About the Money Thing....

We're getting ready to walk away from careers. A home. Friends. Family. Normalcy. We're getting ready to walk away from pretty much everything we've ever known, in order move to Guatemala to share the gospel and the love of Christ. Want to know what the hardest part of that is for us?

The money part.

Sounds silly, maybe, but it's true. You see, we've always been the 'go to work, pay your bills on time, live within your means' kind of people. We've had some lean years. We've had some less lean years. But, through it all, we always had the underlying sense of satisfaction that comes from working hard and reaping the reward of that hard work.

We won't have that in Guatemala.

It is humbling beyond what words can tell to think about living a life depending on other people's financial support. Humbling, and (quite frankly) scary. It is very easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of doubt and worry - obsessing over whether or not there will be enough money for us to do what we need to do.

Which is silly.

Our God is a big, big God. He's so big He even sees and takes care of sparrows. And grass. And the lilies of the field. I know He will take care of us when we seek His kingdom first. I mean, the original missionaries (disciples) were told to go out into the world without even an extra pair of sandals or any money at all. God knew that there would be people along the way to provide them with every necessity and blessing they would need, just like there will be people to do the same for us.

But, we've got to ask those people, and that's where it gets tough for me.

I feel pulled - between the call of God to ask everyone we know to partner with us in this mission,  and my own fears that we will alienate our friends, family, and acquaintances by asking for their financial support.

I don't want to lose friends. I don't want people to be annoyed by me, or think less of me, or to never want to have anything to do with me again. But, even more than that, I don't want to lose out on what God wants/needs me to do. I don't want God to be annoyed by me, or think less of me, or to never want to have anything to do with me again.

So, that's why I'm asking everyone I've ever met to support us and our mission. Even though it's humbling. Even though it's hard.

Sometimes, when I think about doing speaking engagements and asking people for their financial partnership ('cause we really haven't had to do that much, yet), I practice speeches in my head that I'd like to say.

Things like:

"Oh, dear friend/family member/co-worker/acquaintance/person I just met a few seconds ago -

I want you to know that I promise not to be offended if you choose not to give us money. Really! Honest!!

I'm only asking you to partner with us financially because I know, that I know, that I know, that I know that this is what God is asking me to do, and that out of my obedience, He will be greatly glorified and magnified in my life, and in your life, and in the lives of others we have not yet even met or imagined.

And, dear friend/family member/co-worker/ etc... -

I hope that you choose to partner in our mission for exactly the same reason - because you are also excited to know, that you know, that you know that you're being called to give because it will glorify and magnify God, and that's what you long to do in life."

We do not want pity money. Or feeling-sorry-for-you money. Or given-out-of-guilt money. (Ok, so we'd *take* that money if you felt like giving it, of course, but we would hope your reasons would change once you followed the impulse to give, so we could all be blessed by the experience.)

Most of all, though, we don't necessary want money at all, per se. What we want are people who will catch our vision of sharing the gospel. What we want are people who want to give their whole lives (finances included) to furthering Christ's kingdom. What we want are partners, not just givers, who will be with us for the long haul, and lend their faith and their prayers for this mission.

That's what we're looking for. And, even though it sounds reallyreallyreally big and impossible to me, nothing is impossible or too hard for God, and that's something I can truly bank on.

So - do you feel called to partner with us? We are looking for people who will commit to monthly contributions in order to meet our $2,500 monthly need. We're also looking for people who want to contribute occasionally, as they are able or feel led to do so, in order to build our $10,000 sending/emergency fund.

All donations are tax-deductible! Payments can be made by check through the mail to

World Outreach Ministries

PO Box B

Marietta, GA 30061

(Write 'Farrier - 251' in the memo section)

Or, donations can be made online (including setup of monthly donations using credit or debit cards) at this address:

www.worldoutreach.org/donate

(Select 'Farrier' from the pulldown menu)

There really is no wrong way or amount to contribute, as long as you're led by God in your giving! (Seriously. If that means you feel led not to give, we won't have any hard feelings about. I promise. I hope that you won't have hard feelings about the fact that we're asking.)

And, if the sacrifice of faithful of prayer is what you have to give to our mission, we'd love that as well! We want this whole experience to be positively bathed in prayers!

Remember - God's promise is that everyone (you, us, those in Guatemala, and God himself) will be blessed by giving to missionaries. (2 Cor. 9:10-11, Phil. 4:17, Phil. 4:19) Thank you for your faithfulness and generosity on His behalf!

The Acoustic Life

Once upon a time I was just about as plugged in as you can get. Twitter. Facebook. LinkedIn. Skype. Emails. Text messages. You name it, I was sending and receiving it on an hourly basis. Part of that is because the technology was newish (at least, newish to me), and it was all so exciting. I couldn't help but forward, retweet, share, and comment on all the fascinating, informative, and inspiring things I was discovering out in the vastness of cyberspace. And that doesn't even include all the hilarious cat, wiener dog, and panda pictures with funny captions. There are enough of those, alone, to have consumed several months of my online time.

Besides just enjoying the novelty of the endless smorgasbord that is social media, I was also busy online for 23.765 hours per day (give or take) because I kind of had to be. Someone in our extended family was facing a major health crisis, and it was vital that we be able to stay in contact, moment by moment, with everyone involved. I was working two almost-full-time, part-time jobs from home, (while being a full-time stay-at-home mom) and needed to be "present" at a minute's notice in all of those capacities and places, even when I couldn't physically be present. Science may not have figured out how to allow a person to be two places at once, but technology sure has! (Kinda...)

I can't even tell you how many times a day I thanked God for the online resources that got me through those challenging years. Back then, those programs and social media sites were my life lines. My time savers. My life savers. But I'm not living back then anymore. The pace of my life, thankfully, has slowed considerably. I've gone from needing to be command central or Union Station, to just being a remote outpost in some dusty, backwoods hamlet.  I couldn't be more pleased!

Learning how to function in my new role, however, took time, especially in regard to all of those fancy, high-tech communication tools I'd come to love (read: become addicted to). When we first moved here, I kept engaging in my online life as often and as fully as I was accustomed to doing before. But, it wasn't the same. There was no joy in it. It felt empty, and even irritating. Could it be true!? I suddenly was inconvenienced by the very conveniences I had previously loved so much.

Well, shoot! How does one go about figuring out how often one "needs" to check social media, when one truly doesn't need to check it at all, anymore? (Probably a more profound question than meets the eye...) At first I just cut back on my reposting and forwards. That, inevitably, lead to less messaging, commenting, and replies. At this point (much to the chagrin of many technophiles I know) I'm barely even checking email or Facebook at all. That's right - this former addict has practically unplugged. Turns out, the acoustic life is a pretty good one.

Acoustic life. I like that. I've liked it since the first moment it entered my brain (probably because I wasn't using those synapses and cells trying to think of a witty comeback to a post about being middle aged).  It's a good way to define what it's like to be less attached to the electronics of this age. And, it is a metaphor that makes sense to me.

In acoustic music, there is nothing artificial to boost the volume or reach of the sounds being created. If you want to be heard by a bigger audience, you have to work a little harder. But, it's worth it. When you're unplugged, your message has so much more fidelity to your audience, and the relationship you create with them is infinitely more authentic and intimate. Being unplugged also gives you freedom to express yourself anywhere, anytime; not just within the confines of outlets, hotspots, or cell towers. But, best of all, is the resonance available to those living the acoustic life. Think about it. Rather than 'noise' being squeezed, amplified, and regurgitated electronically, acoustic sound requires room and time to resonate. Personally, I think we could use a little more of those in modern life: more room, more time, more resonance. Don't you?

But, what do I know? I haven't even read any Tweets about the new Pope, seen any of the newest memes about Justin Bieber, or re-posted a single TGIF funny on Facebook in months. I'm awfully grateful that social media and modern technological opportunities (like blogspot, for example), exist. But, I'm even more grateful that I don't have to rely on them all of the time anymore, and that I've been able to discover the many quiet joys of the acoustic life.

Chasing Butterflies with Sarah

Listen up folks - I've got an important announcement to make. I've been saying it to my children for years, and have even lectured students in my classes about it. It's time I sit you all down and have the talk with you as well. Get comfy, 'cuz there's some preachin' comin' your way.

If your life isn't poignant, you aren't paying attention.

That's it. Do you need me to repeat it? If.your.life.isn't.poignant.you.aren't.paying.attention. It's as simple as that. Go ahead - let it sink in for a minute.

I think it's important to start off with a good, solid understanding of what poignancy really is, and what it isn't. Most of the time this word evokes feelings of deep sadness or mourning for people. And, it can be that. But, it's so much more, too. Merriam-Webster dictionary describes the word poignant as piercing, deeply affecting, cutting, designed to make a lasting impression. There can be pain in the poignant, to be sure, but there can also be unfathomable joy, peace, revelation, desire, empathy, epiphany... the list goes on and on. The best moments of poignancy, if you ask me, are the ones that contain both ends of the spectrum - the comfortable and the uncomfortable - at the same time. Those highly acute moments - which stretch our emotional muscles to their fullest, until they are positively taut and buzzing - are the places where we truly experience what it feels like to live; where the most complex things in life are boiled down into one self-contained, momentary emotional high note.

Let me give you an example. The other day I took my girls to the zoo. We ambled through the ape house, traipsed by the tigers, and loitered in front the baby lions. We shared happiness, jokes, questions, gestures, and memories. These things were good, but they were not poignant. That didn't come until we sat ourselves down in the theater, giggled at each other in our goofy 3-D glasses, and watched as the a movie scrolled across the giant IMAX screen in front of us. Typically, I do not find that screen moments = poignant moments, which made it all the more painfully and startlingly wonderful when I looked over and saw my youngest child chasing the butterflies that appeared to leap off of the screen toward her.

She is allllllllllllllmost six years old. That means something. Anyone who has ever had kids, and watched them grow beyond that age, or anyone who honestly remembers what it was like to be a child of five years old, knows that five is significant. It is special in a way that no other age is. (Yes, yes... I know that can be said equally of every other age as well. But, that doesn't make it any less true.) Since she is our last, this is the last time I will be a mother to a five year old. In the fleeting days of this year of her life, in the shadowy darkness of that theater, I witnessed the special gift of five-years-old in the most poignant of ways possible. All of the innocence and incorruptible curiosity that is five was positively leaping from her dancing eyes and outstretched hands. Elation! Abandon! Freedom! Excitement! It was all there, on display, for what I knew would probably be one of the very last times ever for her as my child, and me as her mother. As I watched her, I couldn't help but feel an immensely proud pain in my heart. It was as though that bubble of joy that she exuded was being drawn up with the rushing winds of time. I could not experience her five-ness without the immediate and stinging realization of her imminent six-ness following behind to swallow it up. The moment was as delicate as the butterflies she was chasing, and every bit as fleeting, as well.

That was poignancy. It was dropped into my lap like a bittersweet gift. Thankfully, I've learned enough to savor such moments. When Sarah's joy had subsided, and she took her seat again, I looked around and noticed a handful of other beautiful, young children reaching toward the dancing images. A few parents took note, wearing knowing smiles like my own. Many shushed their excited kiddos, coaxing them to sit down once again and be quiet. Most, however - most! -  missed the experience entirely. That is why I am lecturing you. I don't want you to miss out.

It seems to me that so many people today, tired of their lives of quiet desperation, seek the calm, the smooth, the easy, the expected. Contentment is enough. Complacency. Sameness. Equanimity. I understand the urge to have these things. We should know them well, and live much of our lives in their comfortable embrace. However, a heartbeat requires peaks and valleys. Without them, we are flatlined. We are dead. It is the same for our emotional hearts. Relying on the safety of the known narrows our capacity to feel the highs and lows; to learn from what they have to teach us, to be filled with the knowledge and reality of their existence - even when painful.

I guess that's it. Lecture over. I truly hope you either really enjoyed it, or really didn't. Whichever it is, I win, since either reaction causes a bit of a blip to the heart rate on the ol' emotional EKG. Like any good teacher, I can't leave without giving you some homework. Below are several opportunities for you to work your poignancy muscle. I hope they help you hit some peaks and valleys, in order to get warmed up for the rest of your day, the rest of your week, and the rest of your life. Trust me on this - poignancy is out there - all around you - all the time. I truly believe that there is beauty, love, pain, grace, mercy, challenge, joy, etc, etc, etc. in every circumstance and every life. In short, the poignant is all around you. At least, the capacity for it is. Whether or not you allow yourself to find and experience it is often more about whether you are willing to look, than where, or even how hard.

Oh, and one more thing - there will be a test on this. It's called life, and I sincerely hope you do well on it. 

Not Your Typical Sports Report

1.) Read synopsis. 2.) Look Through Photos. 3.) Think and Be Moved

Big Baby, Little Baby

The Ending to an Old Fashioned Love Story

A Day at the Park 
And Yet, He Loves Us Still

Happy New Second!

Well, it's 2013. Despite what those rascally Mayans might have predicted, the world didn't end (at least, not here in Western Iowa), and the inexorable parade of time keeps bass-drumming its way down the avenue of life. New Year's Eve has never really been a highlight holiday for me. Around here, we tend to celebrate in as low-key of style as possible - generally in jammies. (Sure, we get strange looks at the black-tie parties we attend, but at least our dry cleaning bill is lower!) All joking aside, the reason you'll find the Farrier family at home on December 31st has as much to do with our philosophy in life as it does with our desire to be comfortable.

My understanding is that at a typical, big New Year's Eve party, the celebrants eat tiny food off of toothpicks, drink way too many mixed alcoholic drinks, then finish the evening off with a countdown, confetti, noisemakers, and a single kiss at midnight. What's up with that!? First off, if the food is any good, why would you want tiny portions? And, if it's not good, why would you want to eat it? How fancy can a party be if they're too cheap to get out the silverware, and force you to use toothpicks instead? That concept right there is enough to keep me at home.  Secondly, how much fun can a party be if the hosts have to ply me with enough liquor that I won't remember the party? How much fun can a party be if all the other guests have been plied with enough liquor that they won't remember the party, either?  See? Doesn't make much sense when you stop to think about it, does it? The only good thing about being at a party with that much free-flowing booze is that you won't be able to recall having acted like a total idiot, and neither will anyone else who was there. Don't be fooled into thinking that means none of you acted like total idiots, though - especially in the days of camera phones.

Finally, there's the fanfare and hoopty-doo of the countdown itself. I don't get this. At all. Are we really that desperate to be done with one year, that we're literally counting down the seconds until its demise? Seems a little macabre and mean spirited if you ask me. Sure, there are some times when I'd like to see the clock tick a tiny bit faster - during boring meetings, while driving on long trips, and when someone else is in the bathroom and I really need to go. Most often, however, I find myself wishing I could slow the clock and savor the precious moments of life a little bit longer, not the other way around. It seems like only yesterday that my children were born, yet I now find myself surrounded by graceful, intelligent, lovely young ladies. The reality of desperately wishing for time to fly by - even if it is only the last few seconds of a year - is that you're also wishing yourself out of the best stuff that life has to offer: time. Time to hug your kids. Time to tell your friends and family how much they mean to you. Time to put your hands to a task that will make the world a better place. Time - it's already a finite, vanishing resource in each life. Why would you wish it away faster than it's already disappearing?

Perhaps, however, I've got it all wrong. Maybe it's not the ending of the old year that gets people so audibly excited, but the beginning of the new one. Can that be true? Are all the streamers and noisemakers really about the fact that the last digit of the date will now be one bigger than it was before? To be honest, that's always brought more hassle than excitement to me. My checks almost always wear a strange, smudged, hybrid number until well in January, when I finally get the hang of writing the new one correctly. I sometimes wonder if the people at my bank worry that perhaps I've had a small stroke, or something.

What is it about the rolling over of the clock on New Year's Eve that causes us to be made aware of the freshness of possibilities for our lives? I understand the importance of a brand new calendar, a brand new year, and brand new chance for things to be brand new. But, while the symbolism, vocabulary, and hype might make it seem that January 1st is the only (or best) time of year to embrace such sentiments, I'd like to offer an alternative philosophy. It's a good one, I think, and the very same philosophy that I mentioned at the end of the first paragraph, and which keeps me on the couch instead of out and about on New Year's Eve.

Every day is a new day, filled with new opportunity. That's it. It's not just the January 1sts of life that give us the chance to renewed. It's every day. More than that, it's every hour, every minute, every second. Literally. How long does it take to make the decision to do the right thing? How long does it take to say the words, "I love you"? How long does it take to share a smile? To open a door? To savor the sunset? To give someone hope? This, people, is the good stuff in life. This is the substance of what we're here for. And, the best news of all, is that we have the chance to be brand new (and help others be brand new) each and every second of each and every day. Even if you're at home, and in your jammies.That's the beauty of this philosophy.

So, I want to wish you all a very happy New Year. But, more importantly, I also want to wish you a very happy New Month, New Day, New Hour, New Moment, and New Second. Because, honestly, these are the things worth celebrating.

Almost a Miracle?

I've struggled with whether or not to publish this on my blog. It is about an intensely personal, yet very shared experience I had just over six months ago. It's taken me a while to sort through my feelings, work up the courage to contact the family for publication permission, and figure out just what I'm supposed to do in my life with the events that transpired that night. Perhaps this piece is the answer to that last question. I hope it is a blessing to you.

Something about the way he stumbled caught my eye. Even with the noise of my children playing in the backseat, the buzz of conversation from my cell phone, the distracted thoughts bouncing around in my brain, and the task of getting us safely home in the twilight – something about his fall caused me to pause. I hung up the phone, turned the car around, and pulled in the driveway to within 15 or 20 feet of where he lay. As I surveyed the situation and replayed what I had seen, my mind exploded with ‘what if’s’. What if he had fallen because he had been shot? What if the tank that was hitched behind his running truck, with its driver’s door agape, was leaking a toxic chemical? What if this was a trick to lure trusting passersby into a trap? What if? What if? What if? I prayed silently for wisdom, and scanned the area. My senses were all attuned, but the overwhelming thought that ruled all others was that I had to help this man. 

I told my girls to sit tight – that I’d be back in a minute – and got out of the car, letting the door close quietly behind me. Before I’d even let any words asking how he was escape, I already knew the answer. I heard him take a shallow, rattling breath as I walked over, knelt down, and put my hand on his shoulder. I shook him gently, asked if he was alright, and only got silence in return. Swallowing hard, I slipped my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. The rest is a bit of a blur.

 I recall the reassuring voice of the dispatcher, who seemed so utterly confident in me that I couldn’t help but believe that I could do the things he was asking me to do. That I could roll this stranger over, check for breathing, do CPR. Mostly, he made me believe that we could keep him alive - together. And, he was right. After what seemed like an eternity (but was really more like three or four minutes) an EMT arrived on scene and took over doing the chest compressions and rescue breathing with a confident, practiced air – so different from my awkward, unknowing attempts.

 She asked me to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket and find a family member to call. I fumbled around, trying to discern the right number from his call log. This felt like a complete violation of this stranger’s privacy – even more than the rescue breathing and CPR had been. That was somehow clinical. This felt personal. I was a bit relieved when I was unable to reach the faceless ‘Jane’ whose number I had dialed. Then I felt guilty, thinking of how much I would want to know if it was my family member lying there.

Within a few minutes more, the ambulance arrived. The intimate silence of the driveway was suddenly shattered by a crew of professionals, each one doing his or her job efficiently and nobly. I saw them shock him. I felt lost in the hum of activity, and headed back to my car. I was pulling out into the road as they loaded him onto the board and into the waiting ambulance. It all seemed like a dream, but I recall the EMTs thanking me – saying what a miracle it was I had been there when he fell, and had stopped to help. A miracle.

I spent the rest of that evening in a daze, processing my thoughts and trying to figure out what it all meant. I have believed in God since my childhood, and witnessed His power in many situations. But, by His grace, I had been allowed on this night to be a part of His mighty works. I had been allowed to participate in a miracle. 

At some point the 911 dispatcher called to let me know that the man had made it to the hospital and was still alive. Though his prognosis was uncertain, he wanted me to know that any chance of survival the man had was because I had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The next day an EMT called and let me know that - against all odds - this unknown stranger was still alive. Alive, indeed, and with a family that wanted to meet me. 

A few days later, the name I had seen on his cell phone became more than just bits of digital data on a display screen. Standing in the waiting room, I felt instantly connected to her as we embraced. She shared with me that the doctors had declared him dead a few hours after arriving at the hospital that first night. The roomful of family and friends had been told that he was gone. As she sat in the silence of his room, grieving the loss of her beloved husband, she had felt an insistent pulse arise. Ignoring it at first as the fanciful wishes of someone unprepared to trade in the title of wife for widow, she had only dared to believe once she looked up and saw his ashen face flush with color. The doctors had rushed in, asking what had happened. Her tearful, joyous response was that it had been a miracle. E.R. doctors and nurses who had witnessed the events of the evening had had no choice but to agree. Another miracle.

This man, who had been in a fitful coma ever since returning to life, was a testimony to God’s healing power, and I was getting to be a part of it.  I had been privileged to be there when he fell and start CPR. Privileged to hold his hand and pray for him while the EMT worked. Privileged to meet his family and hear their wondrous story of him coming back from death. Privileged to pray with them, and to be drawn into their lives. I was privileged, above all else, to witness the mighty hand of God as He worked a miracle that boldly showed even doubters and unbelievers His unshakable power. I was thrilled because the world needs more of that. I needed more of that my in my own life, too. 

The day after I had visited him and basked in the light of the miracles of his story, the doctors told the family that his MRI results showed very little meaningful brain activity. A few days later, he was moved to the palliative care wing of the hospital. The next day he passed away - surrounded by his wife, children, brothers, mother, and friends. I do not have any right – in light of their suffering – to speak of my own devastation. Yet, it was as palpable for me in the following days as my excitement over his miracles had been. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had somehow participated in an unfinished work, and I didn’t understand it. 

I learned long ago that God doesn’t answer to me. His ways are not my ways, and His thoughts are not my thoughts. But, that doesn’t stop me from asking questions and seeking answers. I prayed earnestly, pleading with God to help me understand why He had chosen to have the man die, when his testimony and the story of his experience could have touched so many lives and hearts. I felt burdened for the family he left behind – his grieving mother, wife, and teenage children. I prayed over and over again for some way of understanding why I had been brought to that place at ‘just the right time’, and been allowed to participate in something that I had come to think of as almost a miracle. It was at that point – when I had come to doubt the perfect and complete acts of the almighty God– that He reminded me of the truth. 

It was a simple scripture that I had read a thousand times before, but never understand so well until that moment. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints – Psalm 116:15. Upon reading those words late one night, it suddenly occurred to me that every moment of this man’s life and death hadn’t been overlooked by God – as I was starting to believe – but, rather, overseen.   I was reminded of the story of Jesus coming to visit Mary and Martha after Lazarus’s death. Though He knew before He even left on His journey to their home that He could (and would) bring Lazarus back from the dead, the scriptures are very clear that He wept anyway – moved by his compassion at the grief of the two sisters and their friends and family. I believe it was that same compassion that drove God to order the events of that evening when my life intersected another in a very powerful way. 

Because this man was precious in His sight, God hadn’t wanted him to be alone as he lay dying. Because he is a tender heavenly father, God allowed the man’s earthly family time to grieve and reconcile with their new paths in life. Because He is ever-ready to woo the hearts of men, God allowed this amazing, faith-filled family a week to demonstrate what mercy, love, grace, and peace look like – a powerful testimony indeed. And, because He knew I needed it, God allowed me to participate in the greatest miracle of all – helping escort one of His beloved into the throne room. 

I have finally come to believe that there is no such thing as an ‘almost’ work of God. His perfect plan was completed 2000 years ago on a barren, wind-swept hill outside of Jerusalem.  There is nothing – not time, distance, or circumstances – that can take away our access to that all-sufficient work through Jesus. No life is hopeless, no person unseen, and no act of God will ever be an ‘almost’ miracle because of the moment that Christ proclaimed, “It is finished.”

Lee Ann

It's my best friend's birthday, and I want to shout it from the rooftops! (Actually, six months and three days ago, when I first started this blog post, was my best friend's birthday. But one of the many reasons I love her so much is that she tolerates my procrastination.) I have a really good plan for a really cool birthday gift that I'm really going to make for her eventually. Really. Honest. But, since I am a procrastinator and always run late (see previous sentence), I at least wanted to take this chance to tell all of you (my devoted, faithful readers) about my best friend, Lee Annie.

Ok - first off, her name is just Lee Ann, not Lee Annie. But, she and I have been like two peas in a pod since I was born (and she was six weeks old), and we used to giggle in utter abandon and delight about how well our names fit together -  just like us. We would skip through the park, hand-in-hand, in our matching, hooded capes when we were little and be content in the knowledge that we had the world by the tail. To be honest, I still feel that way when we get to hang out (though the capes no longer fit, and matching clothing is a bit strange for honest-to-goodness grownup ladies like ourselves).

It helped, of course, that we have a shared red-neck upbringing during our tender, formative years. Though, truth be told, if push ever came to shove, she'd out redneck me in a competition any day of the week.After all, I've never had a pet raccoon, squirrel or alligator. Let alone several of each. She has. True story. Anyway - even if that were to happen (is there such a thing as a redneck competition?),  I'm pretty certain that our attachment would survive. I think it can make it through whatever life might throw our way. In fact, it kind of already has. We've done everything from living a few blocks apart, to having several states separating us. Even more amazing, we've even survived living together! (Briefly, and when we were very young. There were no squabbles over the division of rent or utilities, but the nightly arguments about whose turn it was to wash and whose turn it was to dry was every bit as rough as any adult disagreement could ever be. I'm sure of it.)

Despite such seemingly-insurmountable challenges, our friendship is holding strong. I'm sure there are a lot of reasons for that. First off, our mothers are still friends. Our children are as well, which makes us the gooey center of a lovely, multi-generational friend sandwich. We also, finally, have the joy of being buddies within fairly close geographic proximity (not as close as we were before I had the nerve to move to the other side of the state, mind you...) But, most of all, we are still friends because we both know waaaay too much about the other to leave the friendship without serious fallout. I'm pretty sure either of us could ruin a potential presidential campaign for the other, for example, just from the information we know about the other's teenage years. The thing is, though- we wouldn't.

I know I can trust Lee Ann to keep my secrets - from what I looked like the one and only time I wore a two-piece swimming suit, to just how ratty I let my undergarments get before buying new ones - to the very end. She still chuckles at my lame jokes, and guffaws at the really good ones. Hearing her ring tone on my cell phone is enough to cheer me up. When I pulled the first nasty, long hair from a mole on my face, I texted a picture of it to her (along with a friendly reminder that I might be turning into an old crone, but she is 6 weeks ahead of me in the process, since she's the older one.) And, I'm pretty sure the only reason we haven't each jumped the parenting ship and headed for the border is because we remind one another - on a daily basis - that it's normal for children to scream and whine, that it doesn't mean we're bad parents if our children scream and whine, and that if we don't stick around for the long haul we won't be able to re-tell the stories of when our children screamed and whined when they are listening to their own children scream and whine. And that, my friends, is what real friendship looks like.

Let the Commencement Commence

Seems like they'll let just anyone do a commencement speech these days! I had the honor of giving the key note address to the 2012 graduates of the Mid-Prairie Home School Assistance Program. I couldn't be more honored. While there were lots of things that I could have said, here's what the final draft looked like. Seems like prudent advice to all of us:

Graduates, teachers, parents, students, and distinguished guests – Welcome. We are here today to celebrate a monumental achieve…

Ok – I’m just kidding. I’ve always wanted to start a speech in some fancy, high-falutin way. But, I’ve got it out of my system now, so we can move on.  I think most of you know me, and know that’s not really the kind of person I am. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Andrea Farrier. I was a supervising teacher in the MPHSAP for 10 years, and loved every minute of it. Three weeks ago, however, our family embarked on a new adventure, and moved to the town of Atlantic, in western-central Iowa.

I really, really miss you guys, but am totally enjoying ‘only’ being a stay-at-home, full-time home schooling mom. To be honest, I’ve never worked harder in my life, and I’m exhausted. I salute you all!  I’m open to the idea of skipping the rest of the speech so all of you moms out there can get a well-deserved catnap, but somehow I don’t think that’s what Jan had in mind when she asked me to speak to you all today.

In fact, I’m not 100% sure what it is that I’m supposed to be talking about, so I’m just gonna wing it, alright? I think the general theme is transitions, which I’ve had a few of in the past couple months, and our new graduates will have a few of in the months to come. Maybe some of the things I’ve observed and lessons I’ve learned will be helpful to you as well. So – here goes:

1.)    Don’t Take Junk. For me, this was a somewhat literal lesson. When trying to fit a whole household of stuff for 5 people into one moving truck, you’ve got to be selective. Let me give you an example. I, like many people my age, sort of had two wardrobes. You know what I’m talkin’ about ladies? I had my regular clothes, that I wore everyday. And, I had my skinny clothes. You know – the ones I used to fit into, that I really, really, really wanted to fit into again someday, and that made me feel miserable about myself every time I looked at them. Some of them – I kid you not – I’d had since I got married. There was one skirt in particular that I wore on my honeymoon that I adored, and it had been mocking me from my closet for 12 ½ years.

When I was packing up my clothes, I really debated whether or not to throw it in with the rest, even though I know full well I will never wear that skirt again. What I realized – and it was very, very freeing for me – was that that just because you’ve spent a lot of time with something, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s something you need or something that’s good for you. I had loved that skirt when it served a positive purpose in my life, and I would always have those memories. I didn’t need to drag it halfway across the state, though, so it could continue reminding me of what I’m not. Get what I’m saying, here? Familiar isn’t always helpful. 

Graduates – I encourage you to stop and think in the days ahead - are there things you’re keeping, habits you’ve formed, ways you think or talk about yourself or others that aren’t going to be helpful in your next steps? This – right here, right now - is an opportunity to choose what you put into your box to carry into your future. Don’t drag something along just because you’ve had it a while or it feels familiar. Instead, be selective, and make sure you’re not packing junk

2.)    Don’t Forget People. Newsflash – I wouldn’t be where I am today without all of you, and so many others who have invested in my life. And, you wouldn’t be where you are today without all the people who have cared, loved, worked, helped, prayed, hugged, taught, etc…  you, either. Don’t forget about them. Don’t forget about the person who taught you how to tie your shoes. Don’t forget about your buddy in fourth grade. Don’t forget about the person who cleans the toilets in your church. Don’t forget about your family. Don’t forget about your friends.

Some of them will not continue to be in your life in your next steps. That’s ok. You need to make peace with that. Learning to let go of relationships – good and bad ones – gracefully is a necessary life skill. One of the people I thought I’d be best friends with forever is still my best friend. The other one is not. We haven’t spoken in years. And, that’s alright. Our friendship served its purpose at the right time, and we drifted apart at the right time.

Some of the people in your life, however, are destined to be a part of your next steps. Call them. Email them. Send smoke signals if you have to. These are the people who were put into your lives to be a support. They’ve already earned your trust, and proven you can count on them. That’s worth more than any pay check, or college class, or cute new boy or girl could ever be. Don’t neglect those relationships. When hospice workers ask dying patients to reflect on their regrets in life, one that comes up almost universally is not tending important relationships like they wish they would have. Don’t make that mistake.

3.)    Be Flexible. True story – when Mark (my husband) and I first started feeling like we were supposed to move in a different direction in life, we kept thinking that direction was North Carolina. We felt called there. He interviewed for jobs there. We just knew we were going to end up living on the Atlantic coast. Instead, God moved us to Atlantic, Iowa. Now, as much as I have come to love my new little town, it is not the ocean. There are no endless beaches. There are no coastal breezes. There is no marine life. And, that’s ok.

Don’t get me wrong – at first it wasn’t really ok. Not in my heart of hearts. Mark interviewed for the job in winter, and I was seeing more white snowbanks in my future than white, sandy beaches. I grumbled a bit, more than I should have, but then I did one of the most important things that anyone can do – I got over it. I moved on. I got flexible and embraced what was happening, not what I thought would happen.

Graduates – you better start brushing up on your yoga, because you’re going to need to be flexible too. A lot. Like, all the time. You’ll need to flexible in the little things – like where you live, what your job or class schedule will be, how much money you make. And, you’ll have to flexible in the big things, as well. Statistics show that most of you, ten years from now, will not be doing the job you think you’ll be doing. Neither will the person next to you. Your life – most likely – is not going to end up how you think it is going to right now. But – if you’re flexible along the way – it’ll end up being exactly where you need to be, which is even better.

4.)     It’s Good to Be Scared Did that last one scare you a bit? You know, someone standing up here telling you that your life’s not gonna turn out like you want it to? Good! It’s good to be scared. If you’re not feeling at least a bit apprehensive, that means you’re not trying something new. I tell my kids all the time that learning only takes place beyond what you already know. It sounds simple, but is rather profound when you think about it.

If you only eat the foods you already know you like, hang out with the people you already know everything about, go to the places you’ve already gone a million times before, watch the movies you’ve already watched before, and do the things you already know how to do, there is no room for growth and change. The most productive times in your life are probably going to be the scariest. My husband was, with all respect in the world, scared to death when he started his new job, and I couldn’t be more proud of him for taking that step. It has turned out to be a wonderful thing for him, his employees, the City of Atlantic, our family, and so many more. But, it didn’t come easily.  Most great things don’t.

I encourage you to live enough on the edge of life to know apprehension, and to be a bit scared sometimes. Don’t get me wrong (please, please, please don’t get me wrong!). I am not telling you to drive at 95 miles per hour, make unwise financial decisions, or even to watch scary horror movies. That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t misquote me here. But, going into the unknown is the only way you’re going to broaden your horizons. Don’t be afraid of being afraid once in a while in life.

5.)    Enjoy the Ride Seriously. On the good days, take time to look around and recognize that it’s a good day. Savor it. On the tough days, take time and look around and recognize that it’s still a good day. We all woke up this morning – hooray! We have food to eat, clothes on our backs, a place to live, people around us – there is always, always, always something to thankful for. Take the time to be grateful. Every day. Period.

You will not always be able to choose how things turn out in your life. But, you always have the power to decide how you will react to them. And that, my friends, will make all the difference in the long run. I’m talking about big things – choosing to learn the beautiful life lessons that a dying loved one is imparting rather than wallowing in feelings of sadness during the final days, hours, and moments. And, the little things – have you noticed how sweet the air smells sometimes, how many colors God puts into each sunset for us to enjoy, or even just how beautiful the smiles of the people around you are?

Graduates – fifteen years from now you will almost certainly look back on pictures from this time of your life and marvel at how pretty, skinny, strong, and beautiful you were. Trust me on this. Why not go ahead and give yourself permission to feel that way right now? In fact, why don’t we all go ahead and give ourselves permission to feel that way right now? Why not choose to savor all the good stuff life has to offer right here, right now, in this moment? We will never again get the chance to be here and now. Let’s enjoy it, shall we?

In the interest of not overstaying my welcome, I’ve decided to condense the rest of my pithy advice down to a simple list. Here goes: floss your teeth; start saving for your retirement today;  eat well most of the time, but pig out every once in a while on something truly delicious; be nice to old people; don’t ever think too highly of yourself, or let someone make you think to little of yourself; don’t whine; don’t forget how to play; walk in the woods at least once a year – it’s good for the soul; be polite to police officers, soldiers, waitresses and waiters, librarians, checkout people – oh, what the heck – be polite to everyone; don’t use cuss words; wear clothes you like, not clothes that everyone says you should wear; be an active and informed citizen;  make a budget and stick to it; hug people; sit up straight, be on time (still working on this one myself).

And, remember – it’s not just in the big transitions – like moves and graduations – that we have the chance to make the changes we want to in our lives. Every moment is an opportunity to take a step toward becoming the person that this world needs us to be. Happy trails, everyone. Here’s to a roads well traveled, and lives well lived….

Applied Mathematics

Well, I got sidetracked again. Go figure. I was 3/4 of the way through a rather inane post when I got a touch of writer's block. Thinking that a bit of inspiration might do me some good and get the juices flowing again, I checked in on some of the blogs I follow. Guess it worked. Not only are the words and inspiration coming fast now, but prayers and a few tears are as well. I continue to be blown away - time and time again - by how much need there is in the world, and how relatively easy it is for ordinary people to meet those needs, if they're just willing.

In less time than it takes to watch a TV sitcom, I read about a couple who rescued a child from a life of certain poverty and neglect, and are bringing her up in a home filled with love, joy, and goodness. I read about missionaries in Haiti who struggle with feelings of guilt as they enjoy a wholesome, but modest, meal. Despite the fact that they are dedicating their lives to helping those around them, and making a tremendous difference every day, it still pains them to know there are thousands in their city who are malnourished and starving. I also read about a young midwestern girl who put her fears and sheltered upbringing behind her in order to touch the lives of desperately-poor Mexican villagers. In just thirty minutes, from the comfort of my own couch, I read about movers and shakers. Life changers and life savers. People who are passionate, and committed, and live life with an open throttle and no regrets. And, they are all.just.people - just.like.me.

Yep - not a superman or wonderwoman among them. They have fears and doubts. Misgivings, weaknesses, imperfections. They have them all. But, somehow they don't let that stop them from rushing headlong in the direction of their hearts. It makes me wonder what more I can give. What more I can do. What more I can be. Yet, that's not how these people think of themselves - as ones who give, and do, and live abundantly. No, the overriding theme from these men and women who have profoundly challenging lives and who have witnessed unspeakable things, is gratitude. More than that - it is gratitude about what they have received, even beyond the gratitude at what they've been able to give. And, I'm not talking about false-modesty gratitude, where someone flashes an insincere grin and quips about how they're, "...just happy to be able to help..." These people have bone-deep gratefulness for their daily blessings - no matter how meager they may seem to someone like me. They are overcome and overwhelmed by how honest-to-goodness wonderful their lives are. It gets me to thinkin' - perhaps they're on to something.

So, now what? I'm on fire more than ever with a realization of how much need there is, but I'm also equally ablaze with the fact that little-ol'-me really can make a difference in the world. The big question is - how? Should I emulate their awesome examples by rushing out and adopting a child? Planning a mission trip? Moving to a third-world country? Maybe. Or, maybe not. Perhaps it is not the actions of these everyday heroes that most need to be duplicated, but the attitude. What if - just go with me on this for a second - there was an outbreak of gratitude in our hearts and homes? Would that, alone, be enough to make the world a better place?

I think so. In fact, it all seems like a rather simple issue of arithmetic, if you ask me. Let me explain: I often find myself saying, when I'm feeling particularly happy with how my life is going, or see something in the news about how hard someone else's life is, "I have so much." And, while that's true, it is also a rather loaded statement. Most often, these four little words are a superficial and glib way of excusing myself from having to think too hard about either my own blessings, or the sufferings of others. Like a rote and disconnected prayer, I say it to absolve myself from responsbility, hoping the phrase itself will invoke someone else to provide the solution to a problem I don't want to acknowledge.

Mathematically, however, the statement takes on new meaning. "I have so much" is not the dismissive solution we may think it is. Instead, it is a problem in and of itself - a problem that begs to be solved. Think about it - how much is 'so'? Substitute a variable for that crucial little word, and it's easy to see that this common phrase is not a matter of economics, or morality, or theology. It is basic algebra, and by solving for 'x' we might just be solving some pretty big problems.

See, it is only once you know what you have, that you truly start to become rich. When we can honestly take stock of our blessings - and choose to be grateful for each and every one - we are able to quantify the goodness of our own lives. That 'so' from the glib phrase abov,e that slips out so easily, is not an unknowable variable, but a distinct and unique quantity for each and every one of us. Once we know it, it both compels and empowers to us to act. Like I said - simple math: The difference between our quantity and what we see in the lives of others equals how much need there is. It also shows us just how much we really do have to give, which is often much more than what we would have imagined.

So, I say, if we want to change the world, what we first need is an epidemic of gratefulness. May the act of acknowledging all the good things in our lives spur us to also see the need we don't want to admit exists, as well as our abundant ability to fill it. Looks like those folks really were on to something after all - the humble act of being grateful can lead you to the most wonderful of blessings...

But giving thanks is a sacrifice that truly honors me. If you keep to my path, I will reveal to you the salvation of God. - Psalm 50:23

 

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time there was a girl who was scandalously young, and a boy who was terribly new to the adult world. They met at a birthday party, fell madly in love, went through a tumultuous serious of dating breakups and get-togethers, got married, and have been facing the challenges of the world side-by-side for the past sixteen years. Doesn't exactly sound like a typical fairytale romance, does it?

Today marks the sixteenth anniversary of when my husband and I first met. I was 15 3/4 years old. He was 18. At the time, we thought we had the world by the tail. Now, I cannot believe what absolute infants we were, a fact made all the more frightening since our oldest daughter is only four years away from being the same age I was way back then. Wow. According to statistics and every predictor imaginable, we should not have survived as a couple. There have been several times when even we didn't think we were going to make it. Yet, here we are. Still together. Still in love. How can such a non-fairytale beginning have led to a happy, successful marriage? I'll tell you how - fairytales are lies.

In the fairy tale, the hero rides in and saves the damsel in distress, sweeps her into his arms, and they ride off into the sunset.You'll notice, the author never follows them and shows what life is like five, ten or sixteen years later. There are a couple of very good reasons why. First off, damsels in distress (who are unable to rescue themselves, or put themselves in stupid situations to begin with) rarely make good wives. While it's true that wives will often find themselves facing daunting challenges, married life requires them to be able to slay many of their own dragons, fight many of their own daily battles, and still have supper on the table by 6:00. A helpless wife = a hungry hubby, which is not a pretty picture.

Secondly, husbands in real life are no less the hero to their fair ladies than the men in fairy tales are, though their respective defining qualities couldn't be more very different. Heroes in fairy tales expect to fight one epic battle, and be adored as the strong, silent type for the rest of their lives. In the real world, it is their dogged pursuit of the daily grind, and a willingness (no matter how difficult) to open up and communicate those messy little things called 'feelings' that makes a man appealing. A one-hit-wonder, wordless hubby = a wrathful wife. Also, not a pretty picture.

Don't get me wrong, I know couples who have had the fairytale romance. Their every 'first' was magical. Their every look was adoring. Their every role and duty, perfectly fulfilled. From the outside, their life was enviable and beautiful. However, very few of these couples have marriages and homes that are still intact. Turns out, riding off into the sunset as a storybook hero and damsel can really burn you in the end.

But, don't be discouraged. Fairytales are not the only books on the shelf, and there is hope when it comes to love. Just look at us! You see, I come from a long line of romantic rebels. They are the pirates and pioneers, discoverers and dreamers, ruffians and rogues of the soulmate story. One set of grandparents met on a blind date, where my grandmother rode 30 miles on the running board of a car - holding on for dear life - to have supper with the towering hunk she would marry a short time later. (A wedding that took place, by the way, just one day after her 18th birthday and graduation from high school.) They lived on the ragged edge of poverty - gambling their last quarter in a pool hall for a couple loaves of bread and some meat for the stew pot - before becoming the ordinary, solid, ho-hum progenitors I know them as today.

My other set of grandparents only dated for three months, and went to a burlesque show on their honeymoon. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts who married way too young and still hold hands when they take strolls together. Other notoriously-mismatched couples with inauspicious beginnings that are near and dear to my heart include a woman who broke off an engagement in order to pursue a man she had just met, a couple who corresponded for months and ended up getting married after having only seen each other once, and a fifteen year old who never believed in love at first sight until it happened to her. That last one, by the way, was me.

I can't say that I recommend the path that we have traveled. I know it's extremely unlikely for us to still be going strong. I don't advocate for very young couples, very short engagements, or correspondence courtships. Then again, I don't advocate against them, either -at least in some cases - since love can grow from very strange beginnings, and not even the time-honored fairytale romance has the formula exactly right.

For us, things have worked because we are stubborn against the troubles of the world, and yielding to each other. We are uncompromising in our commitment to our marriage, and spend a lot of time compromising on everything else. We are fierce fighters, and frequent forgivers. We pray together and play together. We say, "I love you" often, and "I'm sorry" even more so.  And, we try to enjoy every moment that we get in each others' company, just like we did sixteen years ago. Here's to my real hero husband and a life-long romance that is nothing like a fairytale.

Stats and Facts

Wow! I just discovered a feature of Blogspot.com that I had never noticed before. While I was wasting time fiddling with the tabs entitled 'comments,' 'settings', and 'design,' I completely overlooked the best one of all - 'stats.' That's right, this tab allows me to see statistics and information about this blog that I never could have even imagined were available. Through the wonder of modern technology and a bit of mysterious digital magic people call the internet, I can lie in bed at 11:00 at night and check in on who's checking me out. Cooooool.

First off, I must thank you (my faithful reader). Without your pageviews, the 'stats' tab would be a very boring place, indeed. But, because you've been willing to read my brain droppings and check in every once in a while to see what new adventure I've been having, I can share with you some fantastic statistics. For example:

•People have come to find this blog in a variety of ways. Most are linked from Facebook, but some did a Google search to get here.

•Some of the people who did a search for the blog used the predictable search words of 'andreafarrier' or 'andreafarrierblog'. However, four people managed to find their way here (apparently) by searching for 'winter cartoons.' And, a whopping 18 visits to this page came about because someone searched for 'scared deer.' Who knew?

•The top five posts (by sheer number of views) were: Getting My Hopes Up (52), Corrupting the Youth (55), O! The Humanity (61), Moving On (78), and Rondo Meets Bambi (207). (What on earth made that one so popular!?)

•Apparently my readers mostly use Internet Explorer (47%), but Firefox is gaining popularity (34%). Someone out there, however, is using a browser called Flock, and has viewed my blog five times from it. Who are you, oh mystery Flock user?

•You are clearly a PC crowd - with 86% of the pageviews coming from Windows, and only 8% from Mac. There have also been 25 views from IPhone users, and 6 from my Blackberry contingency. I'm so proud to have such a diverse, tech savvy following.

•And, finally - the part that made me actually giggle aloud in bed - I'm thrilled to announce that, while the vast majority of my pageviews come from the U.S., I have been read in ten different countries, including 50 views from South Korea, 21 from India, and 12 from Iran. We're like a giant, online family from all over the globe. Makes me smile every time I think of it!

So, what does all this mean? Well, first off, I can see that I'm going to have a new, time-consuming hobby in checking the 'stats' tab at least a dozen times per day. You can be assured that there will be much rejoicing at my house when new search terms or countries pop up.

Secondly, I might start trying to be more “professional” in my posts in light of the much wider audience than I previously knew. Nahhh… probably not. The only change this new information is likely to bring is an increased sense of gratitude that people really do want to read what I have to write. I am humbled and overjoyed beyond words. Thank you!

All In a Day's Work

Last night before I tucked her into bed, I asked my four-year-old daughter what she wanted to be when she grew up. She smiled, cocked her head, and said, "A superhero." Given the recent devotion to classic DC comic book heroes and their related action films and cartoons at our house, I didn't give much thought to her answer at the time. However, this morning, as I made breakfast, I happened to glance out the window and notice that my Amish neighbor was plowing for all he was worth in the glorious May sunshine. With each furrow of rich, black, Iowa soil that he turned over, I think I better understood what my youngest child was saying.

You see, I'm sure that my neighbor doesn't consider himself a superhero, even though he literally feeds the world by his humble, daily chores. Neither, for that matter, do most people as they plod through life. Work - even with the most rewarding tasks and the most convivial environments - is generally associated with stress, headaches, ungrateful bosses, difficult coworkers, deadlines, paperwork, micromanagement - the list goes on and on. How does this happen? How do the imaginary games and grand dreams of our early childhood, and our idealistic and passionate striving of early adulthood lead to everyone simply having a job they can barely tolerate and doing work that is uninspiring and wearing? Surely something's wrong here.

I vividly recall being four years old and swaggering around town with a sense of distinct pride because my daddy was a plumber. That meant that he knew all sorts of magic about such important things as pipes and wrenches - substantial, heavy, necessary things. The kinds of things that remain a complete mystery to most people, hence the need for such a capable, vital, professional man as my dad. But, more than that - beyond just knowing things that were unknown and unknowable to other people - he also had a job that made a difference in the world. There's not much more welcome sight than a plumbing van when your toilet is clogged or a pipe is endlessly spraying water all over your carpeting. I think I totally had it right at four years old, as does my daughter today - my dad was (and still is) a superhero, and we all can be as well.

That's it then. In order to become a superhero we should quit our jobs and become plumbers, right? Not exactly. My mom worked in Human Resources and saved jobs, marriages, and families by her encouraging words, willingness to listen, and genuine care for people. (The candy on her desk didn't hurt things, either.) My sister is a pharmacist, and her careful work (as tedious as it can sometimes be) literally saves lives and prolongs health and vitality. My husband works at a waste water plant. And - even as inglorious of a position as people generally think that to be - what he does ensures that we will have safe, sanitary living conditions today, and clean rivers and streams for generations to come. Every person I know - from my grandmother who proofreads the local paper, to a former student who bags groceries at the mom-and-pop store in town - goes to work with a cape under their uniform, though whether they ever use their powers is truly up to each individual, each and every day.

You see, you don't have to pull people from burning buildings or dive from the top of a skyscraper in order to be a superhero. All it takes to unfurl your cape and unleash your good deeds upon a populace in desperate need of being saved is for you to recognize your own ability to make the world a better place right where you are. There is not a single job on the face of the planet without merit or the opportunity to make a positive impact in someone's life. For, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance, and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence."

So, if you'll excuse me, I've got some villianous dust bunnies to slay and a date with destiny at the dishwasher. It's not an easy job, mind you, but somebody's got to protect the slumbering citizens of this household. As you can see, I'm choosing to embrace my inner superhero as I head off to do the tasks at hand, and I hope you'll do the same.

Family

We all grow up with the weight of history on us.  Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.  ~Shirley Abbott 

This week I went to the funeral of my first-cousin-once-removed. I didn't really know him well, and yet he was as familiar to me as my childhood blankie and the sound of my mother singing a lullaby -a constant in life that is both distant and ever-present at the same time. I guess you can say that family is like that. At least, it has been for me.

I grieve for today's generation, which doesn't know the comfortable embrace of extended relatives and relationships. My parents recently moved back to the small town where they grew up, fell in love, got married, and started a family. Though they had left the town before I was born, we visited at least half a dozen times per year throughout my childhood, often for a week or two each summer. Both of my grandmothers still live there, as do my parents' classmates, aunts, childhood friends, cousins, et cetera, ad infinitum, amen. I cannot tell you the name of the street that the school is on, where people go to hang out, or which neighborhood is the most affluent, but this place is in my blood - figuratively and literally. I know and am known in a way that is profound and eternal. In the Ollie Ollie Oxen Free of modern life, most people don't have a home base to go to in order to be safe. I'm glad I do.

So, there I was - surrounded by my family. In the laughter and noses and smiles of those around me I saw my grandfather, who has been dead for ten years. I heard the voice of my deceased great-uncle, whose legendary kindness and gentility were proven to be solid and true and factual by their very presence in his own children. I stood in the center of the room and the center of the generations and witnessed the past and the present and the future all sharing coleslaw and memories and genetics together. My children. My parents. My grandparents. The whispering voices of those long-departed relatives whose faces smiled up at me from the photo albums, whose life stories were being vigorously reported, sorted, and distorted. We were all there. I wanted to stand on the table, wave my hands in the air, and yell, "Hey! Everyone! Don't you get it? This is important. What we're doing here - what we are - it matters! It is everything!"

But, of course, I didn't. Partly, I didn't do so because every family needs a black sheep, and I am not anxious to move to the front of the line for that job. However, I also didn't do so because, while it's true that family is important and it matters and it's everything, it's also not true at all. Those same cousins and aunts and nephews have already gone back to their jobs and their lives, and nothing has changed. The fact that I am my grandfather's granddaughter doesn't mean a thing now that I have driven back to the home and job and town where no one knew him or all the wonder that his life encompassed. Even those who live together in that little community will cease, once again, to be family in any practical sense of the word, instead resuming their civic, societal, financial, and emotional relationships with one another.

So, there you have it. Family is at once everything and nothing, all rolled into one. I suppose that our genetic heritage and all of the other elements that make up who we are in a more philosophical / spiritual / emotional sense have similar roles. You cannot see your DNA, and probably don't often stop to think about it, but it defines you nonetheless. You are most aware of how much of it you share with others when you are in the presence of those with whom you share it most, and it makes you proud. I am forever my grandfather's granddaughter, and know that it is something special to be able to say that, even if no one else around me does. So, here's to family - including all the love handles, rogues, receding hairlines, dearly departed, and coleslaw that we share. Lowell - you will be missed, but your heritage, humor, love, gentility, et cetera, ad infinitum carry on, nonetheless. Amen.