Thoughts on Thanksgiving Pie

It's hard to believe that it is Thanksgiving. I absolutely love Turkey Day...the parades, the cooking, the feast, the Christmas kick-off.  This year Oliver is running around and chasing everyone he can while making growling noises. It was just a short year ago that he slept through his first Thanksgiving. Graham has been busy cooking...he's especially into perfecting the dressing this year...more bread he told me.  He has his own apron (thanks to a sweet friend) that has given him that extra edge in the kitchen lately. Mr. Jones is busy tinkering with something with the TV...apparently when we watch the parade tomorrow, it's really going to look and sound amazing (at least that's what we all better tell him or he'll do something else to it). I also have to give a special mention that my hubby smoked the turkey again this year. He makes a mean smoked turkey (and that's what we all better tell him so he gets that "tur-duck-en" idea out of his mind). I've been busy cooking all the non-smoked, non-turkey sides...or as Graham says, I'm in the cooking business as his helper.

It was two months ago that Momma passed away and I've been weaving around the idea of Thanksgiving ever since. I've stayed so busy and tried everything to dodge what is one of my favorite rituals each year. Well today I could no longer pretend it wasn't happening, and I opened up my recipe box. I flipped to the dessert section and ran my fingers along the only pale blue index cards out of the off-white rectangular bunch. I selected two cards, my mother's pumpkin paradise pie and pecan pie. And there was her handwriting. The shaky curves, the underlined emphasis on certain parts where she wanted me to pay close attention, and even the hearts that ended her exclamation points (yes, she used exclamation points in her recipes). What was not so obvious on those cards, but yet clearly there, is the fact that I will never again make these pies with her. Never again share them with her. Never again have her laugh at the time I put the pecan filling into the mixer and ended up with one runny pecan pie that year. And the lonely feeling that I had so dreaded surrounded me.

And almost instantly, the boys rush into the kitchen and Graham wants to help me with the pies. There is no time for sadness when you're teaching your little guy the art of pie. Through tear-drenched eyes, we mix and beat and roll. And we ended up with some pretty good-lookin' pies if I do say so myself. As empty as I feel, having her recipes fill the table tomorrow helps me. In fact, all of the people I love who won't be at my table still will be in some fashion...Teresa's corn casserole, Marie's mandarin orange salad, Dawn's sweet potatoes, Nannie's dressing, Brad's peppers...and Momma's pies. I'm thankful for the pieces of all of them that I will forever have with me. Happy Thanksgiving from the Jones family.

Bittersweet

I told myself that I wouldn't write anything again until I could write something positive. I have so much to be happy about that it should be pouring out of every vessel of self expression. However, I just haven't felt like putting on my happy pants. I finally realized that I can get close though...

I just got back from an *a-ma-zing* women's retreat. I listened to the fabulous Shauna Neiquist speak, encourage, read and lead. I'm currently tearing through her book, Bittersweet, which is largely about being thankful, open, strong, determined and growing during times of suffering. Obviously she wrote this book for me, although she forgot to dedicate it to me. We can all read between the lines, though. Well the word bittersweet won't leave me alone. I'm seeing it everywhere. Bittersweet. Bitter. Sweet. Bittersweet. Why do oxymorons such as this even exist? Why do they have to go together? Dare I even ask?

Bitter is harsh, sharp, disagreeable, unpleasant. I'd like to do without that, please. Sweet, however, sure. I like sweet's unelaborate definition: not bitter. Oh, well that sounds wonderful. Why must we mix them? The answer is simple...so that we truly appreciate what is sweet. We often forget that. Or at least I do. I get it, but I forget it. Maybe it's just that I flat out ignore it. All worthwhile experiences in my life are bittersweet. Marriage is love, companionship, holding hands, feeling giddy, waking up with your soulmate. Marriage is also him leaving his shoes right there, watching Pawn Stars, and compromising when you clearly know you are always the right one. A little bittersweet I'd say. Motherhood is sweet kisses, hearing 'Mommy', seeing your eyes in another person. It is also losing sleep, runny noses, stepping on Matchbox cars, and being thrown up on or just having something thrown at you. Definitely bittersweet. Death is loss, pain, emptiness, stinging reality, finality. It also means that if you feel that, you felt love. What is more bittersweet than that? If you can see through the veil that is pain that the bitter brings for just a moment, the sweet is oh-so-wonderful. It's not just chocolate cake. It's chocolate cake that you made with your own hands and baked to perfection. The best kind.

I've decided that life is like the coffee I drink each morning. Straight up it is not at all comforting. It's disgusting. With too much creamer, I don't likely pick it up again; it's just not that enjoyable. When I find the perfect mix...the bitter coffee sweetened just enough....well that's what makes me get out of bed. I just have to trust that each day will have the due balance of each. When the day seems a little too much, I will reach out. Bittersweet. Thanks for reminding me of this, Shauna.

Fall-ing

So much of what makes me happy is wrapped up in the word "fall". I love the crisp, cool air in the mornings. I love the baking, the changing leaves, setting up decorations, and picking out sweaters. I spend three other seasons of the year patiently waiting for this one. There is this slow dwindling of daylight outside of my window each night now and I can see my trees swaying gently. Everyone I know is buzzing about the fact that it is actually going to be jacket weather this weekend. Fall is definitely here.

Right now, my life is definitely wrapped up in fall, but one of a different sort. The kind of fall that doesn't bring comfort. The kind of fall with bitter cold and stinging reality. The fall with sorrow attached. This one, too, brings change, but it is of course unwanted. My phone rang with the label "Mom" again today. For a brief second my heart leaped, but it was reminded of the truth and fell. When I try to understand why or grasp on to something, I can't...I just fall. The term 'falling' refers to a sensation. The term 'sensation' refers to a feeling. A 'feeling' is an awareness. If you are aware, informed, knowledgeable, you should be able to move up, not down. It just isn't so right now.

When my little guy, Graham, sees me crying, he tells me not to because Nana is still at the "little white house". In his reality, there's no need to be upset when you haven't lost anything. His reference to the funeral home may be inaccurate, but he is once again correct that you can't lose what's in your heart. This weekend, for the cooler weather, I plan on making my mom's caramel pecan cinnamon rolls with my sister. My mother made them every autumn. I vividly remember the morning I was in seventh grade and my mom woke us up to tell us there was a fall coolness in the air and she had made us the caramel pecan cinnamon rolls to celebrate it. Of course, they take a couple of hours to make so she had been up quite a while. That's in my heart along with so much more, so even though I'm falling, I know I can see the season through.

The New Normal

My house is clean. The kiddos have fresh laundry picked out. Our mail is out of the mailbox. There are a hundred other things that I accomplished this week that would be classified as normal. I know that's a good thing, but it feels so foreign to me right now. You see, right now I'm in a room with no lights on; I know they're out but I can't convince everyone else of it. The world around me is continuing and I'm trying to tell them that's impossible, but they just won't listen. Instead, they tell me my mother has been buried for over a week now. They tell me that life is moving on and I'm being strong and that it will all be better soon. I cover my ears because I know that's not true.

I miss my mother for so many reasons. I think about how there is no one else left in the whole earth that can recall the day I was born. No one knows about my first hair cut. No one can tell me if I was three or if I was four that Christmas on the way to church, I fell down on the ice, scrapped my knee and ripped my pretty white tights. The one who knew those stories is gone. I desperately want to be seven again. I want to sit under the tree in my Nannie's front yard and hear her tell me that she loves to hear me make up little songs like Momma used to. I was in such a hurry to grow up and move on, but I wish there were a few pieces I could have back. I laugh to think that I would ever want to return. Even though it will never make sense to most of the people in my life currently, I have a bunch of unresolved scars from my childhood. I have hurts that I never quite learned how to box up. Sometimes the house that built you is full of cracks, but it's still yours.

God told us in Luke 12 that he knows the hairs numbered on our heads. Isn't that an amazing thought? That in the millions of people who pass you by, know nothing of you, there is still one who knows your heart and mind. I pray now that he searches my heart and knows my anxious thoughts like in Psalm 139 and carries me through. If you've spent much time with me, you know I've always struggled with giving it to God. I never meant to, but if you've never had much control, it's hard to throw your hands up and tell him to take it. My whole life must have been a dress rehearsal for trusting God because right now there is no question of whether or not I can. I can only put one foot in front of the other because he's carrying me. Even though my eyes are shut tight, wanting to pretend it will all go away, I can see because Christ is my light.

My new normal is anything but. It's not at all what I want or what I asked for. And I know one day it will be...that's just hard to grasp right now. Luckily, God doesn't ask us to have it all figured out. He just tells in Proverbs 3:5 to trust him with all our heart and lean not on our own understanding. For today, that's the only thing that feels normal.

Take good care of my baby...

Another blessing has been sent to the Jones' house. I been sending the Lord my deepest hopes for THE best teacher for Mr. Graham. The kid's only 3 but, man, I tell ya, when it's your baby everything is major. Once I found out that he actually has THE best teacher, it was as if I just found out that he made the varsity football team. He's in. In that room. THE one! With THE teacher! And I have how many years left of wondering if he'll get THE right teacher for him?? And Oliver, too? I'd better have one of those "Lord, it's me again..." conversations tonight....

This all made me think about the kiddos in my own classroom, and God's part in sending me my students each year. This is my 8th class. Times that by over 20 students each year, and you end up with a pretty big bunch of kiddos....kiddos with parents that trusted that I would love, protect, encourage, and of course, teach their children. And then when you start breaking down all of the fine little details of teaching (challenging, motivating, promoting, designing, etc) I really start to realize that I probably owe a lot of parents apologies and I should go ahead and start thanking every teacher that *may* even come in contact with my children.

To any teachers that will shape my sons' lives, make them feel important, help them look at something new, want them to embrace their faults and learn from them, and love on them for who they are, thank you in advance for taking care of my babies. And to THE teacher who will do that for Mr. Graham this year, I already appreciate you more than you know.

The gift of walking

My little Oliver started walking this week. For whatever reason, seeing your baby walk is not classified as a wonder of the world, but it should be. Nothing makes you happier, yet sobbing like a lunatic quite like those first steps.

Well this morning I was doing my Bible study and Oliver was practicing his newly discovered talent. I usually do my Bible time when the kiddos are not awake so that I avoid adult ADD, but it didn't work out that way today. I was reading and he was walking. Let me rephrase that. He was walking and I was trying to read.  Needless to say I was getting a little distracted. He's just so cute. His chubby little legs take a few steps, his legs wobble, he tries to balance. You can tell he's timid about the whole thing, yet excited at the same time. And when he falls, he laughs and gets up and does it again. So innocent and so adorable.

Well God took me right where I was today. I've been reading about Barnabas and Paul in Acts. Until a couple of weeks ago, I'm not sure I knew who Barnabas really was, despite 28 years in church. However, he's my new fascination. He was an encourager, and in a lot of ways more of a behind the scenes kind of guy. Yet God used him in so many ways. It's so easy to focus on the smallness of our lives...things we don't even think of as monumental at all...washing dishes, folding the laundry...walking. However, by accepting where we are, giving thanks for these small, minute details, praising God for the gifts we have instead of waiting for something bigger to come, we glorify Him. It's easy to look at the person sitting beside you and compare their walk of life to your own wobbly advances. You think, wow, God's got something big in store for them. Their steps are important, but mine aren't, so I will just stay still. I know I personally have wondered how God would ever use me and my little life. Well the answer is right in front of me; He already is using me. I don't know His plan, but when I just open up myself up to Him, walk in faith with Him, I will see what He has in store for me. And I will be happy right where I am. It's just like Oliver's little steps this morning. You trust God's plan...take a few steps. Your legs wobble...you keep trusting and keep going. And when you fall on your butt, laugh, and view it as a gift to be able to start over again. You don't sit there upset that you're just learning to walk and others are running. You just keep at it, happy for the moment and the opportunity. And even if these little steps mean nothing to the big, giant world (they may never even know it!), it does impact those around you, and that alone is enough for me.

Pride and Prejudice...and I don't mean the book or movie

This summer I had the opportunity to be part of THE best Bible study. I read A Modern Girls' Guide to Bible Study by Jen Hatmaker. If you've never heard of Jen, she is worth googling, for sure! If you've never heard of this book, it is worth reading, for sure! This helped me find joy in the Word that I'd been missing for a long time. Even though I've been finished with the book for awhile now, its techniques have continued to help me approach the Bible with fresh eyes and more importantly, fresh ears.

Well, you can't expect to delve into the Word and not end up learning about yourself. When you start listening to the Holy Spirit, you're going to catch an earful. I've recently been reading Acts and the theme of encouraging others. There is also a mini-theme, if you will, of prejudice. Now this is often a word I quickly put into two categories...1. I'm not prejudiced; I would never judge someone on their skin color, religion, etc.,  and 2. how sad that some people are. So there. I wrapped that concept up neatly and tied it with a "I'm not guilty" bow. Oh, but not so fast. Delve deeper. When you break it down, prejudice is just labeling and categorizing others. Oh. Well, I do that. I don't readily admit to it, but I do that. A lot of us do if we're being honest. This is that part of Bible study where my eyes start looking from side to side and my head and shoulders go down a little...you know the spotlight is on and you can't run from it. It's scary, but if you allow yourself to face it, you end up with one of the best feelings ever. So, I face it. Am I prejudice? Again, not glaringly so. I don't judge on your race, your religion (the two big ones that people think of when they hear prejudice). However, I'm most comfortable with people who act just like me. I usually put some sort of label on it like "it's because we share the same interests". It's just because it's easy. Being around people who act like me is nice...there's not much work to accept that because I've already accepted it in myself! I just push away anyone who would require some work of acceptance. If your personality is aggressive-tell-it-like-it-is, I label you as mean and wash my hands of you. If you're meek and never speak, I categorize you as not like me and just walk the other way. Instead, I need to accept we may have some differences, but it isn't something to be scared of...it's something to embrace.

No matter the situation, I am a person that walks with the figurative arm stretched out in front of me (please don't come any closer than that).  Like half of the world, I have some trust issues. When you think about trust it is really synonymous with hope and faith. Well God gives that to me, so who am I to not return it? It's time for me to allow myself to place some faith and hope in others...get closer to those who God put in my life. If I get bruised a little, God will be there to help me through. I'm going to put the guard down and focus on letting others get closer, regardless of whether we are personality twins or polar opposites. We can't be more like Christ with conditions, so I'm letting mine go.