Dear 2018,
I used to write really cheeky end of year reflections, but this year all I can muster is some lessons and testimony that you've left me with over the last twelve months.
1. Be vulnerable. This lesson is about people. Your spouse, your parents, your best friend. The people you love and the circumstances you're in right now are not set in stone. My mama was a healthy, active woman. 2018... you were her year. We found out she had a terminal cancer diagnosis and within six months the disease took her life. In January, I was dreaming of buying her a new house and Sunday lunches after church with my babies playing in her yard. She was my best friend. I didn't see any of this coming. I can tell you that since she has died, my saddest moments have been reflecting on how I didn't tell her enough how much I appreciated her and how much she meant to me.
The whole lesson of "not taking things for granted" seems cliche until you experience it firsthand. Be vulnerable enough to allow yourself to experience joy and pain in the moment, and then effectively communicate those feelings. Let the people you love know how you feel about them, often if not every day. If you are angry with someone, get your pride in check, and then talk about it. When you take a few seconds to look at where the other person is coming from, it deflates your pride enough to look at them as a fellow human versus an enemy. Holding anger and resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Life is too short for all that.
2. 2018.... you have taught me that whenever there is loss, God can and will fill the void with Himself if you will let Him. This means healing just isn't possible, it's probable. I thank you for this lesson.
3. God can handle your questions and your anger. I used to believe that God would strike me dead for being angry at Him or questioning what He was trying to do to me. I've found that unlike people, who will withdraw love if questioned or threatened, God's love is unconditional and solid just like His word says. He listens to our questions and our anger like the patient Father He is. I've found that expressing things to Him is what opens up a heart to heart conversation, which ultimately allows healing and reconciliation to take place. Just as a point... if you ever get to really questioning God, read Job 38. It will shut your mouth every single time.
4. Ask for help. This has been a hard lesson for me. I do not like asking for help and I don't like to appear weak. I'm fairly guarded and private about things. Walking through Mama's sickness -- the day to day needs she had plus caring for my husband, son, and family AND working a full-time job was hard physically. I was not willing to admit the toil it was taking on me emotionally. People would ask me if I was ok, and I would tell them I was hanging in there. The last half of the year I started withdrawing from the people I was close to. I stayed in a state of numb or angry and wasn't sure why. I was severely depressed and needed support and encouragement but was too proud to ask for it. My pride cost me emotionally and in some of my closest relationships. I've since reached out and gotten some help, but I know there are others like me who are too proud or scared to do something about what they are going through. Whether it is grief or its just the daily grind, there is no shame in not being able to do it all with a smile. Ask for the support you need when you need it.
2018, I did not write down a single goal. I prayed that God would teach me to know Him more deeply. I could not have imagined that He would take me on the journey that I have walked through to get there, but He has been faithful to answer that prayer this year. I have no doubt there are people sitting out there today reflecting on their "best nine" or maybe even counting down the hours (like me) until you're finished, 2018. However you may leave us tonight... excited, blessed, mourning, anxious, hopeful... I believe we can all look forward with expectation to 2019 bearing in mind, "A man's heart guides his way, but the Lord directs his steps" (Proverbs 16:9).
Peace and chicken grease,
Lendy
Monday, December 31, 2018
Friday, August 19, 2016
From the Ag Teacher's Wife
Dear WF FFA members,
I know you all probably think I don't exist. There is a picture of me, Mr. Johnson, and our little dog hanging out on his desk but most of you have never seen me in person. Much like the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, or Santa Clause... Maybe Mr. Johnson just made me up as a good story to keep y'all guessing.
No. I'm here. I'm the ag teacher's wife.
It's hard being the ag teacher's wife. Not because of the late nights he spends at school grading or watering the greenhouse. See, many of those nights he's at school working, I'm right there beside of him. I'm watering the greenhouse in my camo crocs. I'm sitting with him working on my laptop while he finishes up. This summer we raised chicks in our den and constructed a chicken coop with sweet friends for you to play with and take care of. I nursed those baby chicks by hand. I wept when they died from sickness or accident.
It's not the numerous weeks he's away from home during the summer at State FFA Convention or camp. I understand better than anyone how those weeks at leadership camp will change you.
The hardest thing for me is having to sit back on the bench and watch y'all grow and play. Occasionally I'm invited in to get to know a few of you. When that happens, I see all the potential Mr. Johnson talks about in you. I also can see some of the frustrations and disappointments he has too. I brainstorm with him when he's coaching you. I catch myself pulling for you and wanting big things for your future too. How strange is it for your teacher's wife to want to help you win poultry judging? Or see you go to university? Or realize your hidden talent for speaking in front of groups? How odd is it for me to want to see you overcome your fear of failure or beat your internal shame tape that says you're not good enough? Pretty strange... because I'm the ag teacher's wife.
But see, I was an ag teacher too. God has led me down another path in life and I do not regret where I am now.
I have no desires or plans to return to the classroom. But sometimes...especially when school is going back...
It's hard being just the ag teacher's wife.
I know you all probably think I don't exist. There is a picture of me, Mr. Johnson, and our little dog hanging out on his desk but most of you have never seen me in person. Much like the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, or Santa Clause... Maybe Mr. Johnson just made me up as a good story to keep y'all guessing.
No. I'm here. I'm the ag teacher's wife.
It's hard being the ag teacher's wife. Not because of the late nights he spends at school grading or watering the greenhouse. See, many of those nights he's at school working, I'm right there beside of him. I'm watering the greenhouse in my camo crocs. I'm sitting with him working on my laptop while he finishes up. This summer we raised chicks in our den and constructed a chicken coop with sweet friends for you to play with and take care of. I nursed those baby chicks by hand. I wept when they died from sickness or accident.
It's not the numerous weeks he's away from home during the summer at State FFA Convention or camp. I understand better than anyone how those weeks at leadership camp will change you.
The hardest thing for me is having to sit back on the bench and watch y'all grow and play. Occasionally I'm invited in to get to know a few of you. When that happens, I see all the potential Mr. Johnson talks about in you. I also can see some of the frustrations and disappointments he has too. I brainstorm with him when he's coaching you. I catch myself pulling for you and wanting big things for your future too. How strange is it for your teacher's wife to want to help you win poultry judging? Or see you go to university? Or realize your hidden talent for speaking in front of groups? How odd is it for me to want to see you overcome your fear of failure or beat your internal shame tape that says you're not good enough? Pretty strange... because I'm the ag teacher's wife.
But see, I was an ag teacher too. God has led me down another path in life and I do not regret where I am now.
I have no desires or plans to return to the classroom. But sometimes...especially when school is going back...
It's hard being just the ag teacher's wife.
Granma's Pantry
Dear Granma,
There are days like today where I sit down and read back through your old e-mail messages like I can just hit reply and tell you how my day was. I'm pretty sure if you were still here with me you'd have your own Facebook account, or at least know how to look at all of your kids' photos online to check up on them. I hope I never lose that curiosity and willingness to learn new things that you always modeled for me.
The world has just been downright stinky lately. I never thought there would be a time where I looked over my shoulder when I went to the mall or was uneasy about going to a football game. I need you here to gently remind me Who is in control. I need you to talk about the protective cloud that followed us to the lake that one summer long ago. I remember the way your voice sounded telling that story and the absolute awe in your eyes as you described a God that loved us and wanted to protect His beloved children so much so He would send a cloud of protection to ride over us. I think that was one of the first times I caught a glimpse at God's power and sovereignty.
I need you here to remind me about simplicity. You could make anything...grunt work, wild goose chases to get us out of the house, reading, sewing, cooking... fun. Some of the stuff you came up with was downright crazy, but it worked! We got outside and whether we wanted to admit it at the time, we learned about life. I wish I had just one more hot afternoon shelling butter beans in the living room with you. I wish I could go back to the afternoons we sat side by side in total silence and did nothing but crochet or read. I long for that ease when all of the complications of time, work, and complex relationships feel so incredibly hard. You talked about times where sneaking a few sips of beer and driving around town with a couple guys for a burger was considered incredibly scandalous. Those times are long, long gone.
Today I walked into my pantry looking for something and it hit me how I always thought your pantry was a wonderland. It had this weird smell of cleaning supplies, dry dog food, and packaged goods. Somehow that weird combination always smelled good to me. I was always excited to see jars of fresh pickles, okra, tomato sauce, random assortments of pop tarts, fruit snacks, and Chef Boyardee. There was stuff stacked everywhere and I always hoped I would have a pantry like yours someday and that I would be as generous as you. Always sending visitors out the door with a jar of homemade wine, vinegar, canned vegetables, or some other assortment of goodies. Always begging people to fix them a plate before they left. I'd trade some of my most prized possessions for a plate of your leftover cornbread. We were poor, but we surely did not know it.
I don't actually wish for you to come back. I'm just missing you and having myself a pity party remembering times I didn't come home to see you and Papa. You'd probably tell me not to worry about it. You'd see me soon. I know one of the joys of your life was looking forward to going home to worship your Savior. I can't sing Blessed Assurance because my throat literally closes up remembering you and now I think of my own blessed assurance in Jesus Christ. I'm looking forward to seeing you across the sea of glass someday.
Days like today I don't feel like half the woman I should be, but I hope I become at least a quarter of the woman you were.
Miss and love you,
Lendy Grayce
There are days like today where I sit down and read back through your old e-mail messages like I can just hit reply and tell you how my day was. I'm pretty sure if you were still here with me you'd have your own Facebook account, or at least know how to look at all of your kids' photos online to check up on them. I hope I never lose that curiosity and willingness to learn new things that you always modeled for me.
The world has just been downright stinky lately. I never thought there would be a time where I looked over my shoulder when I went to the mall or was uneasy about going to a football game. I need you here to gently remind me Who is in control. I need you to talk about the protective cloud that followed us to the lake that one summer long ago. I remember the way your voice sounded telling that story and the absolute awe in your eyes as you described a God that loved us and wanted to protect His beloved children so much so He would send a cloud of protection to ride over us. I think that was one of the first times I caught a glimpse at God's power and sovereignty.
I need you here to remind me about simplicity. You could make anything...grunt work, wild goose chases to get us out of the house, reading, sewing, cooking... fun. Some of the stuff you came up with was downright crazy, but it worked! We got outside and whether we wanted to admit it at the time, we learned about life. I wish I had just one more hot afternoon shelling butter beans in the living room with you. I wish I could go back to the afternoons we sat side by side in total silence and did nothing but crochet or read. I long for that ease when all of the complications of time, work, and complex relationships feel so incredibly hard. You talked about times where sneaking a few sips of beer and driving around town with a couple guys for a burger was considered incredibly scandalous. Those times are long, long gone.
Today I walked into my pantry looking for something and it hit me how I always thought your pantry was a wonderland. It had this weird smell of cleaning supplies, dry dog food, and packaged goods. Somehow that weird combination always smelled good to me. I was always excited to see jars of fresh pickles, okra, tomato sauce, random assortments of pop tarts, fruit snacks, and Chef Boyardee. There was stuff stacked everywhere and I always hoped I would have a pantry like yours someday and that I would be as generous as you. Always sending visitors out the door with a jar of homemade wine, vinegar, canned vegetables, or some other assortment of goodies. Always begging people to fix them a plate before they left. I'd trade some of my most prized possessions for a plate of your leftover cornbread. We were poor, but we surely did not know it.
I don't actually wish for you to come back. I'm just missing you and having myself a pity party remembering times I didn't come home to see you and Papa. You'd probably tell me not to worry about it. You'd see me soon. I know one of the joys of your life was looking forward to going home to worship your Savior. I can't sing Blessed Assurance because my throat literally closes up remembering you and now I think of my own blessed assurance in Jesus Christ. I'm looking forward to seeing you across the sea of glass someday.
Days like today I don't feel like half the woman I should be, but I hope I become at least a quarter of the woman you were.
Miss and love you,
Lendy Grayce
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
On God and Chickens
I'm going to take a break from my regular sarcastic, trying to be funny, posts to write something a little different. Warning --- this is a long post my friends.
For the past six weeks Mike and I have been partnering with some sweet family friends in hatching and brooding some baby chicks.
Yes - I live in suburban Raleigh.
Yes - my home owners association would flip out if they knew we had bitties in our den.
No - I am not becoming one of those real housewives of Rolesville who needs a backyard flock to keep up with the neighbors.
I currently work and have worked in the agriculture industry for my entire professional career. I know about commercial chicken operations, bird physiology, and a little bit of backyard flock management. Flashback to me growing up in rural, middle of no where Caswell County where chickens wandering from yard to yard was no big deal. My family did not have any large livestock, but we kept some chickens, geese, ducks, and guineas occasionally. While I don't understand or identify with some "city people" who want to raise chickens to be relevant or "cool," I appreciate the recent trend for urbanites to raise backyard poultry as a practical means of producing fresh eggs for their families.
I KNOW there are a lot of people out there still who think chicks become chicken nuggets, or that hatching eggs into chicks is not that complicated of a process. Just to give you an idea of what I mean, out of approximately 66 fertile eggs we have had this summer, we had about 12 to hatch. That may not seem like very many but there are some valid reasons for why that is. We lost all 25 of the first hatch due to mishandling prior to placing in the incubator, we had 4 to hatch out of the second hatch (21 eggs) due to a temperature error in the incubator, and we had 9 of the last 21 eggs hatch. Our hatch rates have been improving each time!!
This is where God amazes me. When we take managing the production of life into our own hands... in this case chicks... variables like temperature, humidity, timing, lighting, on and on can make or break the successful "birth" of new babies. Everything must ride in the ideal or optimal range for healthy, non deformed, happy bittes. BUT when a broody hen sits on the hatch in the barn or coop, she gets up and down and may shift around. The hatching eggs get bumped and potentially stepped on. There is no way to control light, constant temperature, or humidity (especially in a noncommercial scenario) and yet perfectly healthy and happy chicks can be born with no issue.
One thing most people do not see when they purchase cute little chicks from Tractor Supply is what happens when deformed or sick chicks come into the world. They're culled before they ever get shipped to the store so I think people assume all bittes come with straight toes, beaks, and clean rear ends. This summer's hatch resulted in several "special" chicks with twisted legs, crooked toes, and two that were literally trapped in their shells and unable to hatch unassisted. My chicken queen / hatch partner and I spent many minutes and tense texts trying to determine what to do for these little guys. They're pitiful, but cute. Clinging to life but what quality of life? In a large scale poultry facility, they would have been humanely disposed of, but we had watched the eggs hatch, fought for them in some cases, and now were faced with God sized questions and no fun answers.
God mercifully took care of one deformed chick, another is still hanging on, and then the last two... two that I helped hatch with my own hands... I put to sleep early this morning. Put them to sleep myself. People may call me incredibly soft, or stupid but it broke my heart and hurt my feelings so bad I don't even have the words to write about it.
This morning I carefully wrapped my two deceased little ones in an empty coffee bag, and buried them near the tobacco field behind my house. I spend a lot of time in prayer back there pacing amongst the plant rows. I wept bitterly.
I'm telling you a story about our sweet summer chicken hatch to get to three main points. Hope you're with me so far...
1.) God is Creator and He is sovereign. He brings things into the world and takes them out again according to His purposes. He can create and bring beauty in anything without any type of ideal or optimal conditions. He can use imperfect things to teach us perfect lessons about patience, love, and empathy.
2.) I don't know how people can believe the outrageous claims of animal rights activists who paint farmers as cruel and heartless. I know there are bad actors, but overall the health and wellbeing of our farmers' animals is of utmost importance to them. Detach all of the emotion for a second and ask yourself why a farmer would do anything to damage the very living creatures he depends on for his livelihood? They take great pride in their work and want healthy, cared for animals to feed their own families just like we all do. Then put on empathy glasses and see that our farmers are not machines or corporate suits. I've watched more than one farmer tear up talking about the calf they had to pull during birth that didn't make it, or an entire litter of piglets that were smothered when the sow rolled over onto them and they had to haul away the dead. Taking a bunch of cute, yellow fuzzy bittes to the compost bin doesn't happen with a smile and a shrug.
3.) In our world today, there is very little, if any, compassion. As I stood there and wept for those little birds I thought about how the sanctity of all life has become so desperately lost in sin. I was weeping for the birds, but how much more so should I weep for the darkness in my brothers and sisters. Animals are not equal to people. God created them and put them here for both our enjoyment and our use, yet there are people who senselessly mistreat and / or kill them for sport. Now there are people who have turned to killing one another for sport. Trying to numb pain, misunderstanding, and confusion with outright hate and violence. If people are not participating in the killing, they're justifying it. Announcing their righteousness is greater than anyone else's. I thought about Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. He extended his life by splitting his soul. He split his soul by committing heinous acts of murder and evil. We're witnessing society shatter its soul and auction it piece by piece on CNN. I wept for our country and all of the lostness in this dark world.
The Johnsons, her majesty the Pookie dog, Ralph, Lil' Wayne, Carmen Sandiago, the Little Red Hen, Bert, Ernie, and Rocky send y'all greetings and blessings from our castle to yours.
LJ
For the past six weeks Mike and I have been partnering with some sweet family friends in hatching and brooding some baby chicks.
Yes - I live in suburban Raleigh.
Yes - my home owners association would flip out if they knew we had bitties in our den.
No - I am not becoming one of those real housewives of Rolesville who needs a backyard flock to keep up with the neighbors.
I currently work and have worked in the agriculture industry for my entire professional career. I know about commercial chicken operations, bird physiology, and a little bit of backyard flock management. Flashback to me growing up in rural, middle of no where Caswell County where chickens wandering from yard to yard was no big deal. My family did not have any large livestock, but we kept some chickens, geese, ducks, and guineas occasionally. While I don't understand or identify with some "city people" who want to raise chickens to be relevant or "cool," I appreciate the recent trend for urbanites to raise backyard poultry as a practical means of producing fresh eggs for their families.
I KNOW there are a lot of people out there still who think chicks become chicken nuggets, or that hatching eggs into chicks is not that complicated of a process. Just to give you an idea of what I mean, out of approximately 66 fertile eggs we have had this summer, we had about 12 to hatch. That may not seem like very many but there are some valid reasons for why that is. We lost all 25 of the first hatch due to mishandling prior to placing in the incubator, we had 4 to hatch out of the second hatch (21 eggs) due to a temperature error in the incubator, and we had 9 of the last 21 eggs hatch. Our hatch rates have been improving each time!!
This is where God amazes me. When we take managing the production of life into our own hands... in this case chicks... variables like temperature, humidity, timing, lighting, on and on can make or break the successful "birth" of new babies. Everything must ride in the ideal or optimal range for healthy, non deformed, happy bittes. BUT when a broody hen sits on the hatch in the barn or coop, she gets up and down and may shift around. The hatching eggs get bumped and potentially stepped on. There is no way to control light, constant temperature, or humidity (especially in a noncommercial scenario) and yet perfectly healthy and happy chicks can be born with no issue.
One thing most people do not see when they purchase cute little chicks from Tractor Supply is what happens when deformed or sick chicks come into the world. They're culled before they ever get shipped to the store so I think people assume all bittes come with straight toes, beaks, and clean rear ends. This summer's hatch resulted in several "special" chicks with twisted legs, crooked toes, and two that were literally trapped in their shells and unable to hatch unassisted. My chicken queen / hatch partner and I spent many minutes and tense texts trying to determine what to do for these little guys. They're pitiful, but cute. Clinging to life but what quality of life? In a large scale poultry facility, they would have been humanely disposed of, but we had watched the eggs hatch, fought for them in some cases, and now were faced with God sized questions and no fun answers.
God mercifully took care of one deformed chick, another is still hanging on, and then the last two... two that I helped hatch with my own hands... I put to sleep early this morning. Put them to sleep myself. People may call me incredibly soft, or stupid but it broke my heart and hurt my feelings so bad I don't even have the words to write about it.
This morning I carefully wrapped my two deceased little ones in an empty coffee bag, and buried them near the tobacco field behind my house. I spend a lot of time in prayer back there pacing amongst the plant rows. I wept bitterly.
I'm telling you a story about our sweet summer chicken hatch to get to three main points. Hope you're with me so far...
1.) God is Creator and He is sovereign. He brings things into the world and takes them out again according to His purposes. He can create and bring beauty in anything without any type of ideal or optimal conditions. He can use imperfect things to teach us perfect lessons about patience, love, and empathy.
2.) I don't know how people can believe the outrageous claims of animal rights activists who paint farmers as cruel and heartless. I know there are bad actors, but overall the health and wellbeing of our farmers' animals is of utmost importance to them. Detach all of the emotion for a second and ask yourself why a farmer would do anything to damage the very living creatures he depends on for his livelihood? They take great pride in their work and want healthy, cared for animals to feed their own families just like we all do. Then put on empathy glasses and see that our farmers are not machines or corporate suits. I've watched more than one farmer tear up talking about the calf they had to pull during birth that didn't make it, or an entire litter of piglets that were smothered when the sow rolled over onto them and they had to haul away the dead. Taking a bunch of cute, yellow fuzzy bittes to the compost bin doesn't happen with a smile and a shrug.
3.) In our world today, there is very little, if any, compassion. As I stood there and wept for those little birds I thought about how the sanctity of all life has become so desperately lost in sin. I was weeping for the birds, but how much more so should I weep for the darkness in my brothers and sisters. Animals are not equal to people. God created them and put them here for both our enjoyment and our use, yet there are people who senselessly mistreat and / or kill them for sport. Now there are people who have turned to killing one another for sport. Trying to numb pain, misunderstanding, and confusion with outright hate and violence. If people are not participating in the killing, they're justifying it. Announcing their righteousness is greater than anyone else's. I thought about Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. He extended his life by splitting his soul. He split his soul by committing heinous acts of murder and evil. We're witnessing society shatter its soul and auction it piece by piece on CNN. I wept for our country and all of the lostness in this dark world.
The Johnsons, her majesty the Pookie dog, Ralph, Lil' Wayne, Carmen Sandiago, the Little Red Hen, Bert, Ernie, and Rocky send y'all greetings and blessings from our castle to yours.
LJ
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Dear Summer Lovers....
Dear Summer lovers,
No one loves the summer time more than I do. Some would describe me as cold blooded (literally and emotionally) so hot humid conditions do not phase me in the least. I'm like a lizard laying out on a rock. Don't get me wrong, Autumn is still my favorite with it's warm days and crisp nights, but when the days are running long and cold beverages are involved I'm a happy camper.
Having said that there are few of my brethren out there I'd like to have a quick word with so as to ensure we are all going to have a safe, comfortable, and relatively painless time as we celebrate the season.
1.) Dear Baby Girls.... You've heard me say it before, you're going to hear me say it again. You are all beautiful but sometimes you need to leave some things to the imagination. Let me speak plainly, put some clothes on. Yes, I'm jealous you can hide your phone, cash, credit cards, and a taser in your cleavage. I know you're hiding it there because your shirt is almost open to your knees or your bikini top is more like two eye patches. Please do all your sisters and mature brothers a favor and put those twins away before they hurt somebody...most likely you. You're sending the wrong message about who you are and what you really want which is likely just someone to like you, tell you that you're lovely, and valuable. We don't need to visit with the "twins" to figure that out. Also, I don't care how much you profess to be working on your fitness, those lacey booty shorts are not biking shorts. You're going to catch a chaff so harsh you won't want anyone to look or touch. I'm just saying.
2.) Couples at the pool.... I'm so glad y'all found one another. I'm glad there is "chemistry" in your relationship. But latching on to your significant other and riding them like a sea sponge around the pool while my babies are splashing in their floaties two feet away kind of makes me cringe. Furthermore, pinning them up against the pool wall really should be something reserved for behind closed doors. Again, some things need to be left to the imagination. Most people do not want the images of your PDA burned into their retinas while they're sipping poolside, and let's be real... aren't there enough fluids already swimming around in that pool? Again, I'm just saying please, please have some modesty and decency.
3.) Final shout out to my sun worshipers out there... I love a good tan as much as the next person. I remember laying in the sun for hours growing up and getting deep, nice brown tans. A little color never hurt anyone. I must say though as I have gotten old(er) I've grown more cautious about intentionally working on my tan. Watching several good friends, some younger than I, have cancerous spots removed and now seeing the wrinkles, freckles, and sunspots popping up on my body from my young and fun days, I would encourage you to put on some sunscreen or invest in a good umbrella. I don't want my nice leather MK bag to blend in with you while we're out shopping together. Capiche?
Keep a couple of cold beverages and a hot dog in the fridge for me ok? Y'all are always welcome to come by for a nice ice cream treat or some cool lemonade if you're out this way. Around here we don't lock the doors when crazy shows up. We invite it up on the porch and break out the good stuff.
Happy summer compadres!
LJ
No one loves the summer time more than I do. Some would describe me as cold blooded (literally and emotionally) so hot humid conditions do not phase me in the least. I'm like a lizard laying out on a rock. Don't get me wrong, Autumn is still my favorite with it's warm days and crisp nights, but when the days are running long and cold beverages are involved I'm a happy camper.
Having said that there are few of my brethren out there I'd like to have a quick word with so as to ensure we are all going to have a safe, comfortable, and relatively painless time as we celebrate the season.
1.) Dear Baby Girls.... You've heard me say it before, you're going to hear me say it again. You are all beautiful but sometimes you need to leave some things to the imagination. Let me speak plainly, put some clothes on. Yes, I'm jealous you can hide your phone, cash, credit cards, and a taser in your cleavage. I know you're hiding it there because your shirt is almost open to your knees or your bikini top is more like two eye patches. Please do all your sisters and mature brothers a favor and put those twins away before they hurt somebody...most likely you. You're sending the wrong message about who you are and what you really want which is likely just someone to like you, tell you that you're lovely, and valuable. We don't need to visit with the "twins" to figure that out. Also, I don't care how much you profess to be working on your fitness, those lacey booty shorts are not biking shorts. You're going to catch a chaff so harsh you won't want anyone to look or touch. I'm just saying.
2.) Couples at the pool.... I'm so glad y'all found one another. I'm glad there is "chemistry" in your relationship. But latching on to your significant other and riding them like a sea sponge around the pool while my babies are splashing in their floaties two feet away kind of makes me cringe. Furthermore, pinning them up against the pool wall really should be something reserved for behind closed doors. Again, some things need to be left to the imagination. Most people do not want the images of your PDA burned into their retinas while they're sipping poolside, and let's be real... aren't there enough fluids already swimming around in that pool? Again, I'm just saying please, please have some modesty and decency.
3.) Final shout out to my sun worshipers out there... I love a good tan as much as the next person. I remember laying in the sun for hours growing up and getting deep, nice brown tans. A little color never hurt anyone. I must say though as I have gotten old(er) I've grown more cautious about intentionally working on my tan. Watching several good friends, some younger than I, have cancerous spots removed and now seeing the wrinkles, freckles, and sunspots popping up on my body from my young and fun days, I would encourage you to put on some sunscreen or invest in a good umbrella. I don't want my nice leather MK bag to blend in with you while we're out shopping together. Capiche?
Keep a couple of cold beverages and a hot dog in the fridge for me ok? Y'all are always welcome to come by for a nice ice cream treat or some cool lemonade if you're out this way. Around here we don't lock the doors when crazy shows up. We invite it up on the porch and break out the good stuff.
Happy summer compadres!
LJ
Friday, June 3, 2016
The (struggle) bus driver....
Dear Mr. Struggle Bus Driver,
I bet you didn't wake up at the age of 10 and say, "Someday people are going to ride the struggle bus everyday, and I'm going to be the driver."
I bet when you were 10 years old the struggle bus didn't even exist. But here we are. Every day thousands of people supposedly stand in sad dejected lines waiting for you to pick them up.
Today, I'm one of them.
Don't you get angry your bus doesn't play fun mariachi music like an ice cream truck? That people don't run screaming after you wanting you to stop because you bring them sheer joy? .... Oh wait, they do run up behind you because they're tired, they overslept, and are about to be late for work.
Bet you wish they would add some mirrors to this machine so folks would stop accusing you of backing up and running over them. We need to call the company on that one.
This bus reminds me of a small town. Everybody knows your name. And you're like the local bar tender. Someone steps up on that bottom step and you can see it in their face. Loneliness. Rejection from their peers or their latest crush. Didn't get the promotion. Lost their job. Lost their dog.
Then there are the ones that sit behind your seat. They're on the bus frequently. Depressed. A failed marriage. A wayward child. Dissatisfaction with their work. Searching for a purpose. Searching for meaning.
You never ask too many questions. You never offer sage words of advice. You simply listen as we cry on your shoulder and sniffle to our fellow riders about our problems and how we feel inadequate to fix them.
I feel sorry for us Mr. Driver and I feel sorry for you because whether we want to admit it or not, most of us are choosing to sit on this bus rather than try to fix the problem or change our circumstances.
I hope we will choose to change our hearts, our jobs, our schedules and whatever else that keeps us dragging to your stop.
In the kindest way possible, I hope you lose your job old compadre and become a margarita truck driver instead.
Lendy
I bet you didn't wake up at the age of 10 and say, "Someday people are going to ride the struggle bus everyday, and I'm going to be the driver."
I bet when you were 10 years old the struggle bus didn't even exist. But here we are. Every day thousands of people supposedly stand in sad dejected lines waiting for you to pick them up.
Today, I'm one of them.
Don't you get angry your bus doesn't play fun mariachi music like an ice cream truck? That people don't run screaming after you wanting you to stop because you bring them sheer joy? .... Oh wait, they do run up behind you because they're tired, they overslept, and are about to be late for work.
Bet you wish they would add some mirrors to this machine so folks would stop accusing you of backing up and running over them. We need to call the company on that one.
This bus reminds me of a small town. Everybody knows your name. And you're like the local bar tender. Someone steps up on that bottom step and you can see it in their face. Loneliness. Rejection from their peers or their latest crush. Didn't get the promotion. Lost their job. Lost their dog.
Then there are the ones that sit behind your seat. They're on the bus frequently. Depressed. A failed marriage. A wayward child. Dissatisfaction with their work. Searching for a purpose. Searching for meaning.
You never ask too many questions. You never offer sage words of advice. You simply listen as we cry on your shoulder and sniffle to our fellow riders about our problems and how we feel inadequate to fix them.
I feel sorry for us Mr. Driver and I feel sorry for you because whether we want to admit it or not, most of us are choosing to sit on this bus rather than try to fix the problem or change our circumstances.
I hope we will choose to change our hearts, our jobs, our schedules and whatever else that keeps us dragging to your stop.
In the kindest way possible, I hope you lose your job old compadre and become a margarita truck driver instead.
Lendy
Thursday, May 26, 2016
To the Baby Girls Part 2
Dear Baby Girls,
For this one time, glitter is not your friend. Don't follow the glittery signs. The signs contain lying thoughts streaming over and over constantly leading you into deeper and deeper isolation. All of the sudden you relinquish your power and they are stealing whatever joy, comfort, and security you feel in your natural talents and especially in blossoming relationships. The anxiety, self-loathing, and fear cast you into so much darkness you can't see (believe) the subtle cardboard signs held by the people that love you that say you are ENOUGH.
This letter is not addressed to your sisters from Panera Bread that I bumped into a few years ago. I hope they have graduated on to bigger and better things including big girl jobs, big girl beds, and have traded out bathtub vodka for Pierre.
I'm writing to the ones of you who are out there quietly trying to survive the grind without drowning yourself in some kind of indulgences -- i.e. boys, drugs, and drinks.
I'd specifically like to speak to those of you who are hiding behind a wall. A large, beautiful stone emotional wall.
You don't put yourself out there so you frequently feel as if you go unnoticed. You may or may not think you're beautiful, intelligent, creative, crafty, funny, or (fill-in-the-blank) ENOUGH to be noticed. If you don't have those thoughts at least once a week we gonna need to talk because I think all normal women have that programmed in genetically.
We love to look at one another and those flat girls in magazines. We then compare our image of ourselves on our absolute fattest, dirtiest, I don't even want to put on a bra kind of days to those painted and primed girls who seem to always have it going on. I'll say this, comparison is the thief of all joy sister.
Yep.
I bet if those phantom beauties could talk they would tell you they have days where they hate make-up, bras, and boys too. I bet they have screamed in frustration when a paper towel roll unraveled in their kitchen or went into the pantry for some Cheez Its and the box was in there on the shelf...completely empty. I'm not a betting women, but I'm willing to go a step further and say they probably have at least mentally ate a whole pint of ice cream on a bad day.
Just saying.
We all have our finer moments screaming in the pantry. You though. You have these moments but feel like you shouldn't let it out. You're in the midst of inner turmoils. You're trying to figure out this tangled thing called life. You're dealing with good and bad relationships with boys, girls, dogs, and anything else that holds the breath of life...including yourself. You spend your days smiling and your nights crying. Bless your heart baby girls.
You're scared to show others the underside of your armor. You validate it by saying no one cares because you're not (fill-in-the-blank) ENOUGH anyway. You think your interests, thoughts, and struggles are scary because they don't match up to this glittering perception in your mind of what they should be.
For this one time, glitter is not your friend. Don't follow the glittery signs. The signs contain lying thoughts streaming over and over constantly leading you into deeper and deeper isolation. All of the sudden you relinquish your power and they are stealing whatever joy, comfort, and security you feel in your natural talents and especially in blossoming relationships. The anxiety, self-loathing, and fear cast you into so much darkness you can't see (believe) the subtle cardboard signs held by the people that love you that say you are ENOUGH.
Take it from someone who recently knocked down the wall like it was the Berlin wall in the 80's. Oh...you don't remember that. Well how about from someone who knocked down the wall like Miley Cyrus did in "Wrecking Ball?" .....
You don't have to fight the fight behind your stone wall alone. I'm sure inside that wall is a secret garden. If God's the Gardner the flower beds and plants will not be perfectly laid out, but the colors are vivid just like your personality. The air smells like fresh soil because the ground is being broken and you're a work in progress. There are seeds being planted and fruit taking form. Don't be afraid to let the people the Lord sends into your life to help pick up a shovel or rake and help with the heavy lifting.
I'll bring the skid steer and some Cheez It's.
Bless your heart sweet girls,
Lendy
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