I have been really blessed in my life to have had some incredibly close friendships. Some have been born of crisis. Some born of necessity. Some born of proximity. Some born of stage of life. And some seem almost ordained by God. That probably sounds corny, but it's how I feel. I am not the kind of person that can have superficial friendships. I can't just be your friend. I need to be your best friend. I have taken a lot of good natured teasing about that over the years. But perhaps that is why I have such close friendships.
I just spent the week with some people that I feel like God purposed to be my friends. I always feel like I have robbed them of a little piece of themselves when I leave, because I know that I have questioned and prodded and questioned some more until I have absorbed every piece of wisdom, every anecdote, every laugh, every tear and every second that I can while I am with them.
I often wonder how it is that they call me friend, because I don't often hold back with them, and often I fear that I may have sucked the life out of them. They often tell me that they are so glad when I come to visit because they glean so much from me. I don't know how that is true because that is what I would say of them.
Perhaps that is why we are friends. Perhaps we are friends because they don't feel like they have to cheer me up when I am down. They just love me til I am "up" again. Perhaps we are friends because when I am wrong, they tell me I'm wrong. And sometimes they don't even do it gently. Perhaps we are friends because even when I am wrong, they don't hold it against me . . . for very long anyway. Perhaps we are friends because when I question God, they don't try to give me answers, they just help me ask better questions.
All that to say, true friendship is a rare and beautiful gift. It survives time, and circumstance, and distance. Some people say that if you have one true friend in your life, then you can count yourself rich. If that is the case, I am extravagantly wealthy.
When Is It Okay to Complain . . .
I, as a general rule, try to be very polite, and excuse people's rudeness and inconsideration. I know that I, myself, am probably rude and inconsiderate at times, and that I am probably unaware of my actions.
But there comes a point when I feel compelled to speak up, to say, "Hey, cut it out!" or something else that makes the point that my patience limit has been surpassed. But I struggle, sometimes, with exactly where that line is, and exactly what to do when it has been crossed.
Case in point. Friday night Mike and I went to a movie. We went to the theater in Market Street where unaccompanied teenagers are not allowed to go. (You might think that sounds unfair to teenagers, but if you have ever been to the OTHER movie theater in The Woodlands on a Friday night, you would know how WONDERFUL it is that we have options.) Anyway, we went to see Appaloosa. Everyone in there was probably our age or older. So you would think it would have been a fairly sedate evening. Unfortunately, the woman sitting directly behind me had two problems. She had new shoes that squeaked horrifically everytime she moved her feet, and I'm pretty sure she had restless leg syndrome. So throughout the entire movie I heard, "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. It was maddening. I tried clearing my throat (after about 30-40 minutes of squeak, squeak, squeak). I tried looking back at her. I did everything but turn around and say, "HEY LADY! QUIT MOVING YOUR FREAKING FEET. YOUR SHOES ARE FREAKING ANNOYING THE HECK OUT OF ME!"
I wanted to do that. But I didn't. And oddly, I felt trapped by the whole situation. Should I go get the manager and have him help me? Should I disrupt everyone else in the movie by saying something to the woman? So, I did nothing. I miserably watched my movie and was so glad when it was finally over.
Other Case in Point. Last night I went to bed at 10:30 and a woman in the building behind my building (not even the same building as mine) had her music up so loud that my windows rattled. I could hear her voice and that of her boyfriend and they sounded like they were standing right outside my bedroom window. So Mike got up and walked onto our back porch and asked her if she would mind turning down the music. "WHAT?" she yelled. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU" she yelled. I laughed. Mike said, "You can't hear me because your music is too loud. Would you mind turning it down?" "OH YEAH. SURE!" she yelled again. So Mike came back in and climbed back in bed and the music softened. . . for about 60 seconds. Then it started again.
He got up, put on his clothes and left the apartment to go talk to her. This is the second time this has happened. She doesn't even live in our building! What do we do? Do we just go talk to her every time it happens?
All that to say, YIKES! People, have some consideration. YKM (You're killing me).
But there comes a point when I feel compelled to speak up, to say, "Hey, cut it out!" or something else that makes the point that my patience limit has been surpassed. But I struggle, sometimes, with exactly where that line is, and exactly what to do when it has been crossed.
Case in point. Friday night Mike and I went to a movie. We went to the theater in Market Street where unaccompanied teenagers are not allowed to go. (You might think that sounds unfair to teenagers, but if you have ever been to the OTHER movie theater in The Woodlands on a Friday night, you would know how WONDERFUL it is that we have options.) Anyway, we went to see Appaloosa. Everyone in there was probably our age or older. So you would think it would have been a fairly sedate evening. Unfortunately, the woman sitting directly behind me had two problems. She had new shoes that squeaked horrifically everytime she moved her feet, and I'm pretty sure she had restless leg syndrome. So throughout the entire movie I heard, "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. "squeak, squeak, squeak . . ." quiet. It was maddening. I tried clearing my throat (after about 30-40 minutes of squeak, squeak, squeak). I tried looking back at her. I did everything but turn around and say, "HEY LADY! QUIT MOVING YOUR FREAKING FEET. YOUR SHOES ARE FREAKING ANNOYING THE HECK OUT OF ME!"
I wanted to do that. But I didn't. And oddly, I felt trapped by the whole situation. Should I go get the manager and have him help me? Should I disrupt everyone else in the movie by saying something to the woman? So, I did nothing. I miserably watched my movie and was so glad when it was finally over.
Other Case in Point. Last night I went to bed at 10:30 and a woman in the building behind my building (not even the same building as mine) had her music up so loud that my windows rattled. I could hear her voice and that of her boyfriend and they sounded like they were standing right outside my bedroom window. So Mike got up and walked onto our back porch and asked her if she would mind turning down the music. "WHAT?" she yelled. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU" she yelled. I laughed. Mike said, "You can't hear me because your music is too loud. Would you mind turning it down?" "OH YEAH. SURE!" she yelled again. So Mike came back in and climbed back in bed and the music softened. . . for about 60 seconds. Then it started again.
He got up, put on his clothes and left the apartment to go talk to her. This is the second time this has happened. She doesn't even live in our building! What do we do? Do we just go talk to her every time it happens?
All that to say, YIKES! People, have some consideration. YKM (You're killing me).
A Little Robot, a Little Rick James
Does anyone know why they do that? I left the medical center yesterday after Jacob's doctor's appointment, and instead of going the way I know to go, I decided to go a different route. It seemed smart at the time because my "normal way" was actually in the opposite direction of the way I needed to go.
So I headed toward the interstate (or freeway for my friends in other states), navigated several one-way streets, made a few u-turns, did a few "yoo-hoo,-driver-in-the-next-lane, can I get over?" manuevers (which Jacob LOVED because he had to be the "yoo-hoo" guy) and FINALLY I could see the interstate.
Only trouble was once I got to it, I couldn't get on it!!!! There were no on ramps and no signs telling you where to go to get on it. That should not be so. At the very least, if they aren't gonna put an on ramp, they oughta put a sign up!
But, alas, we finally got on (20 minutes later), popped in a little Rick James (OWW She's a Brick House), and danced all the way home. I even did a little "robot" right before we turned on our street toward home. Which Jacob laughed at hysterically.
All that to say, the day ended well. And I slept for 9 and a half hours last night! Ahhhhhhh
So I headed toward the interstate (or freeway for my friends in other states), navigated several one-way streets, made a few u-turns, did a few "yoo-hoo,-driver-in-the-next-lane, can I get over?" manuevers (which Jacob LOVED because he had to be the "yoo-hoo" guy) and FINALLY I could see the interstate.
Only trouble was once I got to it, I couldn't get on it!!!! There were no on ramps and no signs telling you where to go to get on it. That should not be so. At the very least, if they aren't gonna put an on ramp, they oughta put a sign up!
But, alas, we finally got on (20 minutes later), popped in a little Rick James (OWW She's a Brick House), and danced all the way home. I even did a little "robot" right before we turned on our street toward home. Which Jacob laughed at hysterically.
All that to say, the day ended well. And I slept for 9 and a half hours last night! Ahhhhhhh
What We Know
Two posts in one day. Wow. Just wanted to thank you for praying.
We don't have a lot of new information. But the doctors were at least able to say that they really don't think Jacob has ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). That is a HUGE load off our minds.
Still more tests to run, more waiting. But for today, the news was relieving.
All that to say, that's what we know.
We don't have a lot of new information. But the doctors were at least able to say that they really don't think Jacob has ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). That is a HUGE load off our minds.
Still more tests to run, more waiting. But for today, the news was relieving.
All that to say, that's what we know.
Not Okay With Not Knowing
Jacob was an easy baby. Well, actually he was a super hard baby because he had colic for FIVE MONTHS, but once he got passed that, he was an easy baby. He slept all night at an early age, potty-trained easily, was extremely compliant and obedient and had the most joyful laugh. I actually have a tape recording of that laugh (yes I said tape recording) that I play from time to time. It still makes me laugh. He still makes me laugh . . . in real time . . . not just on the tape.
He was an easy teenager too. At least with me he was. Don't know that Mike would say the same thing, but I think that's the way it is with dads and sons. He wasn't perfect (Jacob, that is) Outside the stuff I know about, I'm sure there is probably stuff I don't know about that he did. I'm okay with the not knowing. At least about those years.
What I'm not okay with about "not knowing" is the present day and the future. Today is the "big day." We meet with the new doctor to try to find out what exactly is going on with Jacob's body. I haven't put a lot of details out there in e-land . . . not going to today . . . but if you follow this blog at all, you know he's sick and we don't know what's wrong. So today we are meeting with a big named specialist in the field of neuromuscular disorders.
It makes my heart beat hard. It makes my breathing shallow. It keeps me from sleeping at night. All of that sounds like worry. And I'm not supposed to worry. Because if I worry I'm not trusting God. And if I'm not trusting God, then who else can I trust? "Be anxious for nothing" the Bible says. Well, I'M ANXIOUS. Maybe more today than I have been. Not because I think this new doctor is going to tell us something terrible. It's just that I DON'T KNOW what he's going to tell us.
Welcome to my brain. I wake up and I am great and God is great and I'm not anxious or worried or troubled or any other words that are synonyms of those words. And then some days I wake up and my mouth is dry and my soul feels heavy and I can't take a deep breath and I am searching for God and saying, "GOD ARE YOU LISTENING?"
All that to say, if you are the praying type, would you pray today for Jacob, and his doctor, and us? And would you ask for complete and total healing of Jacob's body? I figure, if God can move a mountain, a few muscle twitches and cramps oughta me no big deal.
He was an easy teenager too. At least with me he was. Don't know that Mike would say the same thing, but I think that's the way it is with dads and sons. He wasn't perfect (Jacob, that is) Outside the stuff I know about, I'm sure there is probably stuff I don't know about that he did. I'm okay with the not knowing. At least about those years.
What I'm not okay with about "not knowing" is the present day and the future. Today is the "big day." We meet with the new doctor to try to find out what exactly is going on with Jacob's body. I haven't put a lot of details out there in e-land . . . not going to today . . . but if you follow this blog at all, you know he's sick and we don't know what's wrong. So today we are meeting with a big named specialist in the field of neuromuscular disorders.
It makes my heart beat hard. It makes my breathing shallow. It keeps me from sleeping at night. All of that sounds like worry. And I'm not supposed to worry. Because if I worry I'm not trusting God. And if I'm not trusting God, then who else can I trust? "Be anxious for nothing" the Bible says. Well, I'M ANXIOUS. Maybe more today than I have been. Not because I think this new doctor is going to tell us something terrible. It's just that I DON'T KNOW what he's going to tell us.
Welcome to my brain. I wake up and I am great and God is great and I'm not anxious or worried or troubled or any other words that are synonyms of those words. And then some days I wake up and my mouth is dry and my soul feels heavy and I can't take a deep breath and I am searching for God and saying, "GOD ARE YOU LISTENING?"
All that to say, if you are the praying type, would you pray today for Jacob, and his doctor, and us? And would you ask for complete and total healing of Jacob's body? I figure, if God can move a mountain, a few muscle twitches and cramps oughta me no big deal.
Zephaniah 3:17
"For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”
I believe God speaks to me, really to all of us, as though we were preschoolers. He repeats Himself, over and over and over. We learn best through repetition. This past Sunday, I attended a Child Dedication service at our church and I heard the verse above. Then that morning I was reading something and I came across that verse again. Then, when I walked into a co-worker's office, I saw the verse on her bulletin board. Three times I saw Zephaniah 3:17. I decided to pay attention.
So this morning I slowed down and read the verse. And I made it personal. Which John Piper might hate but Rob Bell would love. :) PS - Rob Bell's new book is out Jesus Came to Save Christians!
Here goes:
"Carol, your God is living among you. You aren't invisible, nor are the circumstances of your life. He is right there. He is mighty to save you. He's strong. He can handle all of this, and don't forget, he's living among you. He will take delight in you, Carol, because He adores you and you are incredibly precious to Him. With his love, he will calm all of your fears. His love is all encompassing, and it's the safest place you can go. So go. Find peace there. And when you get there, you will hear Him rejoicing over you with songs. He's singing over you. Remember when you used to sing over your children when they were little? Remember how that calmed them? It's because they could feel your delight in them. They could feel how much you loved them. They felt safe. He's singing over you now, Carol."
All that to say, my Savior, he can move the mountains.
I believe God speaks to me, really to all of us, as though we were preschoolers. He repeats Himself, over and over and over. We learn best through repetition. This past Sunday, I attended a Child Dedication service at our church and I heard the verse above. Then that morning I was reading something and I came across that verse again. Then, when I walked into a co-worker's office, I saw the verse on her bulletin board. Three times I saw Zephaniah 3:17. I decided to pay attention.
So this morning I slowed down and read the verse. And I made it personal. Which John Piper might hate but Rob Bell would love. :) PS - Rob Bell's new book is out Jesus Came to Save Christians!
Here goes:
"Carol, your God is living among you. You aren't invisible, nor are the circumstances of your life. He is right there. He is mighty to save you. He's strong. He can handle all of this, and don't forget, he's living among you. He will take delight in you, Carol, because He adores you and you are incredibly precious to Him. With his love, he will calm all of your fears. His love is all encompassing, and it's the safest place you can go. So go. Find peace there. And when you get there, you will hear Him rejoicing over you with songs. He's singing over you. Remember when you used to sing over your children when they were little? Remember how that calmed them? It's because they could feel your delight in them. They could feel how much you loved them. They felt safe. He's singing over you now, Carol."
All that to say, my Savior, he can move the mountains.
Don't Tell Stupid Stories About Me
Yesterday was Zack's 24th birthday. I was going to write about him yesterday, but alas, I did not. And as I was considering what to post about him today, I was having trouble because he has rules about what gets posted. His rules are pretty much the same as Mike's and Jacob's. There is really only one rule. "Don't tell stupid stories about me."
But I'm a mom. All of my stories are sweet or poignant or tell of him doing something silly that only a mother would remember and love. I have millions of those stories. Millions I would love to tell, but I won't. I have embarrassing stories, stories of love and betrayal . . . dun-dun-dun. I have stories about how he wanted to have a different, "cooler" name than Zack. Stories about how when he grew up he was going to be a brain surgeon, or a professional basketball player, or the school janitor because they got to sleep in the janitor's closet at school.
Oh which one to tell . . . I guess I will tell the first story. The beginning story.
Zack has a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. It is pointless to rush him into anything. That only frustrates him. You have to gently approach the idea, and then gradually let him work his way into it. That has been true from the beginning. The very beginning.
You see, he was supposed to be born on September 15th, 1984. That was his original due date. But that date came and went. In fact, 5 weeks passed before Zack would make his beautiful entrance into the world. 5 weeks late. Weighing in at 9 pounds and eleven ounces. That's also like Zack. When he does decide it's time to do something, he DOES IT. :)
All that to say, Happy Birthday Zack. In the words of Shauna Maness, "You rock harder than all of the 80's hair bands, and that's hard."
But I'm a mom. All of my stories are sweet or poignant or tell of him doing something silly that only a mother would remember and love. I have millions of those stories. Millions I would love to tell, but I won't. I have embarrassing stories, stories of love and betrayal . . . dun-dun-dun. I have stories about how he wanted to have a different, "cooler" name than Zack. Stories about how when he grew up he was going to be a brain surgeon, or a professional basketball player, or the school janitor because they got to sleep in the janitor's closet at school.
Oh which one to tell . . . I guess I will tell the first story. The beginning story.
Zack has a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. It is pointless to rush him into anything. That only frustrates him. You have to gently approach the idea, and then gradually let him work his way into it. That has been true from the beginning. The very beginning.
You see, he was supposed to be born on September 15th, 1984. That was his original due date. But that date came and went. In fact, 5 weeks passed before Zack would make his beautiful entrance into the world. 5 weeks late. Weighing in at 9 pounds and eleven ounces. That's also like Zack. When he does decide it's time to do something, he DOES IT. :)
All that to say, Happy Birthday Zack. In the words of Shauna Maness, "You rock harder than all of the 80's hair bands, and that's hard."
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