Archive for the The Journey Category

“Come in”, she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm” – Bob Dylan

We saw the storm front and knew it was going to be a doozy. The wave of dark green quickly enveloped the neighborhood, so we turned on the television to see what the weathermen had to say. Bright red patches on the screen indicated tornado activity nearby which prompted my husband to look out of the window again. He suddenly yelled, “Everybody to the basement! NOW!”

That was eight years ago today—April 22, 2011—Good Friday in Ferguson, Missouri.

We huddled in the basement with our three children while we waited to see if the tornado would hit us. It did not. But the damage was nonetheless brutal. A tornado had touched down at the St. Louis airport and also at my sister’s house. Her husband was in bed when the giant oak tree in their back yard was uprooted and fell squarely on top of him. Amazingly, he was not injured, and the worst thing that happened that day was that they had to move out for a few months while repairs were being made.

I learned in 8^th grade science class that a thunderstorm occurs when a cold air mass meets a warm air mass. It may be the only thing I learned in that class, but for some reason that fact stuck in my brain.

This Good Friday was no less disquieting, though the storm was of a different kind. Someone close to our family betrayed our trust and caused damage that is difficult to articulate. My husband and I were suddenly caught in the emotional currents when I began to spin out of control. I started crying and could not stop. He was angry because he didn’t understand why I was so upset. He said we shouldn’t be surprised when a snake bites us. After all, a snake is a snake. But the pain was too much for me to bear and I fled the house in tears.

Have you ever felt the darkness of this type of storm? Have you ever started to cry and realized you were not able to stop? Did you search in vain for a safe place to hide until the storm passed you by? Did you jump into the car and start driving, only to find the bridge over troubled waters a terrible temptation?

I was once enduring a very painful bout a depression when someone said to me, “You just need to go read your Bible.” The words stung. Reading the Bible doesn’t salve wounds; that is what friends are for. I know I write a lot about Jesus and my relationship with him. I know He is a good comforter. But I also know He tells people to comfort those who are sad. The Bible talks a lot about His (Christian) people being the “hands and feet” of the body of Christ. What do hands do? They hold. What do feet do? They walk or maybe even swim to save drowning people. Hands bind up bleeding wounds. Feet help stabilize so the body can stand upright. That is why we need people to come alongside us when we are hurting. We lose our equilibrium when we are in the storm. And candidly, sometimes we have to call out for the coastguard.

On Friday evening I sat with my sister and wept. I had started driving and felt I had nowhere safe to go. In the middle of the storm I blew onto her front porch and she let me in. When I was ready to talk, she listened. And then we watched “The Voice” (a talent show) together. I had never seen it before. The singers and the songs were simply dreadful. And I finally asked her, “Where is Simon when you need him?” (I always loved American Idol because Simon told the bad singers they sucked instead of pandering to their egos). My sister is awesome.

On Saturday morning when the storm once again threatened to engulf me, a friend called and let me cry. Then she talked to me for a long time about everything and nothing. She shared her own heartaches and reminded me I am not alone. One can never have too much shelter in the middle of a storm!

Today I am thankful for family and friends who live out their faith—who know what it is to love well—who weep with those who weep—who are truly shelter in the storm. I think that is why Bob Dylan’s song resonates with so many people. We all hurt and we all long for hope.

Today if you are hurting, I hope you too will find shelter from the storm.

Just when you thought it was safe to eat…

Just when you thought it was harmless to savor a tasty morsel…

Just when you thought the journey to living a healthy lifestyle was smooth and creamy—like whipped avocado…

Whammo! You fall right smack dab into the middle of the Pit of Temptation!

The Pit of Temptation is well camouflaged. The edges are lined with gumdrop hedges and lollipop trees. Cotton candy sheep nibble on coconut grass and chocolate milk cows moo sweet lullabies to unsuspecting passersby. The gingerbread cottage—its roof tiled with candy corn—gives off the aroma of gladness. When walking by, one can’t help but stop and linger. The effervescent soda fountain gurgles with glee—promising a respite from the harsh realities of the Daily Diet Desert.

Suddenly, a tile falls from the roof and straight into our unsuspecting mouths and before we know it we have tumbled headlong over the edge we did not previously notice. We land in the thick molasses river that percolates deep underground and are quickly carried away on the current. At first we are so disoriented that we do not realize the white roots we are grasping at to stop our progress are the bleached bones of the (sugar-addicted) dead who have gone before us. All too soon we arrive at the underground city and are surrounded by gesticulating gerbils with tiny swords. They pull us out and take turns stuffing us with chewy caramels and we are helplessly, hopelessly, humiliated.

The longer we spend in the Daily Diet Desert, the more alluring The Pit of Temptation becomes. I found myself an unwilling resident in that hot and barren wasteland over the winter. How did I get there, you ask? Well, I took a shortcut through work-out burn-out alley and cemented my residency by menu maleficence. One simply cannot eat the same foods and do the same workout day after day for months on end and not eventually experience catastrophe.

So there I was–stuck in the Pit of Temptation (standing in line at the grocery store)–the other evening when I heard Tina Turner sing, “We don’t need another hero”. One of the cashiers at Trader Joe’s began shrieking along with Tina and thereby cemented the tune in my mind for the next several hours. I drove home thinking, “But I do need a hero. I need someone to swoop down and pluck me out of this molasses river. I’m sick and tired of being lured off the path of righteous eating by the sweet songs of the chocolate milk moo cows. How come Hollywood never makes a superhero movie about Sugar-Free Sally and her trusty band of Salutary Sisters?”

Surely Sugar-Free Sally could ride in on her trusty steed, Stevia, and swoop me up. She would thrust her sword through those gesticulating gerbils and put an end to their cavorting caramel caper! Her sisters would then pull out their billowing blowtorches and flambé the gingerbread house until it was a charred ruin—no longer capable of luring unsuspecting innocents. Then, she would stand against the sunset and promise that she will always fight on the side of (fat free) soup, lettuce and whole fruit parfait.

Alas, I have grown weary of being held captive by vexing vermin! So I resolved to find other remedies for my sticky situation. You see, I know it is possible to escape the Pit of Temptation if one is brave and true of heart. Of course one must embrace sugar withdrawals and paddle their trusty life raft—the mighty Will-Power—against the current of popular opinion. One must navigate the Whimpering Waterfall and be willing to climb the treacherous walls of Elliptical Cavern. And once out of the pit, one must erect a barbed wire fence with a sign that reads, “Beware: Cotton Candy Sheep are Carnivorous!”

Once one has escaped from the Pit of Temptation, it is important to forge a new path and take refuge from the Daily Diet Desert in the land of Moderation. There is a quaint little town there called Respite where one can indulge in roasted vegetables, walk along the Babbling Brook of Early Bedtime, and massage away toxic emotions in Calorie-Free Cottage. It is a wonderful place to live and worth every step of the difficult journey.

Today, if you have fallen victim to the Pit of Temptation, take heart! Escape is not impossible, only difficult. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and the destination is definitely worth the discipline!

I think everybody’s weird. We should all celebrate our individuality and not be ashamed or embarrassed of it.

Johnny Depp

I was talking to someone the other day that I don’t particularly like. I don’t particularly dislike them either which means they must be a co-worker or someone in the grocery store or the receptionist at the doctor’s office who never smiles. Yes, I am being intentionally vague in order to protect the “innocent”.

I was whispering so as not to trouble passersby with our conversation, but also because we were discussing something unseemly. Suddenly the person I was talking to shushed me.

I said, “I’m already whispering.”

She said, “Yes, but you are a loud whisperer.”

But the problem was, I was so full of beans that even though I lowered the volume of my whisper, the beans insisted on coming out of my hands and arms and eyebrows. As I gesticulated wildly my conversant squinted at me as if to indicate how inappropriate I was. I walked away feeling foolish. Why is it I can’t behave like normal girls? This is a question my mother has been asking since grade school and I finally know the answer. I came from her body! It’s her fault! (but hey, at least I don’t whistle in the grocery story!)

Still, it is difficult being weird. If I’m not crushing societal norms with my loud whispering, I’m blurting out things that shouldn’t be said at all. One of my New Year’s resolutions for 2019 is to be more intentional with my tongue. I want to keep confidences, be kind, and not scream at my children. But every time my 10 year old son gets into the shower he obliterates the last item on that list. No matter how many times I tell him he’s going to start paying the water bill, he doesn’t respond unless I holler like a barred owl during mating season.

And while it might seem easy to be kind to strangers, there’s always some speed demon who has to cut in front of me in traffic only to stop and make a right turn so abruptly I almost crash into him. This makes me realize that I may not be a nice person even though I play one on TV.

My insecurities are only heightened by friends and relations who don’t respond to phone calls or text messages. Are they angry or busy? Are they both? Should I continue to text and leave voicemails or are they purposely avoiding me? At what point does my pursuance constitute stalking? Should I begin pranking them by calling from strange numbers? Or should I just start telling people I won the lottery. I bet everyone would answer the phone when I called then.

More difficult is that I have recently been tasked with keeping a very important secret. Yet everywhere I go I keep telling people the secret. I will be in the process of talking like a normal girl and then it just slips out. So I end up telling the person I’m talking to that they are they only one I’ve told and if they tell anyone I will know it was them which means I will have to kill them. Which is why I’m having nightmares, because I’m terrified I will be forced to commit mass murder in order to maintain my reputation as a trustworthy individual.

So in addition to all of the “mom” guilt and “wife” guilt and “I-skipped-church-because-I-was-legitimately-sick” guilt, I can’t even keep a simple New Year’s resolution, which only gives credence to the theory that I may be a bonafide hypocrite. My pants already know this. Every time we meet in the morning they say, “Hey, Hippo-crit!” so I stick my tongue out at them and pull up my control-top pantyhose. Because it’s fun to pretend I’m a sausage.

Adults like to ask children what they want to be when they grow up. Well, I want to be normal. Or at least I want to drive a Barbie car. I definitely want to have more courage than the cowardly lion, more discernment than a guinea pig and the ability to touch my nose with my tongue. But since none of those things is likely to happen, I can settle for NOT being the schmuck who forgot he was the editor for the Wall Street Journal(and not the National Enquirer!) this week.

I met a woman in the office the other day that I have corresponded with but never met in person. She sized me up as she shook my hand. Then she said, “Margaret, you are not at all as I pictured you in my head. I assumed you would be old and matronly.”

Even when people can’t see me I’m weird. Seriously! It’s not easy being weird.