The Wednesday Pop - vol. 8 . . . it's about a bench

It's good to be back with The Wednesday Pop!

I want to tell you about a bench . . . not just any bench, but a bench that sits outside of a house in Atlanta.  It's at a bus stop, actually.  It's a bus stop bench, and it gets used over and over again each day.

The folks who sit on that bench, as they wait for the bus before their long days or after them, have no idea why the bench is there.  They just know that it provides a respite in a sometimes cold world and that it is there for the sitting.

I love the story of the bench.  It tells a grand story of why my Dad is so special.

Before I tell you all about the bench, you must know that I am blessed with an amazing father-in-law, too.  No one is more fortunate than me in the in law department.   My father-in-law, Grandaddy, is (among many other things) a very talented woodworker.  Some time I'll tell you about the fun we have in his barn and about some of the magic he has created with wood.  He's not just genius at wood-working, but he's also generous.  Fine crafted wood pieces, made by him, are all over the place; gifts of him to many family members and friends and friends of friends.  He has made many folks happy with his sweet gifts.

My family is no exception.  They have many times been the recipients of Grandaddy's wooden treasures, and his handiwork graces their porches and backyards.

A few years ago, my Dad (Pop) made a request.  He isn't quick to ask for things, so I took notice.  He asked Grandaddy if he would build a bench that he could put in front of his house at the bus stop.  Of course, Grandaddy obliged and the dark brown bench was constructed.  My interest was piqued.

Dad got the bench and made plans to secure it with cement on the other side of the sidewalk in front of his house.  (I must admit that one of the parts of this story I like best is that he didn't ask if it was okay - so uncharacteristic of him!)  He marched to the street side, armed with his new bench and a bag of Quickcrete and set about attaching the sidewalk and the bench to each other for eternity.  Done.

A zillion souls pass that bench every day, and I imagine that they never wonder about the bench.  Many people sit on the bench each day.  They might be walking along and perch there for a short rest or they might be anxiously waiting for a ride to the next part of their day.  Either way, the bench is part of their day.  The bench is there to help.  The bench is always there, always waiting quietly to hold them up when the way gets hard.

When I see the bench, I marvel at what a perfect symbol it is of my Dad.  It illustrates how he works.  He saw a need.  He figured out a way he could help.  He made it work.  He made sure that the help would be there, always, whenever someone (anyone) needed it.  He quietly went about making a difference without anyone knowing it was done.  That's how he works.

The bench is there, as I write this.  I wonder who sits upon it now.  I wonder what their day is like or what they are worried about or if they have smiled much today.  I don't know any of that.

I do know that the gift of that bench is constant and that it represents the love of two quiet men, who silently go about making their world a better place.

The lesson from Bear's bank . . .

At Christmas, Bear (my eight year old son) received one of those money jar bank thingies that tallies your coin total as you add each piece of change.  He loved it immediately!  He loves the size - it's bigger than many I've seen - and he digs watching his grand total go up and up, as he scavenges our home, pocket, car and seat cushions for spare coins.  He has become quite adept at expert coin recovery.

His excitement is palpable.  We have all become his little assistants; all of us quick to dash over to him with found coins.  The spare change from pockets that once spent a night or two in a little pile on the counter, no longer stops there.  The coins go into his bank - period.

And now we all find ourselves thinking, "I'll give this little pile of coins to Bear" or "You can just give the spare change to him."  His eagerness has even manifested in gifts of coin bags from afar - my father often comes in and hands him a heavy zip-loc, full of coins.  His zest for the savings project has made us all part of the team!

Bear's bank has had me thinking.  I've had a bit of a 'If you build it, they will come' kind of eye-opening.  A few days ago, as I reached for a pile of change, thinking I'd give them to the coin jar project, I thought about how easily and effectively his whole plan was working.  I began to consider how and why Bear got us so eager to help.  It got me wondering how his set-up has worked out.

He is authentically excited about what he is doing.  He let us all know what he wanted.  We know it is good for him to fill his jar and get the money into his savings account over at the bank.  He has made it easy for us to help and he is thankful when we do.  He didn't beg us for the money, but we got caught up in his excitement.

Bear's bank is a good analogy for me.  It's a picture I can hold in my mind for wishes and dreams.  I can think about his little, plastic counting bank and remember that it is okay to ask for help - that it makes sense to share big projects with those around me.  The bank is helping me remember to set things up so that success is fun and measurable, little by little.  I like watching my son and his fun project.  It makes me hopeful about dreams to come.  

I'll take 'learn some manners' for 100, Alex . . .

THIS IS A WARNING.  I AM ABOUT TO RANT.  PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT RANTING IS FORTHCOMING.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Sunday was Mother's Day, a special day.  Many of us had warm experiences, surrounded by loved ones.  We are fortunate, to be sure.  I had a wonderful day.

My kids and I surprised my grandmother (their great grandmother) by showing up at her church just before the service began.  Working to get everyone ready and make our way an hour away was certainly worth it.  When I saw the look on my grandmother's face, it was clear that her Mother's Day had been made!  We were joined by my Dad, my Step-mom and my uncle, and we filled the pew where my grandmother usually sits alone.  It was a special moment.

Our afternoon went along as you might imagine . . . a big dinner, put together with love, more relatives and the following few hours filled with talks and laughs and 'shows' by the children and stories about 'the old days.'  It was the type of afternoon we don't have much anymore; a time I won't forget.  I reveled in the visiting time with the family that filled the oft-quiet living room, and I treasure the giggles on my childrens' faces as they laughed with the family members who used to make me laugh as a child.

My kids presented (they don't give gifts - they present them) our home-made gifts to the delighted Mamas in the room, and we missed the ones that were not with us.  Everyone kicked off shoes, got comfortable and savored our time together.  There were all of the ingredients to the perfect family afternoon.  It was rainy and gray outside, but cozy and satisfying in our circle in my grandmother's den.  We were all happy to give up the Sunday afternoon nap to experience the rare time together.

I loaded our left-overs and my children into our van to leave, and they quieted themselves into car activities for the rainy ride home.  I was left in the front seat with memories and thoughts and thankfulness.  I remembered a lot on the drive home.  I thought back about similar days I lived in my childhood, other times I relished in the love and closeness of family.

I thought about why the day seemed so different than so many days of the present . . . and then it hit me.

To be sure, the day was different because our group doesn't get to assemble often, and we rarely take the time to really visit with each other.  We rarely remember to stop our present to make new memories, to allow our children the safe feeling of sitting amongst a group of loved ones, listening to the stories and the memories and the funny tales.  We rarely do that, but that wasn't what made it different.  That wasn't what made me take such notice.

As I drove home on that rainy Sunday, I realized the present day menace that was missing from the day.  I realized the palm-sized communication tool which was not present.  I realized one more BIG reason that the day was different.

Our warm celebration was different because there was not a cell phone present.  Not one time during our afternoon visit did anyone take their attention away from the important people in the room to give attention to their phone.  No one checked their email.  No one looked down to answer a text.  No one absent-mindedly played a game.  No hand slipped into a pocket to grab their black security blanket.  No one.

Can you believe it?  I am struck by the huge difference that made in our day.  Our attention was actually in the room, on the people with whom we celebrated.  We were really talking to the people in the room with us.  We were a circle of adults and children without anyone sneaking a glance into a lap to attend to someone, something far away.  Nothing was more important than where we were, what we were doing.  Our emails waited.   I missed a text.  Our kids didn't play any games.

We looked at each other.  We laughed.  We snuggled.  We hugged.  We told stories.  We listened to each other.  We were there, in the room.

And that, I realized on the drive back home to the present, was a huge difference in our day.

I don't presume to suggest that I don't count on my phone.  I do.  I check my email over and over during the day.  I text many times.  I end my night, on my phone, playing word games with friends I don't even see!  I take my phone everywhere.  It is my watch, my computer, my calendar.  I'm guilty of looking at it when I shouldn't.  I have snuck it out of my pocket during boring meetings - I have.

But I'm sad, friends, about what we've allowed to happen with these new 'necessities.'  We forgot our manners; we don't remember how to be polite.  More important than that, though, we are missing the people in our presence.

I don't like it.

Sunday I had a taste of what life used to be like, and I remembered how good it felt.

Think back.  It was nice.  Imagine sitting with friends or family and having them there, in the conversation.  Imagine being with people who are actually there with you, looking into your eyes and not sneaking glances downward at their phone.

I'll stop here.  I won't go on and on.  I won't rattle off the stories about the impoliteness (at the very least) that I've witnessed in the last few years.  I want to, but I won't.

But I know one thing - I want to show my children something different.  I want them to be in the midst of adults who see them, who look into their eyes and who do not divert attention to someone more important in another town.  Who is more important?  Why can't it wait?

Sunday was special.  I want more of it.  I want you to get some, too.

I want my kids to have memories like mine.  I don't want them to remember looking at the top of or heads as we look at our phones.





And now, we have a winner to announce!  Yesterday's photo tripped up a lot of folks.  I'm impressed with your guesses!

This was the mystery photo . . .

And this is what it was . . . 

We only had four correct guesses!  Thanks for playing, friends.  The winner, drawn at random from random.org, is Rodrick B.  Way to go!  Let me know when you all are ready for your photo session on me!  

Stillness . . .

Sometimes things get crazy.  Well, most of the time things are crazy.  I thought maybe today was a good day for the gift of stillness.  This is the best illustration I have to offer . . . my best shot of stillness.

This photo helps me find center and take a moment to breathe and slow down.  I hope it will do that for you, too.

I can transport myself back to this moment easily - can remember it well.  This photo was sort of my own little bitty miracle to witness all by myself.  We were at a fun spot in North Carolina, and by day this lake is busy and bustling with the laughter and splashes of people of literally all ages.  This is a family retreat spot, a place that has seen decades upon decades of multi-generational groups and place where three year old swimmers laugh and splash with their eighty three year old uncles.  It's a magical spot.

The magic of this moment, though, was that I came upon the lake just after the last of the lifeguards had tidied up and left the dock, just after the last straggling family had gathered their towels and such and headed up the hill.  There was almost a  deafening quiet.  I liked it.  I stayed around for just a few moments, listening and watching.  Slowly, I began to hear the birds, the waterfowl whose calls had been muted by the happy yelps of swimming kids.  I began to notice the turtles on the old logs popping their heads back up and returning to their sunning spots.  I watched the water, lazily lapping up onto the rowboats and canoes, felt the gentle breeze and enjoyed my time there.  I could hear the occasional yell from up the hill, as folks hurried for dinner.  I could hear a laugh or bits of a far away conversation and then soon . . . I noticed could hear nothing but the lake sounds.  I could only hear the birds or the slight splash of a tiny fish.  It was wondrously quiet.  It was.

And then I noticed this.  I noticed that as far as my eyes could see, there was absolutely no movement atop the water.  There were no ripples.  There were no splashes.  Nothing was blowing.  Everything was quiet, resting, being still.  I remember vowing at that moment that I wouldn't forget this special scene, that I wouldn't forget how it felt - how it felt when I witnessed this awesome quiet, this awesome stillness.  It was my own little silent miracle and I loved it.

I wasn't sure I could take a photograph that would accurately describe the moment, but I snapped a few in hopes.  And then I found a weathered rocking chair at the base of the deck and I just sat.  I sat.  I listened.  I watched.

And, happily, I can look at the photo above and transport myself back there.  I wish I could go there now.  Wish I could have a tiny taste of that moment in each day.  For now, I'll take the photo.  Hope it helps you, too.  Enjoy this little gift of stillness in the craziness that is our days.  Enjoy.

2 gifts to begin Lent 2012

As a follow up to yesterday's post, I present the photo above . . . it was Fat Tuesday and we did our part with a party.  There was merriment and mayhem and a ton of happy, dirty, crazy boys to help us blow it out.  If there is any sugar left within a one acre circle of my home, I can't imagine it.  Much was eaten, much enjoyed.  Pancakes were downed, pancakes were flipped in a race and things were done with silly string and canned whipped cream that might make you a bit queasy just to read.  Suffice it to say, it was a celebration.

Now, we get the gift of Lent.  The gift I appreciate, the one that keeps coming back every year, right on time, allowing us all to re-examine how things are going and pause for reflection.  Lent is hard, but I welcome it this year.  It's time to do some soul-searching, some refiguring and some planning.  Time to reign in the eating, add to the exercise and consider the parts of a life that work well and the parts that need a bit of tweaking.

I begin this season with gifts from two friends, two of my favorite humans, and two folks I'm thankful to have along for this journey.

The first gift I bring along into this lenten season is a comment on yesterday's post from my good friend, Amy.  Aside from being the hands-down funniest bi-pedal (how about that flash-back to a previous post) on earth, she is also a dear friend and wordsmith.  Amy is good with words.  She can use them to be humorous and she can use them to speak from her heart.  Her comments from yesterday are a perfect way, as I see it, to begin this time of reflection.  I put them here and I'll be sure to refer to them as I move along the coming weeks.

Sometimes, when we go through hard times (whatever they may be), we tend to get tunnel vision. We complain, we pout, or we simply give up. We focus on ourselves, rather than on God's constant and unending gift of hope. The promise of tomorrow and all that it offers gives me great comfort. I think God presses pause on our lives for a reason...to reflect, to renew, and to restore in us what gets lost in our fast-paced lives: our faith. When we lose sight of what's really important, I mean really important, God has a wonderful way of slowing us down. Maybe these next forty days are His way of making us remember what His vision for us truly is...to love wholly and deeply, to forgive and be compassionate, to give freely to others, to laugh and be joyful, and to feel the peace and grace he provides us despite our shortcomings. What a beautiful world it would be if we had the discipline to live this way all the time. So today, I too will bask in the frenzy that begins this season, for I know that my life is good and God is great. Eat up!!!!! 


The second gift is from my friend Melinda.  She hasn't been my friend for my whole life, but it sure feels like it.  I wouldn't want to think of life without her.  I've asked her for the gift she brings today, and she has given it before.  Like Lent, Melinda just keeps coming around to help me, even with things she has helped me with numerous times.  Remember when I referred to those people (I love but don't understand) who create order, enjoy tidying and have lives that make sense?  Well, Melinda is one of those.  Over and over, year after year, in different places and different spaces, she has come to my rescue when I allow my life to lose all sense of order.  Again and again, she has done for me what she can do for herself easily.  She has forced me to clean out drawers, stood in the entrance to closets and not let me out until they're in order and drawn detailed calendars on large sheets of paper to attempt to illustrate for me what times allows and what it does not.  She reminds me about the things that need to be done daily.  She swoops in and tries to move around through the clutter of a blogging, photo-taking, right-brained friend who is always in need of rescue.  She has done it before and she'll most likely do it again.  Once, years ago, Melinda decided I had too many t-shirts, that the drawers were too full of too many items that weren't necessary.  The entire faculty of the school where I worked took part in a pool to predict how many t-shirts I actually had - my friend, Ann, was closest to the total of 106.  One hundred and six t-shirts?  Yeah, folks like me need help.  


I've subscribed to the blogs that promise to get me organized, decrease my clutter and stress and deep-clean my home in 365 days, but someone in my condition gets a bit scared just by perusing the plans.  So far, I've read a few entries but I'm un-surprisingly hesitant to actually get started.  So . . . Melinda is coming to the rescue.  She'll come today and take a look.  She'll make some suggestions and she'll force me to get rid of some things I won't want to toss.  We've done this before.  We'll do it again.  I'm hopeful, though, that each time I take a few steps forward, I don't take quit as many backward.  I guess it's like that for all of us.  We've all got our stuff.  Now, we get this season, this semi-pause on life, to take inventory and do a bit of housekeeping.  


Today, I give thanks to Amy for her words and to Melinda for her actions.  Thankful beyond measure to be living alongside friends who make me better, make me think and give the gifts they do.  

List 5 - how many pins does it take to sum up one person?

I love pins - badges, buttons, whatever you'd like to call them.  I really do.  They usually make me smile.  I'm not talking so much about political messages but good, ole' fashioned fun ones.  I like pins that make people stop and think or pins that bring a laugh to my friend's face.  Sometimes I like the ones that take people just a minute to "get" and then they laugh.

Some of my favorite gifts have been the smallest (and I'm not talking diamonds).  My friend Laurie has gotten me lots of cool pins and they're always perfect, always exactly what I think or exactly what brings a smile to my face.  Tim has gotten me too many fun and wonderful gifts to list, but one of my favorites was a bag of buttons.  It was such fun!  He came home from work one Friday afternoon with this cornucopia of pins, and we had fun for the next hour, looking at them and laughing.  They are some of my favorites.

I don't really have enough good occasions to don them all, so I thought today's list was a perfect place to "wear" them!  I've been thinking about the pins this week, in preparation for this post - thinking about why their colorful punch is so appealing to me.  I've wondered if there could be a pin that 'summed me up' and I quickly decided that was impossible.  The pins are fun, they're colorful, they're catchy and they're quick, but each one is just a tiny part of a big whole.

Maybe that's why I love them so much.  Maybe it's fun because one message can sum up my feelings at one particular moment or tell why I'm laughing or give you an insight into something that makes me tick.  I think that's it, that's why they're appealing.  To me, they're much more fun than Twitter, but maybe that just means I'm old enough to say, "boo coos" and stuff like that.  To me, they're an artsy, creative way to give passersby a little hint of one of my many layers.  (And I think I probably like it that some people wonder why I'm weird enough to have on some crazy pin.)

What would your pins say?  What do you believe in enough to wear it on your chest?  What makes you laugh, smile, think?  Consider it.  Could we make a pin that tells your whole story?  I trust not.  But it's fun to think about.  Have a look at your favorite pin or design one in your mind - what does it say?  Maybe you can come up with a way to 'say' that this weekend; maybe you could laugh about it or think on it or make someone smile with it, even if it isn't already printed on a small, circular disk.  Have a go!

So here's this Friday's list - ten of my favorites - not the mostest favoritest of all time in the whole worldest, just ten that make me smile or think or laugh.  And I like that.