, and the sweetest of laughter.

In the shelter of each other

One week ago today, people around the world were going about their individual lives.  We were going to work and going to school; we were rejoicing in our own celebrations and lamenting our own sorrows.  We were not, for the most part, thinking of a poverty-stricken country in the carribbean called Haiti.  

And then the earthquake. 

As so often happens, tragedy brings us together - rich and poor, young and old, black and white – for one moment in time, we are the same.  We are human.  We’re husbands and wives, mothers and fathers.  We laugh.  We cry.  And the heartbreak of one, hurts us all.

Yet we cannot truly understand.     

Unless we are there in the midst of the pain and destruction … walking the rubble, smelling the stench – trying our best to help, while fighting roadblocks, despair, fear, and rage – we can view all the photos there are to see, and still not understand. 

So it will be that days will turn to weeks, and weeks months ; the photos will lessen, as will the reports, and we will return to our individual lives.   

And we will forget.  

Yet we musn’t.  We must continue to pray for those on the ground – for compassion in the face of resentment; for strength in the face of bone-deep weariness; for wisdom in the face of logistics; for integrity in the face of rebuilding; for hope in the face of utter despair.  And we must continue to give – both our finances and our time – not only to Haiti, but all those in need. 

Perhaps the Irish say it best, “It is in the shelter of each other that people live.”  We each have a part to play.  For some, money, others sweat, still others, tears.  And we must continually work together – not only when we are hit with a monumental crisis – but always.  We must be the voice for those who have none.  We must share our wealth, our wisdom, our love – our hope.  When we are strong, and our neighbor weak, we must stand up and be his shelter.  It is the only way some will dare survive; it is the only way we all can truly live.