Excuse me, Ma'am?

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”
As I turn around I can see him walking towards me on the subway. My grip tightens around my bag and immediately I know it. This man is the one.

Our first date is flawless. I choose a rather flashy red dress and begin to doubt my decision in the taxi, but when he looks at me my apprehension melts and I feel beautiful. He tells me of growing up in Braselton, Georgia where his daddy worked as a water operator and his mamma cooked fried chicken every Friday. He explains that at eighteen he left Braselton for NYU with an academic scholarship, where he studied medicine. I am enthralled with his eyes, deep blue like the ocean, wishing I could swim in them.
Exactly one year later, we are married in the plaza. The wedding is beautiful, three hundred in attendance. He doesn’t particularly care about flowers but he has gorgeous centerpieces that are full of beautiful and extravagant flowers because he knows that I love them. We say our own vows, promising to love one another for as long as we can. We sip champagne together in the limo and dance our first dance as husband and wife. In this moment I love him more fiercely than I imagined possible. We honeymoon in Paris and have the time of our lives. He tells me that this is everything he has ever wanted, that I am who he’s waited for his whole life. Our kiss under the Eiffel Tower is one that I will remember forever.
Spring arrives, and with it is our firstborn, a blue-eyed baby girl. Her daddy stands at the edge of her crib and gazes at her as she sleeps. When she is older he swings her up onto his shoulders and carries her downstairs for pancakes every Saturday morning. Her blonde curls are tossed and wild from sleep, her blue eyes deep and penetrating, just like her father’s. As I watch her laugh at daddy’s silly face, I am amazed that this beautiful creature came from me. I hang her art on the refrigerator, three stick figures drawn holding hands in front of a purple house. In the next years we have two more children, each just as stunning as the last.
When the kids are older they bring their families over for Christmas Eve and we eat a brilliant roast and sing carols and open presents. Our grandkids run around with their cousins, whom they haven’t seen in a long time, showing off new train sets and brushing dolls’ hair. I lean into my husband and smile; what more could I possibly need in life than this?
At sixty he retires and we spend a month traveling around the world. We drink beer in Germany, ride a gondola in Venice, and swim in the clear waters of Greece. We are more in love than ever, having experienced the joys and trials of life together. Though we are growing older, I look forward to these later years, in which we will slow down and enjoy quiet hours together.
A few days before his eightieth birthday he dies suddenly of a heart attack. I am devastated and feel a pain more intense than I have ever experienced. As I sit in his funeral I reflect on the life we’ve spent together and though I am heartbroken I begin to feel lighter, knowing that I have lived a life so wonderful that I would do him wrong not to be joyful. I stand at his grave and smile, thinking of the day when we will reunite and continue our life together, never having missed--


“Excuse me, Ma’am? Your coffee is leaking onto your skirt.”

Psalm 51

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.

For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are proved right when you speak
and justified when you judge.
Surely I was sinful at birth,
sinful from the time my mother conceived me.
Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins
and blot out all my iniquity.

Create in my a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will turn back to you.
Save me from bloodguilt, O God,
the God who saves me,
and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.

In your good pleasure make Zion prosper;
build up the walls of Jerusalem.
Then there will be righteous sacrifices,
whole burnt offerings to delight you;
then bulls will be offered on your altar.

~Psalm 51

How privileged we are to serve a God who is so loving, so full of compassion, that he is willing to overlook our darkness and see us as the beautiful beings that he created us to be. God offers this burden-lifting grace freely, and yet all to often we refuse to accept it. Whether it be pride, ignorance, guilt, fear; we allow these things to consume us and stifle the voice of our Savior, who has been saying all along, "My child, let me have it. I'll take care of it for you. Let me have it. Let. Me. Have. It."
Let us come before our God and lay our lives down at his feet. When we do this he will restore us. The God of the universe will gladly mend hurts and restore broken souls--all we have to do is ask.

Thank you, Jesus, for carrying the weight of our sins. Thank you for healing us, though truly we deserve death. Thank you for loving us enough to pull us out of the stormy waters when we faithlessly become afraid and cry out. Thank you that we will never have to face anything alone.

"You take my mourning,
and turn it into dancing.
You take my weeping,
and turn it into laughing.

You bring restoration,
You bring restoration,
You bring restoration,

To my soul."

A Woman's Week At The Gym

I received this in an email and thought it was too funny to not share...Happy workouts, ladies!

A WOMAN'S WEEK AT THE GYM

If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine.

Dear Diary,
For my birthday this year, my Husband (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me.

Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.

I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.

My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.


MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god - with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!

Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!

Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week-!!


TUESDAY:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mil e. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT-!! It's a whole new life for me..


WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.

Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying..

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other shit too.


THURSDAY:
Asshole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late - it took me that long to tie my shoes.

He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny bitch to find me.

Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.

FRIDAY:
I hate that bastard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic little aerobic instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.

Christo wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?


SATURDAY:
Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

For My Mama

Mom,
A few days before I left for school, you gave me a gold piece of paper. It read:

Reflections of a Mother

I gave you life,
but cannot live it for you.

I can give you directions,
but I cannot be there to lead you.

I can take you to church,
but I cannot make you believe.

I can teach you right from wrong,
but I cannot always decide for you.

I can buy you beautiful clothes,
but I cannot make you beautiful inside.

I can offer you advice,
but I cannot accept it for you.

I can give you love,
but I cannot force it upon you.

I can teach you to share,
but I cannot make you unselfish.

I can teach you respect,
but I cannot force you to show honor.

I can advise you about friends,
but cannot choose them for you.

I can advise you about sex,
but I cannot keep you pure.

I can tell you about alcohol & drugs,
but I can't say "No" for you.

I can tell you about lofty goals,
but I can't achieve them for you.

I can teach you about kindness,
but I can't force you to be gracious

I can pray for you,
but I cannot make you walk with God.

I can tell you how to live,
but I cannot give you eternal life.

I can love you with unconditional love all of
my life... and I will.

Love,
Mom

That piece of paper is magnetized to my desk, right above my computer, so that I may see it often and think of you. Though I think of you and how gracious I am to be yours, I have yet to respond to your sweet words. So I will now.

Reflections of a Daughter

You gave me life,
Thank you for patiently allowing me to live it my way, however messy it got

You gave me directions,
Thank you for supporting me even when I chose a different (wrong) path.

You took me to church,
Thank you for making sure I was there even when I said I didn't want to be; I'm glad I went.

You taught me right from wrong,
Thank you for sometimes allowing me to learn the hard way, and thus, truly learn.

You bought me beautiful clothes,
Thank you for reminding me that though I looked beautiful, it was my heart that counted.

You offered me advice,
Thank you for patiently repeating it several times when I refused to listen the first.

You gave me love,
Thank you for giving it even when I acted indifferent (I wasn't).

You taught me to share,
Thank you for so selflessly sharing with me.

You taught me respect,
Thank you for being such an easy person to honor.

You advised me about friends,
Thank you for lovingly reminding me of who I was when I tried to be someone else.

You advised me about sex,
Thank you for teaching me the value of purity, and trusting me to choose it on my own.

You told me about drugs and alcohol,
Thank you for allowing me to answer for myself.

You told me about lofty goals,
Thank you for supporting me in all of mine and encouraging me always to aim high.

You taught me about kindness,
Thank you for being my role model.

You prayed for me,
Thank you for teaching me to walk with Him.

You told me how to live,
Thank you, because I was able to choose eternal life.

You have loved me unconditionally and always will,
Thank you.

Because you first taught me to love, I can and will do the same.

I love you,
Claire

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

The Coffee Stare

The infamous coffee stare incident easily made its way onto the list and has remained there with confidence ever since. The Webers had returned to Mexico for Spring Break once again, a place where all of us, Tammy being the exception, seem to fit in perfectly. This is not to say that she is not liked by the people. On the contrary, they all want to be her best friend; I assume this is because she is not your run of the mill Gringo. She will try her hardest, to little avail, to speak the language of the people, making sure to be friendly, asking all of them, "Como 'Sta?"
On this particular trip, eldest sister Amy joined us, bringing our ranks up to five, and it was our first stay in what Tammy calls "The El Tesoro." For those of you who aren't Spanish-inclined, that translates roughly into "The The Treasure." I will, however, give her credit for so smoothly befriending the hotel manager Ceasar (his name in Tammy-Spanish is "Sessarr") and getting us moved from our lame hotel room on the 13th floor into a pool-front villa. It appeared that this would be one of our best Mexican adventures thus far.
A few days into our trip, while on the beach, we happen across Angelo. Angelo has since earned himself a place on our list of crazy people that provide lots of entertainment. He is enthralled by our family and, after hearing that we are "true Tejanos" wants to hear all about our ranch and how many cows we have. We try several times to explain to him that we live in a house, and only see cows on our milk cartons, but he isn't buying it--he seems to think we are "pulling a trick" on him. After about three hours of painful, poorly translated small talk, we agree to take a fishing trip on Angelo's boat the next morning.
I am awoken by my alarm at 6:00 am and I am not happy about it. The rest of the family seems to be in agreement, Mom especially, who is running around throwing things into her massive basket that seems to get heavier every day we are there. The basket contains things we will need, things we might need, and things we will probably never need but just in case! We stop in the lobby of the hotel for last minute bathroom usage and coffee. And it begins.
The five of us shove ourselves into a Mexican taxi--take your average compact car and half it for the approximate size of these cars. Amy, Mom and I are in the backseat, McCall sits on Mom's lap bent over like a hunchback. I am miserable, but upon seeing McCall, say nothing. Somehow, Dad ends up in the front seat with plenty of space and is chatting it up with the cab driver. We drive on the edge of a mountain for about twenty minutes and at one point Mom's coffee is spilled down her shirt. She is not happy.
By the time we arrive at the dock to meet Angelo, I am concerned that we might be permanantly disfigured from the ways in which we've been sitting--excluding Dad of course. When we wedge out of the car Angelo is there waiting, all five of his teeth proudly displayed in a lovely smile. The first thing he notices, to my mother's utter horror, is the coffee down the front of her white tank top. "Tammy, are you hungover?" Mentally, I put Angelo atop my Idiot List. Meanwhile Tammy has moved from not happy to moderately annoyed. As she refills her coffee cup on the dock I assure her that she does not look hungover. We follow Angelo down the dock until we reach his boat, in which a tiny Mexican is scrambling around, preparing for takeoff. His name is Emilio and the boat belongs to him, not Angelo. In fact, Angelo will be leaving as soon as we are on our way. This is highly contradictory compared to what we were told on the beach, but we let it slide. In a moment of sheer stupidity, we decide that Tammy will board the boat first. The boat is several feet below the dock, so she will have to step down onto a seat and then to the floor from there. She consideres for a moment how she will step down that far; should she sit on the dock? Or just step quickly? She decides on the latter and begins her descent. Her foot hits the seat, leaving her with one foot down in the boat and one still up on the dock. At this moment a large swell comes up underneathe the boat, shifting it. The seat cushion moves, and Tammy flails head first in the boat. It is at this point in time that I notice she is still holding her cup of coffee in her right hand. The coffee raises up as she falls and shortly after douses her in the face. We all gasp and there is silence as we stare wide eyed at her on the floor of the boat covered in coffee. No one is sure what to do and this moment goes by extrememly slowly. She gets to her feet and turns around. There it is. The Coffee Stare. Her bangs are soaked in coffee and hang down in points on either side of her face, like wet devil horns. Her shoulders are tensed and hunched, also covered in coffee. She stares at us, her face a mixture of disbelief and rage. She is pissed. I am laughing so hard that I must sit down on the dock to avoid falling overboard.
At first Mom insisted that she wasn't going anywhere until she was able to take a shower, but we conviced her that there was no shower nearby and we had all gotten up and come out here so we might as well take the trip. McCall and I were first to fish and as I looked back Mom was leaned over the side of the boat splashing saltwater in her hair to try and get rid of the caffeine devil look.
The rest of the trip seemed uneventful after our morning, though we caught several fish that were cooked for us on an island where we snorkled and tanned. It turned out to be a fantastic trip. Later that night we played cards back in the villa and continued to wail in laughter at my mother's expense. By this time she had officially moved on and declared the moment funny, which meant that we were allowed to laugh, and laugh we did.
Several years have gone by, and our eyes still water at the thought of my mother turning around in Emilio's boat, giving us a look that nearly succeeded in killing us all. There is no question in my mind as to why the Mexicans love Tammy. Who doesn't?

Like You Have Loved Me

Oh, what a broken place this is. I find myself discouraged by just how hopeless the world seems to be. I walk around campus and my eyes fill with tears, not because the lack of belief is so clearly evident, but because I am such a part of it; in fact, I fit in perfectly. God calls us to stand out, to be disciples, and yet I seem to blend in to the gray faithlessness of the world more and more. I absolutely believe in Jesus, but it appears that I care nothing about sharing this faith with other people.
For a long time I believed that in order for me to share Jesus with other people, I had to first have my own stuff figured out. How lame of a cop-out is that. None of us are ever going to have our stuff together, so me using that excuse was synonymous with not following God's call simply because I didn't feel like it. God wants to use me to open the hearts of my brothers and sisters, but I don't feel like sharing him. Souls are at stake, but I don't really feel like it. Maybe Tomorrow. How disgusting.
I am fully aware of and humbled by the fact that God does not need me to do anything. My sharing his word with other people and talking to them about the God of the Universe is completely unnecessary to God. If he wanted to, he could think it and make someone believe. So I am utterly useless. But the incredible part is that he desires to use me! God wants to allow me to be a part of bringing his children to him; he wants to grow and mature me through missional living. What a beautiful and honoring privilege that I have so carelessly and insultingly ignored. Rather than sharing Jesus' truth with others I have allowed sin to dictate my actions. I have done what I wanted, when I wanted it.
How dare I treat God that way? He is my creator! He put air in my lungs and loved me before I even existed. So how dare I spit in his face by acting the way that I have.
Without pride, I make the assumption that I am not the only child of God who feels this way. So much of the time I think we take advantage of knowing that we are saved, that we're good...and forget that there is a world full of people around us who are hopelessly lost. Why do our hearts not break over this? Perhaps we don't understand the weight of the truth--those who are not saved are going to spend eternity in hell. Eternity. In hell. I think that many of us, as believers, need to step it up and practice what we preach, or rather share what has been preached to us by Jesus. My prayer is that we would feel a desperation for those around us; that our hearts would break for those who have not claimed Jesus as their one and only saviour. And that when our hearts do break, we would overflow with love for our brothers and sisters--the love that comes from a heart that is consumed with the Holy Sprit. I desire more than anything to bring pleasure to my Lord's face, as do all of us who understand what he has done for us. So what have we to fear? The king of the universe is on our side, remember?

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me
Break my heart from what breaks yours
Everything I am for your kingdoms cause
As I go from nothing to
Eternity
~Hosanna, Hillsong United

For Caitlin

Dear Caitlin,
Did you know that when baby twins are sick the nurses will put them together in one incubator because when they're together, they get better faster? I believe it. Though I never got the chance to know you in the way that we typically think knowing someone means. But I also don't feel that I can say I never knew you. I say this because every year on the day you left us I wake up feeling tired and sad and distant, and I wonder what on earth is wrong with me. Something causes me to become emotionally overwhelmed, and then it hits me; I remember. Today is your day. I miss you terribly without even realizing it, so how could I possibly not have known you?
Mom says that we used to talk to each other. A coo would come from one crib, waiting to be answered by the other. I still talk to you often, and though I can't hear your soft replies anymore, I feel them. Your presence in my life is unmistakable. I ask you questions, some that I'm scared to know the answers to. Are you proud of me; of who I've become? Do you miss me? Do you think we'd still look just like each other, at nineteen? How did I get so lucky?
Sometimes when I see a pair of twins I become envious, wondering why it was that you had to leave me so early. But luckily God is incredible and sovereign, and you, sweet sister, are one of his precious babies! I don't understand it, but I trust that Jesus has this, and I find joy in knowing that everything that happens in this life happens for a specific purpose. A loving and all-powerful purpose. And you are no exception.
So, dear sister, know that I think of you often, and I miss you tremendously. I thank God for the two months that you were with us; for the joy that you brought our family in the time that you were allotted. I can't wait to see how your little story is used to touch lives and bring glory to our creator. In fact, it already has.
I love you Caitlin, and you will always have your reserved spot in my heart.
Your sister,
Claire