Being in Touch

I've recently gotten back in touch with "Mrs. Y" (even though she's not Mrs. Y anymore) -- my high school drama teacher and mentor extraordinaire. She had such an amazing impact on my life, and it is so cool to be back in touch!

This morning I had an email from a wonderful high school friend -- we're on each other's email contacts, but result in forwards and quick notes. I wrote him a real e-mail today.

My brother-in-law confessed to reading my blog last night. . .

SEveral months ago, I re-established contact with my college roommate -- she's an incredible, funny, honest person, and I am blessed to be back in touch with her.

Email, snail mail, blogs, telephone, face-to-face -- communication. It's nice to know people care about you -- care about your thoughts and feelings. Being in touch -- it's a good thing!

The Parable of the Bug and the Ants

This morning I watched in a sink as a bug had gotten stuck -- the surface was too slippery for him to climb out. There were ants -- lots of them. At first they were just wandering around, but then he slipped and they surrounded him -- they were probably 25-50 times smaller than him, but they kept niggling at him. Ants are very strong, so they even flipped him upside down. He fought and struggled, but as soon as he would right himself, they were niggling at him all over again. I know it's all part of the circle of life and survival of the fittest, but I started to rescue him -- I wanted to, because I know how he felt. I've been him several times in my life -- caught on a slippery slope -- not literally, but the slippery slope of my mind: a mental rut of sorts. And as sure as I try to climb my way out, here come the doubts and fears, niggling at me. Lord knows, they're stronger than me sometimes. Satan uses them as tools. He's smart -- he knows it doesn't take big things to flip me over -- just lots of niggling little doubts and fears.

Father, help me be stronger than the doubts and fears that sometimes plague me. Help me to stand aright and lean on you. Help my faith conquer doubt and your love conquer fear. Through the power of Jesus, Amen!

The Joys and Fears of Camping

Two glorious nights at Linville Falls -- bath house just up the hill (no showers, mind you -- just toilets and sinks. . . ) Creek down the hill -- lots of fireflies; delicious food! sleeping in, full moon, someone playing guitar across the way, nature journaling, relaxing, wrote a song, chilled out, very cool, but damp Beautiful weather

Two long nights at Pisgah -- nice shady campsite, closed bath house for our section. . . port-a-johns. . . .VERY FULL, extremely nasty port-a-johns. . .no thanks! Alternative? Either a very long walk around the campground to the other bath house or a very short drive (my husband will get his wings in heaven, let me assure you:~) On the way to test out the port-a-johns, I met a very interesting Eastern Screech Owl (which is an absolute misnomer, BTW-- he purrs, as opposed to screeching -- go figure!) Putting up the tent in the dark -- cooking hamburgers in the dark (they ended up extra crispy! -- I never claimed to be a grill chef. . . . . :~\ A terrible storm, complete with tremendous thunder booms and huge lightning crashes! A tree down in one campsite -- so thankful it wasn't ours. Singing "Our God is an Awesome God" and other inspirational songs in the middle of the chaotic storm, snuggled up on one side of the picnic table underneath a very flimsy canopy, waiting to grill hot dogs until it slacks off, very damp in the tent, not as cool. . . .waking up to birds singing (which was very nice; however the "prior-to-7:00-in-the-morning-thing" I could do without -- it was my vacation!)

All-in-all, it really was a beautiful trip -- full of natural wonders that made me face my Creator head-on, pause in quiet reflection of its beauty, scream at the insanity of teenagers:~), thrill with music, and view the world from many different angles (including the middle of the "Mile High Swinging Bridge", a bald outcrop on Grandfather Mt., the rooftop of the Biltmore, standing before Linville Falls and staring down into the gorge, praying and gripping as Shane drove the mt. roads faster than my heart liked, looking down the mt. from Amicalola Falls into the valleys below, the unending vista of mts as we drove the Blue Ridge Parkway, and so many more.) It really is a big world, and as Carrie Underwood so aptly puts it, "It sure makes everything seem so small."

Thank you, God, for reminding me, that I am small, but you are not. Your creation is amazing and your power created it all. For getting me across the swinging bridge and across all the mtns without a heart attack. For making me lean on you in the midst of the storm. For showing me the joys and the frustrations of living with a teenager for a week. For the joys of family and nature and time together. For safety and home and wonderful memories, Thank you , Father!

Temporary Mom

No, my gentle readers, do not get too excited -- I am merely referring to the fact that I have just spent 8 days "playing Mom" to my 14-yr-old former student/young friend on a camping trip to the mountains. I feel perhaps more ill-equipped than ever to begin this adoption journey, especially after reading a couple of books on adoptive parenting. (Are they written for the express purpose of scaring the poo out of you?????? -- killing family pets and burning down sheds and houses?!?!?!?!?. .. . .) I appreciate all the kind comments about the kind of mother I'll be, and Lord knows, I hope you're right, but. . . .wow, it is such an undertaking! It was fun -- we had a great time, but I was ready to drop him back off at home -- what will I do when there's no where to drop them off? (Shane and I have tried and tried to figure out how we could just adopt grandkids, but we have the same problem. . .nowhere to drop them off :~) Please pray that I will develop the patience and fortitude to be the kind of mother I need to be if we are allowed to parent.

Ponderings about Adoption

Yesterday when I was wandering around the (very tiny, uninteresting) Biggs Park Mall in Lumberton, I penned these words about my feelings about the adoption process.

My heart quickened today,
As I walked through the local mall.
The children's clothes called to me,
"Touch me and dream," they said
And I did. . .
"Soon" I whispered to the brown eyelet dress,
Not really knowing if it will be
But hoping nonetheless,yet
Thinking of all there is to do:
Applications, adoption interviews,
Home improvements, cleaning,
Paperwork and waiting,
Most of all the waiting
Already feeling so many emotions:

Anger at having to go through all this
To give a child a home
(Who's there to ensure the homeless person's home
Is suitable for children?)
(Who checks to make sure the teenager has a stable relationship
Before she gets pregnant?)
Not that I think they SHOULDN'T check all that,
But I'm just saying. . .
It's frustrating -- one more
Punishment for not being able to have kids of my own. . . .

Fear -- Will I be a good mom?
Will they love Shane more than me?
(Probably -- most kids do . . .)
And how will I handle that?

Uncertainty -- How much TV should they watch?
How will we handle it when they don't like the food we fix?

Anticipation -- Finding it hard to wait to hear footsteps
On the Stairs

Wondering -- if you'll be typical siblings
And our home will soon
Be filled with sibling sounds
(And highly suspect you are and it will be)

Curious -- about what exposure you've had to holiday traditions
And if ours will seem very different to you
Or perhaps foolish
Or if you will embrace them
Heart and soul. . . .

Nervous -- Do you have a great foster family
That it will be hard to leave?
Will you be angry
Or grateful
Or ambiguous
For our taking you away?

Happy--That we'll soon a little family of our own
And be able to share with you our lives

Excited -- About decorating your rooms
And having you see them for the first time.
I hope, more than you know,
That it will say to you
How much we love you already

Ecstatic -- That we'll finally get to use our house
In the way we promised God we would.

So many questions ...more than there are words to voice them
So many emotions -- from one end of the spectrum to the other

So many hopes. . . so many hopes. . .

19 Years!

Yesterday Shane and I celebrated our 19th anniversary. It was an unusual anniversary -- oftentimes we go to Wilmington (where we honeymooned) or get away for a day or two. This summer has been so busy and expensive, we chose to not. So the day was full of errands and meetings and "stuff". Part of the day was spent on the mundane; part of it was spent apart. As it turns out, though, we came back together for a lovely dinner at Black Water Grille in Lumberton, held hands, drove over to the lake walked around, held hands, and came home, held hands, and spent the night with candlelight in each other's arms. Nothing mundane about that. . .here's to the next 19 years!

True Freedom Fest

Sunday afternoon my husband and I found ourselves in a long line waiting to enter the arena at the Boys’ Home in Lake Waccamaw for True Freedom Fest. Some folks had chairs in tow; some had kids in tow. Some were there with family or church groups and come came alone. Perhaps we all came expecting different things. Shane and I were excited to have the opportunity to hear 2 of our favorite contemporary Christian musical groups – Newsong and Todd Agnew with his band.
It was hot. It was dusty. At least one performer made note that they were, in fact, singing in a horse barn. (Although, you have to think, if it was good enough for Baby Jesus, surely it’s good enough for us. . . .) Actually the heat, the dust, nor the horses mattered.
Matt Jernigan began the night with clean comedy and a couple of light-hearted songs of his own. He jabbed and paid tribute, in turn, to the fact that he was a local boy.
Then Flight Out of Egypt took the stage – a young group that includes a couple of kids that belong to Newsong. Loud, hard-rocking, driving music married to Christian lyrics received mixed reviews from the crowd.
Newsong unified the audience with some of their most popular praise and worship songs. As I looked around, folks were responding in myriad ways – some with eyes closed and hands lifted; others clapping, dancing, and jumping for the Lord; still others sat visiting with friends, family, and neighbors.
Jamey Ragle bounced onto the stage with a resounding, “Hello, Luv!” He spoke to us frankly and passionately about how our Monday through Saturday life should match our “Sunday life,” and that church was never meant to be boring. He had us from hello. Many people responded to his call to live out their true freedom in Christ.
By far, the highlight of the evening, for me, was the time that Todd Agnew and his band were on the stage. His humble spirit and love for God were evident as he reminded us that we shouldn’t be putting performers on a pedestal, but that God should get all the glory! What a refreshing message in our era of “Idol worship”! He led us in worship, curtailed our applause at every opportunity, and lived out his faith musically right there with us.
Hawk Nelson ended the evening as it began – with loud, hard-rocking, driving music, which I feel sure that especially the young people enjoyed.
Bailey Produce deserves a huge thank-you for providing such a diverse evening of True Freedom Fest that provided tons of inspiration for us all to live out our Christian freedom every day.

Written July 2007

The Wasp and the Grape

As I passed the grape arbor today, I took one last look – hoping there were some salvageable fruits. The season was ending and many of the leaves had become brown and brittle. Still, a few stubborn fruits hung on. As I reached for one, I realized someone had beaten me to it. A wasp had found it first. He was upended in the grape – literally! All you could see of him was his back end sticking out of the grape! And I knew he was feasting! As the wasp dove in head first, I was reminded of children doing handstands in pools and lakes during summer – playing with wild abandon, feasting on sunshine and sleeping late and cool water and good friends: drinking in bicycle rides, watermelon-covered cheeks and chins, amusement park thrills, and climbing trees. And, just for a moment, I was jealous of the wasp!

Written Sept. 2007

The Grapes of Joy

Today, as I walked through my mama and daddy’s yard, the last grapes of the season called to me. They always call to me – with memories of childhood days spent under Grandmama’s makeshift arbor: not only picking (and eating), but playing, using imagination, reflecting on life, sitting in a shady spot. . . .the kind of memories that seem like such every-day-run-of-the-mill days that you don’t fully appreciate them until they’re gone. Sometimes they disappear only for a season. Other times they are gone for good – relegated to that place where all happy memories live. But even when the thing itself is gone, as long as the memory remains, it takes only a scent, a sight, or the shifting of a breeze to call it all back. That was what happened today. The slightest hint of a ripeness – bordering-on-fermentation; the tease of tiny purple orbs peeking at me between leaves. . . my mouth waters, and I answer the call of the grapes. I pluck the darkest ones; pop them in my mouth one by one. A slight squeeze and I first feel, then taste their juicy pulp. I let it rest a moment, then swallow all the sweet goodness (seeds and all), tossing away only the hull. As the flavor fades, it is tinged with sadness for the end of the season. It is soon overtaken, though, for I have paused and reflected and refreshed myself with grapes of joy.

Written Sept. 2007

Our First Christmas Eve

It was Christmas Eve – 1988. Shane and I had gotten engaged on the 21st; it had already been an incredible holiday! We had spent the first part of the holiday with Shane’s family – my first Christmas with my soon-to-be family. The house rang with laughter, punctuated by crinkling wrapping paper, and was filled with the smells of Christmas. Christmas Eve was replete with traditions of the evening -- games, puzzles, Christmas music, Pralines, Christmas cookies, and family!!! Many of them were spending the night at Shane’s parents’ house, but it was my first Christmas away from my family, and we had agreed to leave Christmas Eve night in order to be in Chadbourn by Christmas morning. The time came to head to North Carolina from the mountains of Georgia. We had a 7 hour drive awaiting us and were hoping to catch at least a nap before the Christmas chaos of the morning. Around 9:00, we left the Fletcher house--full of humor, warmth, and playful fun for a long silent night’s drive. Just before leaving, Shane gave me an early Christmas gift – a small Christmas tree. He had bought battery-operated lights, some white fabric “snow”, and had even decorated the tree! The decorations were costume jewelry – a pearly necklace served as the garland, and there were matching earrings hanging as ornaments as well. As we drove home, those festive lights celebrated the future that was to be ours and the romantic gesture assured me that I had truly found the perfect man for me. We talked and planned for most of the trip. When we tired of talking, we sat in the darkness of the car, with only the Christmas tree promising the joys of tomorrow, becoming today with every mile. Christmas morning came – and went. And so has done for 18 Christmases since then, and every year brings some special, romantic moment that takes me back to that Christmas Eve, and the gift of a decorated tree on the back dashboard of a car!

Note: This was a story I submitted to the News Reporter for their Christmas Memories section.

One Final Surprise

I must have been about 7 or 8, which means my brother was only 4 or 5. Christmas morning was full of all the normal joys – the excitement of Santa, stockings, secrets hiding behind wrapping paper curtains, eating Snickers for breakfast, along with an orange and a box of Cracker Jacks (a Santa stocking staple at our house. . .). Gifts were opened, thank-you’s said, when Mama and Daddy said, “There’s one more tiny gift under the tree for each of you.” Sure enough, as Dale and I crawled under the tree, we found two exactly-the-same boxes. They were the same size, the same shape, and the same wrapping paper. . . the inside contents were also the same – a small black plastic horse, girded with a narrow strip of white typing paper. The message said something like “If you go outside you’ll find your last Christmas present. . . .“ Being a precocious child, I got it right away, but my brother was 3 years younger, and even though I read the note out loud, he didn’t understand the implications. I remember grabbing his shoulders and excitedly trying to help him grasp this concept. Finally, I just shouted, “Let’s Go!” We tore outside at the speed of a race horse. With some guidance from Mama and Daddy, we found a small stable at the back of our property. Waiting patiently to greet us were two ponies – one a full-blooded Welsh, and the other a Welsh/quarter horse blend. They were beautiful beyond words! I don’t remember how it was decided, but I counted the male Welsh/Quarter blend as mine. His name was Prince, and he wore it well. His mother was the other pony – Nell. She belonged to Dale. They were the most amazing gifts we had ever received – or ever would receive. “How did you. . . .?” “When were they. . . ?” “But when did ya’ll. . . ?” “Where did they. . . ?” were the conversation starters of the rest of Christmas morning. As it turned out, the ponies had been there for several days, totally unknown to my brother and me – we didn’t even know the stable was there! Daddy and Mama had built the stable, brought the ponies, and taken care of them for days without our knowledge. Here’s to the innocent ignorance of children, and final surprises!

Note: This was an entry for the Christmas edition of our local newspaper.

Drab Treasure

DRAB TREASURE
I was nine. The year was 1976 or 1977 and I was in 4th grade. It was a very eventful year – full of discoveries – a new best friend that would last me the rest of my life, and a new love – one that would comfort me for all the days of my life.
My mom enjoyed yard sales. It was a Saturday, although I don’t know the season. Mama and I were meandering through the sellers at the local flea market. I reached down into a box and pulled out a treasure. Perhaps it wouldn’t look like a treasure to you, and I don’t honestly know why I was drawn to it, but it beckoned me—right through its drab brown cover, with masking tape band-aids. It was ancient! The copyright was 1908, and for 25 cents, it became my first antique book, and my first foray into poetry. It was a love affair waiting to happen! That’s why I was excited when my teacher assigned us a project. Her name was Mrs. Kathy Deavers, and it was a poetry project. While I don’t remember the details of the assignment, in gist, it was to create our own collection of poems that were special to us or that we loved. We had to have them categorized, illustrated, and a table of contents was to be included. As a nine-year-old, mine was a motley crew of poets – William Shakespeare dipped his pen next to Mother Goose, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow philosophized alongside me -- a young girl who was bewitched by love and poetry. Alfred Lord Tennyson lauded the eagle, and Longfellow recounted the history of Hiawatha and Paul Revere. And so it began – I read poetry; I wrote poetry – I love poetry.
My collection of antique poetry books has grown, and still they sidle next to Mother Goose, and modern children’s poets like Jack Prelutsky. In the center of it all still sits the drab brown poetry textbook from 1908 – one of my most treasured possessions. It stays by my bed – wear and tear from being loved hard and used much have required a few more band-aids. I have shared it through the years with students. My first year teaching, Joey loved it almost as much as I. Every day during quiet reading time, he would timidly approach my desk, “Mrs. Fletcher, can I please borrow your book of poems?” I often wonder if that was the beginning for him too.
My drab little brown treasure is full of poems, but if it could talk it would have plenty of stories to share about how it inspired more than one poetic soul during its lifetime.

Note: This was my entry for the NC Reading Association Young Author's Writing Contest -- it didn't place, but I enjoyed writing it!

Changes

I've never been one to like changes. Oftentimes, they hit me pretty hard. Some are more embraceable than others. I was struck Friday night by the changes of life (It sounds painful, but it didn't really hurt -- well, not much anyway.)

We were in Manteo for the 4th of July -- our annual tradition, as it has existed for the last 7 years, at least, with our friends Randy and Rachel and their three children: Katherine, David, and Daniel. This is one of the foregone conclusions of our year, and one of the favorite things we do. And while THAT hopefully won't change, it is about to face a number of changes. For one, Katherine just graduated from high school. As unbelievable as that seems, it is true. So this was our last Independence Day before Katherine spreads her wings and explores her own independence. I have to say, Rachel and Randy are brave people, because there were a couple of moments of the evening that were bittersweet for me for that reason. I sincerely hope that Katherine will be there with us next year, but it is assured to have a different feel. And then I thought about changes going on in our life and the search for adoptive children. I made the comment that next year we might have to drive 2 vehicles -- that within itself, such a seemingly small change shouts loudly in my ears. Why? Next year Shane and I may have 2-3 children to take with us, which will necessitate a second vehicle. Changes. . . .Then as the fireworks were exploding over our heads, I was overwhelmed with so many emotions -- all these changes as well as patriotic feelings, but then settled over me this one quiet feeling that next year, maybe, we'll get to share this amazing experience with 2-3 young people who will see the value of lifelong friendship, the soul-stirring beauty of music well-played, the relaxing feeling of being near the water, the heart-squeezing gratitude of being American, and what it means to be family, and that it has never been about the blood -- it's all about the love.

Next year may bring changes, but not all changes are bad. Spreading wings and growing families are changes, but they are pretty wonderful changes.