A while ago, a friend posted a link to the blog of someone I went to school with years ago. He had cystic fibrosis, and his mother had a brain tumor. The blog, at the time I subscribed, detailed their health battles and steadfast faith. Both died during the month of November, and I grieve for the young man's widow, and for his sister and her husband.

The young man's funeral video was posted online. I had known the sister's husband in college, so I paid special attention when he spoke. He related athletic competitions he had had with his brother-in-law, and then his voice started breaking when he tried to move on to the crux of his narrative. I had a trained urge to pause the video to let it load...then realized that such an action would have no impact on the sound quality.

You don't get to pause grief, let things load, then go on without breakage. Voices break. Hearts break. You just listen through it...and deal.

Smiles

Ever find yourself scared to believe in something? I watch a lot of "Frasier" and "The Nanny..." and nothing right ever happens to them. (Well, Fran ended up with Mr. Sheffield, but that took years.) Maybe that's skewed my perspective on hope.

And then along came Gimli.

He's like...no one.

When I got back from my summer in The Big City, Gimli showed up at my Bible study. I didn't give him much individual attention; he was some guy who had come in quietly, and I wasn't looking. It was nice to have him as part of our group, but I was really done with guys.

After listening to his comments at study for a few weeks, I started to realize that this guy thought before he spoke--and when he spoke, he was worth listening to. He was knowledgeable but only shared if he thought it would benefit the group--not to prove what he knew. When we started planning a group movie night, I realized how important it was for me to have him there. During the planning, we mentioned upcoming local football games. The next day, I found a message from Gimli in which he asked me to one of the games. I wrote back that I really wanted to go watch my students play that night, and that he was welcome to join me. I cautioned him that my students, their parents, and my coworkers would all be watching us and surmising things. He commented on how that was such a stellar invite--then asked when we should meet. Thus, things started.

I can't even go into everything--how sweet he's been--but he's made me feel cherished in so many ways. He's done normal things like repot plants with me and hang pictures in my new apartment for me. We've taken our friends' young son to a movie together and curled up under blankets on a chilly hayride together. He's led Bible study for me on weeks when I've been too stressed and tired to do so, and when he does, his thoughts are interesting and show the depth of his spirit. His touch is gentle, his eyes are kind, and his grin when he looks at me makes him so adorable.

We were shopping together the other day, and I asked Gimli if he thought the baby we had passed a few aisles earlier had had white paint on his face. He said he didn't know, hadn't noticed. "I was probably looking at you then," he said. Cheesysweet. I laughed in delight at his wonderful cover-up line.

Delight. Not TV; delightful reality.

I had grown accustomed to invisibility...but you're pulling me away from the wall.

I was settling into me, and now you've come along. Expecting change, no doubt--not in bad ways, but in "you're another human with your own history and future" ways.

And I...I don't quite know what to do with you.

This Just in from eHarm

"Meet Seamus, someone as unique as you are."

Is that not...contradictory?

Seen and Not Heard

Whirlwind trip to Iowa to see the grands before they resumed their journey home to Virginia; back early to receive a spare bed from my summer roommate and keep it from inconveniencing her dad since it took up space in the back of his pickup; back early also to make it to a church service planning meeting.

Coming into town fifteen minutes ahead of schedule for meeting my friend's dad, I pulled onto the off ramp and realized I had enough time to make it to DQ for a thin mint Blizzard (limited time only). And then, there he was by the stop sign--a scruffy-looking guy in a T-shirt and jeans, scraggly hair and cap, glasses, and holding a cardboard sign.

I don't remember what the first part of the sign said, but it ended with "IN JESUS' NAME." The cynic in me responded with, "Wow--way to play the God card." But he didn't look like he was shooting for a guilt trip. And he didn't look lazy or scary...just sad.

Five bucks...five bucks...just give him five bucks...

But the cars ahead of me were moving, and there was traffic behind me as well. Not enough time to find my wallet and sort out a five. Besides--I'm a single female. I passed him and prayed.

Blizzard was bought and enjoyed, bed was delivered and stored, and off I went to my meeting at church.

The team evaluated the last two weeks' worth of sermons and service elements, then went on to the upcoming Sunday. Highness will be preaching from James, which includes, in chapter two, verses on having not just faith but deeds as well. We discussed songs that would fit (my suggestion was Petra's "Seen and Not Heard") and anything else that would contribute to the message. Conversation swirled about, a bit of which included taking meals to shut-ins.

And _he_ came to mind. His scruffy hair and cardboard sign. And the Petra in my head was louder than the team discussing around me.

They've heard the story, they've heard the lines
But talk is too cheap to change their minds
They want to see some vital signs

You could take him some money, take him some supper.

Convictions - in the way we live
Convictions - not a narrative
Actions speak a little louder than words

Fine. It's stupid for a single female to approach a panhandler alone. I'll wait until the meeting is done and see if one of the others will go with me.

Seen and not heard, seen and not heard
Sometimes God's children should be seen and not heard

But I couldn't brainstorm and I couldn't contribute and I was almost sick as I realized that I was foregoing an opportunity of the very sort we were talking about.

There's too much talk and not enough walk
Sometimes God's children should be seen and not heard

I didn't know how to excuse myself gracefully, but something came up that I had a comment on. That led to my blurting that I had to go put into action what we were just talking about--and that I really had to _go_. One of the team asked for clarification, and I explained about the man at the off ramp. I left with the caveat, "You'll know where to start looking if I die!" And Highness, who gave his mother's eulogy yesterday, called out, "Say hi to Mom for me!" (It was truly one of the best lines in our worship team's history.)

The spedometer read higher than it should have as I made the drive across town. I started rehearsing what I'd say to whatever officer pulled me over. "Will you come with me to feed this homeless guy on the other side of town?" What I really wanted was for someone with a uniform to take over the duty. No such luck, and I reached a street with a speed limit that was more in line with the speed of my car.

I rehearsed what I'd say to the man: "I don't feel comfortable giving you a ride or giving you money, but can I go buy you some supper?" Ever-conscious of safety, I dug around for my pepper spray, made sure my doors were locked, and evaluated how far open I could leave my window without giving someone access to reach in and grab me. And then, _then_ I prayed. "God, You know what the deal is. You know how to protect me. Please do." And I knew, whatever happened, it would be okay.

My eyes were busy scanning as I approached the overpass. There--was that him? No, a sign. There? Nothing. I slowed, looked down the off ramp, ahead on the highway, and turned around. I looked down the on ramp, and down both sides of the interstate.

Nothing.

Gone.

Quarter after six. Was he being fed? Did he have a home for the night? I wouldn't have offered him _that_, but maybe a supper delivery and snacks for the next day would have brightened his mood and made the night not so hopeless.

Gone--the man, along with the opportunity.

I'm sad that I don't get to experience the joys of reaching out. I'm chastised that I didn't follow through with the opportunity when it was first presented. But I am convicted that when God calls us out, He _does_ equip.

Be strong--and courageous!
--Joshua 1:9

Valley of the Shadow

Last week, I sat with the other members of my church's worship planning team as we brainstormed ways to present Scripture relating to Jesus as the Messiah. We came up with putting people in the screen room of the sanctuary, so they'd be located behind the screen but in front of the projector--silhouetted. Next--who would read? A variety of people were suggested, and one was Mrs. J.--my 90+ year-old friend. Someone pondered the visual presented by her ever-present walker, and I volunteered to be her extra support. Whether we went with an Old Testament feel or a modern approach, a person would fit in better than a three-wheeled cart.

Sunday morning, I led Mrs. J. through the darkened hallway that went to the screen room. The path was narrow, so we had to ditch her cart. She couldn't see well and crept along hesitantly; I wondered why she wasn't more trusting of my ability to see.

I told my mother about that experience today and was struck by the vivid spiritual parallel as I spoke. Why didn't Mrs. J. trust me? I could see!

What have I been wrestling with lately? Not seeing the way, knowing I can't feel my way along...

Do you suppose, just maybe, that God feels the same way I did in that darkened hallway?

It's dark--but I can see. You're fine. If you stumble, I'll catch you. I know the way.

A friend tagged me in a note on Facebook, in which she discussed her evolving religious views. She said she's no longer convinced that Catholicism is the way to go, and the conversation between her and those who commented on the note was overwhelmingly in favor of having spirituality without being part of a church.

I wondered how to counter that. "You need to be part of a fellowship-type group where people will encourage you to keep seeking Jesus when life seems to stink." "You need to be in a place where you can learn from others."

And I stopped. And thought.

I was miserable this past weekend. I did media for a women's conference and, though the parts about husbands and children didn't pertain to me, I figured it was good I was there because I was serving. One of the speakers talked about dealing with grief and the tragic loss of her four-year-old son. I normally would have put my mind in her place and mentally lived through as much as she had, but a wall went up around my heart.

On a break, I ran into one of my former staff leaders from when I was part of the Navigators. She asked how I was, and, as we passed, I confessed that I wasn't doing so well with "the singleness thing." She nodded sympathetically and I hurried back to my post.

I saw her again a while later and she pulled me to the side. "Hey--" she said, "I'm available to pray with you about that issue if you'd like." I nodded and we went to a semi-secluded area. She looked at me. "I feel like I know your heart, so what if we just pray?"

I was already at a breaking point. Someone cared enough to ask how I was? Someone cared that I answered that question truthfully? She began to pray and the tears started dropping. I only had one tissue and reused it to the point of disgustingness. She prayed about things I didn't know were even in my heart until they crawled out.

We talked a bit until she had to go back to one of our event's presentations; I walked down a long hallway to an out-of-the-way restroom and attempted to clean my face up. I tried to get my mind back on the conference and remembered the speaker's narrative about grief. And I just got mad. I know it's horrible that she lost a son...but I haven't even had a son. I know she went through a really rough time with her husband after that loss...but I haven't even had a husband. I know her daughters suffered and were confused...but I haven't even had daughters. Usually those "somebody else's life sucks more than yours" stories make me feel blessed by what I haven't lost...but this time, no.

When my eyes looked less like the Incredible Hulk's (the blue had gone to green, and the skin around my eyes was red and puffy), I slid back into the main conference room. The guys at the soundboard looked up at me--either in surprise at my long absence or in shock at my possibly-still-Hulkish eyes--and offered me their chairs since mine at the PowerPoint computer had become occupied. I just wanted to be invisible.

Actually, I really just wanted to get out of there and sob some more.

So I disappeared as quickly as I could, pulled up at home, and sobbed. Audibly.

I don't do that. I can't scream, I only yell when my students are involved, and I get to an annoying audio level only if I'm playing Mario Kart. I don't like to make noises.

But this person in my car--me--was crying out loud, wondering why this burden of singleness was hers to bear.

And, on that, why is it bad to be unhappy with singleness? I know that as Christians, we're to be content in all situations. But was the speaker lady content with losing her four-year-old son? Was she allowed to grieve?

Am I?

I felt raw for the rest of that day and was numb by Sunday. Then M called. "You've been on my mind the past couple days. How ya doin?"

Again--someone cared to ask, and cared that I answered truthfully.

I didn't want to talk then. Didn't want to start bawling. I had somewhere to go and had just tweaked my makeup.

I texted...something...and just asked that he'd pray.

Stupid friend was persistent. I elaborated a little, and he texted a message asking if he could call. I put off answering until I thought I could talk without crying. I was almost there when my phone rang, and it was him.

"I didn't say you could call," I half laughed and half cried.

He didn't care. And he didn't care that I couldn't talk for a quarter of our conversation because I was trying to do so without gasping for breath through my tears. And he didn't care that I'd told him most of these frustrations before. He just listened, then elaborated for me. "You want to get to the point of having something to lose."

Yeah.

I showed up at my next two appointments with tear streaks cutting through my foundation and blush, but feeling raw and semi-comforted was better than feeling numb.

So why be part of a church? What if you don't even fit there? What if no one notices that you skipped two Sundays in a row? Quit going?

Nope.

The majority of people who know my heart and give me wise counsel are ones I've gotten to know through Bible studies and other small groups. Some Sundays, I've skipped church to drive around and take pictures of God's creation--frosty trees, sun dogs in the sky. Sometimes, I praise Jesus more from my kayak than I do from a pew. But sometimes, I hide from God, don't understand what He's doing, and get upset with Him. And in those times, it's nice to have His people come alongside, help me up, and redirect me.

I think that's what people in a church are for.

A few weeks ago, my Bible study was going through an episode of Max Lucado's "Next Door Savior" in which one of the ending points was seeing God's love for us. And I really needed to see God's love for me.

Are You there? Do You love me? Do You see that life's not going the way I'd planned it? Do You see I don't get to use these gifts You've given me?

When I got home, I dug into a bag of Brach's conversation hearts. I smiled ruefully, thinking of last year when I told myself to imagine that each heart message was something God was saying to me. (Of course, only the "good ones" counted.)

It was maybe the fifth heart that I scanned before consuming, where I found the words, "I love you."

Huh. Funny.

A couple more hearts in, I found another one: "I love you."

Okay.

Okay.

And I haven't found any more since that night.

You prayed for me, didn't you? That God would get to me? He did.

You sit through another sermon on marriage and child-raising while holding a friend's baby, and you can pray all you want over that friend's kid. But when the baby cries and you return her to her mom, you're left with empty arms.

The message is relentless, and you think that even if it doesn't apply to you, you should store it away for possible future use--or to help a friend when she needs it. But eventually, you stomp your mental foot and say, "I want mine! My husband! My family! My home!" The tears start to come, and not welcoming them while in the midst of a crowd, you blink, brush them back, deaden your heart, and read some Bible commentary.

The sermon ends, you chat a bit, then find yourself alone. Couples walk out with babies, strong daddies holding diaper bags. You find yourself thanking God again for the friends who let you borrow their children--not merely hold them while being supervised, but actually walk around with them, hold them long enough that they get used to you, even change a smelly diaper.

This makes you miss your friends who struggled with infertility or with wanting to enter the mission field but not finding open doors. They're still friends, but they've since adopted or gone to a country far away.

"When is it my turn?" --not a whine, but a sob.

"What's wrong with me?"

"What are You teaching me?"

"What have I not learned?"

I Was Born in a Small Town

My right front tire got progressively lower. I'd fill it; it would begin to empty itself. With travel plans in the works for this past weekend, I had to get something done. Unfortunately, I was in a Kiss-the-Pig contest, results to be announced at last Thursday's basketball game, and had other obligations the next night. When was I going to have enough time away from work to get to my town, get the tire taken care of, and get back to the school?

On impulse, I ran out of my room after the first custodian I saw Thursday morning. Custodians always know things.

"Where would you take a car with a leaky front tire?"

He told me of the local co-op (which I'd never used and didn't think I could--aren't those private sorts of things?), which wasn't what I was expecting. I was expecting something in my bigger town--not something in this no-stoplight even-smaller town. I hesitated, questioned further, and his response was, "Well, get it fixed or get a new tire."

Yes. Indeed. I'm not a big fan of brusqueness.

A few minutes later, he showed up at my door.

"Do you want me to take your car over there? K [also on custodial staff] is here, so we could do it."

A) Control freak. I'm sure that of all the people, our maintenance/custodial guys are capable of driving cars, but still...

B) Germ freak. Custodial staff. Trash cans. Emptied. Stuff falls out. Stuff gets put back in. I don't see our custodians (wonderful as they are!) walking around with sinks on backpacks. What's on the floor would be on my keys...and in my car...my car...my nice little haven...

I asked if I could get back to him in a couple of minutes.

I called a tire place in my bigger small town and was told they could probably get me in the next afternoon. But then, I figured, the necessary time would depend on the extent of repairs--and what if they needed to keep it over the weekend? That wouldn't work with my other plans. I went in search of my custodian.

It turned out that I could be out of my room for a few minutes, so I could drive my car to the co-op and he would take me back to school. Then along came K, who happened to be going that way anyway. He followed me over and waited while I ran my keys inside. I told the man behind the counter that I teach at the school and was told by my custodial staff that the co-op was the place to go for tire repairs. I asked if the shop would call me when my tire was done; the man told me they could drop it off at school for me.

Seriously?

A few hours later, a very tall man walked into my study hall and handed me my keys and my bill. He said I could stop over at four to pay it. As he left, I looked at it--$8.40.

Seriously?

Labor and delivery for less than nine bucks?

When I went back at four, I wanted to pay them more out of gratitude. Didn't, but wanted to. It was a different man behind the counter this time. I hadn't even told him my name but referred to myself as the one who had the leaky tire (turned out to be a nail); he said, "Oh--I've heard about you!"

Really. When working in a school system, that's not always a good thing.

He told me his daughters' names, and I realized that they're two who are incredibly personable and kind young ladies. The younger one, now that she has me as a teacher, gets off her school bus to hang out with me while I have bus duty twice a week.

He told me that the co-op does repairs for a lot of the teachers, and even some of the students. They'll pick up cars from our parking lot and return them, all taken care of.

Really?

This is what I like about small towns.

My Bible study meets in the home of friends who adopted a little boy from Ukraine in the past year. I talked with J at the start of study this evening, and expressed my frustration with work, life, etc. Something's got me tense and unsettled; I'm not sure what. With little M on her lap, J asked me what I can do in my singleness that I couldn't do if I had a family. I couldn't think of anything; I like the idea of being around here and getting settled with a husband and children (preferably my own). Other places interest me, but nothing has been calling.

J directed me to go somewhere--go to another country for a couple weeks. My brain started thinking of the reasons why that wasn't a good idea: monetary expense, safety, direction, not knowing anyone... Sure, maybe I should go somewhere else within the States; maybe if I did that, it would appease the "leave the country" notion.

E joined our group after study and was peppered with questions about E and J's adoption of little M. He mentioned teenage girls who disappear after they grow out of the orphanage; they're taken across the sea by sex traffickers and put to "work" in Turkey.

I wanted to bring them all here--but am not in a feasible place to do that. If only I could go to them...

If only what?

The more I thought of it, the more the idea made sense--and scared me. E and J have connections in Ukraine. My friend EMo teaches at a Christian school there. I brought the idea up to J, and she knows someone who leads English language camps; as a graduate with an English major, this is a good option.

My breathing gets more rapid, and I feel like I often do when I'm in a vehicle with other people--panicked.

But something inside me has always wanted to work at an orphanage...and EMo has also said that people are needed to just hold babies in the orphanages. Is this how God will do it? Stir me up from my comfort zone, yet fulfill my need to nurture (without compensating for my only-childness by having octuplets plus six)?

I graduate with my master's degree in May.

I'm on a 12-month pay plan for work.

Oh, God...is this the desire of my heart?

The Vet has been there for me at the ends of the past three relationships, and this one is no exception. He drove an hour each way, just to hang out for a while tonight and do whatever I wanted to do. We went to a coffeeshop for a brief time to listen to a local performer, then ran to my school to see the end of its basketball game against the Vet's hometown school. (Vet's team won by one.) He asked to see my classroom and I took him on a tour; he sat and took it in, asking questions about various things he saw. (The exercise bike and the huge smiley face got his attention.)

My students saw us and asked me who he was. Boyfriend? No. Friend with potential? No. He's who a Christian brother should be. He's taught me to see myself more as God sees me than as I think others see me.

I'm praising God for the Vet's friendship--and for the other "Vets" I've had in my life.

He provides!

The last smell of his shirt before I wash and return it via a friend...

The call of another friend: "Hey--I heard--are you doing okay? I didn't want to ask you with the others around..."

Why is it that I go through days of unfeeling despite the concerns of friends who know me better--and these are what make me cry?

It appears that if I cry enough, my nose stuffs up--and then I'm unable to smell his shirt anyway. Into the laundry it goes. Cleansing, in multiple ways...

Checklist

• Unique ringtone removed: check
• Speed dial removed: check
• Random picture messages removed: check
• Couples pictures removed from Facebook profile section: check
• Realizing that reality is not as easy as pressing "delete:" not yet...

Waiting for the Punch Line

Some things, you just know. Other things, you don't. And when those other things are big things, you wonder why you don't know.

I've been in a relationship since November, and it had its ups and downs--definitely more ups than downs, and definitely a learning experience as well. But I didn't know if it was going somewhere. Though unattended from my end, I kept my eHarm account active. I was cautious about making big plans with the boy for any upcoming holidays, because I didn't know if we'd still be together. I found doubts creeping in because something felt unsettled.

But I liked him, and I saw that God was teaching us both things throughout the process. I learned a bit about compromise, and I learned a bit about grace.

I cancelled my eHarm account a couple days ago, before it auto-renewed the day before it would tell me that it had done so.

Since he's in school, I thought up something special we could do for Valentine's Day--something that would be inexpensive and still allow him time to study.

We curled up at a movie together Friday night, and I saw him on my way home last night after being out of town for a bit. Just before I drove away, he looked at me and told me I'm an amazing woman. And I hugged him even tighter.

I thought about those creeping doubts and unsettled feelings this morning. Maybe I'm just not used to really trusting someone. And last night--last night felt _real_.

And tonight, he said we had to talk. About us.

"This isn't leading to marriage."

"Then it's done," I wanted to say, but waited.

He reminded me that he'd promised he wouldn't casually date me. We talked a bit more, and I thanked him for letting me know. He asked if I wanted him to stay on the phone and talk, or if I wanted him to let me go.

"Well, it seems you've already let me go..." I said wryly.

And I moved on. And will continue to do so. I wish these tears would stop flowing so I could go off to my meeting of the night, but they seem to keep attacking.

It's not as though he's totally gone, and I see us resuming a friendship in a few months or a year or so. I guess I'm just frustrated and tired at the thought of starting over. I'm tired of wondering where my place in the world is, especially after wondering if it would possibly be with him. I'll miss that close friendship with him, because things will be different. I'll miss his ways of thinking, which provoked me to think beyond myself.

But really--really--I think I knew. Sometimes, not knowing is a way of knowing.

Top Three Signs That It Wasn't Going to Work Out

3: The first present he gives you is a hockey puck.
2: His Christmas present to you is a metal water bottle.
1: He doesn't like "The Princess Bride."

Imogene

Does anyone remember "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever?"

A raggedy, taggedy family of kids ends up playing the main parts in a Christmas pageant because, well, most of the other kids refuse to work so closely with them. Little Imogene Herdman, the raggediest, taggediest of them all, ends up as the declarative angel. Of all the people!

It struck me before Christmas that I work with an Imogene Herdman. She's messy, unkempt, loud... Her classmates can't stand her, and her teachers see why.

She asked me for help with printing material from my website the other day, so I walked with her to the school library to go through the process. We found the problem, and I threw in a bit of encouragement.

"[Imogene], you really do have good problem-solving skills in that brain of yours! Keep it up; you can work through a lot of problems!"

It's hard for her to maintain eye contact, but she looked up at me for a few half-seconds--enough for me to reasonably hope that the encouragement had sunk in.

The kids have the option this week to purchase ribbons which will allow them to wear hats at school. The proceeds go to finding a cure for cancer. Kids could buy a ribbon a day for $2 each, or a weeklong ribbon for $8. Yesterday, "Imogene" showed up wearing a daily one and a weekly one.

She planted herself in front of my desk, in front of me while I was trying to take attendance and get her classmates settled, and pointed out the obvious ribbons on her tacky straw cowboy hat.

"Why do you have both of them?" was all I had time to ask.

She shrugged. "It's for a good cause!"

Good point.

"Imogene" came up to me at the end of class, with the daily ribbon in her hand. "Here," she said, holding it out to me. "You can wear this one. You can pin it on your shirt. It matches your sweater!"

Oh, my little Imogene--the unconventional bearer of good tidings!

Just Another Day

a fight with the boyfriend

seeing friends at a church event, but they see through me

succumbing to polite conversation with acquaintances

overhearing another acquaintance on the phone with a mutual friend as she closes me out and asks if there's room for her to sit with them at the event...

not even knowing those friends would be there, because we don't spend time together anymore

watching people ten years my junior walk in with their husbands and babies

seeing married friends enjoying the evening with their spouses and in-laws

escaping as soon as i can, because it's silly to be crying over these things

just silly