Diamonds Everywhere

I read a study recently that said that greatest single indicator of a long life well-lived is deep social connections. Of course, there are several other factors too but that was at the top. It made me realize how important it is to be purposeful about creating deep friendships in my life.

When it comes to deep friendships, I’m pretty darned lucky. I realize that. I have so many amazing friends that I simply adore, and I live by my sisters who are absolutely in my circle of “reliables.” The other day, I installed an app called ‘Marco Polo’ that allows one to video-chat with friends who, too, have the app. It’s not like FaceTime where you talk simultaneously but, rather, I create a video for a person, and then they respond with their own video…and so on. It’s kind of fun.

Anyway, once I added it, I immediately had some welcoming videos from a couple of people whom I simply love so much: Lillian and Jamie. Lillian is Savana’s sister-in-law. We’ve always been good friends (though I could practically be her mother), so it was such a delight to hear from her. We’ve chatted back and forth a few times and caught up on the facts of our lives as well as the good stuff. And the good stuff? That’s the best part. You know - the things that bring meaning to our lives.

Jamie was a student from WA back in the early 2000’s. In fact, she graduated just before Jace was born - if that’s any indication of how long ago this was. But Jamie quickly wormed her way into our hearts and lives and became like one of our own. So we too have had several videos exchanged between the two of us over the past few days. 

This app was a beautiful reminder of the amazing people I have in my life that create meaning and love. So much love.

But yesterday? Well yesterday I had a visitor who spent the night at my home. And this visitor? She is one of those people whose connection runs deep. 

I met her eight years ago as I was meandering through a home that we were most likely going to move into. She saw me in there, knocked on the door, and introduced herself. And the moment we met? I felt an instant connection.

I knew.

And sure enough. 

We quickly became fast friends:

   regular lunch dates, 

   laughing together, 

   talking about hard things, 

   talking about easy things, 

   talking about all things.

And then, six years after we met, we Seals moved here to Texas. 

And you know how that goes, right? Lives that were joined together — church and friends and activities and community — are torn apart by distance. It’s an inevitable result of moving away.

But once in awhile, life brings diamonds to our lives that sparkle and shine in the midst of the mundane. And this past 24 hours?

Well, diamonds glittered.

They glittered everywhere.

Thanks for coming, Tammy. 

It was perfect.

Because I'm Free

I have a feather in my hair.

A few days ago, Roy and I were visiting his sister Gina and her husband, and she looked at me rather quizzically and then she quipped, “What is that in your hair?”

“A feather!” I replied proudly.

And she laughed. She may have thought it was a bit weird, slightly odd…I’m not sure.

And frankly? It’s all good.

I like it.

This feather? It reminds me of who I am.

It reminds me that I am free.

It hasn’t always been that way…

From my early teens, I struggled with so many issues in regards to spirituality. I was a highly sensitive kid, and I was keenly aware of my behavior, my desires that were less than honorable, my weaknesses. And there were plenty. They were all that I saw.

I remember one time in my mid-twenties standing in line to speak with the pastor, Morris Vendon, at Azure Hills Church in Loma Linda, California, after a particularly moving women’s Bible study that he led. My heart was heavy with an issue that burned savagely in my heart, and I was desperately hoping for encouraging words.

As I stood waiting my turn, I struck up a conversation with the lady standing next to me who was also waiting her turn. For some reason, I blurted out my struggle: I just can’t seem to give up Dr. Pepper. I’m so tired of myself…

Yep. That was my struggle.

And that lady I was talking to? She looked at me as if I were an alien who just plopped down beside her from Mars.

“Your problem is you can’t give up Dr. Pepper?” she said, in disdain. Shaking her head, she scoffed, “Gosh I wish that was my problem.”

But the mental turmoil? It was real. 

And it was constant: what I ate; what I drank; books I read; movies I watched…I had a litany of things to harass myself about. 

And I did. 

Boy did I ever. 

And then when I was about 45 years old, I had a breakthrough. Now don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t overnight. It took over two years. Two years of questioning and studying and thinking and wondering.

It was a time of awakening for me. I slowly climbed out of this legalistic box that I lived in inside my head and woke up to a whole new world. 

So many realizations and revelations exploded in my head over those two years. And basically it all boiled down to this nutshell:

This life is mine to live; this life is what I make of it. It’s not about a set of rules that determines how good I am in regards to whether I keep them; it’s not about a vengeful God who keeps tally of everything I do wrong; it’s not about black and white issues (and I’m not referring to race). In fact, most issues, I realized, are gray.

One day I woke up and it came to me as suddenly as if the sun was shining for the very first time:

 I am free.

I am free to live how I choose; to be who I want to be. God is not watching over me with crossed arms, impatiently tapping his feet and just waiting for me to screw up so that he can doom me to hell.

Rather, God is moving me forward, wanting only good, surrounding me with light and love and kindness.

I still screw up. Pretty much every day. But these days? Well, I’ve learned to be kind to myself – at least most of the time. I have learned that life is all about headspace and my thoughts can make my heaven a hell; my hell a heaven. It’s all in how I look at it.

But best of all? I have learned that there is so much worth celebrating in this life I live. 

And that, my friend, is why I have a feather in my hair.

Because I can.

And because I’m free. 

My Mojo

Clearly I’ve lost my mojo.

It has been months since I’ve posted; I feel as though I just don’t have much to talk about anymore. I’ve covered everything there is to cover…and I’m tired over going on and on about the wonders of my life.

My life is pretty darned amazing right now.

But it’s also life. 

You know…

I still clean toilets and some days drag on and on and I worry about my weight and get cranky with Roy when I shouldn’t and impatient with Jace when I should but really shouldn’t and wonder if I don’t give enough and …

Well, lots more ands.

My life is like most everyone’s: it’s just life.

A good life.

But life nonetheless.

But today I saw something that I remembered…oh yeah! My blog…

And I thought, I just need to start again. I need to write again.

Because, even if nobody reads this –I enjoy my blog. It centers me and reminds me that life is beautiful and worth living. That it’s the little things that create meaning.

And today? Well today a little thing happened.

And that’s what I want to tell you about.

It’s the Fourth of July today. And can I just say, I love the holidays—all of the holidays. Red, white and blue, homemade ice-cream, and firecrackers lighting up the sky are the hallmarks of this particular holiday in my mind (and probably most everyone else’s). 

We have family that lives on the north side of Fort Worth, and so we all (as in Lori, Tami and Chas, Cass, Court and Matt (Cass’s boyfriend) loaded up in a couple of vehicles with our potato salad, watermelon, veggie meatballs, and corn on the cob and headed over to Stephen and Robin’s home. My precious Aunt Muggsy was there as well as she only lives a couple of miles away from Steven (her son) and Robin.

Steven smoked a brisket and Robin cooked up far more food than I can list here; we ate and laughed and talked and explored their gorgeous home and just had the best of times.

Several hours later, we loaded to head back home and Aunt Muggs said, “I gave Lori a couple of yellow bags with some stuff from your grandma. She’s supposed to share it with you – you’ll like it.”

Now let me just say, my Grandma Nick? I miss her. I miss her every day.

She passed away in 2000 so she’s been gone quite a long time, but I still think of her often. Grandma just had a way about her – she was so easy to talk to and the best cook and … well, she was just grandma and everything that word entails.

So when Aunt Muggs said she had some of Grandma’s items to share…oh my word.

It made me smile from the inside.

After we’d been home for a bit and crashed for a couple of hours in a food stupor, Tami and I headed over to Lori’s to take a much-needed walk. And just before we loaded up to head backhome, Lori said, “Do you want to see what Aunt Muggs sent over?”

And there on Lori’s table, surrounded by wadded up newspaper and a couple of yellow bags, were some of Grandma’s most prized dishes -- the kind of dishes that were brought out on special occasions; that spelled Grandma.

Six dessert plates, a candy dish, a special bowl, and a butter dish were on display. “What do you want?” Lori asked.

My eyes immediately went to the candy dish. I well-remembered candy corn hanging out in that dish on Christmas Day. I could see my six-year-old self in my mind’s eye, carefully picking one up, my stringy blonde hair in my face, nibbling off just the bottom color of the candy corn and chewing it slowly; then biting off the next bit of color; and then popping the rest of it in my mouth, savoring it slowly.

(Because that’s how I ate when I was six…slowly.)

And so, of course, the candy dish is mine now. I placed it carefully in my china cabinet to patiently wait until the next holiday when I will bring it out and fill it up.

And who knows…

Maybe I’ll fill it with candy corn. 

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll nibble off the bottom part, savoring it slowly; and then the next little bit of color, until I’ve eaten the entire piece.

And if I do, I’ll remember Grandma Nick…

With a smile.