Stories of My Heart

When I was a little girl, my daddy read to us every night he could. He delighted us with Thornton Burgess’ stories of animals such as Mrs. Quack or Grandfather Frog that could both sadden and gladden our hearts. We depended on these moments. We thrived in these moments. We grew in these moments.

My mother made sure we had library subscriptions as soon as we were able. She walked us by the hand into the nearby library and helped us register for our library cards. She brought us back regularly to return the now beloved books and check out new ones or renew favorites. By the time we were pre-teens, she encouraged our independence and allowed us to pack lunches, jump on our bikes, and spend our Saturday afternoons reading away at the library on our own.

Mrs. Bischoff, our 7^th grade English teacher, knew how to inspire each of us to new levels of literature exploration. She knew I had a soft heart and could not handle the sadness of animals that took place in our stories that year. She allowed me to read and process those chapters alone in the school library. She also challenged me to read “Rebecca” and the writings of Cynthia Voigt and both the “Alanna” series by Tamora Pierce and “Clan of the Cave Bears” series by Jean Auel. I grew by leaps and bounds with each new title.

Oh how stories shape us. For years our ancestors gathered around fires and in small rooms to share the word and discuss it, but the more advanced we became, the more separated we became, and the less we shared.

Stories build community. We find something of ourselves in stories. We find something of others in them, too. Many times those commonalities or differences bring us together as we talk through them. It’s no wonder to me that people continue to gather in book studies to discuss what they’ve recently read and that on Saturdays and Sundays across the world, spiritual stories are still shared aloud in liturgies, and small groups come together to discuss their lessons. These traditions have continued to bring people into relationship for centuries.

Consider the bonds built by parent and children or teachers and their students during story time. How many of you remember reading with your loved ones or listening to a beloved book like “Charlotte’s Web” or “James and the Giant Peach” in school? How many of you still do read aloud with loved ones, perhaps a picture or chapter book, a classic, a poem, a newspaper article? How many of you cherish that time?

Our stories don’t just have to be from books. They can be of our day, of a recent trip, an extraordinary experience, or a less than extraordinary experience. Perhaps they are shared memories that bond generations together and give us insight into a different time or a chapter of a loved one’s life that helped shape him or her.

Please don’t stop sharing stories or searching for stories. Read to one another. Share your memories, your opinions, your questions, your sadnesses, your happinesses. Reflect on your experiences…together.

“You see I don’t know any stories. None of the lost boys know any stories.”

“How perfectly awful,” Wendy said.

“Do you know,” Peter asked, “why swallows build in the eaves of houses. It is to listen to the stories. Oh, Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story.”

~Peter Pan, Chapter 3 “Come away, Come away!” by J.M. Barrie

With love and light,

LT

I Talked to God at Starbucks

Sunday afternoon, in a deserted downtown that wasn’t mine, God leaned out of a Starbucks window to smile at me and assure me that everything was going to be ok.

For decades my mother has been collecting holiday decorations of every kind. As the seasons change so does the décor of my parents’ home. There is quite the organizational system of boxes and timing to make sure everything is displayed appropriately for each festivity.

Every season is sweet. Although there is a lot, nothing is overdone, and each piece is lovingly displayed to bring the viewer joy. Each holiday is made special and the house presents itself as an open invitation to celebrate with family and friends.

Halloween has its own special place. When Nannie and Poppa became grandparents, their friends, the other grandparents, suggested a special gathering of grandchildren at my parents’ home for Halloween. They wanted their grandchildren to see Nannie’s wonderful display of ghosties, pumpkins, witches, bats and spiders, too. Delighted to entertain, Nannie’s Trick or Treat was born.

It is a charming afternoon of sweet treats around the kitchen table, oohs and ahs over the decorations adorning every flat service and available hook, a yard full of inflatable cats and pumpkins, crafts around my father’s childhood bunny table, the great leaf pile, trees to climb, a piñata and treasure hunt. The big moment is when the children line up for the costume parade and early trick or treat at neighbors’ homes. It is lovely, good fun for all.

It was after this wonderful afternoon with my parents, my children and my beloved extra parents (our family friends) and their grandchildren that I drove into that line at Starbuck’s to get the pumpkin spice latte I knew I would need to get me the two and a half hours home.

The children were already settled into their video in the back seat when I placed my order. As I waited in line, I prayed.

God, please help us get back home safely. I know I’m tired, but I know I’ve got this with your help. It’s been a big weekend, and I’m so thankful for the many memories you helped us create today and yesterday. Please help us down the road.

It was finally my turn at the window. I had prayed, but I was still feeling anxious. The woman at the window handed me my latte, but then something was different. She leaned forward making direct eye contact with me, which I actually had to catch because I was moving on to my cup holder. She smiled the most radiant smile at me and clearly spoke to me, “I hope you have a great afternoon.”

I smiled back and said, “Thank you, you, too.” But she wasn’t done with me. She kept her eye contact until she was sure I knew she meant it. I did a double take, and smiled back at her, for real. There was a recognition from both of us and suddenly I thought to myself, “Well, hi, God, yes, thank you. I will have a good afternoon on the road.” I practically giggled as I drove a way, and I could see from the corner of my eye that she was still smiling as she turned from the window.

It was definitely a Carrie Underwood “Jesus Take the Wheel” kind of drive home, but I will forever be thankful for God’s message of love and comfort to me at Starbuck’s before I hit the road.

Dear God, Thank you for loving me and inspiring that beautiful Starbuck’s lady to lean forward just when I needed her to help me. I hope that I can be that love and light when someone needs it the most, too. Let us all be reminders to one another that we are never alone and that in that Oneness is great strength, guidance and love.

With love and light,
LT

Love Spread Like Wildfire

I am often overwhelmed by the daily news report. Viewings leave me sad, scared and breathless. There are killings after killings, angry people that see absolutely no good in others and “leaders” that are just after the next sound bite. It certainly does not leave one inspired. Instead I fear that it leads many to feel hopeless.

We are in a very precarious situation in which more and more people have no sense of self worth and therefore see no worth in the lives of others. If their lives are not valued why should they value the lives of anyone else? It becomes easy to dismiss the pain and suffering of others, to snuff out a life or to look the other way.

The more I think about how polarized our society becomes the more I hope for Jesus. In a society built on a treacherous hierarchy where the majority of lives were unvalued, Jesus helped the least of these realize what love is and what it is to be loved. He went into the undesirable neighborhoods and helped to reorganize perceptions of how we should treat one another. Life didn’t necessarily get easier, but communities came together and supported one another. People from different sides of town began to recognize their commonalities and found they could respect one another in this new light. Love spread like wildfire and toppled a corrupt and overbearing regime with peace.

At a loss at the continued killings and arguing over this law or that and his right and her right and so on and so on, I said to my husband, rather vehemently, the other evening, “We NEED Jesus! We need someone who can help people realize that they are loveable and have the ability to love. We need someone who can make people listen again and share kindness towards one another. We need someone who can bring us together not more and more news that will separate us.”

This, too, left me breathless, because as I called out for help, I paused and remembered the somewhat hard part; we have to be Jesus.

Teresa of Avila (1515-1582) wrote “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours, yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

I am not brave. I do not have all the answers. I am kind one minute and the next something ugly can leave my lips. But I DO believe with every ounce of my body that we must not give up on love. We must keep trying to be good to one another. Instead of dismissing the anger and pain of others, could we address it with kindness? Instead of rising to anger and attack, could we instead work towards peace? Could we stop trying to get ahead of each other and instead help each other out?

I don’t know what this ultimately looks like, but there are others that do. They are out there bravely reaching out to the least of these. Marching in peace through the forgotten neighborhoods and trying to help people feel loved.

Where are the hippies now to put flowers into the guns used in the wars of our streets? Can that moment of stillness be captured again, when the man holding the gun stands still and lets someone reach him in peace and hope?

I want to make a difference and will continue to strive and do so everyday. I may fall short, but I will get up and try again.

God give me the strength to be kind to all I meet. Help me to share love in a way that others know that they are loved even when all feels hopeless. God, help us reach outside of our comfort zones into the uncomfortable space for growth of community. Help us to be Jesus to one another and to realize that we are all yours, each of us a treasure to behold.

#BeJesus #WeNeedYou

With love and light,

LT

Book Club: Me Before You

I’m speechless and yet compelled to document this moment. I’ve just finished reading Jojo Moyes’ “Me Before You.” Oh, my goodness. I could not put this book down. I had to force myself to take a break to sleep, to feed my children, hug my husband, and remind myself to breath.

“Me Before You” is a beautifully written love story that I never in a million years would have picked up to read if it had not been an assigned reading for my book club.

First, Jojo Moyes, my apologies for not having known about you beforehand and for bluntly sharing that I probably wouldn’t have picked up the book based on the book cover description, but, Jojo, you should know, the first thing I did when I finished reading “Me Before You” was to reread the last three paragraphs several times and then look up your website. I can’t wait to pick up more of your books, and I’m so glad to know that you have an Arthur in your life. I have two that I love dearly! (Love and miss you, too, Granddaddy! #3)

I’m still grappling with all of my emotions and thoughts about “Me Before You” but will be ready to share them with the book club girls, and may I say, THANK GOD FOR BOOK CLUB! I am so thankful for having read this book and so many others that they have recommended to me. 

This dedicated group of women with degrees and professions ranging from poetry, literature, history, and religion to political science, education, marketing, and biology meets monthly for dinner and discussion. Loving one another dearly, there is always polite chatter as dinner is prepared, but it doesn’t take long before one of us cannot contain the itch to start talking about the book. Yes, there is wine involved, but I swear to you, a good hour and a half later, we’re still digging into the depths of our latest literary feat. It’s fabulous!

I am so grateful to these women for the breadth and depth they have added to my life. I think I could speak on behalf of the whole group that we are thankful for each voice that has graced our discussions and each book that has opened our eyes to an experience we wouldn’t have had without it.

With jobs, illnesses, children, death of loved ones and just the exhaustion sometimes of everyday life, we’re not always able to make every gathering, but there is always a pull back to book club…a pull towards living our lives to the fullest by experiencing more through storytelling, imagination, and the full immersion into other times and cultures that continues to draw us back. Also, there is the promise that we will be stretched, empowered, enlightened and connected in more powerful ways to life’s full experience. And then, there is that simple truth, that when two or more are gathered, there is community and strength and comfort that can be counted on when we can, and especially when we can’t, make it to book club.

Thanks for the great read, girls! Jojo, it is beautiful...hard...but beautiful!

With love and light,

LT