Merry Christmas! Or is it?

The morning my dad passed away a grief counselor from the hospice unit came into the room to talk about grief, I suppose. We'd been there for several days and I don't believe I'd talked to her before. She was talking about a process or something when I interrupted her nearly in a panic - "What day is this?!" I practically demanded from this stranger. She seemed a little confused at my question. "Is this Christmas Eve?!" again, I felt like I was in a panic. "Oh please, don't let this happen Christmas Eve", I was thinking to myself. "No", the lady said. "It's the day before". And I felt relieved. We spent that Christmas Eve picking out a casket and Christmas day that year our "family meal" was a few casseroles that friends and neighbors had brought over. Still, at least it wasn't on 'the day'.

I have always loved Christmas - everything about it! I have always loved the actual meaning of Christmas as well as the sparkly side of the holiday. I've always loved Santa Claus, Christmas trees, Manger scenes and the Baby Jesus. I looked forward to it months ahead of it and January was the biggest kill-joy month that ever was! Christmas to me was magical and special. It 'was' all those things. But it became 'when my dad died'. It's the anniversary of one of my darkest moments and there's not enough twinkling lights and eggnog to make into anything much different than that. It's a weird place I find myself in. Christmas comes around so early these days with the retail stores getting out the holiday decor before the Halloween stuff is put away. I'm excited when I'm standing in Wal-mart in the middle of October looking at the glittery ornaments but in the same scene I'm devistated that "Christmas is back" with all of it's stupid glittery ornaments. The continuous Christmas music starts on the radio stations in the middle of November and I tune my radio right to it because I love it so. But the songs bash into my brain like a sledge hammer raging to "REMEMBER, REMEMBER, REMEMBER". Yep. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year all right.

The first year after my dad died I was compelled to have more than one Christmas tree. I wanted one in every room. And Each tree in each of the rooms had to be completely different and each had to have it's own theme and each had to be named after Christmas songs. I spent a fortune of money I didn't have. I think I was trying so hard not to hate Christmas that I forced it all right down my own throat. I was choking on it and I was going to love it, even if I hated the thoughts! And then there was the matter of being Santa Claus for Matthew. And that's really where I spent up the bill money trying to compensate for the obvious, big, gaping hole in my life. My dad was gone and I tried to make up for that with Christmas trees and one each of everything Toys R Us had to offer a 2 year old boy. That Christmas - as hard as I tried - sucked. If it weren't for Matthew I would have stayed in bed the whole day. I was so grateful I had Matthew to take care of. You can't stop Christmas - even if you wanted to and Santa wasn't coming without me. I got through the morning and I was looking at the home stretch to the end of this wonderfully awful season when I got a phone call saying my brother had collapsed. They rushed him to the hospital where he died before the day was done. And it was 'the day'. And it was then that my Christmas dilemma became almost unbearable.

For the last 5 years I've been on the roller coaster ride that I know as the Christmas season. As much as I love it I hate it. As much as I look forward to it I dread to see it coming. As sad as it is to me to see the Christmas stuff in the stores on clearance before the actual day even gets here I'm grateful that it's come and gone without taking anyone else that I love. And January...that dreadful and depressing, nothing-to-look-forward-to, empty and non-sparkly month that I despise so much is a joy to behold. As nutty as I sound - and honestly I can't believe that I'm even sharing this with anyone - this year has been a little different. A lot different, really. And the reason is my church! I've written about my church before and how thankful I am for it and for the people in it. This Christmas I'm reminded that there's even more to that little church that I can be thankful for and that's for giving me something to look forward to! I have a place to be and people to be around and an opportunity to do things for other people. Tonight my son sang a solo in the Children's choir! I didn't have that before - and I couldn't help but think how much my dad would have loved to see him sing! But I remembered that fondly and I didn't feel like the weight of the thing I was missing was going to crush me. What I had was finally starting to outweigh what was gone! Finally, my mind is on other stuff like Christmas - and the birth of my Savior and not just Christmas - death day for everybody I know.

It still makes me so sad that my dad and my brother aren't around to enjoy the holidays with mom, Matthew and me but I'm not going to let that saddness take the lead this year. This year all truly is calm and bright and I'm letting Christ be the centerpiece of my days! One day I'll see my family in heaven again but until then, from this Christmas forward, I'm easily letting the magic of the season back in my heart and in my home with a celebration of what Christmas is, not longing for something that it's not. God Bless you this season and have a very, Merry Christmas!

Giving Thanks To God For My Church!

During church tonight the pastor asked us to be prepared on Wednesday night to name the stuff we're thankful for. For me, this season of Thanksgiving - like every Thanksgiving before - I certainly am thankful for my family, my precious son and my health but this year there's so much more for which I need to give thanks. And I figured I wouldn't have the whole hour to myself on Wednesday night to shout to the Lord for all my blessings I decided to take it to my blog and exclaim that I am incredibly thankful for my NEW CHURCH!

On the table in front of the pulpit at my church there's a Bible that's opened somewhere around the middle. I'm afraid I don't know where exactly but given it's location I'm thinking maybe the Psalms. It's a beautiful Bible, big with the gold edges on the pages. The thing I love the most about that Bible is the red ribbon hanging down the middle - I look at it often while I'm listening to the sermon. It reminds me of the blood of Jesus. That blood, the price paid for my salvation I'm most certainly thankful for and I'm grateful to be visually reminded every time I walk through the doors! The carpeting in the sanctuary is the color of cranberry, and plush under foot. The aisle is so inviting - sometimes I imagine springing out of my seat and running down to the front, throwing myself facedown at the altar and thanking Him for allowing a wretch like me the opportunity to sit in His beautiful house. The stained glass windows are big and bright, lined with the most brilliant red, colored glass. Each one is different and each one dedicated to a church member from days past. I imagine the light shining through one of those windows may have meaning beyond compare to those who's family member is remembered with the dedication of each giant, colorful piece of craftsmanship.

The whole sanctuary is comfortable and inviting, but most importantly the pews are filled with the body of Christ. My first Sunday as a visitor, this group of people who collectively make up "the Church" reached out to me and to my son and made me feel that I'd finally found my way home. As lovely a building as I find my church to be, there's nothing more beautiful there than the people in it. Young and old, together they are the heart that give the little church its soul. I think the people there are what love looks like and I'm thankful I've gotten to see it for myself. I'm grateful for my friend who thought Matthew and I may benefit from being invited to her church. I doubt she knows the full impact of her invitation.

I'm thankful for the music that wraps me in its arms and comforts me. It's gentle notes envelope me, it's words whisper to me to come as you are and invites me into it's melody. There my heart swells and I cry. My tears flow, I can't help it, and it's right there that I realized I'm loved. I'm thankful for the children's choir that has given my son the opportunity to sing songs of praise and raise his hands towards Heaven with worship. I had no idea that watching my son praise God would be so beautiful! Seeing that is a blessing. And what a blessing that little children's choir has been! It was Matthew singing a song he learned in vacation Bible school that led me to that precious little church and for that I am so thankful!

In the short time I've been a student in my Sunday school class I've learned so much about the awesome Word of God and I have even fallen in love with the people in the class. I love those people like my family (some of them ARE my family) and I really get the feeling they love me too! Before I found my church, well, before God placed me in my church, I was so incredibly lonely and I prayed for people. I needed people. I needed to see people, talk to people, listen to people - so God sent me to some people! Isolation is a dangerous thing and I'm so thankful that I'm isolated no more. I cannot thank God enough for leading me to this precious group of friends. They each offer something to me so special they may never know but I cherish them and what I've gained just from hearing them speak. And then there's my beautiful Sunday school teacher. If ever a person opened their arms and truly welcomed me it was her. She's a gift from God to me, a true gift! She listens to me when I say something and she prays for me. And I feel it when she prays!

And then there's my pastor. The first sermon I ever heard from him, he called Jesus' disciples "some dudes". And it wasn't disrespectfully - it was passionately and I knew right then that I was going to love this church! Vocally he has good tone and the right inflection which is important for any speaker. He uses personal anecdotes to tell stories and he's mixes in just the right amount of humor with a bit of history and a great deal of knowledge. He smiles when he speaks and he's excited about what he's doing - that's obvious in his delivery - he's youthful with boyish charm and a hairstyle that makes newspaper writers want to do stories about him. But besides any of that...God uses him to speak directly into my soul. I stop hearing "the pastor speaking" and I start to receive into my heart the precious Word of the Almighty God. It washes over me and I absorb it like a sponge, I lose my breath and I break out in chills when I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit surrounding me. He leads me into prayer - my personal conversation with my savior and he's guided me closer to God. I thank God for the vessel that carries His message and I shed tears of joy for the abundance of love that He showers on me through the voice of a man.

So this year I give thanks to God for all my blessings but especially I thank Him for Tuckaseege Baptist Church and all that makes it. May the Lord continue to bless it, it's people and it's ministry.

TURN DOWN THAT NOISE!

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people to peaceably assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances." That's the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America - and I'm down with it. But...

When I was a big-haired teenager in the 80's I remember being upset with Tipper Gore for campaigning to slap that tell-tale "parental advisory" sticker on my favorite albums. I had just learned about the Constitution in my 9th grade Government class and as far as I was concerned, she was trying to squash Motley Crue's freedom of speech! Before Tipper shined the light on heavy metal and some other less than holy music-makers, my mom and dad were completely in the dark about what I was listening to. All they really knew for sure was that it was loud and it got on their nerves. With the addition of that cursed little black and white warning sticker my gig was up. No more listening to my favorite hairbands singing about love-making in less than flowery language. No more teenaged rebellion in the form of head-banging greatness peppered with the occasional "damn" or "hell" for amplified sentiment. And then on the rare occasion you were blasted with the "F" bomb - the MOTHER of all bad words - that teenaged rebellion headed right to the cliff - living on the edge of total anarchy! All of a sudden you were fighting for your RIGHT to PARTY! (ala Beastie Boys, circa 1980 something...) A real kick in the teeth of all authority. I was a rebel. A real hard-core wild child with my good music that was oh so BAD! No more of that. When my parents became enlightened by simply eying that "Tipper Sticker" attached to what seemed like every song I ever loved I could no longer walk freely through the back door with my latest purchase from the Record Bar. I had to allow the 'inspection'. I had to resort to smuggling in my musical paraphernalia - so when I was yelled at to "TURN DOWN THAT NOISE!", I did it. Mostly so I wouldn't get caught!

Fast-forward 20 something years. I'm older, wiser, I'm responsible, I work for a living and I'm a mother of an impressionable 7 year old boy. I have a lot more sense than I used to. So now when I'm listening to music - and I listen to all kinds - I don't really see the need for the bad language. The artist, as far as I'm concerned, could have made the exact same point without running the risk of getting 'labeled' with the warning sticker. Just the same, to each his own. The artist has a right - based on the Constitution - to use whatever language he or she is compelled to use and to write about whatever is top of mind at that time. Just like I have a right to purchase it and listen to it. Their choice to say it, my choice to listen, anyone's choice to listen. But...

The other morning I walked up to the bus stop with my 7 year old boy. My precious little son who I've tried to raise with some manners, morals, a sense of self, some independance (but not too much!) and a definate understanding of right and wrong. I try my best to protect the boy from harm, to guard his innocence. Kids today grow up so fast anyway - there's no need for him to know about 'bad stuff' or 'adult stuff'. I watch what I talk about in front of him, I monitor what he listens to on the radio or the things he sees on TV. To put it simply, I care about what goes into him because I care about what's liable to come out of him.

So back to the bustop the other morning...Matthew and I were standing there like we do every morning along with probably 1o other kids when one of the parents pulled up in his car with his little girl. I could hear the bass thumping from down the street so when he got to the stop it was just as loud as a car stereo could get, I imagine - and crystal clear too. My hearing, my son's hearing was assualted by the noise alone but the song was obscene, and the more we stood there the more I felt like I was being molested by words. The chorus was, and I quote, "I ain't scared of a N-word's Mother Fu*%in' S#*t" and "Man F*@k that S#*t N-word, f^*k that S#*t, man." repeated over and over and over. The verses rapped about killing people. It was as plain as daylight, I could hear it as well as if I had earbuds crammed into my ear canals. I tried to cover Matthew's ears - but that didn't work. Had I left the bus stop we would have missed the bus. I happen to know this particular neighbor so I'm certain if I'd have asked him to turn that off here at the bus stop with all the kids around then he would have told me to f*%k off and then he would have turned it up just to prove some sort of point. I just had to stand there and hear it - and even worse, my precious, absorbent little sponge of a son who struggles already with the temptation of trying to kick in the teeth of authority by slipping out a bad word now and again, was forced to hear it. Let's not forget the guy's own little 8-year old girl who stepped out of his car when the bus rolled up. She had a front seat to all things "bitches and ho's". When I got back in the house I 'googled' the lyrics I could remember and to the best of my knowledge it's a song called "Knockin' Heads Off" by a fellow called "Lil Jon". If you're not familiar with it, I urge you to google it for yourself. I'm sure it has "the sticker" but it's good to know what kind of thing is going on out there these days. And so you can see for yourself what we're up against in case you have a neighbor who thinks that 'gangsta rap' is appropriate for bustop listening.

Again, I'm down with the Constitution and your right to sing whatever you like and your right to listen to it but when my son cannot stand at the BUS STOP - a place where ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CHILDREN stand and wait to catch a bus that takes them to school so they can learn how to spell things like cat, rat, house, mouse, etc. then I have a REAL problem! What about MY rights NOT to be bombarded with the "f" bomb and my son's right not to be pummeled with the sounds of drive-by shootings and the like. Just like there's laws against having sex in a public park or the smoking ban in public restaurants, I think there should be some sort of law against blairing obscenities at a place where people - young and old - are gathered. I think I'll look into that, indeed. If there's not a law against auditory assault on children at the bus stop then maybe I'll petition to get one, using my dear neighbor as the poster boy for "We're not gonna take it anymore!" (ala Twisted Sister, circa 1980-something!) Where's Tipper when you need her?!

Say, what's with all the pictures?

People (usually my family and my Facebook friends) say to me all the time "MAN you take a lot of pictures!" and "Geez, you and Matthew are always going somewhere!" And to both comments I say "yes, you're right". The next question is usually "Why?". Well, there's actually a reason behind both. And as much as I wish to one day write my little travel guide for the single mom complete with pictures of Matthew standing in front of the "fill in the blank" attraction, it started, simply enough, just for my dad.

First of all, I'm compelled to say that there was not another person on the face of this Earth that my dad loved more than ME! Oh the sun set on me according to my dad. I was a favorite thing to him. (My brother and I used to joke about it - he was mom's favorite and I was dad's and we were ok with that!) So, I was happy as a lark going through life being a daddy's girl, all spoiled and showered with love and anything I needed and then - along came Matthew! Suddenly I became a distant second in dad's eyes since the coming of Matthew, dad was just goofy in love with that baby! But no sooner was little Matthew born then my husband took a job up in Lenoir, North Carolina. We had to pack up the new family and move a whopping 45 minutes away to Hickory, North Carolina. In dad's mind it might as well have been Saskatchewan...he was so upset that the baby was going to grow up "so far away from home".

When we got to Hickory, the hub was working all the time and I had this brand new baby that at times I wasn't sure what to do with. I was lonely and becoming a little isolated and sometimes even felt like I was as far away as Saskatchewan. I took care of Matthew during the day, painted, unpacked and worked on the house at night. It was quiet and there were days when the only person I talked to was a 2 month old baby! It was the first time in almost 20 years that I didn't go to a job and work for a living - it was just Matthew and me. I was grateful for the opportunity to stay home and raise my son but I didn't, make that COULDN'T stay at home for long! I was about to go crazy inside the 4 walls of my new house and I had to get out of there and go see something different - or go talk to someone who could answer without cooing, gurgling or spitting up on me!

Meanwhile my dad was at his home missing us, make that Matthew, terribly. He called a lot but we had to be mindful of the long distance charges. It was before facebook and dad had no desire to learn anything about email. I really was a long way away for him and he worried himself sick over us. I went home a lot - but he would worry about that too, saying stuff like "you're burning up the highways with that baby in the car!" He would be thrilled to see us (baby Matthew) but wouldn't be happy until we made it back to Hickory in one piece! I was sort of stuck.

So dad, bless his soul, not wanting to miss one more minute of Matthew's little life and not wanting me to risk life and limb by driving anywhere went out and bought me a Cam-corder so I could video every little exciting thing that Matthew did! So I did. I recorded Matthew lying on the floor, Matthew batting at toys, Matthew flipping over, Matthew's face turning red when he was pooping, Matthew eating baby food and spitting it out. Dad was content with the 'footage' and according to mom watched the tapes over and over (bless his heart!) I got a little bored video taping Matthew sitting in the play-pen and again the 4 walls were starting to close in on me so we started to go out to the local parks just to get pictures and video of Matthew lying on a blanket in the grass or in front of something different than my house! At least it gave dad something different to look at (even though he would give me a hard time about 'taking that baby to a park where muggers could be lurking' or 'germs from some sick kid could get on him'!)

When I exhausted every 'photo-op' every local park in my area had I started looking on-line for some other "baby-friendly" places to go. And go we did! Over that next year Matthew and I went all over the place, snapping pictures and shooting video of our "adventures". For dad I made photo albums, had calendars made for him out of pictures of Matthew, tee-shirts, coffee mugs, framed 8x10's. The pictures became some of dad's favorite things and the videos kept him close to his favorite person.

When dad got sick the pictures and the videos became even more important to him. The more he couldn't get out the more I wanted to go somewhere - just to make pictures of Matthew for my dad. A handful of simple snapshots could make his whole day seem better. The last pictures dad saw were of our trip to the Asheboro Zoo and Matthew's visit with Santa Claus. I took the photo album to the hospital when he asked me to and he took one of the pictures out of the book and kept it by his bed until he died. When dad passed away he had 18 hours worth of cherished memories on video and a little building full of photographs - we even sent some of the pictures with him. Since dad's been gone Matthew and I have been countless places. Every trip we've ever made or any picture I've ever taken in some way reminds me of my dad - if for no other reason than I "burned up the highway" to get us to where we landed that day! Now-a-days I just post my pictures up on Facebook but occasionally I still take a picture or two over to the cemetary. What started out as a way to get out of the house for a minute became something so special for my dad - and subsequently me, and now Matthew - that I can't imagine NOT going somewhere and very definately not taking a picture of it!

In Life There Are Rules...

In life there are rules. Some rules are in the form of laws. Set forth by the communities in which they exist, laws work to keep peace amongst the civilized people and to bring justice to those who can't function properly inside the confines of the 'rules'. There's written 'rules' like those found in the Bible. The 10 commandments were a set of rules handed down by God Himself. Thou Shalt not Kill, for instance or Worship no other gods before me. Very good rules to live by and easy to understand. Matthew 7:12 says "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". That's the Golden Rule. And then there's the posted rules like those you find hanging at swimming pools warning against diving in the shallow water or playground signs which admonish jumping into the ball pit while wearing shoes. I can even think of some rules which aren't posted but seem to be widely accepted like the "be quiet at the library" rule or removing your hat during the National Anthem. But there are rules that are generally left unspoken, relying mostly on common sense to be adhered to and one place that has never been more true is in the parking deck.

When Matthew was little he used to LOVE going into parking decks. If he saw one while we were driving by he would all but beg me to drive into it. It fascinated him. For me though the fascination wasn't how many cars could squeeze into a high-rise, dimly lit and exhaust covered, stacked square structure but just how people who drive round and round and round the inside of one searching for the prime spot closest to the elevator forgetting all about the unspoken-but should at least be known "rules". This past week while visiting my mom in the hospital and having to utilize the parking deck several times, I decided it's time for someone to make a list of parking deck rules. Perhaps print them on a sign and post them in parking structures all over the world!

1. If you're in a busy parking deck, please, PLEASE don't stop in the middle of the thing to wait on a spot to open - ESPECIALLY if there's more spots up ahead. You might see someone with keys in hand and about to throw their bags into the car sitting in the first space past the handicap parking but that doesn't mean for a second that the space is about to become unoccupied. In fact, if that driver is anything like me - bothered greatly by people waiting on me to move out of my primo parking spot - then they may sit there for 1o minutes on principle alone! Move on!! It won't hurt you to walk the extra 7 spaces!

2. Speed Kills! It is NOT ok to take that hairpin curve lined by cars on every side at 40 miles an hour. But if you must take that turn at a break-neck speed - at least HANG UP THE PHONE AND DRIVE!

3. A parking garage is no place for a Monster Truck. If you can't fit into a normal sized parking space at Vera's Truck-o-Rama then please don't try to squeeze the "Gravedigger" into the first space on the right. It's not possible!

4. There is no need to pull your car into a spot backwards. I know that's 'cool' and all but really, in a parking deck - who cares! You are gumming up the whole process when you pass the space, back in just a smidge (trying of course to avoid slamming into the mini-van parked on each side, one who's wheel is clearly in your space), turn your steering wheel all the way to the left, move forward one inch, turn the steering wheel all the way to the right, move back one inch, and so on and so on until finally managing to slide it in 15 minutes later. Meanwhile the 47 people in the cars behind you are about to suffocate from exhaust fumes and they're mad. Trust me.

5. Lastly, never in the history of cars has a 1978 Mercury Grand Marquis been considered a "compact" car. When you see a sign that says "Parking for Compact Cars" that doesn't mean 'park here if you can fit a compact car in your trunk'.

Parking decks are a useful, modern day space saver and a perfectly nice place to leave your car but forgetting the rules could be dangerous. Remember the rules and remember that we can't all be in the first space by the stairs! Happy parking!

MATTHEW THE INTIMIDATOR!

Today was the first day it hadn't rained in days and it finally got out of the 30's, so in honor of Speedweek down in Daytona we spent a couple of hours at the NASCAR Speedpark in Concord. I took Matthew there for the first time about this time last year - and I was so impressed with his efforts on the track that I went home and wrote about it. Today's visit reminded me of that and I thought I'd post it again here on my little blog...Written in January, 2009, here's MATTHEW THE INTIMIDATOR!

We decided to take advantage of a beautiful Sunday by laying down a little rubber at NASCAR Speedpark in Concord. Little Matthew - the INTIMIDATOR in training - did well for the first time in his miniature machine despite not being able to see over the steering wheel. He started out slowly, zipping around a miniature D-Oval at a break neck speed of one to two miles per hour. The rush of adrenaline he gained from the thrill of his first win led him over to the Rookie Experience - a challenging course, cars with big engines rumbling lively and the smell of racing fuel in the air. He handed his tickets to the crew member, slipped a booster seat into the cockpit of his ride and strapped in for a white knuckles contest of speed and fury. His icy stare peered out the side of the car (because he couldn't see over the steering wheel), he juiced the gas and he and the rest of the field rolled off pit road and onto the track. "Boogety, Boogety, Boogety!" screamed Darrell Waltrip (in my own head), the green flag flew and they were off to the races!

Now Matt's a pretty competitive kid - anyone who knows him knows that - but I was surprised how my little 5 year old son went door to door with a Jack Ass Grown Up who thought it was funny to trade paint with the kiddies! The pit crew member whistled at the guy to stop bumping but he didn't. Lap after lap I watched this jerk bang into my baby and another kid in the pack. It was hard to watch, and in my mind I was planning that man's demise. But Matt seemed cool as hardened steel when he laid some bumper on the guy, got him loose in the turn and finally over took him in the backstretch. The competitor tried in vain to regain his lead but the crew man signaled one to go and the man was running out of time. The checkers dropped and the race was over. Somebody else won the race but the battle to get onto pit road was still brewing - because where you park determines, albeit unofficially, your finish. They navigated the final turn, Matt in his #29 Goodwrench machine, the jerk right behind him in the Waste Management Ford. Matt drifted slightly up the track and the man sped up, tried to dive in low and get into the pits. In a last second effort Matt turned hard left, shut the man down and sent the crew member leeping into the air for safety. The man hit the wall of old tires as Matt claimed his fifth place finish! The crew member was a little shaken but ok as Matthew lept from his car screaming "I'm a Winner!" The bumping jerk exited the track head down, trying to avoid my evil gaze. I'm ok letting him out of the ass-whoopin' I had planned for him because he now has to live with the fact that he was taken to school by a 5 year old boy who needed a booster seat to reach the pedals!