My 20th Anniversary

"Traditionally, the 20th anniversary was celebrated with china but in modern days, the official gift is platinum," says the internet.  Today marks my 20th anniversary of being a single adult. I'm accepting gifts of all shapes and sizes, please don't feel limited by tradition. I actually have enough china.

At first sight, this post may seem like a sad story or one that will turn into a pity party. It's the opposite. The fact is that God has been faithful in teaching me incredible things over the last twenty years. I've learned how to be independent, how to be interdependent, and how to be dependable. I'm still learning how to be dependent, that's a tough one for me.

God has taught me how to take care of other people and how to take care of myself, all while reminding me and showing me that He is the One caring for all of us. He's given me wonderful, life-giving friends who help keep me as sane as is possible and He uses them to remind me that my life is valuable. I've gotten to be an honorary aunt to all of my friends' kids. Time holding and playing with those kids, renews my strength and quiets my spirit. And then I get to go home and sleep in my own bed without anyone waking me up.

Owning a home and doing home improvement projects has been frustratingly fun and empowering! I can now install light fixtures, fix a toilet, demo a kitchen, sand and stain cabinets, install major appliances, repair a fence, fix irrigation pipes, and mix cement. I never aspired to learn any of those things but now I look forward to the next project.

Sure, I eat alone, sleep alone, make decisions alone but I'm not actually alone because God promised to never leave us or forsake us. Ever. Not in 20 years or for all of eternity. His love endures f o r e v e r.

No need to tilt your head and sigh while trying to think of something encouraging to say. Just smile and wish me a happy anniversary. Oh and platinum gifts are also acceptable.

the neon orange sticker

I have a like/hate relationship with this neon orange sticker.  I don't love it at all. It sets me apart and I struggle with that on a fundamental level.

The receptionist opens that drawer every time I enter the Central CA Blood Center,  peels off the paper from the back of the sticker, and hands it to me with the expectation that I will immediately put it on my shirt. It's the rule, I have to wear it. Part of me wants to because it's the difference between winching in pain and feeling a slight twinge of discomfort when they draw my blood. It's my ticket to the absolute best that is available. But the other part of me wants to cover it with my hand and quietly rip it off the second that receptionist turns her head.

So what if my blood type is O- and can be given to anyone and everyone?! It's the kind you give someone if you don't know their blood type. (Well, maybe not you, but a medical professional.) It's value exceeds that of all the others because it has the quality that the others don't have.  It won't hurt anyone. The best phlebotomist in the building is the one required to draw my blood. Only the best because this needs to go well. It needs to work. Failure is not an option because they need to save lives with this magic pint of blood. So what. Does that mean that other people should suffer more at the blood center? That people with type AB should be given the rookie who started yesterday and takes three tries to find the vein? No, not necessarily. But sometimes yes.

I love the scene at the end of the movie 'Ever After' when the wicked step mother tries to act superior to her wicked daughter and the daughter screams, "You're just the same as me, you big nobody!!!" The two of them are now on the same bottom rung of the social ladder. I don't know if the mother is more furious about them being servants or being equals! All she ever wanted was to be better than everyone else but the harder she tried, the farther she got from her goal. 

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be the same as my brothers. I wanted to be their ages. I wanted to be able to go shirtless and play outside like they did. I wanted glasses like they had. I wasn't to sing like my oldest brother and have the confidence of my older brother. I wanted us all to have the same IQ. I wanted people out in the world to treat us the same way and to understand that we were all broken in our own specific ways. I am not better than them, sweeter, or more loving than them. I am prettier though, I'll give you that.

Fortunately, I've learned some things over the years. Eventually I will be their ages and I will need glasses. Maybe someday I will work on my singing voice and will start walking up to people to give them 8 high fives but the chances are slim. And the fact of the matter is that I can't change our IQs. God gave each of us the level of intelligence that we have and each of those numbers is different. Most importantly, I've learn that same has a different definition than equal. My real goal is equality. 

But, this side of heaven, there is inequality. So I try to acknowledge the truths in the pray of serenity by accepting the things I cannot change and asking for courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to see the difference.

Oh, and it turns out, wearing a shirt is just good sense. Although, if I didn't have a shirt on, I bet no one would notice the neon orange sticker...

Top Ten Tips for a Father Raising a Daughter

Recently, my parents were asked by three fathers of daughters about advice for how to raise a daughter. These men have a total of 10 daughters between them all so I think my parents were feeling a little inexperienced having only raised one. Be that as it may, I still found their answers to be ridiculous. 

My mom: They asked us for advice on how to raise a daughter.

I think she expected a sarcastic remark from me like, “Wow, they must be hard up for advice!”

But instead I asked, “What’d you say?”

My mom: “I don’t have any!”

I looked at my dad. “I didn’t have anything to say either!”, he exclaimed.

Me: “Well, that’s ridiculous! You could have said all kinds of things! Why would you say nothing?”

They had no response. Then it dawned on me. My parents don’t give advice and they certainly don’t brag about themselves. They just don’t.

So I went to my room and started writing. I came up with a list of 10 tips for how to raise a daughter. I tore it out of my notebook and handed it to my dad. 

I will list them below, Letterman style: 

The Top Ten Tips for a Father Raising a Daughter

10. When she wants to tell you something, listen with all of your attention.

 9. Love your daughter more than anyone else (be her biggest fan) and remind her that God    loves her infinitely more

 8. Don’t tell her that being happy is the most important thing

 7. Talk about money and how to use it wisely

 6. Instead of yelling, explain calmly

 5. Say yes as much as possible so the no’s have more significance

 4. Teach her what trustworthy and honest look like by being those things all the time

 3. Figure out what motivates her and use that to help her process decisions

 2. Treat her and her mom like you want others to treat her

And the number one tip for a father to raising a daughter…

 1. Love her mom well

My dad did all of these things, not perfectly, but he did them. And you wanna know who taught him? My mom.

Rescued

I am often reminded that I look at the world first through the eyes of a sibling. I notice how people are treated, especially the vulnerable or at risk, the least of these. I compare and contrast. I contemplate and consider. It matters to me because I'm selfish and because I love my brother. He has a developmental disability. He and I have always been very close. So the selfish part of me doesn't want him to be treated any better than me and the loving part, of course, doesn't want him treated any worse either. I want us to be equals. Okay, most of the time I want that. Sometimes I want to be better than him but what sibling doesn't? Anyway, the fact is that the world doesn't see us as equals. The world doesn't see his value, initially. But when someone does, I notice and I remember. 

As I've gotten older, it's become clear to me that I care about how all people with disabilities are treated. I am especially passionate about how the Church treats them. I hear stats like 80% of families affected by disability do not attend church and I am grieved because of that inequality. Most families have at least two children so that means four people aren't hearing the gospel. Four people are feeling rejected and four people are not being given the opportunity to be part of the Body of Christ. 

When I was sitting on the steps of the ruins of the library in Ephesus, I heard a story that made my heart drop and then soar. It was being told by Shea Sumlin to our group of 39 people studying church history as we traveled through Turkey and Greece. 

The story was about how the Church reacted to the least of these. A doctor in the city wrote a book about how to determine if a newborn was worth keeping or not. The infant was judged based mostly on physical characteristics and health. If the baby was deemed worthless he or she would be thrown into the city's trash heap, left outside in the elements, or given to the slave traders. Babies were literally being thrown away, discarded like rotten food or used toilet paper. 

Then something remarkable started to happen. The babies were being rescued from the trash heap and the elements. The slave trades had to move on because their were no babies to sell. Oh parents were still rejecting them but the Church did not. The church of Ephesus was taking the babies in and raising them as their own. They saw that the infants were of infinite worth. They knew God loved these children and that alone was reason enough to rescue them.

It's a beautiful picture and example of how God rescues all of us. We are not just vulnerable and at risk, we are dead in our sins and He responds by giving His life to save us. His salvation is for everyone, no matter our earthy value. "For I am convinced that neither life nor death nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38) 

So how should the Church respond today? We can say with our lips that all people are welcome in our churches. We can claim to love our neighbor as ourself. We can insist we want everyone to come to church but do we want everyone to stay? If we don't want them to stay then we are Pharisees giving lip service. If we do want them to stay but don't provide a way to make it possible then we are hypocrites, nothing but the squeaking of a rusty gate. 

Let us be known to future generations as being like the church in Ephesus who saw the least of these and realized we are all one in Christ. 

The Library at Ephesus

Our Turkish tour guide Ozan explaining the history and the architecture 

Little did I know, I was about to have my mind blown after Ozan was done and Shea started teaching.

looking up from where I was sitting on the library steps

What an incredible location for a wedding shoot!

The End of Myself

Every year it happens. I throw a tantrum right before camp. I thought this year was going to be different because it hadn't happened yet but then, right as I was packing up the last of my things, it hit me. I DON'T WANT TO GO!!! It's kinda of like a 2 year old screaming she's not tired when clearly her eyes are closing and she's laying down. The truth is that I did want to go. All you need to do is mention camp and watch my eyes light up and a grin form from the frown and the truth is obvious. I clearly want to go. I'm just feel inadequate. Like a loving father scoops the protesting toddler up and into her bed to cry it out, God lets me work through my tantrum and get to the end of myself so that He can say, "Relax. No need to panic, I've got this."

The theme verse of the week could not have been more fitting to address my insecurities. Psalm 23:1 "The Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need." It's all right there, clearly God provides. He knows what I'm capable of and how much help I need. He's not worried about any of it. 

I was on the team that trained the 65 volunteers who came to serve at camp as STMs (Short Term Missionaries), so there was no room for me to act like a two year old. I needed to put my big girl pants on and act like a grown up, or at least a nine year old. The good news for me is that there is plenty of room for silliness and play. This video, shot by an incredible STM, is me being my true self. I thought she was keeping the camera on the camper so I was really letting it go!

My favorite thing about the Joni and Friend Family Retreat is that there is life change happening every minute of every day through the silly and the serious. There is universal acceptance and unbridled love in the midst of immense pain and suffering. There is rest from the battle fatigue that most of the families carry with them to camp.  That rest is possible because of those 65 STMs that are paired up with a camper. The campers are either people with disabilities or their siblings. Every year I get to see first hand how God transformed them from being wide eyed and scared on the first day to being in awe of what just happened to them. They learns lessons that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. Here are three of my favorite STM stories from this week. *I've changed the names to protect or to be mysterious or something like that.*

STM Paul's story

Watched episode of House about a rare and fatal disease. Goggled it. Cried. Wrote a paper about it for school and was devastated by its effects on people. Hoped to never know someone who would be going through that kind of suffering. Came to JAF Retreat and read his camper's dx. Wept and didn't think he could handle it. Met Jimmy. Bonded with him. Got beat at UNO repeatedly. Had one of the best weeks of his life. Saw the man, not just the disease. Life changed forever. 

STM Silas' story

Had no experience with people affected by disability. Got recruited to serve at camp. Went through training with great concern and trembling. Face full of questions, concerns, and doubt in his own abilities. Met his camper John and suddenly realized none of this was about himself. John was the celebrity in this scenario and Silas was the assistant that held John's keys and organized his schedule of appearances. John was the teacher and Silas was now a wide eyed eager student who felt honored to have the privilege of attending John's school. Perspective forever shifted. Life turned right side up. 

STM Martha's story 

Her sisters couldn't come this year so she wasn't going to either. Then she realized there was no reason not to come. God changed her heart and not only did she want to come but deep down she was hoping to be matched with one specific camper. A difficult one. A challenge. She didn't want to get her hopes up to high lest she be disappointed with her assignment. Sunday night came and she rubbed her eyes and blinked back tears as she read the name of the one she was hoping for right there in print. God had a divine appointment for those two and it looked like it was one of the best weeks of both of their lives. Martha is coming back every year no matter what. She's hooked.

Joni and Friend Family Retreat 2017 had all the plot twists, drama, and comic relief of an oscar worthy movie. And by the end of it, the truth was clear: The Lord was our Shepherd, we had everything we needed.

I'm not happy all the time.

confident day

rough day

People often comment that it seems like I never have a bad day, that I'm always in a good mood. It's a nice reputation to have but not entirely accurate. So, for some reason, I feel like dispelling that myth today. Here goes: yesterday was a rough day for me. I was reacting to life in a much more emotional way than I usually do and was feeling a little bit crazy. Over the course of the morning, I found myself reaching for tissue after tissue. I would use one, think I was done crying only to find myself needing another one as the tears kept flowing.

What in the world was wrong with me? Was a loved one in the hospital? Had a pet just died? Did something bad happen to me? Nope. None of the above. I was completely unproductive at work and ended up taking some benefit time off to try to shake this bizarre feeling. I had made plans to see my sister and, even though I had text her visual proof of my instability, she wasn't afraid and still showed up to have lunch with me. She's a brave one and it helps that she loves me. It turns out this emotional roller coaster is what is scientifically defined as being a woman. Good grief. I didn't really believe the science lesson until about 9:30pm, when my hormones decided to balance themselves out and my sanity was restored! Well, at least to within normal limits for me. I was amazed at how different I felt from one moment to the next.

There are also days when I wake up feeling confident. I like to take full advantage of those days by doing something bold with my hair and sometimes even wearing lipstick. (gasp!) For some reason wearing lipstick feels like I'm putting on a sign asking people to look at me. So I wear it about twice a year. Every other day you'll find me happily applying whatever flavor of lip smackers is within arms reach. Strawberry Kiwi Comet is my favorite. I love that stuff slightly more than an adult person probably should. It's simply the best. Okay, enough with the product endorsement.

My point here in not to say I'm unstable, nor is it a cry for help. I'm actually fine. I have good days and bad days just like every other human and today I felt like talking about it. So there you have it, I'm not happy all of the time. I don't think that fact is shocking or surprising but many times we don't share statements like that online. We tend to share highs and, occasionally, tragic lows, but not as many boring old real emotions. How are you feeling today?

Grandma

Growing up, she was a refuge to me and each of my brothers. We went to her for wisdom, solace, coke, and candy. We each had a bond with her that was unique and individual. She was sarcastic and hilarious with me, understanding and accepting with Nathan, and compassionate and spiritually deep with Edward. She and Grandpa lived around the corner from us for our entire childhoods. It was a milestone for me when I was old enough to walk to grandma's by myself. We spend many hours together playing card games, doing puzzles, and watching sports.

One distinct memory I have was when I was in 1st grade learning to read. I went to grandma's after school and she was quilting. I stretched out on the orange floral sectional and started reading my book out loud to her. I had trouble with just about every 3rd word so I would stop and ask her what the word was. She would graciously tell me and I continued to hobble through the book that way. It must have been excruciating to listen to and impossible to get any quilting done. But she never gave any indication that she was bothered by any part of the experience. I remember feeling so accomplished when I finished that book and so grateful for her help. I turned an important corner that day in my struggle to learn to read.

Another important milestone was when Nathan was tall enough to reach the latch to grandma's back gate. It meant we could go through the backyard instead of having to trek all the way around to the front door. We were so proud of ourselves when we didn't need mom to get us in the "back way". We almost always showed up without warning and were never turned away. I always got a burst of joy in my heart when Grandma's face lit up and she hurried to the sliding door to welcome us in. 

My grandma loves as perfectly as a human can love and does so with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength. When we all get to heaven, I hope I get to live around the corner from her forever.