The Late Arrival

The waiting is the hardest part. Every day you see one more card. You take it on faith. You take it to the heart. The waiting is the hardest part. So what do the lyrics to one of my favorite Tom Petty songs have to do with yesterday’s sermon? The sermon on this First Sunday After Christmas centered on people in the Bible who were celebrating Jesus’ birthday even though they weren’t circled around the manger when He was born on that December 25 silent night. (Yes, I know He wasn’t born on December 25. I’m just checking to see if you’re still with me here) Here’s the story in a nutshell Simeon was a guy who was close to God. I’m thinking Simeon prayed daily and in one of those prayers, God told him that Jesus was coming, and even though Simeon was really old, he’d get to see baby Jesus before he died. Sure enough, the Baby is born, His parents take him to temple, Simeon actually holds the Baby and sings a big ol’ long song of praise and thanksgiving. The End. But maybe ...

And there we were, traveling a private, winding road up through a mountain forest. At times, the car was at a 70 degree angle as we whizzed along at 80MPH. I sat buckled in, tense and frustrated at my dad's reckless driving and at myself for taking a first-time road trip with him and my step-mom to his birthplace. This Milwaukee born and raised girl was now in Alabama. Rural Alabama. For the first time. Now before we began the journey on the endless upward winding road, I was scoping out the little southern town's idea of hotels. Since there wasn't a diamond star rated hotel within the vicinity, I decided the motel with a blinking neon VACANCY sign would have to suffice. I'll take it! It'd be enough for me to retire on my own to someplace solitary after meeting this side of the family, giving hugs and recognizing traces of myself and my dad in their faces. After endless, winding and climbing, the car slowed, entered a thicket and there it was, my aunt...

At a sneeze away from fifty, I’ve been thinking about my teen daughter muddling through college or career, relationships, student debt and just figuring out who she is. She’s not too far off from nineteen -- the age I was when my mom died. I remember having to discover so much -- too much -- through bumps on the head instead of through her guidance. Now, I figure if can tee my daughter up to be okay by shuffling in all of life’s instructions in the next couple years, AND guidance to learn to be at peace when I’m gone, I will have done my job. We talk about how although I may, but do not plan to make an early exit, there is that reality. The cool thing thing is that the more she grows in her faith, the more she understands that no one’s spirit ever dies. That while we do miss the person’s “container” for awhile, we will eventually be reunited with their spirit. She gets it. And I feel good about that. Except she’s a little zealous in her comfort sometimes. Like, she’s g...

1.) Making béarnaise sauce. Truth is, I never know what was in béarnaise sauce. I just knew I liked it on poached eggs. One day, I looked up a recipe, made it and was like omg, I just did something I never did before! That was one of the many “firsts” that keep on coming even as I inch toward the half-century mark. 2.) Traveling 600 miles on Route 66. It’s a really long drive that carries passengers through endless fields of grass at various degrees of greens and browns, through backsides of forgotten townships, through cattle standing witness to torrential rain and weather patterns that change on a dime. And billboards, endless billboards that invite you to pull over and visit Uranus Fudge Factory.  Yes. It's a real thing. 3.) That Time I Thought I Was Dying I had my menstrual period for three weeks. THREE WEEKS. I thought I was dying, and with each passing day, I regretted all the junk I’ve accumulated over a lifetime only to leave it all to someone else to sift t...