"I'd like to thank..."

What would you say if you were given 45 seconds to speak to about a billion people?

First we have to assume you would seize this opportunity, not faint or run screaming into the night.  And let's establish that you're not an Oscar winner, so you don't have to worry about thanking your director, costars, agent and Mrs. Quincy, your high school drama teacher.

Award winners seem to go in one of three directions:  

The straightforward words of appreciation

The political statement or preach-able moment

A combination of the first two, quite often commingled with a bit of babbling

The thank you note can get you off stage quickest:  "Thank you," and you're done.  But what are you thankful for?  Remember, you're not grasping a golden statue of a strangely featureless naked guy.  And to whom are you saying "Thank you"?  The risk here lies in forgetting someone if you go beyond those two little words. God will forgive you for such an omission, but human beings won't forget.

To go the political and/or preaching route you've got to be all in for a cause.  Don't waste your moment before a global audience with a tepid reference to world peace.  What topic gets you fired up?  I think awards shows give bonus points to folks who discuss obscure issues, as in "Join with me and demand that the Federal Reserve be audited!"

Finally there's the combo plate, and I admit that this is my favorite, perhaps because this is the way the human brain works when unaided by notes or teleprompters.  Here's an example:

"I'd like to thank God for all He's done for me and my friends and family for their love and support.  We all need support, like when the man at the traffic light has his sign and he just needs support, you know.  He's hungry and cold and climate change is making it colder.  The changing and the hunger are what he knows and we've got to care about people like him and stop driving and just paying attention to ourselves and care about the world, care about the planet, care about that man with the sign and all the men with signs..."  (Cue the orchestral music; go to commercial break.)

I haven't decided on my 45-second speech yet.  Have you?

Random Thoughts for a New Year's Eve

In about 45 minutes we'll welcome 2015.  Don't you think it's time to drop the "two thousand" in the date?  Say it with me, people:  Twenty Fifteen!  Twenty Fifteen!  Twenty Fifteen!  Thank you.

We make a big deal about the arrival of a new year, but it's really just the arrival of another day.  I'm glad God doesn't give us more than one day at a time or more than one moment, for that matter.  I can't handle more than that.

Is it true that those people in Times Square have to stand there for endless hours without toilet facilities?  Enough said.

New Year's Eve television was better when ESPN used to feature daredevils jumping over and through stuff on motorcycles.  

Going to bed before midnight tonight is a sign that you are officially old, whatever your age.  I cannot explain why this is true, but I am certain of it.

  

One day I want to go to a New Year's Eve party wearing the kind of party dress you see on the red carpet.  Maybe I'll throw it myself but Mr. Pettit will have to get the night off first.

Whatever 2015 (Twenty Fifteen!) holds I plan to keep dancing---sometimes literally, other times metaphorically.  Music speaks to me when words fail.

Thank you, dear readers, for your support in 2014.  May the new year bring you joy, peace and purpose.

Happy New Year!

Just Enough Christmas

At first I placed Santa Claus behind the tree.

Santa always returns to his home under the tree after each ornament has found its proper place.  He's never lacking for company; this year his posse includes Raggedy Ann and Andy, a bear masquerading as Santa and small pillows decorated with the hand prints of our sons.  My Santa has been with me a long time; I can't remember a Christmas without him.

But the years have not been kind to him.  Everything that was once white about him---his beard, the fur on his suit, his boots---is gray, as if he has spent the last fifty-odd years climbing down chimneys in all the places I've lived, from one coast to another.  The hand that once held a bottle of Coca-Cola is empty and the safety pin that holds his black belt together has rusted.

When the time came for Santa's annual appearance this year I decided he was simply too shabby to assume his usual position of prominence.  The ladies from church were coming over for brunch and my sad Santa didn't fit my holiday vision.  I couldn't bear to return him to the storage tote, so I placed him behind the tree, peeking out from the branches.

Mr. Pettit observed my deliberations and insisted that Santa return to his rightful place.  What if he does look the worse for wear?  I can't remember my husband's exact words, but I think the gist of his comments was that this well-worn toy, this relic of my childhood, shouldn't be hidden away.

I think the impulse to hide my stuffed Santa reveals a little too much about my approach to the Christmas season.  I lose my perspective as I strive to create a perfectly joyous and perfectly beautiful Christmas.  When I'm in the throes of Yuletide mania I'm ruled by my to-do list, checking things off in the evening and adding more items in the morning.  I live in the "not enough" zone: Not enough time, not enough energy, not enough creativity.  I wrap up the cycle by berating myself for not placing enough emphasis on the reason for the celebration, Jesus's birthday.  Not enough, never enough.

My Santa Claus doll isn't perfect now, if he ever was.  I'm not either.  The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are special, not magical.  If I focus too much on trying to replicate a greeting card Christmas I'll miss the moments that bring real joy.

Today is Christmas Eve, a day when I usually spend a few minutes conducting a kind of postmortem on how I could have "done" Christmas differently by labeling Christmas cards in November or freezing cookies in October or creating a gift list spreadsheet in January. Not this year.

I'm not going cold turkey---I'll definitely review my Christmas-ing well before 2015 rolls in. But not today.  Today I'll give thanks for the shopper-to-shopper courtesy I've experienced (Yes, Virginia, it does exist), for the closeness I feel to my late mother when I make one of her holiday recipes, for Daddy's nearness when I find just the right gift, for the chance to share the Christmas story with preschoolers at church, for the moments I've shared with my family.

I'm most appreciative of the fact that Jesus welcomes me, scuffed and worn and quirky as I am, to His birthday party, just as He welcomed those scruffy shepherds and their smelly sheep two thousand years ago.

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!
"O Little Town of Bethlehem"
Lyrics by Phillips Brooks.  Music by Lewis H. Redner

Merry Christmas!

Gratitude, Moment by Moment

At the Thanksgiving table I thank God for my family, my friends, my health and the thousand daily mercies that accompany my waking and sleeping.  Gratitude wells up like a hidden spring as I consider all I have been given.  Sometimes tears follow.

Like many of you I try to maintain an appreciative spirit every day in every situation.  That's easy to do when my granddaughter smiles at me or when I slice a tomato from my very own garden.  It's harder when I'm running late, the driver ahead of me on a two-lane road is traveling 20 miles per hour below the speed limit and I can't pass thanks to the double yellow line.  Or, more significantly, when I learn of a friend's illness or job loss.

Lately I've been giving thanks for people who travel on the periphery of my life and friendships that last for a season or only a moment:

The teachers, aides and office staff who greet me when I arrive for a substitute assignment and readily adopt me into their school family.

The lady in line with me at Hobby Lobby who points out a newly-opened check out line and encourages me to make a break for it.  As I place my greeting cards on the counter she smiles at me across the store, even as she continues to wait.

The couples Mr. Pettit and I meet through our travels, who share their life stories along with their dessert preferences as we gather for our nightly meal.

I think living in the moment enriches my life only when I use gratitude as my default mode, when I'm certain I'll find something to be thankful for in each moment, even if it's only the regularity of my own breathing.  

As I write this I thank God for waking me two hours before my alarm, giving me time to compose this column before I plunge into Thanksgiving Eve busyness.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends!

A Hallmark Moment

I had a Hallmark moment at a traffic light last weekend.

I had just left Costco with my haul of economy-size groceries (you can never have too much hummus) and decided to avoid the "Christmas-is-only-six-weeks-away" traffic on the interstate. As I waited to turn left on the state road toward home I glanced up into my rearview mirror and spotted them. The Hallmark couple.

She was behind me and he was in the adjacent left-turn lane. Her open door caught my attention first, but then I realized she had dashed from her minivan to kiss the driver of the SUV beside her.  Just a quick smooch, then she jumped back into her car, giggling.

Well.

I make up stories about folks I see on the road all the time.   If I see a grumpy guy hunched over the wheel I guess that he's had a fight with his wife about going to her family reunion again when he'd rather go to the Outer Banks.  If a minivan with a luggage carrier on top and bicycles on the back passes by I wonder how the family inside is faring on their big road trip:  "I'm always in the wrong lane!" "She's looking at me!" "He's touching me!" "I asked you if you needed to go five minutes ago!"  But I've never had a story drop into my lap.

Once the light changed we all turned left: Hallmark Guy, Hallmark Girl, and I.  My observation of the couple must have affected my pressure on the gas pedal, because the minivan and the SUV moved ahead of me in short order.  I strained to see if either vehicle turned right or left but both traveled along together until they were out of sight.

What was that kiss about?  Both drivers were alone in their cars, so no passenger dares were involved.  I assume they knew each other, but what if they didn't?  Was I witnessing a Hallmark Channel movie come to life? Two strangers meet at a sample table inside Costco's frozen food aisle and fall in love by the time they reach the checkout.

I do love Hallmark Channel Christmas movies.  I don't care that they start airing even as the jack-o-lanterns grin. I can't resist the sweetness of the stories and the guaranteed happy endings.  And I love the romance.

Mr. Pettit, bless his heart, indulges me by enduring countless variations of "Boy meets girl at Christmastime, love begins to bloom, misunderstanding ensues, Santa arrives and true love wins." Since I wind up watching each movie multiple times he's developed a shorthand summary for each: "Is this the one where the woman bakes cookies?" "Oh, this is the one with Henry Winkler."

The one with Henry Winkler (also known as "the Fonz"---we'll wait if you need to check Google) is my favorite:  The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.  It contains the two pivotal elements required for a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie: Attractive actors and a completely unbelievable storyline.

Here you go: Cute Guy helps out Beautiful Woman's uncle (Henry Winkler) when he flies out to visit her. Uncle persuades BW to let CG crash at her house when CG's flight is cancelled due to weather. BW falls for CG as he teaches her how to cook, hangs lights on her house and fights an ill-tempered toy store owner over BW's Christmas gift for her son. BW is torn between CG and her fiancé, Big Money Dude, until she sees BMD's true colors and goes racing after CG as he prepares to fly out of her life.  She catches him, of course.

What's not to like?

I'm a news junkie. I read our local paper and The Washington Post daily, watch cable news and visit news websites. I think it's an important to stay informed about local, state, national and international events.

But news, with few exceptions, is bad. And even when dictators are taking a break, terrorists are lying low and the economy isn't sputtering the challenges facing my friends and family weigh heavy on my mind.

So sometimes (okay, maybe a little more often than that) I go down the rabbit hole into Happy Christmas Fantasy Land.  I settle in and watch Santa playing matchmaker, angels playing matchmaker, the Fonz playing matchmaker and even cats (yes, cats) playing matchmaker.  As the final credits roll I float back up into reality and resume my Serious Work.

And the kissing couple at the traffic light? I haven't come up with their story yet, but I think the Hallmark Channel has a pitch coming its way.

All rights to Hallmark Channel and its programming are owned by Crown Media Family Networks.

Waiting for Rain

"God guards those who turn to him.  The pounding you feel does not suggest his distance, but proves his nearness.  Trust his sovereignty.  Hasn't he earned your trust?"
Come Thirsty: No Heart Too Dry for His Touch by Max Lucado

I am a work in progress.  I'm sure all of you, dear readers, have realized this by now.  I go back and forth over the fence between the woman God created me to be and the slothful soul who'd rather play computer solitaire and eat waffle fries.  For instance, sometimes I write regularly with single-minded determination and other times I'm as focused as a cloud.  Since I haven't written here in about a month you can guess on which side of that equation I've been residing.

I'm always seeking out assistance in this journey and that's why I started attending a Bible study for women at our church over a month ago.  We've been reading and discussing the Max Lucado book quoted above.  I've learned as much from my classmates as from the text.

Last week we talked about two chapters: "Angels Watching Over You" and "With God as Your Guardian."  In the latter chapter Lucado deals with the ancient quandary of how to hold fast to your faith in a loving Creator even as His creation seems to be turning against you.  Illness.  Unemployment.  Homelessness.  Children gone astray.  Spouses simply gone.

Lucado maintains that such struggles strengthen our faith, just as a silversmith's endless hammering brings out the beauty in an ingot of silver.  He summarizes his illustration with the quote above.  When one woman mentioned it the second sentence jumped out at me, even though I had underlined it earlier:  "The pounding you feel does not suggest his distance, but proves his nearness."

If we're not being pounded does that mean God is distant?

Is it bad for things to be good?

The consensus of the group was that I shouldn't worry about it because trouble is surely on the way.  Don't fret because you'll feel the strike of the silversmith's hammer soon enough.

But I don't want to endure good times; I want to enjoy them.

I agree that just as muscles grow when challenged by resistance our faith grows when challenged by adversity.  Bad news sharpens focus and clarifies perspective.  And we might as well look for a silver lining, since here on planet Earth things go wrong on a regular basis.  As Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33 (NIV)

As a Christ follower I give thanks every day that He has overcome the world, that in Him my life has an unchanging, eternal center.  But I don't think acknowledging the world's woes means we have to walk under an umbrella on a sunny day.  I don't want to be Eeyore, the gloomy little donkey created by A. A. Milne.

Rather, I think living in the moment requires that I receive what God is offering with open hands.  He might reveal something wondrous, like a butterfly landing on my cap or a granddaughter landing in my life.  Or He might allow something dark to enter my world, such as illness or loss.  Walking with Jesus means accepting His plan, one moment at a time.


I'm a work in progress, traveling toward a destination described by Paul:

"I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:10-13 (NIV)

Sticks and Stones

There's no place to hide.

I settled into my recliner with my coffee Saturday morning to watch "College GameDay" on ESPN.  I might not watch many actual games in the course of an autumn Saturday but I enjoy listening to Desmond, Chris, Lee, Kirk and Company as they preview the coming attractions.  All the elements of great storytelling are on display: The price of hubris, the rewards of persistence, the player or coach who overcame a terrible injury or illness or who lost a loved one to same, the relationship between a team and its steadfast fans.

But the lead story Saturday wasn't inspiring or thought-provoking or even mildly entertaining.  Instead it was an unwelcome reminder that we're becoming a nation of potty-mouths.

Let me introduce you to our latest exhibit: Jameis Winston, Heisman Trophy winner and quarterback for the Florida State Seminoles. Mr. Winston was suspended for his team's game against Clemson University on Saturday because a few days earlier he jumped up on a table on campus and said a bad thing.  A very bad thing.  Something so bad I can't even figure out how to allude to it without feeling dirty.  If you're a curious soul like me you can consult Mr. Google for the details.

I was disgusted by Mr. Winston's comments, but I was flabbergasted when the ESPN pundits said the offensive statement is found in a viral video that's making the rounds on college campuses.  Oh, and it wouldn't have been so bad if he had confined his verbal trash to the locker room, among his "brothers."  Really, college students talk like this all the time.

Lord, have mercy.

As this story percolated in my brain I remembered an encounter Mr. Pettit and I witnessed at a local Target store about a month ago.  We were studying handheld carpet cleaners (yes, our lives are that exciting) when a little girl, about 5 years old, appeared at the end of a nearby aisle, stopped, then walked back the way she came.

A few moments later we heard a woman's voice:  "What the hell's wrong with you?  It's like you're on speed.  Jesus!"  The woman and little girl moved on to another aisle as Mr. Pettit and I stared at each other in stunned silence.

The way her rebuke was delivered was as shocking to us as the words themselves.  We did not hear the tired, exasperated, frustrated voice of an adult pushed to her limits by a willful child.  Had we concluded this woman was having a horrendous day we would not have condoned her harsh statement but we would have understood its origin, much as we understand the crimes of passion that fill the news.

Instead her voice was cold, devoid of emotion, leading us to believe she serves up cruel words to this little girl on a regular basis, maybe every day, maybe all day.  How can we expect this child to grow up healthy and whole on such a diet?

In the rush to express ourselves, to be "real," many seem to have forgotten that words have power.  I remember watching the nightly news during the height of the Vietnam War---I was a news junkie even as a child---and after a while I became desensitized to the casualty reports every night.  The numbers stopped representing people and were merely a tally, just like a board game.

The words we choose seep into our subconscious, whether we're busy building others up or tearing them down.  Using language that demeans others inflicts immediate damage and in the long term desensitizes us to the humanity of our fellow citizens.   I get the impression we're not supposed to pass judgment on anything anymore, since none of us is without flaws.  But our kindergarten teachers were right: Using bad words is a bad thing.

This column has left me a bit depressed, so I'll close with a verse from the Bible about the proper use of language:

Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.
Proverbs 16:24