Fall

Written by jamie on September 22nd, 2010

I did it.

I broke out the pumpkin spice coffee this morning.

I was so excited when I saw pumpkin spice coffee at Fresh Market weeks ago that I had to get some. I put it in it’s coffee place in the pantry, and it’s smell immediately permeated the entire closet. Every time I opened the door, the scent punched me in the face, a very fragrant reminder of it’s presence. But I refused to drink it. With an average of 95 degrees as our high, it just didn’t feel right. “It needs to be fall,” I told myself. “Or at least starting to feel like fall.”

This morning, I just couldn’t take it anymore. In addition to the Fresh market brand, Drew had brought home a couple Keurig cups of pumpkin spice for me to go with the single cup coffee dispenser he found for way cheap at Goodwill. Those cups have been staring me down for about a week. They finally won. I popped one in and now I’m already well on my way to fall, despite the condensation that’s about to form on the windows from the summer humidity outside.

Fall is my favorite time of year. Unlike my dear friend who is lamenting fall’s arrival, I am welcoming it with open arms. Fall just fills me with warm fuzzies. Leaves changing and dropping to the ground so we can have that delightful *crunch* sound underfoot; scents of allspice and cinnamon wafting through the house; pumpkin patches popping up everywhere; Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on in the background while the turkey cooks.

While I was on tour with the African Children’s Choir, I remember one specific memory, probably in October or November. We were in a church for a typical day of schoolwork and rehearsal. I think I had finished a rehearsal time and was taking some time to relax and unwind; moments far too seldom in tour life. Uncle Abraham, one of my fellow chaperones, was hanging nearby. All of a sudden, the scent of pumpkin pie accosted my nostrils. I sat up straight and began sniffing. Abraham looked at me quizzically.

“Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Pumpkin pie! Someone’s baking pumpkin pie!”

“What’s pumpkin pie?”

I forgot that I was dealing with an African, someone who had entirely different traditions. Of course he wasn’t familiar with pumpkin pie. (In Uganda, they don’t exactly have seasons. It’s the wet or dry season and that’s about as far as it goes.) I attempted to explain what pumpkin pie was and how glorious it was. He knew what pumpkins were, but had never experienced them in the pie form. He just gave me a weird look and went back to what he was doing. (He did get to try pumpkin pie later and didn’t like it. *sigh*)

I continued sniffing, and a huge wave of homesickness crept over me. In that single scent, it reminded me of holidays spent at home, of times spent cuddled under blankets in front of fires, of huge balloons floating through a parade, of Christmas music and lights beginning to appear.

This morning, as I sip the last bits of my pumpkin spice coffee, I am almost giddy with excitement for fall. I can’t wait for cooler weather, sweaters and scarves, and more of an excuse to sip hot beverages.

Bring it on, fall. I’m ready.

 

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Christians

Written by jamie on September 17th, 2010

Sometimes I cringe at the idea of having to carry the title Christian.

I love Jesus. It’s the church that irritates me; the family of believers who are supposedly carrying the word of Jesus to the world. Frankly, all I’ve seen lately is fighting inside the church walls and bickering over doctrine and beliefs.

I am not a huge fan of Christian radio anymore, since it all seems contrived and overly simplistic. However, I often find my radio tuned to it because I just can’t find anything better on, or I’m too lazy to pull out my iPod and make a decision on what I want to listen to. However, I do make sure my radio is tuned to WAYFM on my way home from work so I can catch Total Axxess. I love listening to this show because Wally, the host, is authentic and open in his faith. He shares his struggles openly and calls others out on their crap. He reminds me of my husband! Sometimes he shares some absolutely ridiculous stuff, but some days it’s just what I need. I was almost crying the other week from laughing so hard when they shared the autotuned double rainbow guy. It was a perfect way to pick up a not so great day.

Wally shared a scathing e-mail he had received yesterday. It was from a “Christian” who had made the mistake of listening to his show twice. He obviously didn’t enjoy what Wally had to say. He claimed that Christians tune in to hear uplifting music, not to hear Wally talk about himself. Then he made the declaration that the best thing Wally could do was to resign from his position at the station. What a great solution to this guy’s problem. Never mind the hundreds of other people that are actually encouraged by all that Wally shares.

This morning I was catching up on one of my favorite blogs, Stuff Christians Like. The author of this blog has poked fun at all the little things in church that drive me crazy, like mid prayer music that materializes out of nowhere. In the midst of all the satire, he still manages to come back to the meat of Christianity; God’s grace and how cool it is. One of the posts I read today referred back to an older post. He had received some interesting comments that disagreed with him, so he re-stated his original point. (Read the blog here if you’re interested.) In the comment section, the very first comment was someone who simply stated that he agreed with the original commenters. This then created a whole slew of come-backs, and it seemed like everyone was trying to “out-holy” the others.

Really? Is this what we’ve been reduced to? Whatever happened to building each other up? I’m all for constructive criticism, but when did we decide it was okay to attack each other for simply sharing our thoughts?

The service that I lead worship for is not a typical Sunday church service. In fact, it’s not even on Sunday. It’s on Friday night, and it’s for a group called Celebrate Recovery. This service is special to me because it’s not like Sunday church. In fact, it feels more like real church than Sunday church. On any given night, when you walk through the doors, you’ll see some pretty interesting people there. There are drug addicts, alcoholics, and some other kinda scary looking people. I’ve had men approach me to thank me for leading worship, and I’m really glad that we’re in a crowded room. I’m sure they have really shady pasts.

But the beauty of the program is that these people really get it. They don’t care about doctrine and what this verse is really saying. They are there because they want to be. God has saved them from the depths of despair, and they love Him deeply. They love the other people in the room because they have been real friends and have walked through some real icky times with them. When they share something deep and raw and opinionated, people simply say, “Thanks for sharing.” Period. There is no questioning if what they said is valid or wasn’t backed up properly by Scripture. They shared something from their hearts and are a better person for doing it.

I know that Christians need to be challenging each other and discussing hard issues. But let’s not be mean about it. Let’s not be self centered. If you feel your blood pressure rising over something someone has said, maybe it’s really from something going on in your life that hasn’t been properly dealt with. I know that’s often the case for me.

Let’s give each other the freedom to share what’s in our hearts without fear of judgement! I think Jesus would like that.

 

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My love story

Written by jamie on September 14th, 2010

This weekend I was on the lookout for a good picture that I’ve taken. Costco is having a photo contest, and I decided to enter it. I have a few pictures on my laptop, but I knew that Drew had the majority of my really good photographs. He found them on our desktop computer, and I sat down to spend maybe 20 minutes browsing through, looking for a good entry. Over an hour later, I was still there, looking at individual pictures, laughing and “awwing.”

Intermingled with all of the photos I’ve taken of scenery, cute nephews, and lightning, were our wedding photos. I’ve been wanting to find them and start scrap booking these shots, so I was especially excited to see them again. I laughed at forgotten shots and grinned at well remembered memories. I also found a slew of photos from our engagement photo shoot. Rather than pay someone loads of money to take a few cutesy pictures of us with my left hand ever so subtly exposed in every shot, we decided to do it ourselves. We set my Canon Rebel up on the tripod, and using the handy remote that Drew ordered off of eBay, we took shot after shot in Tom Brown Park. We even used some of them for our wedding invite. I forgot how many pictures we snapped to get a good one, and since I have the goofiest husband in the world, there were tons of outtakes. There were also serious ones, where we were gazing into each other’s eyes dreamily and laying tender kisses on each other’s lips.

Looking at these pictures reminded me of my love story and how cool it is. I told the majority of the story here before, but I started thinking about some of the other details this weekend.

– Faking an engagement three months into our relationship on April Fool’s Day. And fooling everyone way better than we expected. Our good friend and pastor told us, “Maybe the joke’s on you. We all know how perfect you are for each other.”

– Going away to Africa and Australia in the middle of our courtship. I received a package at one of the hostels in Australia. I opened it to discover a sweet letter, two CDs (one with romantic songs and some audio from my sweetie, and the other a relaxing ocean waves mix with foghorns in the background), and a ziploc baggie with a cotton square soaked in his cologne. *sigh* I looked up from my package to find four sets of eyes peering over the bus seats. The other aunties on the bus were quite impressed at my beau’s efforts.

– Coming home from that same trip to discover that he had written me a letter every day that I was gone. He dropped me off at my sister’s where I was staying, handed me a letter opener saying, “Here, you’ll need this.” He walked away, leaving me staring quizzically at the random object in my hand. I turned around to discover a huge pile of letters that was about to fall over. I ran across those letters when I was packing to move in December. I read through a few and smiled.

Drew will smile proudly when I remind him of some of these things he did. He will embrace me, look in my eyes, and declare, “It worked.”

I think often marriages start to crumble because the wife doesn’t feel so wooed anymore. The husband has his prize, and he doesn’t need to work to earn it anymore. Sometimes, when I start to feel this way, I remind myself of the many things my husband is doing now for me.

– Working two jobs to diligently pay down debt and build up financial security.

– Surprising me with way nice hotels and way nicer lingerie than I’d buy for myself.

– Buying a beautiful house that I love. Without him, I’d be living in a cheap apartment in a sketchy part of town. I sure couldn’t afford much without him.

– Never refusing a back massage when I ask for one. At least not that I can remember.

– Gives me encouragement and space to pursue things I love; writing, music, photography…

– Tells me, “I love you” about 80 times a day.

Some of these things can easily go unnoticed since they’re not as dramatic and romantic as a letter a day while I’m away. But I’m thankful for them, and know that my husband does them because he loves me.

Thanks babe. It’s still working.

 

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100 years

Written by jamie on September 10th, 2010

Today was one of those fulfilling work days. One of my absolute favorite residents turned 100. This centenarian flashes an almost toothless grin and completely melts your heart. I’ve had several conversations with him, and though some days it feels like the same conversation every time, I always walk away smiling. He’s my popcorn buddy, and he’s taken it upon himself to be my official hand warmer, as my hands are cold ALL the time. Often he’ll hold onto my hand and not let go.

Today he was surrounded by family and friends from all over. He was covered in hugs and kisses, gifts, and cards. Upon his still hair-filled head sat his 100th birthday crown, which he protested almost the entire party. He still grinned in spite of it. A newspaper reporter sat down with him, and a TV reporter came as well. I look forward to seeing him on the 11:00 news. He was enveloped by love today.

I wonder how tomorrow will be for him. I’m sure that family will stick around a few days and spend some time catching up with him. But soon they will head home to their various parts of the country. Soon, he’ll be left alone, again, in his little studio apartment.

He told me one day how he’s not sure why he’s lived so long, and frankly, didn’t know why he was still here. He confided that he felt useless. I can see how he would feel that way. Confined to his scooter, he’s not very able bodied. He needs help in most basic care, such as bathing and grooming. It would be hard not to feel useless as you watch your bodily functions slowly wither away.

I assured him he was not useless. He makes me smile every time I see him, and I informed him of that fact. I also reminded him of the 100 years of life lessons he could pass onto people. He smiled in agreement, but then looked down and muttered how he could feel his mind slipping. He’s still pretty spry mentally. He’s mighty quick witted. But I can only imagine the frustration at memories slipping and thoughts not forming clearly like they used to.

I think sometimes he must feel as if he’s invisible. All the employees know him and love him, and we greet him by name as we fly by him in the hall. But sometimes as I rush by in my frenzied hurry of crossing things off my to do list, I can hear him silently screaming, “Please notice me. Really notice me.” I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to stop and really listen to some of my residents.

Today he felt loved, for sure. But will that continue into tomorrow, or next week? Or will his life resume as normal; feeling useless and discarded? I hope that I will continue to reach out to him in whatever time he has left and love on him as much as possible. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to say, and I think that’s why I run away so often. But truly, how much can I say to someone who’s lived over three times as long as I have?

Perhaps he just needs more popcorn and hand warming.

 

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