The Anger Stage

So it’s there.  A little bit after the parental units, but nonetheless, the anger stage is in the house.  I, like most of you, know about the stages of grief and it’s almost worse that I know this and realize this and can clinically say, why of course, Narcie Jeter, what you are experiencing is a quite substantial dose of the anger and sadness stages of grief.

Lord knows why it took me so long and why I went into survival, defuse the situation, and keep bouncing along mode except for the fact that I just really don’t want to deal with this.  I really don’t want to think about surgery again.  I really don’t want to show the kids the scar from the last time and let them know this is all going to be okay.  I really don’t want to feel so freaking ticked off and frustrated and distracted and weepy.  Weepy.  And not in a nice, cute crying way, but watching old episodes of Dawson’s Creek and crying like a nutcase.

I don’t really know how to make this feeling go away so besides the Dawson’s Creek marathon which is strangely always comforting (nutcase, I told you), I’m trying to blog it out.  Maybe if I articulate whatever this is…since I don’t really have a punching bag and I probably shouldn’t throw things against the wall so late at night.

I don’t actually know what I want.

I don’t know if there’s an answer.

I don’t even know if there’s a question.

Things I know:  I love my family.  I trust God.  I know there are many, many people praying.  I appreciate that greatly.  I love what I do – all of it – silly, serious, and in between.  I am tired.  I am worried.  I am scared.  I am loved and cherished by an amazing man who is more than I ever deserve or imagined.  I have done this before and I know all will be fine and it’s a great doctor and facility.  I can’t decide if this is a big deal or not a big deal or if it’s just normal, which is weird and not quite right.  I’m already wondering about the next surgery or what will happen…  I have the two silliest, sweetest, most unique and precious and precocious children imaginable and I swing between the hope that they may never know anything about this because I wish I could control things and realizing that this isn’t just my story but our story.  I realize that there are a heck of a lot of people dealing with things more awful and challenging and I sometimes feel whiny and weak for even articulating this.

And yet.  When I start typing and I stop feeling the waves of anger for a bit and I stop crying along to “I Don’t Wanna Wait” like a sad sack, I know that God is carrying me and holding me each step of the way, which ironically in some ways makes me cry more.  And for the record, I’m not writing that as a pastor and I don’t care a hill of beans if anyone reads this, but it’s just good to feel and know that.  Even as silly as that may seem to some.

Thanks for being on this journey.  Thanks for praying.  Even if I don’t always answer the emails, comments, facebooks, fast enough or at all, know that I appreciate them and I read them.  They help that “held” feeling when it’s denial, anger, sadness, and yuck city.  Love you all.  Especially my crazy WNWers that would let me share my Dawson’s obsession.  And if any of you reading this make fun of me for my silly, trashy, and immature tv watching….you’re going to get it.  (I kid.  Mostly.)

***I also realize that I write plenty of run-on, stream of consciousness sentences, and I, nor the English major inside of me, actually cares.  So ha!

Everything I Learned From Soap Operas

My grandmother was a long time devotee to soap operas. Some of my earliest memories of spending time with her had us playing, making cakes, and running errands, but it never failed that in the afternoon, we were going to sit down to watch her “stories.” When I was younger it was the Bold and the Beautiful, Young and the Restless, As the World Turns and Guiding Light. As I grew older she still faithfully watched As the World Turns and as she called it THE Guiding Light. It was something that she and I shared and throughout high school early release or in college or on holidays or breaks or sick days, I tuned in. You definitely don’t have to watch every day to know that Josh and Reva are still together or Carly and Jack were hitting another rough patch.

I know there are plenty of people out there who don’t enjoy soap operas and think it’s cliche to watch them. I would then ask you if you watch Revenge or Gossip Girl or The Good Wife or any other tv drama, because it’s pretty much the same thing with just a little less crazy.

Ganny started listening to As the World Turns and the Guiding Light when it was on the radio and she could tell me all of the characters family histories and back stories back when they read the Bible and prayed on air. Even though I only watched sporadically, I would look at that little soap magazine headlines as I waited in the checkout line and when we would talk on the phone or I would see her for an extended visit, I would always check in on the story lines. 1. because I wanted to know and 2. she really enjoyed and got excited telling the stories. Who doesn’t want to know the latest with the heroes and the villains of the show?

So what did I learn from watching soap operas? The first thing I learned is that you might as well go ahead and tell the truth, because if not, it will be dragged out for close to a year and there will be lots of angst and drama and if you had just told the truth to begin with, oh my golly, you would have saved a lot of time and plotting. The truth always gets found out eventually, whether it’s in the next episode, a couple months down the road, or years later when in crazy soap opera fashion someone comes back to life or the true paternity is revealed. In friendships, in relationships, as I’m working with students and colleagues – I know I’m better off even if I’ve royally messed up to just go ahead and come clean, apologize, and take the repercussions. I know this would wipe out a ton of story lines and what would soaps be without good drama, but wow it would make much more sense and things would work out better for the characters. Well, except the villains.

I learned that you always need some sort of sidekick or someone helping you along the way. When you go all vigilante on someone and you have no back up, you should just hang it up. Everyone needs a confidante or someone on their team. That’s the only way your plans are going to actually happen if you’re the villain, and that’s the only way you’re going to stay strong, safe, and sane if you’re not. I’m an avid watcher of Once Upon A Time (love it and that some of the LOST writers are writing it) and although I know they have to draw out all of these stories or it would be a nicely written movie and not a tv show, I still think Emma, the main character, needs some sort of ally. She has some allies right now, but no one to share her story and passion with that’s not also morally compromised or a kid or someone already distracted by their own stuff. But then again, that’s life. The ones who journey with us, our allies, are usually in the midst of their own story arch and sometimes they, like the people in our shows, have their own motives and agendas. That’s the importance of surrounding yourself with those you trust, who know you, who like the quote says, “A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you” when you’ve lost your way. We all need those people. We need that community. It’s a powerful thing watching those kinds of friendships unfold and it’s such a treasured gift.

The third thing I learned from watching soap operas is how important stories are. I can talk up and down the countryside about words and thoughts and catch phrases or whatever, but what often resounds with others is a story. The thing that I most liked about my Dad’s sermons growing up is the stories that he would use. I remember a lot of the points he would make, but much of that memory has to do with the stories that he told that helped me make that connection. There’s a different part of us that awakens with story. Maybe that’s the English major in me creeping out but there’s something that grabs our attention and opens our mind when we start in story mode. I can see it when I preach or when others preach, we know the cadence of the voice and the way the beginning of a story goes and even if we’ve zoned out before, our ears perk up when it’s story time. It can take us to another place. It can teach us things without having to beat them over our heads. It makes us think about things differently from different view points. The stories themselves are not just the important part but it’s also that awesome thing about the community sharing in the story. Part of the fun and sacred part of sharing the story with my grandmother was that we shared it. Part of the gift was asking her to explain it and update me and the interaction of that sharing. Even Josh, my brother, after seeing it on as we watched it over the years, would ask – okay, who’s Reva with now? What’s going on with so and so? It’s not that he necessarily even wanted to watch and he would often be exasperated when he did, but there’s something that drew you in and because Ganny loved them, it was pretty contagious.

What do we learn from our stories? What makes us who we are? How have we shared our stories with others? What does story have to do with our faith? I would argue that much of our scripture is story. It’s chock full of them. And I often think that we understand those better than some of the exposition. Jesus didn’t often preach. A lot of them time, he told stories. There’s just something about it that connects to a deep part of us. And I think that’s because when it all boils down, we are all human. As different the time or context or drama level, there’s always an essence of the human condition that is shared between each of us. As my Dad says, “There’s nothing original about original sin” and there’s nothing original about people lying, stretching the truth, trying to cover something up, or being found out. In big and small ways, we watch these things because it’s our life too. Not with the Grayson’s on the Hamptons, but in that we’re all searching for meaning and joy and hope and what we’re supposed to do with our lives or who we’re supposed to be with.

The thing that makes us as people of faith different, is that we have someone that’s always on our side. Not saying that we can do whatever we want and there’s not consequences, but there’s someone who is seeking to offer us the most beautiful story just for us. Someone who is guiding and leading us in all that we do, not just on the good days, but on the bad days as well. That’s pretty powerful and a little scary at the same time. It means that we can take comfort and confidence and reassurance but it also means that we don’t have some grand giant excuse to go running around like crazy people on soap operas. We make some pretty big mistakes, but we know that coming up with a master plan to cover them up doesn’t change that we know the truth, God knows the truth, and whatever mistake we’ve made will only make us stronger and more open to others as we realize our own weaknesses.

My grandmother passed away in the beginning of September and Guiding Light went off the air a week later and As the World Turns the year after that. I know she would love Revenge and would be very interested in how this new Dallas is going to turn out. I have no doubt that she’s still listening and watching her “stories,” and I’m thankful that she passed on this love of stories to me.

Why do you think stories connect with us so much? What are ways that we can open ourselves to God’s story swirling all around us?

** By the way – tidbit – Guiding Light ran from 1937 to 2009 and is credited by Guinness as the longest running drama in television.

For the Communion of the Saints

What are you thankful for? Over the next days/weeks leading up to Thanksgiving I’m going to try to do what many of my wise friends on facebook and other wise folks have shared – cultivate a spirit of gratitude. If all is grace, then we are thankful.

So for Day 1 on All Saints Day, I am thankful for the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us. These “saints” that have gone before are not just the heavy hitters like Mary or Paul or Mother Theresa. These saints encompass all of the people that have gone before us seeking to live as Christ. Some of these saints are ones that we read about in our Holy Scripture (Paul – I can’t wait to talk to you about the book of Romans after preaching on it this semester in worship – wowzers). Some are ones that we have read back and forth and still dig into their kernels of wisdom – CS Lewis, Jim Elliot, Teresa of Avila (Love Jim’s “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose”). Some of these are saints that may or may not be seen as religious folks – love me some Jane Austen and Louisa May Alcott. Others may be the ones that we’ve personally known or been shaped by.

I think about some of the dear saints I’ve known in this life. Mr. Howard and Ms. Evelyn that we sat with as children on Sundays while Dad preached and Mom sang in the choir. Ms. Betty teaching our first and second grade Sunday school class. I still remember the felt board with the Bible characters. Mr. Tim and Ms. Bunny who proved to me that people want to minister to their minister and his/her family and they really care about each of us. There are so many that I could easily name.

I think about the saints in our family…and then I start to laugh. The thing that I love about them and any of our saints for that matter, is that they were real people – flesh and bone and not always perfect. There’s this thing about saints that we build up to be otherworldly with rose-colored glasses, but the thing that I like the most is that they were colorful characters who didn’t just do everything prim and proper perfectly, but they made a splash. They had spunk. They did not go gentle into that good night as the Dylan Thomas poem goes.

There’s stuff all over the place about paranormal activity and that crazy horror story tv show and even Anderson Cooper and Gloria Vanderbilt talking to folks from the beyond and I get people’s fascination with this. Or at least I think I do. Well, not necessarily the horror/scare factor. But I do think there’s a great big part of us that wants to know for sure and for certain that we’re not alone here. There’s part of us that wants to know that our family and loved ones – both from long ago and now – dear to us – are okay and it’s going to be okay for us too. That stinking Anderson show (I watched while sick – captive audience) even had me tearing up at parts because of the sincerity of people really wanting to know that we are all connected and we stay connected and that this beautiful network of love doesn’t just stop here, but continues on.

As the seasons in South Carolina start to change for real and things are turning and getting colder and Winter is coming, I’m reminded that death is not the end. Yes, there is grief. Yes, there is change. Yes, there is loss. Yes, there are those we miss dearly. But the great cloud of witnesses surrounds us, spurs us on, and still speak to us in big and small ways. As Dad likes to share – these folks are often our “balcony people!”

As I look around my office and home to the things that I treasure – pictures with family, pictures at Ganny’s house, a beautiful picture painted by Robin, a shingle that my Gandaddy made with our pictures on it, Dad’s pottery, a “family tree” my Mom made for me….as I look into my heart to the things I treasure – both sassy grandmothers that neither minced words, had plenty of spunk, and weren’t afraid to use various words in their vocabularies, the amazing integrity and character of both of my grandfathers and the legacy for trying to love people – whoever they are, whatever color they are or accent they have, wherever their family came from…these are the gifts that the communion of saints continues to give us as we wrestle with their words, their examples, their legacies and their authentic lives of faith.

Thank you God for all of those that have touched us in such mighty ways!

Who are your saints? Who has shaped you? What do you hold dear from the ones that have gone on before us?

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.” - Louisa May Alcott

Can you hear the party of praise around us???

Held

This is the time in the semester that I am most craving time with my kids. We’re right in the middle of everything, gearing up for fall break and looking at a busy second half of the semester with…wait for it…nope, I’m not going to continue down the rabbit hole of the to do list right now.

There seems to be this innate need for contact between me and the kids. When I don’t have a Wesley gathering at night, you will find us either cuddled up on the floor of Evy’s room reading or in Mommy’s bed watching a movie or more often than not with these exhausting weeks, laying on the couch watching Peppa Pig or Backyardigans. Evy will be curled up beside me with Enoch curled up with his head on me and my arm on him. It’s a pretzel for sure, but one that it seems that we all need. As much as I can call or “face time” when I’m away or play with the kids or pick them up from school and do fun Mommy stuff with them, there’s nothing that seems to substitute for that physical touch.

Evy doesn’t want me reading a book or holding my phone, she wants me to hold her. It’s like it recharges her batteries and mine. That simple presence, that knowledge that you’re there and for that time you’re more than just priority, you’re the center of the universe.

At this time in the semester, students tend to be worn down with midterms and the changes of seasons and allergies and colds and it’s hard to balance it all. I’ve heard so many talk about feeling like God isn’t there like before or feels distant or like God’s forgotten them. I think each of us can relate to that feeling on different levels. There are those desert times or those times of disconnect or confusion or anger or that feeling of abandonment.

But then I think about Evy and Enoch. When I lay down and forget all of the other “things” on the list and I forget all of the worries of the world – I don’t care what I’m wearing or how we look or what’s happening around me, but I’m just focused on her and him. Their love and them knowing that I love them to the absolute moon and back means more than anything in this world. That’s when I feel the most attuned to them.

When are the times that we have felt held by God? In those times of feeling disconnected or lost or just tired of it all, have we taken the time to focus and center and try to reconnect – ask and receive, seek and find, knock and the door be opened? What are the things that hold us back?

Nothing separates us from the love of God. Nothing. Period. So why don’t we in the midst of the hectic or the monotonous, crawl up into the arms of God and settle in for a bit and open ourselves to the Word we will receive there? Let every worry or “but” go and just be and rest and know that our God loves you very much.

Some songs on this theme:

I love you, Mom!

Enoch and Evy go to an amazing preschool and we love it!  It’s the Episcopal Day School (EDS) here in Rock Hill.  We have had a wonderful experience there and I know that our kids are benefiting a lot from being there.  For Mother’s Day, Enoch’s class made mother’s day cards where they drew little pictures and answered questions from the teachers.  He’s actually in two different classes, a Tuesday/Thursday class and a Monday/Wednesday/Friday class.  Loves them both!

In his Tuesday/Thursday class when he was asked the question, “I know my mom loves me because…,” he answered, “She holds me when I’m sick.”  He had been sick then with strep and a virus and so that was really sweet.  For his Monday/Wednesday/Friday class he answered in a way that Mike says is absolutely priceless.

I know my mom loves me because…She takes me to Target.  She takes me to Target!  Should I be appalled?  mortified?  amused?  At least he knows that I love him.  True.  But do I want him to know that I love him based on me buying him toys at his favorite store on earth?  Yes, it is a regular question at our house – can we go to Target today?  Both children love the place.  Heck, I love the place.  I may be rubbing off on them in not so good ways.

One of the other questions was, “My mom looks beautiful when…”  And that very wise little one put “she goes to church.”  Can’t decide entirely how I feel about this one either, except that he’s an observant little rascal.  There are many days during the week where I admit to skipping the shower in order to get more sleep, get the kids ready, or run around the house picking things up.  However, on Sundays, I actually try to make some effort and dress half-way decent, not in my campus minister uniform of jeans and no make up unless I have a meeting.

There’s something about the honesty of a child that is just priceless.  It gives something to think about in new ways because it’s something that’s not coached or said through the filter of trying to hurt our feelings or not.

What do our children remember about us?  What do they think our priorities are?  In the eyes of a child, who are we?  Those lenses tell us much about where our hearts really are and I think what we would find would both make us laugh and cringe and nod our heads and be stumped all at the same time.

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy

Today was a good day.  No idea why exactly I feel that way, but when the chiropractor asked if I had a good day today, I said yes. 

Now seriously I don’t know why I would have said that.  Enoch woke up in the middle of the night not feeling well.  Evy had a “bug” this past weekend so we thought he just had what she had, but when our super silly, energetic little man is laying down, whiny, and falling asleep while watching cartoons – we’ve got a problem.  Mike drove Evy to school and me to work and left Enoch with me while he went to a meeting.  Enoch slept on the couch in my office underneath a beautiful prayer shawl as we waited for it to be time for his doctor’s appointment.

Did I get much work done today?  Nope.  I gave a valiant effort.  Maybe.  But it’s hard balancing Mommy with a demanding week of end of exams/graduation/preparing for next week’s mission to Harlem.  I often wish I could give everything I have to my kids/Mike and everything I have to ministry.  It’s somehow not just hard but feels next to impossible to equally divide my time.  Some weeks, it’s a predominant Wesley week – hello the last couple weeks of school.  And some weeks, it’s a catch up with the kids and enjoy not plugging in for awhile.

The thing that I loved about today – even in the midst of a crazy week where I’m not feeling like I’m getting much of anything done in the midst of feeling like I’m working all the time – was that I got to be Mommy.  I got to be there for the doctor’s visit and not have to hear about it later.  I got to be the one to get Enoch to take his Tylenol and get Evy to let her diaper be changed.  Yes, she’s in rare 2 year old form.  The 3 of us got to invade Mike’s space as he was watching the basketball game in our room and we all four had fun piling on the bed and being silly.  It was a good day.

It wasn’t a perfect day.  I didn’t get a darn thing done.  It included doctor’s visits, antiobiotic and Tylenol all over us a couple times, cat poop on the floor, Evy stripping off her pj’s to wear a pair of shorts that she loves and saw as I was putting it in the washing machine, and now – everyone asleep.  Mike and Enoch fell asleep watching the game.  Who knows if coughing will begin again or if one of the kids will end up in our bed or if we’ll all sleep peacefully through the night.

I am thankul for the chance to be Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.  As much as by the end of some long days as I’m finally sitting down and I hear the words “Mommy come here” I want to scream, I am thankful to be Mommy.  I am mindful as facebook is blowing up with pictures of people’s mothers all over the place, that some people didn’t have the greatest mom’s.  Some have also recently lost their mothers and I can’t even imagine that feeling or how much this time of the year may hurt.  Some others may not be able to be biological mothers but they are mothers to dozens of us nonetheless.  I know that has to be hard too.

I guess what I’m saying is that at the end of the day – Enoch and Evy have no facebook picture background to change.  Praise God – they would probably love the most hideous of photos, my sweet angelic little rascals.  But, I don’t want them to thank me, I want to thank them.  I can’t imagine my life without their marks all over our walls, the stains all over my shirts, or the precious feeling when they actually do say I love you.  I can’t imagine (actually sadly I probably could) what kind of insane workaholic I would be, if I didn’t have Mike and the kids to come home to.

So although in the sleepy hazy fog of tomorrow morning I may totally recant this entire thing (totally won’t happen), I find myself giving thanks for being Mommy.  Watch now, they’re going to use it extra special tomorrow in all kinds of fun ways.

Dismantling a Home

Right now my mom and dad and aunt and uncle are at my grandparent’s in the big metropolis of Greeleyville.  It’s been over a year since my Ganny died and close to a decade since my Gandaddy died and it’s now time to start dismantling some of the home they created.  I don’t really like dismantling used in this context, but in the next couple months as family begins to decide what heirloom or furniture or keepsake goes where, it feels a little like that.

My mom called a little while ago and was asking about some of these pieces and what was going where and although I know that we can’t keep the house exactly like it was forever, there’s a part of me now that can’t imagine it any other way.  So I was laying in my bed, pondering what home means and admittedly crying - call me a sissy – yes I cry at series finales, heck sometimes just regular tv shows – and I realized that I could be laying there all night if I didn’t get up and try to write this out.

Growing up as a preacher’s kid, you move to a lot of different places over the years.  We had amazing church families and we always managed to make parsonages home.  You can do a lot with pictures, lamps, and other odds and ends.  I can’t imagine my life though with out Ganny’s.  I seriously can’t.

The very first Christmas we spent out in Greeleyville, was my first Christmas.  So the story goes, there was no heat and the wind was whistling up through the cracks in the floors and the walls.  Apparently everybody slept in sleeping bags together on the floor and Mom kept looking into the crib in the night to make sure I hadn’t frozen. 

It wasn’t fancy.  It wasn’t all dolled up, but it was family together.  It was love being shared.  To say we spent a inexplicable amount of time there is true.  Whether being dropped off as mom and dad led a youth retreat or when Caleb was born, (Josh and I had chicken pox), we weren’t there just for holidays and milestones but everything in between.  It was our safe place when we were children and always a running joke that if the end of the world came, we knew we had a place to go because no one was going to come looking for anyone in Williamsburg County.  We’ve talked about many a dream we’ve had and no matter what was on the outside whether monsters or wolves, a la our fear of Scar Face from Wilderness Family fame, we were protected in that house.

As I think about us packing things up over the next few months and disbursing things throughout the family, I begin to go over each room in my mind and what I love about it.  Even the most random thing can be so dear. 

Before Gandaddy died, their room was upstairs.  I’ll never forget her closet of bathrobes or the huge basket of makeup she kept in the top drawer of the upstairs bathroom (that took forever to build, much less put a bathtub in.  Still to this day, I’ve never seen someone with that much makeup in one place.  Everything was in tip top clean Ganny shape.  Make up in the top drawer with the lipstick worn down in a way that I can’t even describe but I’ve only seen her do.  Her brush, mirror and comb were in the next drawer.  I’m telling you – neat and orderly – no matter what. 

Ganny liked her cleanliness, even in the midst of Gandaddy’s “hunting lodge.”  We heard a lot about crumbs, putting coasters down and not putting our feet on coffee tables and a whole heck of a lot about germs.  “Dog” germs, “cat” germs, “school” germs.  When Ganny would give us baths as children, she would wash our faces and say that she was cleaning the “dirt beads” around our necks that we had missed.  As a child, I honestly did believe that she could see a dirt necklace right there if I didn’t wash up well enough.

I remember watching Dallas and Dynasty and all the CBS soaps – The Young and the Restless, The Bold and the Beautiful and her two favorites that are now off the air – As the World Turns and not Guiding Light, but The Guiding Light as she would call it.  I had no idea what most of these things were as a child but I do remember her getting hopped up about Priscilla Presley being on Dallas and her always reminding me that she had listened to As the World Turns and The Guiding Light on the radio with her mother, Nana.

I’m telling you, each room means so much.  I never slept in the twin bed room upstairs, but I’ll always think of that as Josh and Caleb’s room.  And I’ll always know that the lock to that door was broken because me as a 2 or 3 year old accidentally locked myself in and couldn’t figure out how to unlock it.  I barely remember sitting on the other side of the bed (whose bedspread never changed) and my Gandaddy busting the door down and the lock never working right since. 

The double bed room was the room that I slept in growing up til I upgraded to Ganny’s old room when I married Mike.  There was many a night that I would stay up until the wee hours of the morning reading a book until I finished it.  Ganny never complained or scolded me about that, because a lot of my love of reading had to do with me seeing her read ALL the time.  Seriously, all the time.  I remember the rattly old windows as the wind would blow and thinking oh my goodness, something is going to get me.

I remember Ganny’s upstairs room where, when it was still her room, I didn’t really go into it very often.  It was a little intimidating.  You knew if you moved something or put something out of place, she would definitely notice.  Her crystal jewelry boxes, one with a donkey and one with a swan on them and her perfumes all laid out.  I have no idea why one was a donkey and one a swan.  This may be a little gross, but I’ll also never forget her showing me this stain beside her bedside table where I had thrown up one time as a child and her not saying, well that really is terrible because you messed up my blue carpet, but her saying it matter of factly and almost as if she was proud that it was there because she saw not just the good and clean and nice with us but also the real and sick and wild with us.

When I think about the house and the “things” I might like to have from it, most of them are architectural.  Gandaddy restored this late 1800′s house and there are so many pieces of it that could never be replaced.  The huge fireplace in the middle of the great room, the steps that served as a stage, a boat, a runway, all sorts of things, the wrap around porch where we played for hours on the hammock, the church benches, and the rocking chairs.  All of these things made this house something different.

Some of the stuff I cherish is long gone now.  The “train” of old bus seats that Gandaddy mounted to trailers to cart us around through the woods on a mini tractor seeing “Godwin Land” with Touchdown Teddy and a statue of Mary among other things.  The bus that Gandaddy gutted and added army bunk beds, a tv, chairs, and the most random assortment of odds and ends imaginable – a white clay hand, bowling ball, old telephone.  We played for countless hours in that bus.  These things aren’t there any more and neither is the swing in the grape orchard, but they’re still right there in my mind.

You see, as much as I love that house, and don’t think I don’t, what makes a house a home is the people inside it.  What makes this house special, or at least to me more special than a lot of them, was that Gandaddy and Ganny infused it with their love.  It’s felt in every piece of wood or tile on the island in the kitchen.  Even in all the complaining Ganny did about getting her “new” kitchen.  Have mercy!  It’s felt in every one of Ganny’s sometimes prissy decor choices – liked the fringed curtains in the great room.  This house is not just any house, but love seeps out.  I’ll never forget at the visitation for my grandfather Ganny telling people, that these grandchildren weren’t just the apple of their Gandaddy’s eyes, they were his very eye balls.  (I know that sounds sort of strange but that’s how Ganny was and how she said it.)

So I don’t know who will get what.  And I don’t know what I will do when we start moving things out.  There’s a part of me that wants to just remember it as it was and not step a toenail back.  I can’t imagine seeing some of those rooms empty and I’m glad that Dad is taking pictures now for us to remember and I’m thankful for Lindsay’s pictures of the cotton that she gave us at Christmas and the pictures Karen and Guyeth took of the family all together.  There’s a part of me that knows that the love in that house, is just a piece or a glimmer of the home that awaits, where we’ll all be gathered just as crazy and off kilter as ever.  Both the wonderful Godwin-Burch-Moore clan and the equally as memorable and hilarious McClendon-Jackson clan.  I keep thinking of the line in Steven Curtis Chapman’s song, “We are not home yet.”  That great cloud of witnesses may have grown over the past years, but they’re all here in our midst!

We may not be home yet, but I think we can help create a little bit of home everywhere we go.  If we open our hearts and our homes to those around us offering, sharing, giving, than we will experience God in more ways than we can count.  That’s part of what made their home, home.  You never knew who would stop by, from former students (both public educators) to the amazing folks of Greeleyville UMC to family whether blood or bond.  You knew there would be hospitality and almost all the time laughter and stories.  You see, their legacy was not just this house or this furniture or this land, but their’s was all the people they loved and all the lives they touched.

I hope that whether we have the physical Ganny’s as true north anymore or not, that we share our homes, that we treasure our times with our loved ones, and that we pick up and carry forth the legacy.

I’m finally starting to wind down to fall asleep.  Wohoo!  But I leave you with these questions – where is home for you?  What does home mean to you?  What makes you feel at home?  How do we share that with others?

This song always makes me think of all of the granparents and wise elders we have lost – including my beloved and always candid and cracked McClendon family.  I am grateful for the tremendous legacy left to each of us on both sides of the family.

I’ve always enjoyed this song.  Even though it’s more romantic in nature, you can get the sense or “feeling” of the enveloping love in it.

Journey for Parts Unknown

We went on “vacation” last week to Garden City Beach with my family.  Some dear, dear folks have graciously given us use of their condo since I was 6 years old and that has been the greatest blessing!  Enoch has been talking about the beach all summer and it was great for Evy to experience it as well!  The first day she was like ew…sand…yuck, but by the last day she was sitting in the mud as we dug a huge pool, river and pond.  I know, I know – who digs a river…and yes, in high tide, someone probably fell over in that deep hole we dug as the “pool.”  But it was good times!

Why is vacation in quotation marks?  Because when you take a one and a half and three year old to the beach or anywhere for that matter on “vacation” is it really vacation?  Trying to get them to sleep, follow directions, eat, nap and overall keep them sane and occupied is a near miracle and is certainly not restful for anyone.  Last week’s lectionary text from Hebrews (11:1-3, 8-16) begins by talking about faith and uses Abraham as an example as he is given this promise of God and sets out on this journey with his wife Sarah across parts unknown sleeping in tents and not knowing what the next day will bring but having this promise.  Dude.  We can’t even make it to the beach without a gazillion toys, snacks, books, and all of the “stuff” that we need to survive for less than a week. 

On the way to the beach (we left on a Sunday night) and I was exhausted.  Like for real tired.  The kids were asleep cuddled up in their child seats with their stuffed animals and I wanted to fall asleep so badly, but I’ve always been the one to drive to the beach and Mike doesn’t know all the cut throughs to get down there the non-GPS way.  So here I am awake telling him to go down Old Marion Road, no not that light, the next one, etc.  And I’m thinking oh wow – Abraham had no map, had no GPS, had no clearly marked laid out plan, and yet he took off, packed himself and his family up, and trusted God.

That is CRAZY.  There are many of us that are anti-GPS or even anti-google directions or anti-maps.  Some of us like to wander.  Some of us like to discover.  Some of us like the journey.  (Not with two toddlers, mind you…but you get the drift.)  J.R.R. Tolkien wrote, “Not all those who wander are lost.”  Dad actually picked up a t-shirt with those words while we were at the beach.  Of course we gave him a hard time for that because that’s what we do since he loves his Mt. Mitchell camping extravaganzas, but I must say that I secretly liked the shirt a lot.  And I’ve always loved that quote.

Sometimes our wandering is part of the journey.  I was thrilled to return home and get our latest Entertainment Weekly out of the mailbox.  I love that magazine.  I do!  Call me crazy but I love stories and I love a magazine that talks about movies, tv, broadway, and books and has great columns with critical thinkers.  Good stuff.  Anyway – so there was a surprise for me in this issue.  I thought my days of getting little nuggets about the tv show Lost were over, but little did I know that with the new collection of dvd’s coming out, I’d get another gift of an article.  Some of you are like why in the world are you still talking about that ridiculous show and others of you are thinking I need to go get me an Entertainment Weekly.  But seriously it totally made sense to me and this text and this place that many of us are in – this journey.  Carlton Cuse one of the Executive Producers who wrote the show’s finale with Damon Lindelof were talking about how the finale was polarizing – some people happy with it and some people feeling like they wasted 6 years of their lives watching it.  He says, “It seems that the people who embraced the show as a journey and were not fixated on answers probably had the better experience with the show.”  Call me crazy but I completely resonate with that right now in terms of real life…

I’m not saying that we don’t wrestle with the big answers and the twists and turns and the why’s because as I’ve said before – God can handle those and God will give us what we need, but I am saying that part of this is the walk that we are on.  Part of this journey, this path is faith.  Faith that some of the big answers will take care of themselves and some may never get answered on this side of life, but faith that the journey – the life of faith that we lead – is enough.  It’s really easy to talk about faith and a lot harder to embrace it.  It’s really easy to talk the big talk about taking the scenic route and trusting our instincts or the leading of the Holy Spirit, but it’s a lot harder to put our money where our mouth is and not take the GPS.  Sometimes our faith leads us in scary directions with no quick Curious George DVD to plug in and a feeling of vertigo, and that’s tough and it’s scary and it’s real, but sometimes those scary places lead us to mountains of the highest heights and views we couldn’t have imagined and memories we will cherish like my prissy and beautiful little Evy with gritty and slimy beach sand all over her happily playing in the muck and loving it.  If we get stuck in place or if we’re too scared to move or if we stick our heads in the sand or are too busy to notice or care – yeah life seems pretty point a to b to c to d, turn left here, stay straight, this is how you get to your next destination.  But if we let go and let the Spirit lead…yep, we may have some twists and turns, yes, turbulence could be ahead, but what a ride.  What a faith that speaks.

Not going for that annual quite yet…

Hi y’all!  So as always there are highs and lows in a day.  (Can’t decide whether watching The Bachelorette right now is a high or a low…much better on fast forward to the decent parts.)  Mike and I dropped off the CD of the previous MRI/CT Scan at the neurosurgeon’s, I got a quick lesson on all this brain stuff from a wonderful Emory friend, and our GPS got us to Carolinas Medical Center.  I’ve never been to the real one – just having babies at the one in Pinevile.

We parked way far away because we had no clue where to go but we finally figured it out and it made for a beautiful day to walk.  Filled out some more forms and then got to talk to the anesthesologist and a nurse.  I’ll get to the hospital at 11:15 am and they’ll take all of us up to the 5th floor and get them settled in the waiting room, will bring me in, I’ll get to see everyone one last time, and then we’ll begin.  They’ve blocked out the room for up to three hours.  I should be in the neurointensive care for at least one night and then in the hospital 3-5 days.  Okay.  There we go.  So then giving a couple more tubes of blood, we were back in the sunshine.

Time to hit up Rock Bottom Brewery.  Completely randomly they sat us in the same booth that we were in over 9 years ago when we talked to Mike’s parents about us getting engaged and began wedding planning with them.  Oh, ironic.  In the midst of this I get a phone call and it’s not a number I recognize and let me tell you – we are screening some calls these days.  So Mike answers “Narcie’s phone, Mike speaking” and I think okay he’ll probably be on there for a while but quickly he hands it over to me and whispers “OB-Gyn.”  I’m thinking what in the heck do they want at this point?  And the very nice lady says, Mrs. Jeter you haven’t scheduled your annual appointment yet.  I know I probably should have just penciled it in to the looming calendar that I had in my pocketbook but I couldn’t help myself and said – welp, I was told a week ago I have a brain tumor and they’re operating on it on Friday and I don’t think I’ll be getting to that appointment any time soon.  LOL.  We both had a good laugh.  She said to call back any time.  It’s important – keep in good health people – but not in the scheme of things right now.

I didn’t realize until today being in there that my life is going to change for awhile.  I mean I’ve had that realization in pieces over the past week and a half but Mike and I also decided at a certain point that I needed to live my life as normally as possible.  In the midst of that though I’m now thinking oh wow what do I need to do before Friday?  We went and bought some books and some toys for Enoch and Evy for the days to come.  I got to play with the kiddos in the bath tonight and put both of them to bed.  Mike asked the nurse today if when I come back home, I can really come back home.  In other words – in our world here there is no rest, Mommy napping, etc.  There is Silly 1 and Silly 2 – my two wild and crazy E’s.  She said we’ll have to ask the doctor.  Should be interesting.

Tomorrow Enoch will go back to school, Evy will have our 16 month check up, and I’ll do some work at Wesley for one of the last times before Friday.  Then we’ll head to MRI land and will see what Presbyterian Hospital looks like.  This has been a sort of weird medical scavenger hunt.

Earlier I posted one of my favorite Laura Story songs.  I actually like most of her new CD – great stuff!  One of my all time favorites of hers though was when she was with Silers Bald and it’s called “Grace.”   Glad that we can start each morning with mercies anew and grace afresh!  Check it out…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FribXzqHVE

MTV Movie Awards

I am totally not telling you to watch them because they are rather disturbing this year and there are so many things being bleeped out that you can’t understand half of it but it is pretty funny.

Mike walked in earlier and he’s like “What are you smiling at?” Guess I haven’t done that much today, and I’m like “They’re giving an award to Sandra Bullock and they’re showing clips from her movies.” So we got sucked in. Although now he’s flipping back and forth between hockey and basketball. It’s a night with absolute nothing on tv and all sorts of things to watch on tv all at the same time.

Thank y’all for the prayers! It had to be prayer that got me through this morning. I totally didn’t crash until after church and I know that had to be prayer so thank you!

The rest of the day today and yesterday has been good – hanging out with the kids, going to the park and the pool and watching Enoch play with his new trains, and watching Evy in her new dresses and bows. It’s been good. And there’s been great food (Mike’s grandmother sent chocolate-covered strawberries – who could ask for better?).

I know this is going to be a crazy week with highs and lows and it’s all going to be fine, but I’m tired and it’s a tired day. Enoch has been staying up til all hours of the night not wanting to sleep, don’t know if he feels the energy in the air or if he needs to not ever take naps anymore!

So not much to report in Jeterland today. Tomorrow begins the week of craziness and thankfully the kids will begin summer preschool in the morning so here’s to a good start for them! Thank you all for the prayers and support! I am deeply humbled, overwhelmed and hugely thankful for them. Much love!