Et Tu Beth Oliver

Oh the horror of it all! It started as a simple day of shopping planned over a month ago between good friends. Getting out early and attacking Tanger Outlets with a defense that couldn’t lose! We planned the attack early, beginning with a buffet breakfast at Golden Corral at Tanger so we wouldn’t miss a precious minute. Then IT happened.

Beth paid for her breakfast first and moved on. It was my turn. To my surprise, the cashier looked right into my eyes and blurted “Are you 60?” I answered that I would not be 60 for another 5 weeks and I was momentarily stunned, hearing a strange sound coming from my right. It was Beth Judas Iscariot Oliver just giggling away. Oh no, I thought, Beth will not get away with that!! I must do something….I must have some revenge. I looked at the cashier and pointed to Beth and stated boldly “you didn’t ask HER that!” Aha, I had turned the tables now, but much to my surprise, the cashier said “Well, SHE doesn’t look 60” As the knife pierced more deeply into my heart, there stood Beth, the Brutus to my Caesar, having a huge hoot over my quickly deteriorating circumstances! I let the cashier know that I was deeply annoyed at the fact that she even had to ask me. Why just that morning as I did my makeup and got ready I looked into my mirror and thought “hey girl, you look pretty good”. I guess I now know why I wear glasses….

We found a table and I pondered my predicament. What is a girl to do??? What is a girl to do… What is a girl to do!!!! The answer came quickly and decisively!!! EAT and SHOP!!! That was the only thing that could heal my anxiety and the realization that somehow, others knew that horrible fact about me…that I was actually aging….and apparently not as graciously as I thought! YES, that was the answer!! We moved swiftly with calculated patterns and my hand swiped that American Express card with a speed that would even amaze David Copperfield . My forgiveness to Beth came quickly as she understood my immediate desires and became a wonderful cheerleader with “yes, you need that” pouring over and over from her lips. And, not only that, she showed such compassion that she too in a moment of female camaraderie pulled out her card and began swiping away with an understanding look on her face that said “I feel your pain”!!! We triumphed with a trunk full of treasures for others as well as a few things for ourselves (of course, a girl has to have something for herself!). We left Tanger as conquering heroes knowing that one day we would be back and respected for the authority we had shown over those stores!!

I was feeling better about it all, at least until Sunday afternoon, when my darling husband got into the act… I told him of the traumatic episode of the day before, knowing that he would be there with a loving comfort that only he could have. However, another betrayal, another stake to the heart as he pointed out a grey streak in my hair going from my temple to my ear on one side. I must now preface this by saying that several years ago, he walked up behind me as I sat in a chair, looked down and commented that he never realized I had so much grey hair. At that time I shot him a look that would have turned any mortal man into a pillar of salt. But not him, I needed him to live. I needed him to work to indulge the madness that overcomes me when I walk into a Kohl’s Store!! He said that he knew I didn’t like him to make comments about my hair but felt that I should know this and that might be the answer to why the cashier asked me about my age the day before!! I looked at him again, eyes blazing, and then thought to myself “I have already gotten my revenge the day before”. Hey honey, remember when you thought about retirement?? Well after yesterday, put it right out of your mind!!! Ha!!

Later that night Tony went to work and I attended my weekly group gathering of good friends where I knew I would find comfort and understanding…..yeah….right!!!! THAT didn’t happen. Oh well, I suppose I have to face the fact that I am in fact getting older. Did I lose sleep over this????? Of course I did because I had to wake up the next morning at 5:00 a.m. in order to color my hair before going to work. This is my story. Age creeps up on you fast…….one minute you’re dancing to American Bandstand and the next you’re waiting with anticipation for Lawrence Welk!!! Be careful my friends….this WILL happen to you!!!! Always keep an extra bottle of Nice & Easy on hand. You will need it!!

By the way, I have totally forgiven Beth and Tony for their transgressions against me, after all, I might need them to change my diapers someday soon……

The Help..

Tony and I went to the movies last night to see "The Help". The movie was taken from a novel set in the 1960's in Jackson, Mississippi by the the same name. It was the story of several courageous women who braved going outside the law in order to tell the true story of black women who had spent their lives taking care of prominent southern families.

Having been born and raised in New York, I spent those years in integrated neighborhoods, having friends of all colors and backgrounds. We lived next door to the Flanagans who were a black family on one side and the Ross family who were Jewish on the other. We never hesitated to eat or visit together and remained friends long after we moved away. In fact, I went back numerous times for weekend visits with the Flanagans where I would watch Mama Mable in the kitchen while I played till bedtime with Sissy, my best friend.

I had heard of the prejudices in the south but never came face to face with them until I married my first husband. He was in the Navy and was being sent overseas two weeks after our wedding. I moved to Charleston to live with his parents. It was more than a culture shock to say the least. On my first trip to the commissary to do food shopping with my mother-in-law an old black man was bagging our groceries. I engaged him in a conversation asking about his day. I thought he was just being shy in the way he hung his head when answering my few questions. When we got in the car, my mother-in-law lit into me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not in the north any longer, and I was not to speak to "colored" people who were there to serve us. This was 1971. This woman, although born and raised in South Carolina, had lived in New York for 8 years. What had I gotten myself into? Did I go through a time warp? I found that her attitude was one shared by many (even to this day) although few will admit it. I don't sit and judge them because this scenario was one of normalcy to them just as my tolerant background was one of normalcy to me. Since that time and through various circumstances, I found myself in a profession that took me throughout the south, including Jackson, Mississippi, serving diabetic footwear needs to thousands of elderly black women (and men).

As I sat this morning during my devotional time I could not get this movie out of my mind. I couldn't help but shed a few tears when I realized that many, if not most, of those wonderful, beautiful black feet that I touched had experienced the degradation and humiliation depicted in The Help. But the movie was a testament to the strength of these brave women and their ancestors who lived lives of servitude. I know that God did not mean this kind of servitude to fellow man!

I sat thanking God that he had placed me in a position where all of these people needed me and how grateful I was to be of service to them. Then I had an epiphany!! They didn't need me. I needed them! They taught me through their stories and their hardships who I was. More importantly, they taught me about who God is.

I thank each and every one of them.

My Father

My father is amazing. Always has been. Sometimes we grow up not understanding the things that our father sacrificed for us to give us a better life. We think that he doesn't know what we need as much as we do. We rebel, we fight and we take way more than we give. Sometimes I remember Fred Sanford's line to his son Lamont "I brought you into this world and I can take you out!!". I guess that is actually true when you think about it.

I remember that although my dad was a stern taskmaster, with eyes in the back of his head which saw everything I did, he never made me do anything that was harmful to me or did not make me stronger as a person. Although he had other responsibilities, he always was there for me to teach me, guide me and discipline me when I needed it (which was more times than I care to count). Yet, his arms are always open to catch me when I fall, hold me when I am in pain or grieving a loss or to give me hugs and pats on the back when deserved. What a guy!

When we lost Diana, Bonny, Craig, Mom, Patti, Matt, Joey and other family members, as well as many friends, that is when my father really stepped up and got us all through it. None of us would have made it without his support and loving, caring nature, knowing what each of us needed and expressing it like nobody else could to help us carry on. And, there was nobody as excited and full of joy as he was during the birth of any child or cheering at any seemingly small accomplishment any of us would have. I guess that is what a dad is for. My father has done his job admirably and still does. He gives me a sense of belonging, a sense of security, a sense of safety and most of all, a sense of love and reminding me day after day whose I am.

You should meet him. He will change your life. You see, my earthly dad died when I was 5 years old, yet I have NEVER felt "fatherless". My father has always been there to meet my needs and I know He will always be there for me. My Father is actually "our" father. In fact, He is "Our Father who art in Heaven". He is there for you too.

Thanks daddy for ALWAYS being there.

One Nation Under God

We are in discussions at our church regarding the placement of the American Flag. It now stands outside the door to the sanctuary, however, it has been suggested that it be moved into the sanctuary.

This has sparked much conversation among our church members, and my family and friends. This is a good thing in that the fundamental right to free speech is represented by our flag. I love our flag. It represents all that is right with our country as well as the right to express our opinions when we feel there are things wrong with the direction of our country. It represents the diversity of a country whose people have come from lands around the globe to find a home where freedom is not just a word, but a way of life. It is a beautiful reflection and reminder that our freedom has come at a cost, a high cost to those who miss or mourn those who so valiantly have fought for it. But where, in a church setting, does it belong?

The flag represents our freedom to worship in whatever form that takes. Whether Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddist or any other religion, our flag guarantees us that we are free to honor and glorify our God. To have it outside the door to the sanctuary, guarding that freedom, I feel is the appropriate place. It guards all that is sacred and holy to us encompassed within the inner sanctum of our santuary.

Once we walk through the doors of the sanctuary, we are one family, one without regard to race, color, nationality, or any other title except Children of God. We get to celebrate a family holiday each and every Sunday. How wonderful is that!!! We are united in praise, worship and feast at the table of the Lord without regard for any outside manmade forces which tend to divide us.

As amazing as our flag is, and all the freedoms it affords, it also represents divisive wars, legislation that sometimes is opposite of our beliefs, laws that surpress the rights of minority groups and a vast array of things that come along with a free country. But that is the beauty of our country. We have a right to choose those who represent us and share our indivdual views. That being said, the democracy which we live in is second to none and I thank God every day that I was born an American.

But when I walk into the sanctuary, I belong to a completely different group. I walk into a group that is worldwide and open to all regardless of where you were born or to what social class, etc., you might belong to. We are not only "one nation under God", we are one WORLD under God. So, yes, please use the Flag to guard our freedom of religion outside the sanctuary door, but the only banner we should be flying once we enter the sanctuary is the banner written across our hearts as children of God.

As Dennis Miller would say, "this is just my opinion, I could be wrong....."

My Prodigal Son

I haven't written for quite awhile, but unless I am moved there is no sense in it.

I was thinking about the journey that my son Josh and I have made together the past 34 years of his life. We've been through so many transitions, disappointments, joys and sorrows together that we can read each other well.

I was a single mother for much of his life and so we have always been closer than most out of necessity. We overcame so many obstacles it seemed like it was always us against the world. I made the mistake of including him in most of my thought processes through my own trials and tribulations, rather than shielding him from my own misgivings. I should have let him be a child for longer than I did. For that I am sorry. He had to grow up faster than he should have.

When I moved back to South Carolina to marry Tony, he stayed behind in Port St Lucie for a while which was hard. He moved here for a little while, but then went on his way to Oregon for four long years. I thought I would crumble into nothingness. The year before he was born, I lost his sister as an infant on July 4th, the only day of her life I dared to be away from her. As a divorced mom, when Josh would go to visit his dad by airplane or car, I would have to run into the closest bathroom and was physically ill. The separation anxiety was overwhelming and although I can now leave him easier without the bouts of nausea, it still affects me.

Josh has grown to be an amazing, talented, respectful and wonderful man, certainly not because of me but in spite of me and I am so proud of him.

I have come to the realization that God always knows what he is doing and that Josh needed to be away from me for those four years to grow into who he is mentally, physically and spiritually. I am so blessed to have this opportunity in my life to be his mother. I can see day by day that the tides are turning and I am in a position to learn so much from him. I know that parents always want more for their children than they want for themselves, and I want that for him. I am lucky that he is a son who is not ashamed to let people know how close we are and I know that he respects my opinion whether he agrees with me or not.

He relocated to the east coast this past spring, and now I can get to him in a matter of hours if need be and soon Tony and I will be relocating to be even closer. Unlike the prodigal son of the bible, who lost himself in the real world until he realized where his true home was, Josh had to go into the real world to find himself realizing where his true home is.

Hurting Beyond Words

I sit this morning after watching the Hope for Haiti Telethon last night. The images shown along with the heartfelt plea of faces we seem to have come to trust were overwhelming. Although I am hopeful that this venue will raise a substantial sum of money, and I applaud all who gave, I am still perplexed why some of us felt we needed to wait to be "entertained" before picking up a phone or shopping for relief supplies.

When I try to put into perspective what this devastated country is facing, I picture four football stadiums filled with fans, all of which are lying dead on the field. This is the horror facing those left behind. And, although I know that those who lost their lives are now living another without the pain and hunger of those left behind, I hurt for those whose entire families have vanished from this earth. Can you imagine in one instant looking around you and your entire family is gone. The feeling of abandonment and fear, especially in the children is too much to bear. I feel like an Old Testament soul every time I think about it, which is in most waking moments. I want to tear my clothes and cry out in anguish. No matter what I do or how I try to help I feel it will not be enough. But I also know that God will take it and multiply it using it where it is needed the most.

For those who don't think their $10 is significant enough to bother texting the word "Give" to 50555, or finding another way to give, remember this. $10 is enough to buy antibiotics for two people, a necessity that can save their lives. Imagine, someone dying for lack of a $5 drug. These are our brothers and sisters all created by the same Maker. As the song says "we are the world". This just did not happen to someone else, this has happened to OUR family of man. We need to remind the people of Haiti that God still loves them and will never abandon them and we still love them and will not abandon them either.

Please find a way to honor God by loving our neighbors as ourselves. Clasp your hands in prayer for Haiti and then open them wide with whatever you can to help them rise again.

THANKSGIVING

Thanksgiving...what a concept. One day a year where we sit and eat turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and all those things that go along with it. We see some family members that we haven't seen for a while and catch up on each other's lives. Why is that? Why is it more important in November to make contact than in March or August? If we are thankful in November, what are we the rest of the year? It seems to me that each day we wake up and have the opportunity to make a difference to those around us should be "thanksgiving" day. We should celebrate each other and God's bounty more often than once a year, don't you think?

Thanksgiving tends to make me feel a little guilty, and although Tony and I do support charities that provide Thanksgiving dinner, I can't help but think about those who will have no dinner, no family and most importantly, feel they have no hope. I recall an older couple who several years ago told me that they would be boiling neck bones and eating collards for Thanksgiving, yet, she had made me a sweet potato pie to take home. The pie was less than 1 inch thick, but nonetheless was what she had to offer in thanks for her diabetic shoes. Anyone who knows me knows that they indeed did have a turkey dinner that year.

We have opportunities each and every day to make someone's life a little easier. Those of us who are blessed enough to be on the giving end and not the receiving end of financial assistance or material necessities should be thankful every day because there is no certainty that those tables will not turn one day. But remember this...by giving you are receiving as much a blessing as those you give to and even more.

So, this Thanksgiving Day, give thanks to the God who gives and takes away. Give thanks that you have your family, enough to eat, clean water and a clean bed upon which to rest your head. Most of all, remember that EVERY day of your life should be Thanksgiving Day. Let's try to see each other more, care for each other more, love each other more and help each other more.