Always Kindness

Roy and I went out for dinner last night at Fatz. It was a new restaurant choice for us as we typically go to the very same restaurants over and over and over again. We always say Next time let's go somewhere new! and then heartily welcome that idea...until next time rolls around. And then? Off we go to Good Ole Faithful. But yesterday, Roy picked me up from work so we could run a million errands. One of those errands included picking up Piper from the groomer's, so by the time that happened and we rolled into our driveway to drop him off, it was about 6:30...and we were starving. And of course, eating at home just wasn't an option as we both looked forward to the restaurant experience. And so? Well, we decided to go somewhere closer to home that would not include traffic. And that's when I suggested Fatz.

He has ruined me.

Growing up, we never went out to eat. I grew up in a small town and to my knowledge, the only restaurant was this local Ma and Pop's diner that served greasy hamburgers and fries. Once a year we took a trip to the "City" so I could see the eye doctor as I wore glasses, and Dad would ask Where do you want to eat out? And of course, being a kid, I would proudly proclaim, Pizza! And away we'd go.

And that's about it.

And then I met Roy: the eating-out king. His family, on the other hand, loved eating out and made it a weekly practice. And so, when we started dating, eating out became one of our regular activities and thirty years later? Well...here we are.

Anyway, Roy dropped me off as parking looked to be an issue and I went in to put our names on a list. Soon after I sat down to wait for a table, a little girl who looked to about 3 years old came over and crawled onto my lap. A woman whom I assumed was her grandma quickly got up from the other side of the waiting room and said, "Lacey! You can't just crawl into a stranger's lap like that!"

"She's just fine!" I laughed, as this adorable little girl proceeded to look up at me with her big blue eyes and ringlet curly blonde hair. Her hands rested contentedly on mine as she simply sat there, perfect as could be. A little jewel.

"She's our foster daughter," the woman began to explain. "We've had her since September and we're still working on some social skills."

The woman then sat down beside me and proceeded to talk about how she fosters children and her home is never without the laughter and chatter of little ones. She is a foster home for four counties and so as soon as she loses one who is reunited with a relative or parent, another child moves in immediately to take their place. On the other side of the waiting room, her husband was rocking a car seat by its handle, and inside the car seat was a tiny baby, sucking contentedly on her pacifier. "I just got that little one a week ago," she explained, nodding towards the baby.

About that time, our names were called that a table was waiting and so Roy, who had recently joined me, and I got up to leave. I begrudgingly gave adorable little Lacey back to her foster mom. I could have listened to this woman talk all day long. How admirable she is. She was filled with life and stories and love that including opening her home to little ones without one. Clearly she and her husband lived life for the purpose of giving back.

Shortly after we sat down, this little family sat down in a booth beside us. After we had stuffed ourselves with these divine poppyseed rolls and dinner salads piled high with fresh veggies and baked potatoes and grilled chicken for Roy and baked potato soup for me, we got up to leave. And that's when little Lacey spied us.

"What's yoo name?" she asked me, reaching out her hand so that I would stop and talk to her.

"My name is Vonda."

"What's her name?" she asked, pointing to Roy.

"Her name is Roy," I said, laughing.

"Is her a boy?" she said, those blue eyes burning into me.

"Yes! He is a boy!"

"What did you eat?" she demanded.

"I had potato soup. What are you eating?"

"Salad," she replied, looking down at a bowl with remnants of dressing and a few stray pieces of lettuce.

"Why you go bye-bye?" she asked, again looking up with those piercing blue eyes.

"I am going home now," I said.

And then, with furrowed brow, she said, "No! Don't go bye bye!"

I could have so easily scooped her up and brought her home with me--this little angel girl. In those few moments, she stole my heart. I wanted to protect her from everything life will throw her way.

But of course...

As we were driving home, I asked Roy, "Would you be willing to be a foster parent?"

"Hell no," was his reply.

That's that.

Roy is such a softy. It takes a mere few seconds to grab his heart and churn it into melted butter. Having a foster child? Well, that would kill him when the child was returned to a family that offers no guarantee of a drug-free life, of a safe environment.

And really, maybe I wouldn't be so willing either. I love our comfortable life where we can finally come and go with ease. No more diaper bags. No more car seats. No more babysitters. No more stressful restaurant experiences. No more so many things. And so, I can easily proclaim that Yes! I would love to foster a child! because I know in the deepest part of me it isn't really an option.

Sometimes I wonder about how strange life is. Some of us--such as myself, are born into lives of comfort. We come from good genetics, good families, normal people (what is normal really...other than a setting on a dryer). We are born into the USA where life is free and opportunity abounds.

And then others are born into families of neglect and abuse; others are born into poverty where food is hard to find and lack is the norm.

How does one make sense of it all?

It is this reality that makes it so wrong on so many levels for us to judge another. How do I know that, if I were them--born with their genetic code to their parents with their life experiences...well, how do I know I would be any different?

I don't.

Walk a mile in my shoes before you judge.

I have no idea what will become of little Lacey. How does one handle being tossed to and fro in the most formative years of one's life? How does one overcome the lack of bonding with a mother that is so detrimental to development? I don't begin to have the answers to those questions. But I am so grateful for people who choose to make a difference. For people who welcome these little ones into their homes and offer love and laughter and warmth.

And meanwhile, while I enjoy all of the comforts of this beautiful life I lead, I need to give back; I need to serve others. Life is filled with opportunity. We don't have to be a foster home to offer love.

We just need to open our eyes...and our arms...and choose kindness.

Always kindness.

'Round and 'Round

When I am at work, I try to run the stairs several times a day in order to offset hours of sitting. But today? Well today I was lazy. And so, when I got home this evening, I decided it was payback for 8 hours of sitting. I changed into my sweats, threw on my heaviest jacket, gloves, hat, scarf--whatever I could find to offset the reality that it was 20 degrees outside and falling fast--and headed to the track.

Together, Piper and I went 'round and 'round, encouraged by the fact that the faster I walked, the warmer I felt. Parts of the track were rather treacherous and I found myself slipping dangerously a couple of times. Funny how, now that I'm nearing fifty (gosh that sounds old), falling takes on a whole new meaning. What if I broke my hip?

Several years ago, when we lived in Wisconsin, I got out of our Jeep one time in the middle of winter, slipped on the ice, and fell flat on my hip. It was bruised for literally months. I was in my 30's then--but that experience made me cautious.

I digress.

I happen to love Rob Bell. He is fresh, exciting. He puts a new twist on old ideas and gives much room for thought. And so, I have subscribed to his podcast: Robcast. Clever. When I got home this evening, I checked out "My Podcasts" and realized I had a new Robcast! Good news! And so, that reality spurred me on to head outdoors for some exercise as I only listen to podcasts when I am circling the track...by myself...'round and 'round...

It's rather monotonous.

This particular Robcast was about how we are all made up of these atoms, particles, and every seven years, we are made up of completely new atoms and particles. So we have the same body but it's comprised of completely different "parts." And these atoms and particles that make up my body? They, at one time, made up other people's bodies. These atoms/particles just keep doing their thing, moving from one living being to the next, from generation to generation...

I'm sure my explanation is lacking--but what he had to say was absolutely fascinating.

I've heard this "stuff" before: quantum physics.

(But anything with the word "physics" in it pretty much scares me away. I'm not exactly a science geek.)

Grammar geek? Sure.

But not science.

But it just goes to show how we are all connected. We all have hopes and dreams and desires and strengths and shortcomings--and we all, for the most part, do the best we can with what we have.

Just like those from ancient days. And just like those who will follow us.

Same atoms. Same particles. Different story. Different life.

And yet...not that different after all.

The Perfect Kind of Day

On Friday, I worked a whopping two hours and then came home, loaded up the car, and headed to Gatlinburg to spend the entire weekend with my whole family (plus Guerin whom we really consider family at this point) and one of my best friends, Raylene--plus her husband and adorable granddaughter. Oh my word. It was a slice of heaven. Raylene called me in November to see if we wanted to meet them for a little getaway and, of course, I quickly agreed as she is just one of those people that, no matter how rarely we talk, when we manage to get together, it's as though no time has gone by.

The best kind of friend one can have.

On Saturday, we two girls spent the day at the condo while the kids swam and the men did their own thing. We talked and cooked and played games and caught up and just had the best time hanging. On Sunday we took our time getting around and packing up before going our separate ways. We had to cut our visit a bit short as a storm was brewing and they needed to beat it. Hugging Raylene goodbye? Well, she took a piece of my heart with her back to Missouri.

I miss Missouri.

When we moved here, I struggled like none other. I missed the country roads, the wide open fields, the people, the church, the sunsets, the wheat fields...so many things. But it was a time of transition in more ways than one state versus another as Savana graduated and flew the coop and I didn't have a teaching job. And so, I wasn't ever quite sure whether I was sad because I missed Missouri or I simply missed teaching. Or was it I missed Savana? It was all such a toss-up in my head.

Raylene was a reminder of what used to be.

As Roy and I drove over the mountain pass, I said I feel a little sad.

He said Me too.

In the mornings when I drive to work, I always call my sister and chat with her for the fifteen minute drive. She's good company and when it comes to conversation topics, the sky is the limit. Anyway, she said, "I didn't expect you to call today. It's President's Day." And that got me thinking: Do we have the day off and I didn't realize it? The closer I got to work, the more excited I became at the prospect of possibly turning around and driving home. I imagined myself walking back in the front door, laughing at the fact I got up and around when I didn't have to. Roy would tell me he's jealous that I get to laze around all day while he's slaving away in the gym.

But then as I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed one of my co-workers getting out of her car and so, I instantly knew: I didn't make a mistake.

Bummer.

But once I got into the office, Heather and Hanna were talking excitedly about the weather and a big storm that was brewing and heading our direction. As the morning progressed and we realized with certainty that ice was heading our way, we all decided it was the perfect day to work from home. And so, I packed up my laptop and headed back to my house.

By 4:00, the storm hit with a vengeance.

I changed into my jammies, cooked a pot of soup, and settled down for a long evening with Netflix and FaceTime and blogging and reading.

It doesn't get any better than that.

I loved my life in Missouri. I enjoyed living in a boys' dorm. It's weird, I know--certainly a different life than most people experience. But I was the dean's wife for 15 years and it suited me well. I loved a living room filled with laughing boys with more energy than they knew what to do with. I loved Friday nights when I opened the doors to my living room and several piled in and we hung out chatting 'til Roy made them head to bed. I loved the simple life that we lived simply because we were several miles out in the country and the closest town hardly counted as a town.

But as I was thinking about all of that today, I realized I don't want to go back. I am happy for where I am. I love these mountains, the grandeur of Asheville. I love that seasons are mild and that when I walk in the evenings, all I have to do is look up and be reminded that I am not really that important after all. My opinions are simply that--opinions. That my life doesn't count for more than anyone else's and yet..it's everything. Because it's all I have. And so, of course, it's all about perspective.

Moving to Asheville has taught me so much about who I am. I've become much more settled in what is important in life and what is worth fighting for.

I am so thankful that I'm out of the dorm. I loved it when I was there...but fifteen years was enough.

And? I'm totally okay with not being in a classroom. I miss aspects, of course, but I certainly don't miss the stress. Not one bit.

I like that my life is my own, that I call the shots, and that I get to decide where to focus my energy.

I like so many things.

And, of course, I have made new friends here. I miss Raylene. I will always miss Raylene. She's one of a kind. But I have Tammy and Erin and Nancy and Joy and Caroline and Heather and ... well, many more who, too, are one of a kind.

And so, my weekend was amazing. It was filled with so much goodness. And today? Well, it was amazing as well. It was the perfect kind of day.

And I am thinking that I have so many more to come--many more perfect kinds of days.

The only thing missing is a steaming cup of chai.

But I do believe I'm going to fix that problem...right now.

The Refining Fire

This morning I woke up at 5:00, which is normal for the weekdays but certainly not for the weekends, and lay there, wide-eyed, staring up into the darkness. I contemplated getting up but...nah. And so, I began to think about how my phone has zero storage left. Yeah. It's a brand new phone--just got it before Christmas--and it's already at capacity due to far too many photos and videos. And so, I decided to go through it, starting way back in 2011, and delete.

And of course, that little process proved to be a walk down memory lane: a trip to Myrtle Beach and traveling to Arkansas for Caleb's graduation and Christmases and our cruise and performances and bringing home Sparti and Darian's graduation from Pisgah and Savana's graduation from Southern and Savana's stint in the hospital and sending Darian off to work in Door County and the list continues. As I lay there, completely engrossed in this meandering, I forgot about my original intent and, rather, fought the tears and the swelling lump in my throat as I noted how much Jace has grown and how we have so many amazing memories that we, as a family, have shared over the past few years. Birthdays and dinners around the table and parties and friends and, mostly, just regular days filled with blooming flowers and bursting colors on trees and tall glasses of lemonade and far too many selfies of my kids.

This morning when I got up, I was listening to Rob Bell and he talked about how our lives are a journey: we are not who we were yesterday and we are not who we will become. We are always experiencing and learning and growing. That's the point of living.

And that got me thinking about how much I've grown over just the past five years. So much has changed outwardly in my life. Two of my girls have flown the coop. I'm no longer a teacher in a classroom filled with teenagers. Those two transitions alone are enough to shake me up and leave me staggering at times.

But inwardly I've changed quite a lot as well. It has been a time of searching and learning and starting over. The past five years have left me shaken in ways I never imagined, and yet--I have come out on the other side with a peace I've never known and joy for where this journey has taken me. Emotional pain I've carried for years has been healed and I am able to embrace freedom for the first time in my life.

It's a good thing.

Looking back at pictures this morning was a beautiful reminder of how much I love this life I am blessed to live. Photos do an amazing job of capturing the good. And when they don't? Well, d-e-l-e-t-e...and they go away forever, leaving only the beautiful to remember. But sometimes, sometimes, those poignant moments are captured in ways that reveal far more than the outward scene.

I have a photo album of Ciara's short life. All of the pictures in that album reflect joy and sunshine and smiles and laughter. And I did that on purpose as I wanted to make the album a celebration. I wanted to remember--mostly--the good times. But there is one--one single photo--that says it all. It's a picture of when I saw Ciara right after she was born. I knew there was a problem as she was so small and had a deformed arm. As they pushed me from recovery to my room, they stopped by the neonatal intensive care and let me look at her for just a split second.  And then later, after I was settled, they wheeled me back. And it was at that moment, as I really looked at her, that someone snapped my picture. And the look on my face? Well, it reflected heartache and pain and agony.

Now, 23 years later, I treasure that picture. It is the one picture that stands out to me the most from all the pictures that were taken over her short life. Because that picture lets me know how far I've come, how much I've grown. It is a stark reminder of the frailty of life and the power of the human spirit.

Life is about growing and changing and learning. More often than not, that happens through painful experiences. The refining fire that shapes us into our better selves. Those experiences aren't fun, of course--pain is never fun. But when we look back at the trajectory of our lives, we are able to be grateful for the pain, for the growing.

We are able to see how far we've come despite it...or, maybe, because of it.