Looking Up

This evening I was out in the neighborhood with my kids, selling popcorn for the Cub Scouts' fundraiser. It had been one of those days. Actually it has been about two weeks' worth of "one of those days" and I'm quite ready to move on to a different kind of day already.

Our kind neighbors were happy to support the Scouts as we made our way from house to house. At the designated last house for the day, while the friendly man was making his selection, Will asked me why the sky was red. I looked up to see the red clouds stretching across the sky as the sun hid behind the treeline in its pursuit of the horizon. It was beautiful. And peaceful. And somehow hopeful.

"The sun is setting. It's time to head home," I told my son. And I was thankful for the reminder to look up. There is a bigger picture, a bigger purpose. Sometimes it gets clouded by the crazy details that crowd me. But if I can lift my eyes and find the great sky and remember the greater One who hung it there, then am I settled in my heart and renewed in my spirit. Thanks, little Scout, for reminding me to look up.

Little Turtles, Big Ocean

Yesterday evening my family went out to the beach to watch a sea turtle nest excavation with the Tybee Sea Turtle Project. About five days after a nest hatches, the turtle people are allowed to dig it up to see what's left. The volunteers count the number of hatched shells, unhatched shells, live babies, and dead babies. At the end, everything is put back into the nest and recovered with sand except, of course, the live babies. They are carried to the water's edge and released, hopefully to make their way to the Sargasso Sea, grow up, and continue the cycle.

So we stood, with a small crowd of other interested people, on the beach in the rain watching the nice lady scoop sand out of the loggerhead nest. Each scoop was quickly sorted: sand, shell fragments, dead babies, live babies. Our nest yielded up 18 live little turtles, each one just a few inches long, and about eight unfortunate turtles who failed to make it. The crowd delighted in each baby who waved its little flippers at us.

After the nest was completely excavated and everything was counted, the bucket of babies was carried down to the water line. The volunteers lined up the little guys facing the ocean and we all watched them go, cheering them on as the waves toppled and turned them.

It was a moment ripe with meaning and metaphor. The little turtles, so small and vulnerable, embarking on their epic voyage against incredible odds because that is what they were born for. They consider no alternatives. They do not shrink back in fear. They crawl across the sand, tumble through their first waves, and press on to swim. And swim. And swim. Across hundreds of miles of open ocean.

They are so tiny as they step off into the seemingly limitless horizon. I want to scoop them up and take care of them, protect them from all kinds of hazards. But that is no good. I'm sure there is no sea turtle who would willingly forfeit his chance in the sea. They do not seek safety. They seek their destiny. May it be the same for us.

About Frenchness

I have a confession: I love all things French. Okay, maybe not all things. I'm not so crazy about their politics or their reputation for rudeness. But I love the culture, the language, the beauty.

Ever since I was a little girl I have felt this affinity. It was nurtured when my mom would teach me French words like "bonjour" and "fleur" or when my neighbor traveled there and brought back a poster of the Tour Eiffel.

It was even more special to me because it was personal. Having been adopted as an infant, I knew nothing about my heritage or family history. Nothing... except that my birth mother had a French last name. (Yes, I illegally knew the last name of my birth mother. How crazy is that? That I knew it. And that it was illegal.) And so I loved Frenchness all the more because it was part of me in some unknown way.

Over the years I have studied the French language and visited French-speaking countries, although I have not managed to visit France itself. (That is definitely a bucket list trip that I hope to take!) I play French music in our home, and relish the fact that my kids love to dance to it. I have not eaten much French food, though, which brings me to my point for today.

There is a coupon for a local French restaurant. Curious, I pulled up the menu online to see what exactly I might eat there. To my great disappointment, I am less than thrilled by the menu options. Apparently, based on this particular menu, the French eat lots of seafood (which I'm not too crazy about, except for shrimp) and there are the more exotic items like foie gras, which mentally I find entirely disgusting (and a large part of enjoying food is definitely mental). So I don't feel as though I can wholeheartedly embrace this French cuisine, which is a bit disappointing. However, there is chicken! And I do like chicken, so perhaps we shall go see what the French can do with le poulet. Wish me bon appetit! A bientot!

Driving to Goodbye

Today I drove to Goodbye. The best friends of my two older kids are moving away tomorrow. We drove over to their house to bid our final farewells, and it was just not good. There are easy goodbyes and hard goodbyes, and this was definitely a hard goodbye.

It made me wonder what's really the best way to deal with Goodbye. Is it better to keep it casual, letting it simply slip away like another day? Or to face it head on, driving right up to it, and engaging it? When it's important, like today's goodbye, I lean toward making sure everyone feels like they had sufficient goodbyeing time complete with hugs, well wishes, and hopes of meeting again.

But it sure is messy that way. Is it just too hard? Or is there just no good way around it? At least the direct approach minimizes the risk of things left unsaid. I hate the regret of things never spoken and hugs not given. And so I drove to Goodbye.

As we drove home from our friends' house, my children sat in tears asking why. They had said their goodbyes, but their hearts had not reconciled it yet.

Later my daughter asked if we could go to the pool this evening so she could just forget. It seems to me a certain amount of forgetting is a good thing. It helps take the edge off Goodbye anyway. So we headed to the pool, and laughed and splashed and played like it was any other day.

The Gift of Inconvenience

Tonight I receive a gift. My evening plans have been thwarted so that the work I would normally do  cannot be done. I work remotely from home, but today there is a new server in town and I cannot log on yet. The urgent has been silenced by the inconvenient.

Perhaps I should be annoyed as my work papers sit untouched in their pile. No progress being made. Falling further behind. But the work will wait for me without ceasing, loyal as my trusty dog.

Instead I find in the inconvenience an opportunity and the anticipation of possibilities. Sometimes inconvenience is a gift of redirection... a chance to step back, take a look around, and see more clearly. A time to do something different, unplanned, unexpected. A little space for reading a good book, relaxing with my soulmate, planning summer adventures. Or maybe even... doing absolutely nothing.

What's so Good about Friday?

"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) That's the problem right there. It's what brings us to this day, Good Friday. The day that Jesus, the perfect and holy Lamb, was nailed to the cross. It can be too easy to say the words of what happened without feeling the weight of it.

Think about it. He was tortured and tormented, and nailed up to die for all to see. Far worse than being gunned down in cold blood or many other ways to die. Look at your own hands. Can you imagine the nails?

But He was truly innocent. Even Pilate found no guilt in Him. Rather He died for the guilt, the sins, the offenses of us all. He offered Himself to satisfy the demands of Justice in our place.

Why? Because "God so loved the world..." He loves us so much that He died our death, that we deserved, so that we can have true life.

That's what makes this Friday so Good. And so we remember and ponder in our hearts the darkness and horror of this holy day. And we are thankful as we wait in anticipation...

Size Matters... In a Relative Sort of Way

So there I was this morning at the grocery store... dashing around on my hands and knees with my two grocery bags and purse sitting on the floor near me. I was in the entryway where the shopping carts stand ready to haul food around the store. It's fairly secluded, and I was hoping no one would notice me.

Then I heard the Voice of Concern from behind me, "Are you okay?" I looked up briefly to see the nice man I had chatted with earlier concerning the price of pears. He was clearly puzzled by the sight of me crawling around the shopping carts.

My explanation: "I'm trying to catch this lizard."

"Oh. Lizard. Well, have a good day!" He proceeded on his way as I, hastily grabbing my bags, chased the little anole out through the automatic doors.

The lizard was outside, but as I scanned the surroundings I realized that just wasn't good enough. There was nothing but concrete for huge distances (relative to lizard size). I dropped my stuff again, determined to actually catch the little reptile this time. I did catch him - he didn't even get to bite me - and carried him across the parking lot to a grassy area that had some trees, too. The little guy happily scurried through the grass.

It might have been kind of a silly thing to do... taking time out of my life to save the anole trapped in the grocery store. But for him, it was huge.

And Anna wonders why the new pears have bruises on them.