Author: Celia Whitler

Entertaining Angels

She stared directly at me and burned a hole in me with her dark brown eyes. She was holding her mother’s hand and lagging a little behind her mother’s pace. Her red dress was what first caught my eyes and then her face drew everything toward her. She really looked at me as if she knew me and knew all about my life. I wish I could use the right words to describe what I felt but in a minute I knew she knew me. Right there at gate C14, as I made my way to baggage claim, a 2-year-old named Sierra captivated me. Her mother walked by me and she turned her body around to look at me. She began waving and then stopped. I of course, stopped and said, I see you… you are beautiful. What’s your name? As I bent down to talk to her, she had stopped her mother as well. The mother’s eyes were gentle but tired and she smiled and said, Her name is Sierra. By then Sierra and I were in full embrace and I said again, “I see you and I love you.” I had been away from Max, Zach and Ron for days and I was so thankful for Sierra’s hug. As her mother began to pull away, Sierra motioned kisses to me in the air. an appropriate farewell for a 2 year old. Her hair covered in red ponytails, her white shoes, her red polka dot dress, as cute as they were, all paled in comparison to the countenance on her face–pure love.

Have you ever met anyone and see it shining from their faces? And then there’s the knowing… the real, genuine, truthful knowing that is exchanged in the connection. It was more than words shared, because to be honest, I was the only one talking. Her mother after sharing her named, sheepishly said, “thank you,” when I commented on her beauty. As they walked away, I stood and told Sierra “I’ll see you another day. Go with your Mamma, she’s a good Mamma and she loves you and I’ll see you another day. Sierra continued to blow kisses until finally she turned around to catch up with her mother’s stride.

As I made my way down the hallway toward baggage claim and toward my family I was thankful for the gift of our encounter. I have been pondering this season… all it means and all I still don’t comprehend about these holy days. This morning, Zach summed it up on the way to school. We were talking about Jesus and about Easter. We talked about how Jesus came to teach about God’s love and show us how much we are loved and he eventually died doing so. Zach one of my back seat theologians said, “yea, that Jesus loves us more than we can know.” That sums it up for me. Max and I agreed and I wished I had said it that way ‘cause it’s true.

Every once in a while I am reminded of how that love knows me, claims me, sustains me, invites me, embraces me and sees me. Like my meeting with Sierra. Out of nowhere I’m instantly reconnected and reminded and overwhelmed with more love than I can know. I wish that for you. If you see a little girl in a red polka dotted dress, don’t pass her by. She may be Christ’s messenger with a kiss or a hug for you on your journey. It is almost easier to forget to be on the lookout for the angels that live and visit us everyday as messengers of God’s love. Who knows, maybe God was using me that day to see Sierra and her mom and to be of an encourager for them along their way; just as they were to me.

As Paul is closing his letter to the Hebrews, he writes these words, “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13:1-2 NRSV)

I sang for a leadership event for Calvary Community Church in the Los Angeles area last month. A small group of leaders and chosen influencers gathered to focus on making their church a more hospitable place. We talked about fun, we talked about being inviting and we talked about being on the lookout. One lady said it well when she said that she was much better at recognizing opportunities in her rear view mirror. I’m not sure how it works, but God is moving and I’m looking out my windshield at what’s coming. Join me on the lookout.

Love you, Celia

Love love

I love First Corinthians 13. What is it about love, that I love? I mean love is such a broad topic. When I think about all that has been done for love, my goodness, I am overwhelmed. In my life alone, love has aways been at the core of who I am and what I want to be pursuing. It is the one thing that has stayed constant, when all has swirled around in my world, love has been the anchor that holds. I have just returned from Corinth, the site of the early church to whom that letter was written.

Several years ago, I met a girl named Sarah at an event,when she was in high school. It was before I had any children, and I had miscarried during the week prior. I remember going to a Youth Encounter event in Pennsylvania as the worship leader. Sarah introduced herself after a general session. She was supposed to be heading to a workshop. Instead, she and I sat and talked about a difficult time she was having in her life. We talked about a trying past and about the uncertainties that were ahead of her. I remember praying with her and telling her I loved her. Mostly that weekend, we just hung out and we laughed–we became friends. What she didn’t know was that she loved me through that weekend, as well and through my own uncertain, dark time. Last year, she found me on my myspace and emailed me a simple message. In her note to me she shared that she is in college now, how she is doing and how blessed her life is now. She closed by saying, “I remember that weekend and how you told me you loved me and you had just met me. I just wanted you to know when you said that to me that weekend, well, I felt loved. Thank you.”

More recently I have found that I have grown to love differently… more deeply and freely. It is funny how love is for me, I know love is a choice. Loving someone is about choosing each day to love and to be loved.

There are times when love chooses me. I find myself in a situation, like meeting someone like Sarah. I find myself loving. I find myself doing what love would do, even if it seems impossible or difficult or out of character. Because of love, something illogical seems right. Something difficult seems like the clear choice. I’m drawn to love and loving. I can’t explain it. I genuinely feel love for others. Sometimes for others I just met, sometimes for others I hardly know. Other times I ‘m reminded of love that has always been there. I’m reminded of love that has chosen me for a lifetime. Last week I heard someone read an original poem and I want to leave you friends with a poem that I wrote last night. Okay when was the last time you wrote a poem, a real poem, for yourself, for God, for someone else? It was nice to craft this one for you.

My desire is to move my life each moment toward the love that Christ both taught about and lived. A love that has changed me. That is the love I could love a lifetime and spend a lifetime sharing. A love Paul shared with an early, young church, going through difficult times in a challenging setting. Like me and like Sarah, we just need to be reminded that we are loved, really loved and to feel that kind of love in us, it really is the greatest gift.

Love is

Love is more than a feeling,
it’s outward, not concealing.
Love is mountain-moving, time-consuming.
All you ever wanted doing,
Love is the past, the present, the future all rolled into one.
It’s the little things… the larger-than-life dreams.

Love takes your breath away.
Love says, “I’ll always stay.”
It’s sorry when it counts.
It always looks to better days.

Love is up at night when someone cries.
over-joyed when laughter erupts.
It’s the look across the room.
Love knows that more than words a hug soothes.

If love makes the world go round,
that’s one ride I’m not going to miss.
With all my might and all my life,
I resign myself that love is Love’s gift.

Happy (Belated) Valentine’s Day! Love, me

Peace

I was at the grocery store check-out … the self-check-out with my six year old Max when she passed by — a friend I hadn’t seen in several years. As we noticed each other, I left my post and my scanning job and hugged her neck. “How are you?” I asked. Immediately I knew the answer by the look in her eyes. It was a only few days before Thanksgiving. I was expecting, “busy, buying last minute baking supplies.” What she shared was unexpected. Her husband has cancer and his chemo was to start on Monday.

I now have totally abandoned my checking out duties and have turned it all over to Max, who, now that I think about it, was doing a fine job! Okay, normally I think I know what to say, but here’s what came out. “Could we get together and get a cup of coffee?” Why do I think Starbucks can cure anything? My dad was that way about hot tea. You could have pneumonia and he’d say, let me whip up some tea with a little honey and lemon–you’ll feel better. She laughed that you-silly-girl laugh, then she said, “I can’t imagine having time as I’ll use all my free time taking care of him.” Ugh, Celia

Then I said what I should have said first, as I grabbed her again, “I love you and I’m so sorry. What can I do? ” Her eyes filled with tears. My eyes filled with tears and the music in the background was little beeps from Max finishing up my scanning. Ahhh and here comes Christmas with all its jolliness and bright lights and me suggesting a chat over coffee and Christmas carols in the background.

Recently, I was with some other friends and I helped them with their family Christmas photo. I stood behind the photographer as he took their picture. I saw this beautiful family in front of me. When I tell you they were model material, I’m not kidding — any clothing store ad people would love this photo on their catalog cover — scarfs, hats, smiles, snow and I thought of pictures I’ve taken in years past. Beneath the smiles and poses there was so much more going on. My friend could have just smiled and told me that everything was great and I would never have known, but she didn’t. She really gave me a gift by telling me the whole story. Her smile quickly turned to tears as she shared the whole truth about this season for her family.

Okay, I am not saying we should slap a warning sticker on our Christmas portrait that says “objects appear happier than they are.” That can’t happen but it would be a fair warning.

Last year taking Max & Zach’s picture in front of the Christmas tree was a bit of a stretch. One of them kicked the other one and someone got poked in the eye. The whole time, I’m trying to get the perfect shot. “Boys… boys… stop that… look my way… smile… big… Max leave your brother alone… oh my Lord, you’ve got to be kidding.” I’m just trying to get both of them in the frame…. forget the smiles!

As I am writing this, I’m listening to “The Best of Michael McDonald.:The Christmas Collection.” When I say it has my favorite Christmas song, I am not kidding. The title is “Peace” and I can barely listen to it without crying. Michael and Beth Nielson Chapman wrote this incredible song. It is everything I wish for my friend in the checkout line, for those friends who took the Christmas picture, really, for all of us this season — is we will all find peace.

That I would fall to my knees this Christmas before the Christ child… become so real, so genuine this year with all that I offer Christ the only gift he needs and the only sacrifice I can truly make — all of me. The smiles me… the I’m hiding something me… Celia who lets others in me; the Celia who cares to share and know that what is behind the picture me….the Celia who tries to fix things with coffee me and the Celia who can’t fix it me….

In Christmas past it did seem easier when all I wanted was an easy bake oven, but Christ offers you and me much more than what we want, what we need this season ….may that peace be born in each of our hearts this Christmas.

May my friend find that peace as she begins this unknown journey and may Christ sustain her through these days. And you and I, may our picture be one filled with love–love we receive and love we unconditionally give. Not that our picture would just look like love, but may our lives be overflowing with God’s joy and may we know the source of that joy – a relationship with each other that is so real and rich that we grab each other and hold on and a relationship with the One who is holding on to us–who knows and loves us best. That one I believe is the Christ child.

on bad days

One of my favorite books is “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” by Judith Viorst. Alexander has a bad day that begins with waking up with gum in his hair. His day included: no toy in his cereal, getting demoted to third-best by his number one best friend, kissing on TV and lima beans for supper. He finally says he’s going to Australia and his mom in her wisdom says, “some days are like that, even in Australia.”

A few days ago, I started my day by hitting my big toe on a box in my office, first thing in the morning. Ouch! Then, I couldn’t find my car keys. I looked all the places I’ve lost them in the past, I recalled all the places I’d been in the last days, I even dropped by a few and asked about my keys. I always got the same answer, “Oh no, how are you driving now?” Ugh! A few years ago Ron came to me and said, “Celia, I love you, I adore you, but I can’t look for your keys anymore.” What he didn’t realize is that it makes me crazy, too. I have a special place where they are suppose to hang, but did I put them there? Okay, I checked one more time, but no. Maybe if I moved to Australia I wouldn’t need keys.

Next I dropped Max, my new first grader, off on his first big day of school and as I was talking to his teacher about helping in the classroom, she shooed me on my way, and said we’ll be fine. I know she didn’t mean to shoo me. If she knew me she wouldn’t shoo me. Really I taught school, I know what it means to teach them independence, but today he asked if I’d walk him to class and I thought, while I’m here I’ll make myself available. Last year several parents were in and out of kindergarten with learning centers, reading to the class and helping out in the room. When the moms this year talked about how different it would be, I assumed they were talking about themselves, not me. I wanted to say to his new teacher, “I get that he’s bigger now. Trust me, I’m fine, but you might like some help.” About that time, she smiled and closed the door. So I smiled at the closed door and walked slowly to my car. With my spare set of keys in hand, all the while trying to figure out how this year is going to work. Okay, so I felt a little hurt that I’d been shooed. I knew I wouldn’t spend much time in his twelfth grade classroom, I just didn’t anticipate that beginning this year, in the first grade. I made my way home and instead of getting to all the work on my desk. I revisited my quest for, you guessed it, my keys. Ron looked for keys, he really does love me. Then the babysitter came by to watch Zach a little and to get her last paycheck of the summer. I forgot about my keys for a bit. I made some phone calls, bought some airline tickets and did some paper work in my office.

Soon it was time to pick up Max from school. He is a car rider and if you have ever picked up an elementary student from school at the beginning of the year, you know that Australia looks pretty good compared to that line. I grabbed a peach for me and a snack for Max, said goodbye to both Zach and the sitter, hopped in my car, put it in reverse and thought to myself, “I’ll get to school early and talk to the moms about the shooing and my quest for keys.” As I backed up, I checked my rearview mirror, not remembering Zach had adjusted it for his height. I saw the pecan tree in our yard and thought I was clear for take off. As I was backing up, I heard a loud thud and felt a jolt. “Where was the babysitters car parked?” I thought quickly to myself. No, no, no! As I jumped out of the car, Ron greeted meet at the scene. Then the crying and wailing began, “I’m so sorry.” It was only a little ding in her hood, but one I knew would need professional undinging. What’s wrong with me? Why am I not in Australia? As I walked back into the kitchen, I was the one who felt like a teenager. The sitter smiled and said, “I put one of the dents in the front, so don’t feel so bad.” Her smile and hug was a comical relief. Oh, did I mention she was packed to leave to go to college tomorrow morning?” “Yea,” she laughed. We laughed together until her cell phone rang. It was her dad checking in. We all froze. “Ok give me the phone,” I said, and I greeted him with the news. Ok he didn’t laugh, but of course said, “Celia it’ll be okay.” Hold the rest of my calls, because I’m considering having lunch with a Koala Bear. Ron rode with me to get Max from school. I wiped my eyes and mustered a smile as I saw one of the moms. She yelled, “coffee tomorrow morning at Bean Town, the local coffee shop.” Okay, I said over the car. As Max got into the car, we hugged. I told him about the crazy thing mom did and that I was thinking about Alexander and his story and about going to Australia. Max said to me, “some days are like that.” We both cracked up laughing, and he gave me a hug and told me the best thing and the not-so-best thing about his day.

As I sat and recanted this day for your encouragement, it was quite late in the evening and I couldn’t sleep. I wandered into my home office to find a #2 pencil and made my way to our guest bedroom to read. On the nightstand sat my dad’s pocket watch and the book I was finishing by Margaret Becker. It’s called “Coming Up For Air” and it has been just the right thing for this season. I read the last chapter and Margaret shared about the death of her mom and her journey through those days. On the last page she recalls a thought her mom shared with her one day, “the good Lord gave us only this day, M. Make something of it.”

I reflected on the day I’d had. I looked down at my dad’s watch in my hand and thought, “what’s really precious, Celia?” For me, real life is primarily not about my stubbed big toe, or my losing keys, or my being shooed out of first grade class, or about accidents involving cars. I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s the small things that take the wind out of my sails, not the big ones. Misplacing my emphasis makes the little things become big things. It’s about my losing sight of the fullness of love in my life–the loss of perspective. What I know to be important, is to love and to be loved. That is pure, rich and precious. Sharing something that is real, something like a smile on a friend’s face when they just rear-ended your car or like a hug from last year’s teacher, who I adored–She and I agreed, we’re all gonna be okay this new year. I know I’ll love this new teacher just as much — shooing and all. A wave from a mom reminds me that I’m not in this alone. A reminder from Max of the best and not so bewt things in our day and every once in a while, there are some days without not-so-best parts–I love those days! God is in the midst of each moment and I am so thankful for this day–even this day. It was one of my days I realize what a gift it is, even the little things, so I must embrace it all.

The next morning I had coffee with six of the moms whose children shared a kindergarten class last year. We laughed about my being shooed. They shared their stories of running into things with their cars. I got up to refill my coffee cup and glanced back as their laughter filled the room and I realized that I was grateful, even for the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Some days are like that, even in Franklin, Tennessee. Australia will have to wait for another day. I’m off to make something of this new one, and I invite you to make something of yours. Enjoy!

Psalm 118:24 This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Ciao, Celia

P.S. I found my keys, tucked away in a corner right where I left them.

Summertime

This past week Ron and I and our boys drove through a town called Many, (pronounced man–ee) in west-central Louisiana. It is a town where I lived as a young girl. I was amazed at how some things had not changed and others were frozen in time. I showed Max and Zach my house, and the backyard where I made snow angels (the story’s on page 32 in my book). The yard still looked big to me. I showed them the stump of the former tree where I carved my name with the name of the boy I liked and wanted to kiss “Celia + Scott”. I showed them another huge tree that used to have a rope in it. I remember swinging out over onto the roof of an old shed until one of the neighborhood boys went through the roof. That incident ended our Tarzan reenactments. I showed them the hill that my friends and I rode our bikes down. It used to seem enormous. I showed them the old Sabine Theater where I used to watch John Wayne movies and the good old make-you-ugly-cry movies like Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows. We retraced the path where I used to ride my bike and buy a Richie Rich comic book and fudge ripple ice cream cone. I showed them the Baptist church where I played basketball and the water tower that sprung a huge leak one summer and the kids in our neighborhood all played in the water for hours. That tower seems to have shrunk. I showed them the Catholic Church that had an after school program. They had ping pong and pool tables and we would play every week there. I showed them the church that my dad served First United Methodist Church. It was where I learned “Hallelu, Hallelu, Praise Ye the Lord” and “If I Were A Butterfly, I’d thank you, Lord” and “Do Lord” and many other songs. It was where I attended Vacation Bible School with my friends and where my girl scout troop met. I showed them where the Middleton sisters lived and I know why I love old Victorian homes so much. They had a Victorian home across the street from the library and we drank tea on their porch and they had a basket of children’s books for me to read.

I remember my last summer in Many. It was summer of 1975 and I was on a quest. My friend Annette and I were working toward a pair of Icee towels. You had to save proof of purchase coupons clipped from the cups. You could earn a beach towel from Icee and we each wanted a towel. We had to mail in one hundred Icee coupons and three dollars for each towel. (According to Icee.com, the beach towel is now 500 points and $20). For weeks we rode our bikes around town looking and gathering coke bottles to redeem for a nickel each. We used the money to buy Icees and toward the $3. We had a system–we’d collect, clean and then trade them for our money. I can’t tell you how long this process took, but in the middle of that summer, our towels finally arrived. We would display them proudly at our local swimming pool or in my back yard with our slip and slide. I still have that towel today. I spent those summers with my best friends–Annette, Barbara, Sandra, Pam, Jill, Rebecca and I have fond memories of our time together.

At another recent stop in southwest Louisiana, I helped my boys catch green lizards with a friend Noah in his yard. Last week I smiled at their response after I caught one on the side of Noah’s house. Zach said, “My mom’s caught those guys before.” All I could do is smile as I put the lizard in their bug cage. “You bet I have guys … and it’s always fun!” (Incidentally, no lizards were harmed in the making of this newsletter. They were set free that evening to find their families and friends. We’re all about catch and release.)

A few days ago I received an email forward from Debbie, a friend in my book club. It was simply titled “do you remember when?” I rarely have time to sit and read email forwards and hardly ever take the time to forward them on, but this one was good and it got me thinking.

I remember … when summer lasted forever and I took my shoes off last day of school and didn’t put them back on till I had to go back to school after Labor Day, …lying on my back in the grass with friends and saying things like, “That cloud looks like a…” …eating watermelons, …snow cones (rainbow was my favorite flavor), …staying up late to watch a meteor shower, …playing tag until it was too dark to see, …making promises and keeping them, …sleep-overs, …homemade/hand churned peach ice cream; …climbing trees and riding on the handlebars of a bike with a banana seat, …shucking corn and shelling peas on my grandmother’s porch, …baseball cards in the spokes transforming your bike into a motorcycle, …water balloons fights, …catching fireflies for an entire evening.

As I reflect on summers gone by, the thing I remember the fondest is the goodness of it all–the simple blessings that I received. I enjoyed walking my sons down my memory lane and reflecting. As I recounted my memories to Max, Zach and Ron, we talked about what we are loving about our current summer. What made those times special and what makes today special are the people I am spending my days with and making time for simple things. Think about it. I’ll bet it’s true for you as well. Make some time to play today and make it a wonder-filled summer . . Celia

PS I had to pause in the midst of writing this devotional thought to retrieve a toad frog from under the couch, the adventure continues.

Sometimes it’s just right

Some things just feel right. Last week I came home from traveling and decided I’d spend some time with my four year old, Zach, while Max was in school instead of spending much needed time in the office. Ron told of Max and Zach dragging Ron’s golf clubs into the front yard and chipping golf balls over the weekend (while I was away). This morning, Zach suggested that he and I play golf. The weather had finally taken the turn I was waiting for—a spring warm-up. I love warm, growing up in Louisiana, I know hot. Last month I was in Wisconsin and I know it’s warm that I love. It was sunny, starting to turn springy and Zach and I chased the little white ball a bit. As we got outside, he handed me a wedge . . .

I remember my first round of golf. Several years ago, I was in Alamogordo, NM for a youth event. The youth director, Wes, and the choir director, Mike, asked me what we should do on one of our days off. They suggested golf. I said, “I love golf.” They picked me up and we headed off to Cloudcroft Golf Course, which was a beautiful course with lovely homes lining the fairways. As we drove toward the course, I learned that they played together almost every week. Looking back, our experience was pretty comical, especially the first tee. As we arrived, we rented a set of clubs for me, got me a box of balls and a cart. Mike hit a screaming drive and then Wes really got a hold of his first shot. They were both perfectly situated in the middle of the fairway. We headed to the ladies’ tee and as I prepared to tee up my ball, I said, “Ok, how do you play?” They were surprised and I said, “You didn’t know I didn’t play?” They were both shocked. “Well, I am a youth director’s wife — I have a lot of miniature golf experience, but I just know I’ll enjoy and excel at this game.” After they picked their jaws up from the cart-path, they proceeded to teach me how to play. Once I was told I was holding my club too tightly. So I compensated and as I swung, I remember my driver flying out of my hands. It must have looked like an episode of the three stooges. I spent the next few holes trying to make my ball go as far as that driver had. Once I remember picking my ball up and throwing it farther than my best drive. Eighteen holes make a long game for a rookie. Let’s just say that several groups played through. I have to say they were really good sports about the whole day and to many of your surprise, those guys are still my friends to this day.

Upon returning home to the Dallas area from my New Mexico trip, Ron couldn’t believe I didn’t tell them I didn’t know how to play. “Well they didn’t ask me, if I knew how to play. They said, ‘Do you like golf?’ I answered, ‘I love it’ and that was true.'” During our years in Dallas, I encouraged Ron’s friends to let me tag-a-long on their golf outings. One of my favorite teachers was named Bob. He was an attorney and we’d play with him and his two sons, Bobby and Ryan. He always had great tips and I was pretty good at taking his advice. I remember the first time I really got a hold of a ball. I remember the sound it made. And I remember how my grip felt unusual at first, yet I really connected and it was a great shot for my experience level. I did a victory dance. When you hit one great shot, you want to keep on playing. Bob was also there to watch me blow up on a hole. He always had a quick comment or joke for me and he has this explosive. Anyone who knows him will tell you how infectious that laugh is. The game was just never about the score. Bob was my favorite golf counselor. For me the whole day was about enjoying his company and his smile. The golf tips were just lagniappe, (that’s French for a little something extra.) Bob’s way of just gently teaching –he taught with loving eyes, you know, eyes that smiled and laughed and made you feel special while teaching you something. That’s it–he’d say when I really hit one. Then when I’d mess up, he’d smile and say that’s golf. The thing I looked forward to was our time with Bob and his humor and delight in love of our time together, much more than a golf lesson.

When we moved to Tennessee, I continue to play a little here and there I dusted off some old golf clubs of my dad’s and entered the game. I still tagged along when I got the chance. Somehow, my grip changed. I got more and more comfortable with it and yet my game didn’t improve–it got worse. Once my sons came along, I didn’t play for a number of years.

Looking back, playing with those first two guys in New Mexico and our youth worker guys in Texas, and with our friends here in Tennessee, I was the only girl. I should have been the odd person out, but I never felt like I was. My memories of those days spent together on the course were that some things just feel right. You breathe differently, you’re at ease. The company builds you up and you leave better. It had had very little to do with the golf, it was about spending time with great people.

Now, here I was in my front yard. As I showed Zach how to hold a club, keep your head down, loosen your knees, and see where you want the ball to go. Follow through all the way. I can still hear Bob’s words for me and his laugh. The thing I loved most were those days getting to know him and his family. The golf was good, but the family was much better. Losing your ball in the woods, getting stuck in a sand trip, hitting your last ball into the water, like that scene in “Tin Cup,” riding in his cart. I don’t even remember what we talked about, but it fit–like getting a good grip. Something was just right about it. I don’t know what made it so, but I have a feeling it was mostly just being with Bob. Zach brings my focus back to the game and says, “you try one, mommy!” Well I just teed it up and let it go and off it went. It was a beautiful shot over our Magnolia tree that stands near our mailbox. “Wow,” Zach yelled. Hey let’s see if I can really get something going. We live on an acre lot, so I teed up diagonally across the yard. My old grip was back! Long before I changed, changed, changed, I remember Bob’s words, and almost hit the mailbox. On my second shot, returning from the mailbox, I overshot my target and it bounced toward the street. “Mom, that was great,” Zach proclaimed. Just as Ron came out to check on us. “Celia, what in the world? The other day when Zach and I played, I wasn’t hitting them full out. You could hit someone’s house or a car.” “Yeah,” Zach laughed thinking that might be good for a laugh.

I told Zach about some guys who play golf a lot better than mommy like Tiger Woods, and a couple of Louisiana fellows Hal Sutton and David Toms. Like mommy’s a song maker-upper they play golf as their work. Zach said, “next time can we invite them over to hit golf balls to our mailbox?” Next time, we just might. As Zach and I picked up the golf balls and found my last one, in the bushes, I smiled as I realized more than my grip what really felt right was time spent with Zach–real, uninterrupted time. Like golf, sometimes you just don’t connect, the more I over-think things, the worse it is and sometimes, it’s just right. When it clicks, it seems that I’m remembering the importance stuff and forgetting all the other stuff and I’m amazed. Important stuff–like hanging out, doing something together. Time–I do know this life is like a vapor. So friends soak it up and hit some golf balls with your mom, dad, children or friends. Turn off the TV and do something together. Hear stories, tell jokes, laugh, be together, fish, dance, play a game, talk some friends into teaching you something new–thanks, Wes & Mike! Like snowboarding, or playing spades or bunco or crocheting or joining a book club. Because my theory is that Life is too LONG not to enjoy it. You too may finds that “it’s a fit and it feels just right.”

Power Guys

Driving home from school one day I asked Max about his day. “You know, mom,” was his first answer, then I asked the all probing question, “what’d you have for lunch?” That always gets him talking! I can honestly say I never remember any of those conversations from my own childhood. I’m not saying I was never asked, I just can’t remember. Well Max sure remembers his day. “Well mom, I didn’t eat much ‘cause I was trying to convince Scott (name changed, to protect the playground) that my power guys were real.”

The origin of power guys is that they are Max’s personal team of Power Rangers. For those of you who don’t watch Power Rangers, these guys are humans that have special powers. They are able to do what most of us dream we wish we could do – super human strength, super human energy. They band together and fight the good fight against evil forces. Check your local guide for listings.

“Scott doesn’t believe they are real and I spent my whole lunch time telling him they are.” Now Max and I have talked about the Power Rangers show, how there are story maker-uppers just like book writers, song writers, We’ve talked about actors- we’ve made movies, yet these guys are real. When in a bind, I’ve heard him say, wait let me call my guys, They’ll know what to do. He said, “I tried to tell Scott they were invisible but he just won’t believe me.”

And then I did it, I had to do it, well I thought about it first. “Okay Max, now are those guys real?” In the rear view mirror, I could see his face. “Mom,” he said. “Now Max,” I cut him off, “are those guys really real, real like dad and me, real like our dog Blue or your Brother Zach?”

Zach (4 years old) chimed in, “Mom they’re in a spaceship and they have control over their bodies.” Okay, I too wondered about this statement. The only thing I could figure was Zach’s teacher had talked with the preschool class about self control and keeping their hands to themselves, but Max seemed to know exactly what he meant. “Yea mom, they are,” and off he’d go, explaining something that I’ll be honest with you, started to make sense.

I have people out there who I don’t see regularly, some I see often, some I see rarely who are there for me, who I believe in me, who love me, who are on my side and fight the good fight with me and in a moment’s notice like a well trained army would fall into rank in no time. How do I know? I’ve seen them do it many times. I’ve called them, I’ve emailed them, I’ve called them, I’ve dropped in on them. I’ve run across them over and over againTheir real love sustais me.

God continues to show up time and time again. Sometimes God wears a familiar face, other times a stranger might become my closest friend in a crucial time. Crazy how it works over and over. I have experienced something I too cannot explain fully to anyone else nor convince them of how it all works except to say, I’ve witnessed it first hand and I too have stood by others. Shoulder to shoulder in the battlefield or on the front lines.

Recently I called a friend to who I knew was going through tough days. She said at one point, I can’t believe you called today. I just thought I was distracted and instead of addressing the pile of papers on my desk, I felt this indescribable urgent, this push to call her. You’ve had it, it sounds like someone calling my name, other times I just cant’ shake that person, until I hear their voice or see their face. A couple of months ago I heard of a friend in Nashville, going through a wacky time. I showed up at his door unannounced, when he answered it, he smiled and said, I love that you came here. I love that you love me this way.

I do believe there is a spiritual realm to life, to be honest I’m not in touch with it most of the time. I go about my life and every once in a while the Holy Spirit is ever present. I feel in turn and I miss those days when I’m not. I’m on my knees asking God to help me, to be in touch with them, with Christ,with the Spirit’s leading and God’s always present direction.

Well, just as we crossed the river toward our home, I began to have a change of heart.

Zach was saying, “I believe they’re real.” Max looked up with his head bowed and said, “I know mom, they’re not real”. Once again I cut him off, “You know what Max, You’ve proven your case, you might be right. Your power guys might be real and you can believe in them as long as you want to.” But you know Scott is real–a real friend–God is real and always with you and Zach and dad and I are real and we love you. I could see the relief on his face.

“Okay where are they now Max?” I asked moving on. “They’re flying near us, do you need them mom?” he asked. “Not yet, but maybe soon.” “Let me know,” mom, “cause I’ll call them for you.”

Reflecting on that day and his power guys, aren’t we called to be that, the church–to help in time of need, to be strong when danger is near. to fight the good fight? I can think of those who under incredible difficulties have had super human strength and courage; who make the hardest situation look easy and graceful. Those I have talked to, those real power guys, seem to have one thing in common — FAITH. Their belief that they are not deriving their strength, courage, and grace from themselves. God has provided. A friend asked me recently when talking with her during a discouraging day, “when has God let you down, Celia?” My answer would have to be NEVER; people frequently do; myself daily; God never, always present, always providing.