The Major Deal with a Minor Holiday

I love pizza even though the gluten in the crust and the lactose in the cheese usually make me feel sick. It’s a special treat nonetheless. But it’s not special enough to make up for the fact that it’s my Labor Day picnic-for-one meal. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a few slices of pizza.

So what’s the big deal about a not-always-so-big holiday? It highlights the fact that I’m alone. Again. Just let me wallow in the pit of loneliness for a little while without trying to get me to see the bright side of the situation. That strategy minimizes my feelings.

Everywhere I look on social media, pictures of families together on special outings crop up. My friends are with their families. Extended families are enjoying time together. The grocery store checkout lines are crowded with people buying last-minute bar-b-que items.

The real problem is that my family–the only family I have close by–is with their other family. They’re together, and I’m not. I don’t begrudge my children time with their father’s extended family. I don’t. Except maybe in a tiny way when it means knowing I’m not welcome in a place I used to be called daughter and sister.

While Labor Day might not seem as big a deal as, say, Christmas or Thanksgiving, I’m still sad at the loss of family traditions. And that’s what makes a minor holiday a major deal.

 

 

Identity Crisis

Us-passportWith my recent divorce, I decided to revert my last name to my maiden name. My married name has all kinds of negative connotations, and I don’t want to be associated with that name or that person anymore. As my girls are in their late teens, they’re old enough to realize that I need my own identity and that they’ll soon be changing their own last names.

Names identify people with other people. Names identify people with certain groups, ethnicity, regions, religions, and jobs.

What I didn’t realize when I decided to change my name is what a humongous hassle the whole process would be! So many, many places needed to have it changed. And, of course, half of them couldn’t just get it right the first time–like the DMV and my bank. Oy! Then there’s the whole email address change. I’m pretty sure everyone on the planet has my old email address. And persists in using it. Furthermore, it’s associated with all of my online bills and every single site I ever signed into in the entire World Wide Web. If one more person asks whether I just got married, I will scream! This whole process was so much simpler (and happier) 22 years ago when I did it the first time.

Throughout this whole process, I feel like I’m having an identity crisis, and I don’t just mean having trouble remembering how to sign my name. I’m not married, so I don’t want my former last name. Even though my father is an honorable man, and I am proud to carry his last name, I am not under his protection anymore as I was when I was growing up. With whose name do I want to be associated? To whom do really I belong?

I belong to God, first and foremost.

The Lord says, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are MINE” (Isaiah 43:1).

As long as my heavenly father knows my name, it doesn’t really matter what my earthly name is. That’s comforting.

 

The Scarlet Letter

S I’m branded forever now with that letter; you know, the one that screams at people from across the room. Yes, I’ve got that huge S on my chest. You know, S for Speeder. Everyone asks me about it all the time.

“I just heard the news! I can’t believe you’re a Speeder!”
“When we were in college, I voted you least likely to be a Speeder.”
“What happened? I must know all the details! Where were you? Just how fast were you going? How much was the ticket?”
“That place is a speed trap! Better drivers know how to avoid getting caught there.”
“How could you? You grew up hearing the rules every time you were in the car!”
“Didn’t you read the manual on how to avoid being a speeder?”
“Is this the first time?”
And my favorite: “You need to tell me all about it so I can pray for you that you won’t get another speeding ticket.”

They’re right. I did read the driver’s manual, and I did know how to avoid getting a speeding ticket. I knew where the speed traps were. I remember hearing during my childhood how terrible speeding is; those lectures increased in intensity and frequency when I first got my license. I thought that if I bought my car at the conservative sales lot that it wouldn’t be marked for speeding. How wrong I was.

For years, no one noticed that I was a Speeder. Then I got my first warning. From then on I was labeled. Every time a police car was behind me, I just knew the officer was pulling my record. One day I saw a police car at the speed trap. But on my second pass down that road, I forgot. I was just careless, and I got busted. Worse yet, I had to pay a huge fine! Sure, people told me I could fight it and get a lawyer, but I knew I was guilty. I paid the fine. And then I had a record. Oh, the shame! I thought people would never stop talking about it!

Sure, talk died down some, but people still noticed my scarlet S. The next time I got pulled over, I wanted to sink through the floorboards of my car. After all, I had a different car, one that definitely wasn’t supposed to go over the speed limit. Apparently my new car also has the S on it.

To make matters worse, as I pulled away, my phone dinged with a text from my daughter’s friend. She had seen me pulled over. Now my children will find out! I’ll never live this down! I wanted to keep my kids out of the whole speeding mess because I had lectured them numerous times about the pitfalls of speeding, and kids do tend to do as you do, not asD you say. I can’t give that first speeding ticket back. It will always just be there. I will always be a Speeder.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not really talking about speeding. Oh sure, I am a Speeder, but the letter that really stands out is the D. Yes, D for Divorce. The church’s unpardonable, most obvious, most gossiped about sin. Recognize any of those comments above in a different context?

Kudos to your high school English teacher if you get the references to The Scarlet Letter. If you didn’t, go check out a synopsis here.

One a Step at a Time

I’ve always been big on planning ahead and knowing what’s coming next. Unfortunately, that’s not always possible in life. My life, specifically. Just when I think something’s settled–a job, a legal matter, a kid’s plans–it becomes unsettled. It’s not a question of whether troubles will come, it’s a question of when. Of course, the last few years of my life seem to have had an overdose of woes. L. B. E. Cowman, author of one of imagemy favorite devotionals Streams in the Desert, had this encouragement:

“‘When thou passest through the waters . . . they shall not overflow thee (Isa. 43:2).’ God does not open paths for us in advance of our coming. He does not promise help before help is needed. He does not remove obstacles out of our way before we reach them. Yet when we are on the edge of our need, God’s hand is stretched out.” (Jan. 6)

To me, this means that I need to keep moving ahead even when I can’t see where my foot will land. It’s almost like God’s grace for each moment is in his outstretched hand. I need to take a forward step so I can reach his hand and the help that he is offering. And then the next step and the next measure of grace and so on.

God has proven this principle to me numerous times over the past few years especially. Just when I think I’m about to be overwhelmed in a court case, god provides the victory. When I’m pretty sure I haven’t taught enough courses in a term to pay the rent, he not only provides enough, but gives me an unexpected overflow. When one of my girls makes me seriously doubt my worth and effectiveness as a mother, just the right word of encouragement is whispered in my ear at just the right time.

Life is lived one step at a time with its corresponding handful of grace. I was thinking about digging my toes into the cold sands of fear, but it seems I need to be stepping forward in faith instead.

What about you? Digging your toes in fear or stepping out in faith for a needed measure of grace?

 

The BIG, UGLY Thing

Jo Ann Fore Deep breath. I can do this. I have to get the BIG, UGLY Thing out of the way before we can go any further on this blog; otherwise, I’ll be the same, old me. I want to be a new me, even though none of this year’s yucky things are things that I have chosen. Not even a little bit. I don’t know about you, but I like choices in my life. And I’m not talking about the Apple Pecan Chicken Salad versus the Grilled Market Salad. But I digress.

The BIG, UGLY Thing is an impending divorce. There. I said it. When I was growing up–in a pastor’s family–I always felt like divorce was a bad word. I still feel like it is. I don’t want to be divorced; I really don’t. But I’m not being given a choice in the matter, so I’m learning to accept it. I couldn’t even say the word for months.

So now you know. The foundation has been laid for what’s to come. Anyone else out there with me? Anyone else going through or already been through a BIG, UGLY Thing like divorce?