Memorial Memories

Each year as Memorial Day rolls around Heather says to me
--with conviction in her voice--

"You're spending the day with us, right?"

How can I say no to a holiday with my favorite family, 

especially since they have become my family?

Especially when there is such conviction in all of our hearts that spending the day together is the only obvious choice?

I can't say no; I say of course!

Which is why Monday morning found us loading up the minivan,

on our way to Boalsburg.

Why Boalsburg, you ask?

Because Boalsburg claims to be the birthplace of Memorial Day, and is right next door to us.

We wander the streets with the rest of the crowd,

gazing at the many many booths of goods that are offered for gazing and for sale, and then

--when we have had enough wandering and gazing--

we plop ourselves down in somebody's yard

to wait for the reason we go to Boalsburg in the first place:

Pie.

Yes, the Pie-Winning-Contest is our favorite part, because it provides us with

a) pie

and b) the anticipation of pie.

Here's how it works:

Pie-making people make some pie--every possible variety of pie--and bring it to the pie tent to be judged.

Two little old ladies sit at a little table in the shade of some old trees, and sample each and every one, while we watch and greedily await their decision.

Not because we care who wins, but because--once it's made--we are free to swarm the tent with all the rest of the pie-lovers and buy the remainders for a dollar a slice.

(In the enthusiasm of Heather: "A dollar a slice!!!!")

It's a long and painful wait, which is why we divert ourselves with

dramatic picture taking,

peaceful and lazy rumination,

deep discussion,

and

tickle fights.

(Yes, I have bruises.)

But then, suddenly, 

the wait is over and we have our moments of oohs and ahs as we devour (yes, devour) our own pie slice of choice, along with each other's.

Once the pie has happened, we put a move on....

because the only thing more fun 

than waiting for and eating our pie

is being poolside (and being inside that pool as well).

Then, when we've had our fill of the sun, the water, and the joy of being there all together,

we venture home.

We eat picnic leftovers from the day before.

We laze about on couches, with books.

We say, with sun-weary enthusiasm:

Such a good day!

What is My Truth?

{My truth is that my life is so beautifully full, 

I don't have time to update my blog! 

But, here, finally:

A bit of what I've been doing, a bit of what I've been thinking, and how it all relates.}

Have you ever thought about the reality of the counterfeit truth?  An insidious little creature, counterfeit truth sits inside of us, speaking to us.  Directing us.  Plunged deep below the surface, secrets we've hidden and realities we've denied sit in a galley of tangled vines, twisted and turned in the shape of lies.  With our permission, steeped in unawareness, those lies appear as truth.  And they shape the way we live. 

In other words, the things we call truth--whether they are actually true or just plain false--are the things that drive us, and are often the things that bind us up while they're at it.

A strange picture, isn't it, to be driven yet bound?

And yet, within the past 6 months or so, God has been very (very) gently putting His finger on the fragments inside of me, saying "Baby? Driven but bound is what you are.  Would you like to be free?"

And finally (oh so finally!) I have said: Yes.

And so, this is how I have found myself on a mission of God, eradicating those counterfeit truths in my own self.  I have watched God open door after door of what I did not even know was there inside of me, saying "Um, you might want to look over here...I'd like to take care of this for you, but I need you to give me your permission, I need you to be fierce in claiming your rights as my child.  I'd like you to step out in faith and see what happens when I fight for you."

In other words,

I have experienced the power of the Holy Spirit to reveal what has been hidden, I have seen the power of Christ to heal and restore, and I have been flooded with the Love of a Father who desires more than to simply accept me as I am--He desires to make me whole.

When you stand in love and power like that, you discover that you are able to speak with authority to those tangles of lies and say:

If you are a counterfeit truth, you are not welcome here.  


You have the vision to say "What is my truth?"  And then, you have the ability to say whether or not you accept it as it is.

Now, speaking the truth to yourself can sometimes be a little messy, and relying on the power of God to show you a new way of seeing can sometimes feel terrifying.  Those vines have roots, after all, and the pulling out of roots can be a dangerous and difficult thing.  That's why you need to have a support system of persons who know you, who will speak Truth into you when all you can see are those nasty lies twisted and tangled inside of you.

Take--for example--the person of Deb, who last week drove to meet me for a 4 hour breakfast at the Honey Creek Inn on her visit to the States from Macau, and who has unusual insight into the workings of that Truth.

And then, take for example Amy and Emily, key members of my Truth-telling-team.

This past week we took a little day trip that involved Cracker Barrel (a must), 

Gabe's Brothers shopping (an inexpensive frivolity),

and these pants.

(Truth telling on this particular day involved raised eyebrows and shakes of the head.  Never shop with people you can't trust.)

We took our time digging through clothes,

trying them on,

and making ourselves giggle.

The giggling is important, because counterfeit truths cannot thrive where giggling is allowed.

Nor can they survive when you throw a bit of chlorine into the mix of the Truth-teller that is Heather,

which would be why the opening of the pool for the summer was a most welcome event over the weekend.

Because here's the thing about truth:
Your truth is your truth, no questions asked.  Your truth, however, sometimes needs to be questioned in order for you to live wholly in Truth, and Truth is the reason that God came down to meet us where we are, and to take us to where we could never see on our own to go.

And what a privilege, 

to put your hand into the Hand of this God and say:

I trust you,
and I trust the persons you've given me to walk it out with.

What a privilege,
to be able to say that this gracious and gentle and powerful God is
--indeed--
My Truth.

Summer, here?

The sun is shining, the air smells thick with thundery rain, the flowers are blooming, the bees are buzzing....

My arms are open, Summer.  Come on over....

Itty Bitty

It's funny, the things that come out of your mouth when you find yourself an Auntie Lauren holding a little package of an 

about-to-be-all-out-squalling itty-bitty niece.

Phrases like "such an itty-bitty"

--having never crossed your lips before--

are suddenly uttered with utmost sincerity and variance of pitch into the itty-bitty face of that little itty-bitty, 

whether she is suddenly squalling or a

just-as-quickly-dead-asleep bundle of sweetness.

It's funny, how everyone within the vicinity 

of such an itty-bitty can't help 

but touch her,

gaze at her,

rejoice in her.

It's funny how such an itty-bitty can bring her family together,

and fill them up with peace.

And--it's funny--how such an itty-bitty smush of a face can keep her Auntie Lauren sitting on a couch for a solid 2 hours,
just thinking:

Itty Bitty? It is good to meet you.

Mothers, Mothers Everywhere

Here are the women who raised me: 

fed me, taught me, clothed me, loved me.  

They deserve a day that honors them and 

the sacrifices they have made for me 

over the many years they've called me theirs

(so thanks be to Hallmark).

This year I happened to be driving through NJ on that special day set aside, and so stopped in by my grandmother, to offer a kiss, a flower, and to have a good Knyfd-women-chat (which wasn't quite the same without our missing member, who also raised me, fed me, taught me, clothed me, loved me, and is on my list of mothers: Aunt Nancy).  

Much of what we talked about had to do with the fact that there is another woman in our family now who claims the title "Mother", and who was the real reason for my trip:

Our very own Marisa, and her beautiful little bundle:

Daniela Alexandra.

Happy First Mother's Day Maris, 

and congratulations to the Grandmas and the Great-Grandmas,

on this Mother's Day like no other!

6?!

I don't know how it happened, but somehow this joy of a child aged another year right before our very eyes.

And, since a full year of aging ought to be celebrated,

I found myself amidst a gift-giving extravaganza

during breakfast with my favorite family early one morning before school this past week.

She gives us much to celebrate, this not-so little one!

Stomping Grounds are for Stomping

Old or new, I am a proponent of stomping grounds, 

and of stomping right on over them at every opportunity.  

It keeps things interesting after all, 

and interesting things keep me interested in life.

Luckily for me, I have a variety of stomping grounds, and a variety of people who make them worth stomping through, which would be why this past weekend I stomped myself all over Harrisburg.

First? A rehearsal downtown, the "official" reason for my trip.

When it was over, I trampled my way over to Jody's, 

for a ridiculously yummy lunch 

and an update on the lives of Julie, Jody,

and Amanda.

The updates were interesting, unexpected, 

and evidence of a good and gracious God.

I'm talking new jobs, kept jobs, new babies, exciting moves; talking smiles and joy and laughter and love.  I'm also talking about crab cakes that I'm still dreaming about.  I'm talking about: good.

But it wasn't done! There were pictures on the deck, 

hugs all around, and then:

I had to go meet this precious boy,

and spend quality time with his precious mother.

Liz and I spent a luxurious few hours on her couch,

discussing all the things we don't usually have time to discuss,

and reminding each other of the value of our friendship.

Interesting? Yes.  Good? For sure.

But then, I had to leave her and her little ones
(of which there are 3 more than you saw here)
and get myself to a graduation celebration!

My friend Faith has somehow managed to work a full time job and get herself through an intense graduate degree at the same time over the past 4 years, and it just so happened that she was throwing herself a much-deserved open house to celebrate the end of it on the very day I was stomping my way through town.

Since no pictures were taken, let me paint the scene with words:

Warmly and graciously, the sun laid its blessing on Faith and me as we stood on the porch of the City House bed & breakfast, grinning at the gift of a moment together.  We caught each other up--briefly but well--on the happenings of life, looking out at the river winking back at us from across the cars lazily strolling down Front Street.  People milled about in the house behind us, happy and comfortable and eating delectable treats.  The sounds of their conversation spilled out of the open windows and doors, brimming with good will for the meaning of the event and the person that is Faith.  New guests arrived, and joined us with their own grins and their own good will.   We chatted easily, we continued to smile.  We felt: good. 

(If you want to see some official pictures to set the scene, go here)

But, after our all-too-brief moments of joyful reunion were over, I returned Faith to the rest of her friends and took myself to my next stomp:

Rick and Marina.

After some easy conversation in the coolness of their living room, (joined by this muppet of a dog who somehow stole my heart despite the drool he left on my leg) 

we headed over to the local Mexican yumminess and ate and talked and dwelt together to our heart's content.

As the rest of the night unfolded, these good and special friends folded me lovingly into the comfort of their home until the next day, when our time together continued through church and lunch before I headed off to the recital that had brought me to town in the first place.

In the end?
More than good, more than interesting,
more than just a random stomp.
A treasure.