Archive for March, 2007

March 27, 2007 @ 3:04 pm | Filed under: Friends, It's a Girl Thing, Pure Sunshine

The proposal for Finding Faith is sealed in an envelope and will be dropped off at Post Net on my way home this afternoon. (I would pause here to do a little happy dance except I’m sitting in the library at school and that would draw WAY too much attention my direction:) In a few short days it will find its way to the desks of my publishers while I wait to hear if it is a story they desire to represent.

There is something that feels so extraordinary about sliding those freshly printed sheets of manuscript inside an 9×11 manilla envelope and preparing it for the mail. While the manuscript is still not complete, this is the point in the process where I can draw my first deep breath and take a brief moment to relax. Inside this envelope is the proposal and sample chapters, the equivalent of my heart and soul and the complete vision that I carry for this story.

For the next few, brief days the story is more or less out of my hands as I wait to hear the verdict. The story has crystalized in my heart and mind and - for me - the most excruciating part of the process is just about over. While I wait to hear back I will work intensively to finish the remaining chapters and then begin the satisfying process of layering in more emotion, conflict, and spiritual threads throughout the story.

But first…(drumroll, please)

I’m off for a girl’s-only weekend with my friends!

After I complete three exams (count ‘em - THREE - how on earth did THAT happen?) on Thursday morning, I will finally be free to hit the highway around noon. We will be attending a ladies retreat a few hours drive from here and we’ll be sharing, laughing, eating, crying, and worshiping, (in no particular order) during our time away. I always come home with my soul rejuvenated, my mind refreshed, and my heart overflowing with the beauty of friendship.

The above picture is of me and my roommates. These are the women who feel the heartbeat of my life. They uphold me in prayer, make me laugh until I cry, and always, always, always challenge me to be a better person. I thought I had great friends as a little girl but these women have revolutionized the whole meaning of friendship for me.

Of course, it helps that when I suggest an authentic Irish dinner for St. Patrick’s Day, they jump on board with energy and enthusiasm! Despite the fact that none of us knew the definition of "authentic Irish food." Regardless that not a one of us had ever attempted such culinary wonders in the kitchen before. And - for the record - the meal was a complete hit - delicious, prepared to perfection, and enjoyed by all.

The best part was the process though. Just moving around the kitchen together - reading recipes, seasoning the lamb, boiling the potatoes for the colcannon, stirring the braised root vegetables, and baking Bonnie’s scrumptious carrot cake. Occasionally we’d bump into one another, getting in each other’s way and fumbling for various pots and pans, but laughing and joking the entire time.

There are some things that money just can’t buy.

One of them is friendships like these.

Another is the peace that comes with sealing a small segment of your dream in an envelope and sending it on its way with a whispered prayer.

Today, I’m thankful for both.

March 25, 2007 @ 10:39 pm | Filed under: Uniquely Me

I took the towel off of my wet hair this morning and leaned my arms on the bathroom counter, staring at the dark circles and deep bags that ran half-moons beneath both my eyes. In my head all I could hear was my mother’s words of warning from a few days ago.

"Staci, I can tell from looking in your eyes. You’re pushing too hard. You need to slow down."

Even as I did my best to camoflauge the tiredness this morning, a few scenes from the past week revisited me.

Last Tuesday afternoon I walked into a new class on campus: American History II - Express. That means a whole semester in a mere eight weeks. It also means adding two and a half hours to both of my days on campus, taking my school days from four hours up to seven.

I don’t remember a lot about the first day, except my first impression of the professor. With wild hair and a wooly beard, he possessed a high energy that I was pretty sure was only heightened by the Starbucks cup he clutched as he strode briskly from one side of the room, to the other, to the other, to the other, to the other…

Promising to get us all "high on history," (obviously he’d not had someone as immune to history as me before!) he passed out pretests, the class syllabus, and then promptly dove right into Chapter One. While it’s all a bit cloudy right now, somewhere around Hour Two I distinctly remember thinking, "Dear God. WHAT HAVE I DONE?"

Could I not have left well enough alone and been content with twenty-four credit hours for my first year? But no, silly me. I want to begin next fall as a full-fledged sophomore, regardless of the fact that no one except me is keeping score.

About eleven-thirty the next night, having just returned home from a quick trip out of town, I sat at the computer and finally hit SEND, shooting a paper off to a professor with a scant 29 minutes to spare until the cut-off. Then I began to prepare for the next day’s classes: a Psychology test at 8:30, a roundtable debate in Government at 10, and a response paper for my Lit class. Not to mention the joys of getting high on history all over again at 1. Sometimes, the fun just never stops…

By Friday I was in full-on guilt mode that I’d not met my word count for this week. Again. While school is of the utmost importantance to me right now, I know that writing is my calling, and that it shouldn’t be neglected. So I spent Saturday close to my office and computer, trying to make up for time spent in other places, on other things.

I have to admit that by the time I arrived at church this morning I was ready to just take a seat, breathe deeply a few times, and relax. I will never complain, that much is for sure. Compared to my husband’s crazy schedule (he’s going from L.A. in the morning to Waco on Wednesday) and the schedules of some of our friends, mine is a complete cake walk. Believe me, I know this.

Still and all, I felt road-weary this morning and not at all sure that I was doing such a good job of keeping all my balls up in the air. Keeping priorities straight and making myself available as a mom and wife and friend while keeping up a certain GPA in school and attempting to write fiction that will inspire…

Well, let’s just say that not all my bases are covered each and every day. And that bothers me.

But as the first few strains of this song began this morning, something in me stirred. The weariness eased from my body and I felt my spirit respond.

"As I look back over my life
and I think things over.
I can truly say that I’ve been blessed,
I’ve got a testimony.

There was a time I couldn’t find my way.
The Lord, He brought me out, yeah.
Right now, I’m free
And I’ve got the Victory.
Now, I’ve got a testimony."

In those next few, sweet minutes the craziness of my life right now made absolute perfect sense to me.

You see, there was a time in my life when I would never have visualized the life I’m living today. While going to school and writing full-time are a delicate balancing act, they are THE evidence of a God who loves me.

He saw a girl with a desire to love and be loved, a passion for writing, and an untapped zest for life. This season in my life is all about cultivating both, that desire and that passion.

Do I need school to do that?

Well, maybe not. But it is the path that will lead me to the place I desire to be: instilling this same passion in the hearts and minds of the generation that is following along behind me.

Do I need to write?

Well, maybe not. But the only way to share the truths that God gives to me while writing is to pull it all out of me, one painful page at a time.

As tired as I may become certain weeks, that level of weariness doesn’t come close to the gratefulness I feel for this time in my life. This is my brief window of opportunity to reach out and grasp with both hands all that He has for me. I want to drink it in in great big gulps and wrap my arms around each and every day, squeezing it for all it is worth. I don’t want to squander the resources I’ve been given. This is the time to leave my own footprints on the world around me.

The story of my life is unfinished, but the Author of it promises to make the next chapters even more fulfilling than the previous. There are promises He has made to me that are coming up the road. While it is impossible for me to see how or when…still I trust.

So, as the heroine of His story, I will continue to act, and speak, and love, and learn - just as He asks me to. Even when I become tired. Even when dark circles ring my eyes. Even when my own mother sounds the maternal voice of warning. I will do as He asks.

Who am I to argue with that?

I know what it does to an author when a character acts up…

March 25, 2007 @ 9:13 pm | Filed under: Pure Sunshine

Our Sunday School class of second-graders…

March 20, 2007 @ 9:56 pm | Filed under: Soul Food

Isn’t it amazing how intricately - and delicately - our bodies and minds are created?

In particular, I’m blown away at how the mind, body, and soul all seem to work in such harmony. At how each of our senses serve such a greater purpose even than what we give them credit for. They overlap, scoot through our memory banks, and produce in us emotions that our minds then work to place in proper perspective.

Have you ever stepped outside of a store on a hot summer’s day, caught a whiff of tar in the air, and be instantly reminded of long lazy days spent at Six Flags as a kid?

Or maybe you’re at the mall and hear the strains of a song that had a special meaning at one point in your life. Even while your mind is on your shopping list, emotions are being stirred and memories - long dormant - are swirling around inside you.

I’m currently enrolled in an Intro to Psychology course so I’m quite sure that I could find out what the technical terminology for all of this is called if I were to actually read the chapters. (KIDDING - I do read the chapters. Um…MOST of them.)

This happened to me yesterday and even now - a day later - I’m still basking in amazement at how my mind, body, and soul are so bound to one another. Blown away that one body is capable of so much intense emotion. Intrigued that one mind is able to channel in mere seconds the flow of that emotion.

I was out running errands and had just pulled into the bank parking lot when my phone rang. I reached for it, flipped it open, and answered as usual. Since I was half-way expecting a call, I think maybe I anticipated a different greeting on the other end.

"What’re you doing?"

Three short words that you hear every single day. A common exchange among me and my friends. Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

Except this time, it wasn’t ordinary. It was…extradordinary.

I truly wish I had the words to accurately portray what transpired inside of me in that split second of hearing those three. simple. words. But while my mind, body, and soul work really well together, sometimes the English language (writer though I am) still fails me.

In mere nano-seconds I was transported back in time about fifteen or more years. The combination of the words, the timbre of voice, and probably my mood at the time all melded together seamlessly and - though I still sat behind the wheel of my car and did my best to carry on a normal conversation, my thoughts and emotions and memories were on a dizzying, yet exhilarating, carpet ride that took me back, back, back…

Back to a time in my life when - had you told me then would be brought suddenly up on the big screen of my mind over a decade later - I might not have believed you. I was a young mother then with small children and big dreams. While life often seemed overwhelming, I was brimming with optimism and a certainty that God - somehow, someway, someday - had an amazing plan for my life.

I discovered a rock back then and I held tightly to that rock. The years that have passed since then have matured me, but it was during that particular time that I was led by the hand from girlhood to true womanhood. I learned that times can be tough, but I am even stronger. I learned that hurt might last for a season, but love endures forever. I learned that sometimes words are…just not needed.

In fact, to this day, that time in my life defies words. But that’s okay.

Words would only complicate it.

Yet yesterday, at the sound of those words, my mind, body, and soul reacted in one swift movement. My heart flipped, my pulse quickened, my thoughts flew back in time, and then I felt myself relax and smile.

I don’t understand how the human body is so complex that it can take in normal, everyday outside influences - sights, sounds, smells - and then produce in us a phenomenon so luxurious as precious memories and milestones in our lives.

But today - over 24 hours later and still a little dazed - I’m very thankful.

"What’re you doing?"

Well, I’m smiling at the memories of the woman that I was.

And I’m embracing the woman that I’ve become.

March 19, 2007 @ 8:33 pm | Filed under: It's a Girl Thing, Uniquely Me

I am not an athlete.

When my Mom wished for a daughter who’d turn out to be a girly-girl, that’s exactly what she got. In school, I was almost always the last chosen for both, softball and Dodge ball teams. Even then, I usually somehow managed to talk one of the boys into running the bases for me.

In middle school, I briefly entertained the idea of taking up tennis. I guess this sounded plausible to my parents because they promptly enrolled me in a summer tennis course and we went out and bought a really cool racket, a tube of balls, and I’m pretty sure I even got some new tennis shoes out of the deal. My tennis career came to a sudden halt, however, when during my first-ever lesson, I was hit smack between the eyeballs with a ball…served by my instructor.

Um…no, I did not go back.

So when I casually mentioned a couple of years ago that I was thinking that maybe I’d like to take up golf, let’s just say that garnered me a lot of indulgent smiles. It even made my brother laugh out loud. Really hard. There may have been tears involved.

Still, I was persistent. Armed with a brand-spanking new golf bag and putter (thanks to a Christmas gift from Amy, my girly-girl step-daughter who believed in me and my inner golf diva:), I spent that first year just learning the basics. And I do use that term - basics, that is - loosely.

I learned how to grip the clubs, and I learned (the painful way) what can happen when you grip them the WRONG way. I learned lots of patience, which was a good thing because I putted air more that first year than I did balls. I never actually played any rounds that year; instead, I fell in love with the driving range, probably even using it as an escape a time or two.

Who knew that such inspiration was practically in my backyard? Undeterred by my ineptness, I would come home exhilerated and then spend time flipping through Golf Digest for Women. Okay, I was admiring the cute shoes more than the articles. Remember, I AM a girl, after all…

Last spring, I bought my own set of golf clubs. Now I was the proud owner of more than just a bag and a putter. When I discovered that Rochelle also played golf, well…that sealed the deal. We spent many an evening at the golf course together and - though much slower than I’d like - I did make great strides last year.

Once again, I was thoroughly engulfed with the sheer inspiration and beauty that always met me on the green. I don’t know which I enjoyed more - the sound of that deliciously firm, undeniable crack! as my club made solid contact with the ball, or the glorious streaked sunsets that would slowly fade to darkness around me. I knew last year that I’d found a writer’s paradise. A place to rejuvenate, a place to relax. Okay, and yeah, a place to sometimes (not MUCH) take out my frustrations on poor, unsuspecting balls.

I suppose that as much as I’d like to call myself a golfer now, maybe calling myself a seasonal golfer would be more accurate. I pull out my golf clubs for three to four months out of the year. Today was That Day. The first of this season. I couldn’t help feeling flutters of excitement as I brought in everything from the garage, in preparation for the driving range tonight.

Although it had been months since my fingers had slid into place around my driver, I think I might have even smiled as I locked them into place and prepared for that first swing. Skies were overcast and the wind was up a bit too high, but those facts faded from my mind as I felt my body relax and my mind sharpen.

I think that this year it’s time to take my game to the next level. I’ve been carrying a golf pro’s business card in my wallet for a year now. Though I may have been hoping that I’d perfect my swing and improve my game by sheer osmosis, evidently…that’s not going to happen. So I’m thinking that golf lessons are in order for this girly-girl.

After that, the sky’s the limit, right? Who knows? Maybe I’ll play here, or here.

No, wait. I’ll play…here.

Does that make me an athlete?

Or just a girly-girl who’s discovered another part of herself?

March 16, 2007 @ 1:13 pm | Filed under: Uniquely Me

Today comes very close to being a perfect day.

There  is nothing quite like the first few days of spring in North Texas, when vibrant greens and bright blues are once again the primary colors, and the flowers and trees are finally ready to burst into full bloom. I love it.

Being a writer, it goes without saying that I have a fairly active imagination. What can I say, I hear voices and I make up stuff. For a living.

But it’s days like today when I truly do believe that virtually anything I dream is possible, with hard work, steadfast prayer, and an unwavering belief in my goals.

It’s been my experience that God cares about even the smallest and most minute of our heart’s wishes. While some may seem slow in coming, God’s timing is always precise.

Today, even while I sit and work and steal occasional winsome glances out the large window next to me, my mind keeps roaming into the future and on to things I’d like to do, people I’d like to meet, and places I’d like to visit.

Do you have a spot, either here in the States or abroad, that draws you? For some, it is the landscapes and the beauty of faraway places. Mike wants to visit Ireland for this very reason. There is something in the pictures and videos of Ireland that speaks to him. For others, it’s the traditions and customs. Nate is intrigued with England. Jorge with Australia. I suppose we all have those places in this world that draw us, that seem to speak to our souls and invite us to learn more.

For me, there are two spots, and both are heavily seen and felt in my writing. The first is…Italy. Surprised? I don’t ever really talk about the fact that I’d like to visit Italy and, so far, only my agent has read the stories that involve my beloved Italian characters, Ella Paglia and the Benetti sisters. These novels are a bit of departure for me and have allowed me to explore deeper areas of myself while also indulging the bits and pieces of me that are still unknown to those who love me.

Italy, for me, represents love. Love of family, love of friends, love of the things that are most important in this life. I like the idea of dinners that last for hours. I like the fact that it’s okay to enjoy food. I like that Italians appreciate curves. I like the loyalty and faith that is so very present in the Italian culture. The more research I do, the more I find to appreciate. The more I appreciate it, the more I want to visit…

But closer to home, and probably even closer to my heart, is the Eastern seaboard. I’ve had a lifelong passion for lighthouses and, while I’ve yet to visit one, I’m holding out for that one special day when I finally travel to Maine and then I will explore lighthouses to my heart’s content.

Both Waking Emma and Raising Riley (the story of Ethan & Riley and their special connection) are set in the Eastport area of Maine. While I have no idea when I will make that trip, today - when anything and everything seems possible and within my reach - I trust that I will walk the bricked streets that Riley has walked and I will visit the lighthouse that was instrumental in bringing her back to Ethan…

And, when I do, that will be yet another fulfillment of God’s love for me. It will be a moment in time that is missed by many but will be appreciated fully by those that it is meant for.

A little further south, but still on the Atlantic shoreline, is Ocean Isle. This beach, as well as the surrounding towns, are the setting of The Sycamore Manor series. Since I’m currently immersed in the middle of the second book of that series, North Carolina stays on my mind these days.

Again, while I’ve yet to visit The Winds, the research I’ve done on the place and the conversations I’ve had with the owners make it rich and vivid and very much alive in my mind and soul. I feel such a connection, and I know - because, again, today anything is possible - that I will very soon walk the beach that Kyle and Grace did, and I will write and read and relax in a place that already feels very much like home to me.

What about you? Is there a place  or a people that speaks to you? Today, a day when anything and everything feels well within our grasp, allow your dreams to take root. You’ll be amazed at just how much God cares about the dreams of our heart…

March 15, 2007 @ 8:54 am | Filed under: Family

When I heard Mike send these words down the hallway in my direction, I just grinned. These five simple words strung together have become quite popular around our house, and are even being adopted by our extended family and friends.

"I’m gonna write a letter."

Code for: Someone or something has highly displeased me and I don’t think I can just stand by and take it; therefore, I am going to write down my annoyance in letter form and send it to "them" (we don’t usually know who "they" are) so that my voice will be heard and this matter rectified immediately.

Oh, if only life were that simple, right?

This all began during the holidays when Nate was home from college. After receiving his first semester’s grades in the mail, he was very bummed to learn that, because of his math grade, he would have to take the course again.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard." Those of you who know Nathan can probably just imagine him standing there, with those blue eyes wide with such passion and conviction, his voice rising with each passing thought that he’d have to take the dreaded math course all. over. again.

I, of course, tried to be the voice of reason. "Son, lots of people struggle with college math. Lots of students have to take a math course more than once. It’s no big deal. Really."

"I’m a history major, for crying out loud. Why in the world do they (again, we really don’t know who "they" are) think I need to have so much math? Like, WHEN am I EVER going to use it?"

Okay, he’s got me there. I happen to agree that math is evil and really should be done away with. But, I’m not "them" and I really don’t have a say in the matter. At all.

"Son, I understand how you feel."

Really, I did. But I also knew that no amount of griping and complaining was going to somehow magically erase the necessity of this math course from Nate’s degree requirements. This was one of those tough parenting moments, trying to decipher the difference between being the understanding maternal comfort and also the voice of paternal authority.

"I’m thinking that the best thing is to probably just accept that you’ll have to take this course again, and then just tackle it head-on. We’ll hire a tutor if we need to." I gave it my best shot. "We’ll do whatever it takes to help you get through math."

"I’ll tell you what I’m going to do." Now Nate placed a firm fist on the breakfast bar between us as those blue eyes still flashed with what could only be termed righteous indignation. "I’m gonna…write a letter!"

He didn’t say to who, but I could only assume that it would be addressed to "them." At that point, I could only nod and mumble something vaguely encouraging like, "Okay, Son, you do what you think you need to do." I’m all for exploring your options and I know that sometimes you just don’t know until you ask. All I do know for sure is that Nate is currently enrolled in this same math course…

A few weeks later, however, letter writing was once again on his mind. He calls my cell late one night and I could tell immediately (come on, Moms, how can we tell by the RING that this is no ordinary call?) that he was distressed.

"I just got a ticket."

Judging from the sound of his voice, I envisioned the worst. A speeding ticket, maybe even a fender bender or minor wreck. My mother’s heart instantly reached out to him.

"What is it, Nate? Whatever it is, it’ll be okay." Inside I was quavering though, not sure I was ready to hear his next words. "Were you on the highway? What happened?"

"No! I got a ticket from the campus police. For having my parking sticker on the WRONG SIDE OF THE WINDSHIELD!"

I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that he was okay - no banged-up car, no one hurt, all is well - but all I could hear was:

"Can you BELEIVE that? A $40 ticket for having my sticker on the WRONG side. That is. not. right. You know what I’m going to do?"

Ah…I had a feeling…

"I’m gonna write a letter!"

March 13, 2007 @ 10:54 am | Filed under: Family

Here we go, Round Two, of placing our home on the market.

Notice I say ‘home,’ instead of ‘house’ because, as much as I acknowledge that it is time to sell this one and move to another, it makes me a bit sad. For reasons that I won’t go into now, this house is very special to me. The boys have gone through their Tweens and Teens here and many memories have been created within these 1480 square feet.

It was with a little hesitation that we placed the sign in the yard last summer. Our feeling was that it would be great if it sold, but we were really in no hurry. After the sluggish market and the craziness of sending one son off to college and beginning senior activities for the one left at home, it was just easier to take it off the MLS listings in the late fall. So right before the holidays, we took the sign down and agreed to discuss it again in the Spring.

I will admit that I’ve vacillated back and forth these past couple of months. I’ve made both mental and physical pros and cons lists for, both, moving and staying put. (If you think I put a lot of thought into purchasing my beloved Coach bag…well, you should see THESE lists!)

When it is all said and done, it is fairly obvious that we need more room. Our house is the hub of lots of family gatherings and my kitchen is the place where our friends gather to cook and to chat. I love that we’ve made the most of our small space and I especially love that our friends love to spend time here. It is, like I said, truly a home to us.

With both boys living away from home next year, we should have even more space available here to Mike and to me, right? You’d think. Only…no.

As most of you know, after six years of writing and "office-ing" out of our bedroom, I finally set up office in Nate’s bedroom last fall. Contrary to popular belief, no, there is no Murphy bed that now pulls down from the wall and, yes, it IS still Nate’s room. Gone are the Civil War borders and the Van Gogh paintings and, instead, the walls are a creamy coffee color and mahogony bookshelves now line the walls.

While Nate is away, it’s my sanctuary. When he’s home (like NOW!) I’m displaced. Sure, I have my laptop, but I think I must be a ritualistic person. When working and blogging, I like my chair. At my desk. In my office. On my desktop. So this morning, as I’m eagerly taking advantage of the fact that the boys are out with their friends today, I’m facing the facts.

It’s time to move.

I believe that Mike came to this conclusion a few weeks back. While he travels about fifty percent of the time, he does have an office for when he is here in town. The unfortunate part is that it’s about a forty-five minute commute in morning traffic and, most days, he ends up trying to work from home. Which presents its own set of unique…challenges.

I have to say that there are some days when I like nothing better than knowing that he is right down the hallway and can be cajoled into taking his wife out for a chips & salsa lunch. But - and for those of you who’ve seen and heard us reenact our home office collision course, you know this is true - on those other days, the combination can be quite…well, challenging.

With Mike on his cell phone (averaging probably 25-30 calls a day), pacing our wood floors (you KNOW how they echo, right?), me in my "office" (while I’m insanely grateful for it, is IS a mere ten feet from said pacing), then you add in me looking for various files, taking time to move laundry from the washer to the dryer (that’s valuable "think" time when I’m stuck on  a plot) and you’ve got a real (though usually very comical) working collision course.

So when Mike came home a few weeks ago and announced that, as of June, the company office here in town would be closing, we spent a few minutes just kind of looking at each other. In the days and weeks that have followed we have each, at our own pace, come to the conclusion that it’s time to get serious about selling this house and finding a place that can truly accommodate our current lifestyle.

I wish that I could embrace this move with joy and eagerness but the truth is that, instead, I feel a twinge of nervousness and a lot of nostalgia. Large purchases kind of make me weak in the knees (again, reference the Coach purchase) and I know that this decision will be one that I will think, then rethink, and so on and so on.

If you think about it, please say a prayer as we begin Round Two. Pray for the right new owner of this ‘home’, that they might find the same joy and contentment and love of family and friends as we’ve experienced. And pray for our future home - wherever it might be - that it will house our family, our friends, our playtime, and our worktime with promises of years of memory-making to come… 

March 11, 2007 @ 2:41 pm | Filed under: Soul Food

"Nana, I’m nervous."

Carter sat across the table from me at Olive Garden last weekend. At these words, I tuned out the rest of the conversation at the table and leaned forward.

I’m not sure what made me the most uncomfortable - hearing that words like ‘nervous’ were now a part of his vocabulary, or suddenly realizing that this precocious four-not-yet-five year old understood what ‘nervous’ meant.

Either way, I could tell that this was no run-of-the-mill Nana/Carter chat. I locked my eyes on his large brown, unblinking ones, and didn’t let go.

"What is it, buddy? Why are you nervous?"

"The plane. I’m nervous about the plane. I do not think I will look out the window. AT ALL."

He is referring to our family vacation to Florida in June. While the rest of us were excitedly discussing the vacation house we’ve leased, the beach we want to visit, and the seemingly endless wonders of all that is Disney, Carter had been quietly dealing with an issue all by himself.

He was scared to fly.

Since this is to be his first flight and because he is so adventurous by nature, we’d really given no thought that this fear might be a very real possibility. I don’t remember just what all I said to Carter last week-end. I’m sure I assured him that he could sit by Pops or Nana or his parents and squeeze our hands if he became nervous on the plane. While I don’t remember for sure, I’m pretty sure he picked Uncle Jorge over all of us. At some point I reminded him that he will get to pack his backpack with all kinds of fun stuff to bring on the plane ride. We tried our best to explain that the take off and landing are really nothing like his young mind is envisioning.

But you know what?

Our words were just that. Words. He is a very smart four-year-old who has crossed that invisible line between believing everything that is told to him and having the sudden need to understand  what is being told to him. Simple explanations are no longer satisfactory.

He needs to understand what makes the plane go into the air. He wants to know how the pilot maneuvers through the air and somehow, magically, finds Disney World. How do you explain to a four-year-old that the pilot of the plane is very capable of carrying our family to Florida?

I’ve replayed this conversation over and over in my head this past week. I have been not so unlike Carter lately. Why is it that I try to understand every little thing - wanting to know what makes something work, or worrying that maybe I’ve done something that will inhibit something working- when, all along, the pilot of my life’s plane is more than capable?

The mysterious things in life - whether it’s how an airplane takes flight for Carter or something a bit more complex for Carter’s Nana - almost always causes us to stop and question. But today, I will not question the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ and ‘why nots’.

This is a ride I would not miss for the world. I may get scared sometimes. I may be afraid to look out the window at times. I am quite certain that I will never fully understand how some of the most exquisite yet fragile things in my life work.

But while I may not always understand what makes it all work, that’s not important. IT WORKS. And that is enough for me. What IS important is that I know and love and trust the pilot of my life’s plane.

That’s it.

And if I am ever ‘nervous,’ all I have to know is that, while I am in God’s hands, the hand of my travel buddy is always close by. It’s okay to squeeze it from time to time. The strength I draw from this touch gives me the courage to look out all the windows and to cherish every second of this trip.

It’s okay to not know everything.

March 9, 2007 @ 7:34 pm | Filed under: Soul Food

Loss is nothing else but change, and change is nature’s delight.
—Marcus Aurelius

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My beautiful niece, Madison, just lost her first tooth. As I opened this email this afternoon and grinned with delight, I couldn’t help but think that this is Madie’s initiation into the joys and wonders of ‘loss.’

If that seems like a bit of an oxymoron, well…I think maybe it is. And yet, one of the pains of growing up and giving in to the mindset of adulthood is accepting that there are times in our life when loss is just part of the game plan. What will make all the difference is understanding that loss does not always mean "losing." Instead, it means giving over for the greater good.

Madie lost a baby tooth so that a permanent tooth could have room to move in and take its rightful place. It’s the natural order of things. And today, as I ponder the letting go of something, I know it’s not unlike Madie’s tooth. It’s not really a loss at all but, rather, making room for something even bigger, better, and healthier.

It’s the natural order of things. A giving over for the greater good.

A twinge of pain now, but for a beautiful smile later on…