twenty

As our twentieth wedding anniversary approached, I dug into storage to get a few pictures for Facebook.  That was the plan anyway.  Steve found me on the floor in the guest room an hour later, surrounded by old photo albums and a box of wedding remains, in full reminiscing mode.  As I looked at bridal shower pictures and thank you note lists, I was amazed at the unpracticality that I saw -

Lacy camisoles, a silver wine bucket and flower vases, battenburg aprons, floral cloth napkins.  I obviously watched too much I Love Lucy and Lady Diana coverage in my early twenties.

Twenty years of marriage and two sons later find me much more practical than fanciful.  I don't have time to polish silver when my teenage boys want six meals a day.  Rolls of paper towels often take the place of both cloth napkins and lace aprons.  And though that big, beautiful white gown was my total dream dress, if I got married again today, I'd be barefoot on a beach.

These days romance is more about having the dishwasher loaded by my sweet husband or getting the bathroom to myself.  Beyond Victoria Secret or a bouquets of red roses, twenty years of marriage is about compromise, division of chores and repeat conversations.  It's about learning to be less selfish and more thoughtful.  It's about getting better at asking for what I need.  Nicely.  It's about two opposites finding a middle rhythm.  And it's about being humbly grateful to have made it to twenty.

We've had a special celebration every 5th year. A prebaby trip to a B&B in Highlands for 5.  Two nights in Charleston's Two Meeting Street Inn for 10.  And a weekend in New Bern for 15.  The plan for 20 was Ireland.  Years ago we were sure that by our mid 40's we'd be financially set and ready for a week overseas.  Well ready or not, this year was not a financial highlight.  We still aren't rich. On top of near poverty, we got hit with a tax bill and an MRI bill.  Our old car died twice, but that was nothing compared to putting in a brand new air condition unit in our house.  Ireland went from not practical to not possible pretty quickly.

But we made it to twenty years on August 1, 2013.  And to celebrate that monumental feat we went for something just a little unpractical.  We booked a room in Biltmore Park, our favorite date night location seven miles from our house.  A hotel that we have looked up at so many times over the years and said "wouldn't it be fun to stay there?"  We met there on a Wednesday afternoon after work.  From our balcony we could see our restaurants, our movie theatre, and our mountains.  We ate at a new place.  We walked around the town, soaking up the summer evening.  We called our boys, laughing at how much we missed them.  And we again remembered how important it is for the two of us to have moments of fun impracticality in the midst of bills and schedules and survival.  I may even dig out those bejeweled napkin rings...

...or some poetry.  I love this Shakespeare sonnet.  From our twenty year mark it sure rings true.

“Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken."

(Sonnet 116)” ― William Shakespeare, Shakespeare's Sonnets

attained

Life is not easy for any of us. But what of that?  We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves.  We must believe that we are gifted for something and that this thing must be attained.  - Marie Curie

In 1890 a family of eight moved to Asheville.  They were looking for a fresh start, for opportunity and a break from poverty and struggle.  Dad found a job right away as a craftsman on the Biltmore House.  The older four children were enrolled in school and that's where the meager income stopped.  There was not enough money to buy books and shoes for the two youngest - Six year old twin boys named Jude and John.  

But where there is a will, there is a way.  And soon a plan was hatched.  Dad got little Jude a job as water boy at the Biltmore House construction site.   Jude rode to work with Dad and spent the next 9 hours filling buckets with water from the wells and carrying them to the hundreds of workers spread across the property.  The money Jude earned at work was enough to buy shoes for both Jude and John.  And books for school. 

So Mom enrolled little John at the school down the street.  That night John shared every detail of his day with Jude.  Where his desk was, what he had learned, what the teacher was like. And Jude shared every detail of his day with John.  He drew of map of where the wells were and told when the men expected water to arrive.   But here is the interesting part. The next day the two boys switched places.  Jude went to school under the name of John.  And John went to work under the name Jude.  That night they again shared the details of their day.  And the next day they switched back.

No one knew they were twins.  No one suspected that every other day the boys would switch places so they could both get an education and both help earn money.

Jude's 92 year old daughter told me this story, in her living room in Asheville, the week before she passed away.  She spoke with pride about her father's hard work to get an education, even though the diploma he helped earn had John's name on it.  John went on to high school and then moved away for college.  Jude got promoted during the five years it took to finish the Biltmore house -from water boy to garden worker, then later to maintenance assistant.  He eventually became the grounds foreman and spent his life and career working at the house he loved and had helped to build.

carrot cake

My husband loves carrot cake.  We had a delicious carrot cake for our wedding.  I've made and bought numerous carrot cakes and they were all good.  But then my mom discovered and made Southern Living's Best Carrot Cake Ever.  And it was.  It is a moist cake loaded with pineapple, coconut, nuts and of course, carrots.  Then a buttermilk glaze.  Then a homemade cream cheese frosting.  Oh my. But the list of ingredients and multiple steps daunted me and the recipe got filed.

Until this July 8 - Steve's Birthday.  Somehow I felt all baker-y and tackled the (not so hard) cake.  I followed directions and decorated with a flourish.  And somehow I made the Best Carrot Cake EVER!  Steve almost cried with pure joy at each bite.  I was beside myself with pride at my tasty creation.

For the last couple months I have been visiting James, a sweet 97 year old man.  He and his wife moved to Asheville twenty years ago and never found a church they clicked with.  On my first visit they upgraded me from hospice chaplain to their pastor and were happy to finally have one.  They told me all about the businesses they had run, their children and grandchildren, and places they had seen.  And I found out that James loved carrot cake.

So as I was mixing up Steve's cake, I was scheming to take a big piece to James.  Steve was gracious enough to sacrifice a portion of his precious cake to share.  I slid a chunk of that gooey cake into a container, popped it in an ice chest and put James on my visit schedule for the next day.

When I got to the nursing home I couldn't believe how much James had declined.  He opened his eyes and smiled when I showed him the cake.  His wife promised to make sure he got it when he was more awake.  Over the next few days James couldn't eat anything.  Except carrot cake.  Nothing else sounded good to him.  The nurses gave him bites of cake with his medicine.  His wife fed him bites for breakfast and for dinner.  James passed away on Friday night.  His wife ate the last two bites of cake in his honor.  She made me cry when she told me how my cake eased him out of this world.

So here's to the Best Carrot Cake Ever.  And the two men who enjoyed it so much...

oceans

(So I wrote this in January and am just publishing it now....)

It has been raining steadily for 5 days. There is a pond in the middle of our yard.  Our porch is growing green fuzz.  Our cars are covered with a spray of salt from the last snow and our shoes are caked in mud. It's wet.  It's cold.  It's grey.

To combat the mold threatening my soul, I daydream about the beach.  My Coastal Living magazines fill the basket beside my bathtub.   Mykonos or Kauai?  Bathing suits are chosen and ideas fill my beach bags.  I'm rereading A Trip To The Beach, the story of the Blanchard family relocating to Anguilla to open a beachfront restaurant.  I'm so engrossed in their humid, sandy, tropical existence that even their descriptions of lobster rolls and rum punch are starting to make my mouth water.

"If only I could go to the beach and thaw out....then I would be happy...."

It's a sentence like that that makes me remember John the Revelator's strange picture of Heaven.  I read this passage to my patients all the time so it sticks with me.
21:1 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.

No sea?  It always jolts me.  Especially in the winter when my view of pure heaven is one beach vacation after another.

And then I picture John.  Sitting on that Patmos rock.  With miles and miles of water separating him from the people he loves.  His family, his church, his community.  Unreachable.  And he rebels at the ocean in front of him by saying "Never again..."

I get that today in a new way.  It's still cold.  It's still raining.  After a meeting at work, I drove to my brother's house.  I changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt and started scrubbing the floorboards.  Movers were carting the last pieces of furniture out to the huge moving van that blocked the driveway.  Damp, foggy chill settled as I cleaned in the already cleaned-out house.

I remember the day we found this house.  Matt was already working here.  Jenn had flown out for a house hunt and after ten not-right houses, they decided to rent an apartment, until she moved here and could take her time looking.  She flew back to California.  And then the realtor called. There was a house that had come on the market today.  It had the red door and huge back yard Jenn wanted.

Matt and I drove across town and turned into a picturesque neighborhood.  Six houses on one side of a treelined lane.  They all shared a giant back yard/field that ended in a creek.  Jenn's dream of Kennedy family style football games on Thanksgiving were easily pictured here.  Matt called Jenn and after talking her through the house he handed the phone to me.  "So is this a 'we could make this work' house or 'you will really love this' house?" Jenn asked.  "I think you will really love it." I said.

They bought it.  And thirty days later, to my great relief, she loved it!  So did we, as we sat on the back porch and watched our boys and my nieces playing together in the back yard.  That same back yard became our traditional 4th of July party spot - We potlucked festive picnic food and watched fireworks with a growing group of their neighbors and friends.  The white dining room was painted a dark red.  That's where we gathered around the table for Thanksgiving dinners.  One evening in late October we had a pumpkin carving contest on their screened in porch.  Many Sunday mornings after a long run we hung out in their kitchen to finish talking and rehydrate at the round white table by the window.

Six years flew by.  We had totally settled into the "take it for granted that we are neighbors" rhythm  when a dream job was offered.   A For Sale sign was hammered into the grass outside of the red door.  Jenn flew to California to start work.  And I came over, that last rainy day to help Matt close up the house.  My mood was as dark as the weather.  I was tired of the stupid rain.  Tired of the stupid middle of the country that makes North Carolina so far from California.  Tired of goodbyes.  Tears in my eyes, I remembered John on Patmos.  I understood in a new way why he railed at the ocean that separated him from his family and how he longed for Heaven.

I still believe there will be lots of oceans in Heaven.  Long stretches of warm, soft sand.  Gentle waves lapping on the beach.  Bright sunshine streaming down.  And my family and friends in adjoining seaside mansions.  No more goodbyes or months between visits.  No more separation. Never again.

romance

Today was their 72 wedding anniversary.  He was sleeping soundly on the bed when I arrived.  But she curled up on the little couch with me and indulged my romantic questionings.  

They met as teenagers, his desk just behind hers in English class.  They planned to go to college and get "all educated" before things got serious.  But then World War II started.  So she bought a pretty blue and white floral dress and they drove with her sister and his cousin to the Justice of the Peace.

Six weeks later he left for training.  Then England, France and Germany.  She didn't see him for four years.  She did what so many other newly married women did at that time -moved back into her parent's house and finished school.  And then he came home!

They bought a house.  They had three children.  They started a business that became a great success.  They traveled and golfed.  They prayed and argued and danced.  They each coped with illness and watched all four parents, one child and many friends pass away.  They became grandparents and great grandparents.  

Now they live in one small room in an Assisted Living Facility.  He tells me how terrible the food is.  She is knitting a yellow scarf.  They hold hands as they talk about trying to find purpose in your life when your life is slipping away.  Their eyes twinkle as they reminisce about life together.

Tonight I thought about them again as I read this beautiful paragraph.  It integrates my chaplain heart with my romance loving soul.  They merge with these words -

Episcopal priest Robert Farrar Capon has said that the Biblical story starts with a breakup and ends with a wedding, and so the history in between is most truly a romance.  Yes, the romance is filled with tragedy and comedy, but it always and at every moment remains at heart a love story, and every moment is a proposal.  The gift of every moment is the Holy Spirit's holy seduction, the tender proposal of God.  "I love you.  Do you love me? Will you join me in at-one-ment, unity, reconciliation, reunion, belonging, membership, love?  Will you accept my proposal and enter into the vital communion of theosis-union with God?" Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!  (Naked Spirituality, Brian McLaren)

*stock picture from google images, but looks like them!

resilience

This week I talked to my patients about life during the Great Depression.  

Ruby was six years old when the economy crashed.  She remembers that her dad built a wagon for her so that she could help out.  She and her little brother would pull it down to the train yard and pick up pieces of coal that dropped from the trains.  Sometimes train workers threw chunks of coal down to them.  The coal they collected kept their stove going during the winter.  If they didn't get enough coal they drug the wagon to a nearby corn canning factory and loaded the wagon with corn cobs.  One way or another they kept the fire burning for mom to cook dinner. 

I asked Ruby if she was stressed about being so poor.  She said she doesn't remember being stressed at all.  She does remember the neighbor children coming over once a week to listen to a program together on the radio.  And laying in the grass watching lightening bugs and swimming in the river.

Ella's mother died the first year of the depression.  Ella was in the middle of 7th grade but her father pulled her out of school and arranged for her to marry a friend's son, because he couldn't support her anymore.  Ella was 14 when she got married.  She had her first baby at age 15.  Then 7 more babies.  I asked Ella if her young husband was good to her.  She said "No.  He was a drunk from the very beginning and money was always tight."  And then she added with a smile,  "But we sure had wonderful kids."

Emmitt was 20 when the depression hit.  He remembered being desperate to get a job and help his family.  He heard of a man hiring and headed over.  When he got there the waiting room was packed with qualified men all equally desperate.  Emmitt stood on the porch trying to decide what to do next when he saw the owner drive up.  Emmitt ran down to the man's car and pleaded for a chance to work.  The man asked "are you 25?" "Yes" Emmitt lied.  "OK" the man relented.  "Come back tomorrow and you can start."  Emmitt kept that job for the next 37 years, proud to be employed and not wanting his boss to ever regret taking a chance on him.

One more.  In the 1930's in Asheville you could get a bag of cornmeal for 25 cents.  Mary's family was barely surviving.  One Tuesday night there was no food for dinner.  No breakfast on Wednesday morning either.  Mary's mother realized they couldn't wait til dad's payday on Friday.  She bundled Mary up and asked her and her sister to walk to their aunt's house 2 miles away.  "See if she will lend you one quarter, and then you can buy a bag of cornmeal at the store on the way home." Mother asked.  Mary and her sister walked down Louisiana Street toward town.  One mile down the road Mary spotted something green laying the the side of the road.  She ran over to it and picked up 3 dollar bills wadded up.  3 dollars!!  They ran straight to the store and bought cornmeal, meat and some potatoes.  Then they ran home with their packages.  Mother fixed a big lunch meal and then made everyone clean up for church that night to show their appreciation to God for his gift.

All week I heard tough stories. Abusive husbands, empty pockets, hard times, growling stomachs.  But what I heard more of was how much they loved their kids, how great their mother's pie was, how God always came through, how good the honeysuckle smelled on the barn fence and how bright the stars were.

The word that keeps coming to my mind is Resilience. "Resilience is the ability to work with adversity in such a way that one comes through it unharmed or even better for the experience. Resilience means facing life’s difficulties with courage and patience – refusing to give up. It is the quality of character that allows a person or group of people rebound from misfortune, hardships and traumas.

Resilience is rooted in a tenacity of spirit—a determination to embrace all that makes life worth living even in the face of overwhelming odds."

Though the country was bankrupt and money was scare, many in this generation were stockpiling experiences of character building, thankfulness, memories and love for their family.




From what I'm reading about how to become more resilient - it starts now.   Investing in relationships that allow us to lean on each other for support when we need it.  And living in gratitude for all good things we can count.  “If we don’t allow ourselves to experience joy and love, we will definitely miss out on filling our reservoir with what we need when. . . . hard things happen.” 

bread and wine

After a long work and school induced entertaining absence, I was craving a winter evening dinner party.    I shopped on Wednesday and prepped the food on Thursday.  I did a little extra cleaning every night so by Friday the house was company clean.  By the time I got home from work, it was just the fun bits of hosting left to do - assemble the food, set the table, and light candles.

We invited some of our favorite people - The Blehm family drove up from Georgia for the weekend.  And the almost neighbors Peters, who became a family of four in November.  Six adults and seven kids ranging from 13 to newborn.  Five vegans, two gluten-frees, two picky kids (mine), and several people who will eat anything.  The challenge was to make a simple, inclusive meal that was so warm and delicious no one would miss any ingredients.

I made a cashew cream corn chowder from the Conscious Cook.  My mom's version of it was fantastic, so I (uncharacteristically) followed the directions exactly.  It was perfect! Creamy and flavorful.  A new favorite.

I bought regular and gluten free baguettes and sliced them on a plate with cheddar cheese, dill havarti, red onions, avocado slices, tomato slices, and baby romaine lettuce.  The kids could make little grilled cheese sandwiches, and everyone else could create their own.  We had grape juice, because that is our traditional, Friday-night-bringing-the-Sabbath-in drink.

Even after a day of traveling, Angela made a beautiful fruit salad in a white pedestal bowl, and yummy cookies.

Jenn made a great vege salad and then wowed us with a warm Apple and Pear Crisp and coconut milk ice cream.

The dinner was delicious but the company was even better.   The kids headed out to play in the cold night air, coming in occasionally for more sweatshirts or gloves.  This lowered the indoor noise to a delightful, conversational level.  We passed around baby Samuel, taking turns smelling his newborn head, kissing his little cheeks and getting him to smile big, toothless grins.  At one point, I stood in the kitchen and watched my candle-lit friends and family laughing and talking.   I felt so contented.  So blessed to be a part of the comradery and joy of the evening.  

This week Shauna Niequist's third book comes out.  Bread and Wine, finding community and life around the table.  I was lucky enough to get an advanced copy, and I devoured it.  I love, love, loved it.  Shauna's engaging and transparent essays are interwoven with fun recipes and reminders that we are hungry for more than just food.  Bread and Wine reminds me that life is about people not perfection.  It is both comforting and inspiring.  Order it today!  Order extras because this book makes a wonderful present.   Be prepared...this book will send you to your kitchen.  And make you eager to fill the chairs around your table with people you love.

     I want you to gobble life up in huge bites, tasting everything, trying every new flavor, remembering every smell and texture like it's the best thing you've ever had.  I want you to live with wild and gorgeous abandon, throwing yourself into each day, telling the truth about who you are and who you are not, writing a love song to the world itself and to the God who made every inch of it.
     I want you to invest yourself wholly and deeply in friendship, God's greatest evidence of Himself here on earth.  More than anything, I want you to come to the table.  In all sorts of ways, both literally and metaphorically, come to the table.  
   Shauna Niequist Bread and Wine.