You have had that moment, when you say something only to hear a response that you didn’t expect to encounter. I grew up in a household where the last word carried authority and weight. It was seldom a positive moment yet a many times that second defined who won a battle… thus who was the victor. I never was sure why my parents fought nor did I ever understand who won, if either. What I knew was someone always had the last word.
I can still hear those words ring out like a shot being fired from my steel mouth toward my mother as a teen, ‘I hate your guts!’ I think I meant everything in me hates everything in you and me at this very moment, even your bowels. Truth was I just hurt. Hurt that I had learned how to fight as a young child a battle I knew wasn’t worthy of my young warrior heart. I hurt over feeling emotionally abandoned and betrayed by those closest to me. I hurt over being a teenager. And as hard as being a teenager simply is I was a teenager who had moved almost every other year. I felt like a vagabond moving most of my life like I was a fugitive being sought after by the law. I hurt that my mother hurt and her hurt though spoken at times had a depth that was unspeakable. That was the truth no one dared speak about.
I once heard about a daytime soap opera actor who had written into his contract the stipulation that he would have the last word in of the scenes where he appeared. At first, I laughed thinking about how trivial this was and also how smart it seemed. Getting the last word has a claim that you have the last say… so it must be where the strength lies. Or maybe you are saying what matters to you is being the last remembered and therefore if you have the last say … you will have had the most influence.
When I stop and think about the last word, I’m not sure that the last word is always the best word. The last word always seems to be shared from a place of strength as if you are making the definitive statement that matters most. Yet, I tend to think the opposite is true. The person who doesn’t need the last word is the one with the most control. The person who has the most compassion and depth sometimes is the person who is able to see the big picture and know within themselves the best word spoken might be no word spoken. Self control is seldom seen when it comes to matters of the last word.
Years ago, I ended a relationship with a boy and before I headed to my car I said, “I think you can only walk away when it isn’t love.” As I turned to walk to my car, I listened for the last word. There was none that time. I wasn’t sure if I wanted there to be. I was young and yet I knew that there was something more to be had in relationships and I was holding out for that something. In the long run, I was better off walking away from something I believed wasn’t true love even if I was walking toward something that wasn’t right in front of me… something if I were honest I hadn’t actually witnessed. I was walking toward something that I dreamed could be and something if I was honest I wasn’t sure was even real or available. I was walking toward a future where the last word is really overrated. My husband Ron is the one who taught me such a silly notion. He has watched me not only get the last word but has seen me burst into flames, fume over the trival, fight with myself in his presence and say what I think will win me the argument. Early on in our relationship something changed. I changed. I saw what love can do. How love can melt the coldest moment and free the caged prisoner from the walls built by the past. I have seen how gentle silence can speak louder than any last word or clever thought that I believed would steal the show and ensure my victory. I have seen how grace overcomes the awkward and invites us all to bask in the present moment of peace.
My mother always got the last word. And in the end she always won and my dad lost. And in the end she had all the power, and my dad had none. And in the end, the end came and was the end. What I think more than the last word… she wanted something so much more… she wanted love. Funny, she already had it but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t see… it never was found in the last word. I wanted and still want my story to be different and I now see how maybe in a small way it could be.
So, I now raise my flag too and beacon to all who would be last word followers.
We are the strongest last word in and of ourselves. Our breathing in those moments… our being aware that neither hate, nor fear, nor power, more desire for approval by our shouts, whispers or simply words could ever speak as loud as who we are and how we were created. If I were honest… more than trying to be right with my stating one more last thing… I am trying to be loved, accepted and wanted. And one last word won’t make it so. I am… simple and true. So next time you and I come across that moment, you know that moment we wanna be right or we just feel we need to say one more thing… just breathe and remember… something might be spoken louder if you don’t speak.
celia anne
Category: love
once upon a time
When I was a kid, I loved stories. I loved being read to at night and I especially loved made up stories my dad used to tell me. He made up these nightly adventures of a country mouse… each time he started each tale with once upon a time. I waited impatiently for him to weave a tale of enchantment, adventure and endearment. The mouse would find small ventures around an old farmhouse and each one had the little mouse using his wit to outsmart some obstacle faced. The mouse would find cheese, or make a friend out of the farm animals, or uncover a hidden treasure as he outsmarted a barn cat and retired couple living in the farmhouse. Each time my father told the story of the little mouse, he would end each tale with a cliff hanger that would have me more wide awake than lulled to sleep. Thinking back, I can’t say that my dad told this story every single night, but I have a vivid memory of these moments in my childhood. I looked forward to each encounter with my dad and would hop into bed eager for a bedtime story… even past the age where bedtime stories were considered a part of a child’s nightly routine. I don’t remember when he quit telling me the stories but I wished they’d never end. We moved quite a bit, and those stories were one of the few constants in my life. I believed at an early age, I could over come any cliffhanger in my life. I, like that mouse, could make strangers my friends. I could problem solve and find solutions in the midst of insurmountable odds. I believed that though alone, I didn’t have to be lonely. It was so small now that I think about it, yet it was a huge lifeline for me. My father’s voice was like few times I heard in my life time. In the pulpit on Sundays preaching to the morning crowds of soul seekers at church, it would raise and lower with intensity. It was unlike interaction with my siblings or my mom in which he always seemed engaged in some battle of sorts and was defending, always raising a voice to defend something in his life that seemed sacred. During story-time, his voice was tender and calm like someone with a newborn who is enthralled with the newness of life. The only other time I heard this hushed storytelling voice was years later when he took me hunting a few times the year before I married. In those woods, he seemed to harken back to that soft tender voice as he directed me to the deer stand, to climb over a log, or to duck under a fence. His voice in those south Louisiana woods was sacred and sincere and held a tenderness I only heard again in the last days of his life on earth. When I would sit by his bed as he had mine, holding his hand sharing Psalms, old songs and hushed stories of a mouse we both knew long ago. He whispered to me in a heart felt , longing voice, “Sweetheart… sing me a song… tell me a story.”
Three words
Boiling my life down to three words that people would us to describe me was interesting, moving and heartfelt. See what I did, yea I like a little humor mixed in. This week, I watched “The Fault in Our Stars” and was moved by the before-death obituary scene. Set in a church two friends stand at the podium and eulogize their friend soon to die of cancer. I’ve always thought, why wait. Why wait to tell a loved one what your thoughts are for them? Why wait to share your true feelings about a close friend or family member. Why wait? I think the answer is we think we have the time to tell them. We live in a realm of reality that falsely makes us believe that we have all the time in the world to share something with someone… there will be plenty of time. Another reason, is we don’t want the awkward moment. I know, I hate and love the awkward moment. You know that moment when we say the thing and we aren’t sure how it is received. But to me, that is the most sacred moment of all. That chance taken is pure and beautiful and full of wonder that we all long for in our lives. Real. Real and present. The two things I know life yearns for yet we have seemed to make more of life avoid both of these with great gusto.
Today, I asked friends, acquaintances, family to respond to the question, what three words come to mind when you think of me… my writing, my singing, my spoken word, my life. To say I felt like Gus in Fault in Our Stars is an understatement. Such kind and thoughtful words were shared… but the ones I most appreciated were these: passionate, authentic, contagious. When and activity presents itself like this one … I tend to think of the words that represent my short comings and wonder if those will be lifted up… absent minded, scattered, doubtful. I feel sometimes like I’m absent minded because I am so passionate about who I am with and what I am doing that everything else fades… sometimes that might be other appointments.. keys… the coffee I stepped into the grocery store to buy… sometimes the small things get over looked for the what’s right in front of me things.. and I love that part of who I am as well as see it for the challenge it is. I sometimes feel scattered and yet I am so open to sharing that with others. I feel comfortable sharing the pain, sharing the I don’t know-s of life, sharing the obstacles and let others see that scattered is really an ok thing to be at times. I am not perfect and the older I get, the easier it is to embrace the me who I am as well as push toward the me I want to become. Finally, I realize I am doubtful at times… only because I sometimes feel I share the too real thing and share it with enthusiasm and a deep desire that others will join my rag tag life parade. At times, people don’t want that much real and they sure don’t want to be asked to be that themselves… thus the doubt. May I should tone me down. A toned down me wouldn’t be me and so as I accept these amazing words of how I have impacted others…I heard these words myself. That raising the banner of Love, Hope, Joy are good and true virtues and I deeply want others to see those aspects in their own lives. Passionate…authentic… contagious… healing… love… faithful… joyful… comforting.. gusto.. care.. enthusiasm.. with heart… heartfelt.. witness.. fully… unconditionally… inspiring… hopeful… motivating… blessed.. bountiful… engaging.. uplifting… dynamic.. enchanting… Godly… grace… truth… beautiful… inspirational.. genuine…
After reading the words spoken… I thought of three words myself… thank you all!
Stunned
Twice today a bird has hit the large window in the den where my desk is. I have gotten up both times to look out the window to find a bird, but have only seen the overgrown crab grass that grows wildly under a white dogwood tree. Those birds are fast! Maybe they didn’t even hit the ground, before they took off. But the sound of both impacts makes me believe they must have hit the ground, but wow, they recovered quickly. I mean I have seen birds just lay there for a moment. I have seen birds die on impact. Each time an animal is lost on our watch, our family has been pretty good about pausing for a moment of silence to celebrate and to remember a life well lived. A few words are spoken and heads are bowed. Just last week, Zach brought home a Fiddler Crab from school and named him Bob. Bob only lasted a day with us. Ron called me to say they carried Bob to the tree line. Ron expected a moment of reverent silence. Ron asked Zach if he had a few words to say. As Zach flung Bob into the trees, he said, “nah, we’re good!” Well, let’s say, sometimes we’re good about that!
When I think about those birds, I think flying is good, death is difficult, but stunned is, well, just stunned. Sometimes it takes a while for resolution. It takes a while to realize what just happened. It takes a while to get up and get back to flying. Can I relate? I don’t know about you, but there have been some stunning moments in my life. Not all of them were life threatening. Some of them have ended up quite pleasantly. Others ended up being heartbreaking. What I know of life is that, that is life. One minute you’re flying and the next you hit your head on a window you never saw coming. What about that window draws birds to it? I guess it looks real. It looks safe. It is falsely perceived as the right way to go. Yet it’s not. Recently, I read a quote from Picasso that said, “art is a lie that tells the truth.” Sometimes there is a hint of that in real life, don’t you think?
Funny, we spend millions on cosmetics, clothes, and accessories, when we know in our heart of hearts that we came into this world in our birthday suit and we’re leaving in the same outfit. Our beauty, our true beauty, lies within ourselves. When we truly share our inner self, the superficial pales in comparison to all that we adorn ourselves with. Our true beauty is our laugh, our gentle look, our sincere smile, our shared tears, the way we share our true selves when we lose all concept of self-awareness. When we are real and genuine with each other and our selves. That kind of treasure can’t be bought or sold or traded or owned or bartered with or stolen from. It is all we ever need to be, just us. When we are that, our true selves, we are not afraid of judgment, imperfection or criticism. The phrase “comfortable in our own skin” has a life, and it’s us, who we are.
This past week during a women’s retreat, a young mom shared her story with me. She told me about the loss of her son Matthew James, born 6 weeks ago. He only lived 3 days; but she said in those three days, she was more certain of God’s presence than ever before. Though she mourned the loss of her son, she celebrated a life lived and loved fully in 3 short days. I told her of my friends, Rodney and Allison, and of my singing for their daughter, Mercy Elizabeth’s celebration of life. I sang “Grayson’s song — Child From Above” from my CD of lullabies. I asked Matthew’s mom if I could sing it for her during the communion service we had during the retreat. I said it was now the “Grayson, Mercy, Matthew” song. She smiled and said, “I would be honored.”
Now to the thing that made me laugh during such a heartfelt moment. Her friend Kim who was sitting on the pew in front of her, as the song started, jumped over the pew to sit with her. All of us began to laugh. I later commented on the moment, “what makes a woman jump over a pew in church during a song, during communion, to sit next to her friend, to put her arms around her? During a time when most folks, won’t make eye contact with her makes her look into her eyes and say, ‘I’m right here.'” It was poetically stunning or stunningly poetic! We all thought at the same time, “why didn’t I do that.” What a sweet gesture. I’m so glad we didn’t just sit in silence and stare at the floor. That mom told me she was numb and her body ached all over. At the same time she said, I almost didn’t come today, but I am so glad I chose to.
I think of her back in her town. All the love they have to give to her, all the ways they want to support her, yet many of us don’t know what to do at times like that. Sometimes ya gotta jump a pew. The lie may be to believe that to be silent and still makes it better. Don’t say the wrong thing. When all along, when we find that we have slammed into a glass window, the truth is we need people to be willing to just be with us through it, not to be afraid to share their own pain with us and maybe we don’t need them to talk at all. Just to jump the pew already and sit by us and to put their arm around us.
On that same weekend, someone gave me this quote that said, “A friend understands what you are trying to say… even when your thoughts aren’t fitting into words.” Ann D Parrish
I’m not sure what made those two birds get up and get on with it and fly toward their next. I know the only thing that gives me the will… what made that woman jump the pew… is only love. Love that surrounds us when we are stunned… love that makes us forget ourselves and reach out to others… love that carries us… love that lifts us when we can’t lift ourselves.
One of my favorite songs says it all…
Love lifted me
Love lifted me
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me
w. James Rowe, 1865-1933 / m. Howard E Smith 1863-1918
Psalm 40:2 He lifted me out of the pit… set my feet on a rock.
All my love… be pew jumpers, friends! ~ Celia Anne
Legacy: what are you and I doing that lasts?
The painting in this photo was given to me as a gift on the evening of Thursday March 19, 1981 by the painter. It was painted for me by my dear friend, Don Begnaud. Real flowers would not have lasted this long, but this bouquet brightens my home still today and I have been forever changed by the love of the painter.
Recently, on Wednesday July 29, 2009, our family’s travel schedule through Louisiana took us from New Orleans to Shreveport and we passed through Lafayette where I went to high school. We decided to drive through Taco Sisters, a new restaurant started by a high school friend of mine. As we entered town and drove through familiar territory, I felt a nudge to call my friend Don Begnaud. I try listen to those nudges and I asked Ron and the boys if we could stop by for a visit. I called the old phone number I had and Begnaud answered. (We often called him by his last name; not Mr. Begnaud, just Begnaud.) He was delighted that I called and I was delighted that he answered. I hadn’t spoken with him or seen him in since we had dinner together at Don’s Seafood in Lafayette in the spring of 1991.
Don updated me on his life, “Celia, I’ve got cancer and they just sent me home. There is nothing else they can do.”
“Don,” I said, “I’m so sorry, could I come by after lunch?”
“Please come by,” he said quickly.
As I hung up the phone, I told Ron that I’d rather drop in before lunch.
When we arrived, Don’s sister Olga answered the door and Don stood from a chair in the living room. The look on his face said it all. He was as delighted as I was to see an old friend. For the next hour we talked of art and of people we had seen and kept up with.
My son Zach asked about “Hello Dolly.” (that was our senior play) and Don said, “Your mom was Dolly.” Zach quickly asked Don, “were you Hello?” That was priceless. We had a great laugh together and Don really had a great laugh.
We talked about nothing and we talked about everything, everyday joys and summertime. We talked about my sons’ Max and Zach’s bed hair, and about their not wanting to cut it all summer. We talked about Ron and about our marriage of 21 years. We talked about my singing, writing, and painting and about our lives in Nashville. He talked about his family — his sisters, nieces, nephews, and about his art. I talked about how beautifully he viewed and captured life in his paintings.
I gave him copies of music I had recorded and books I had written. At the end of our visit we all held hands as we sat in a circle–Don and me and Olga and Ron and Max and Zach, and we had a prayer.
As my family filed out of the house, I sat near my good friend, hugged him one last time and told I loved him and he told me he loved me, too. He told me how glad he was that I had stopped by. Then I said, “now Begnaud, if I don’t see you again, we’ll meet in heaven by the buffet.” With his signature laugh he said, “indeed, indeed.”
As I write this, I am sitting, having just read his obituary. He died only a week after our visit. I regretted not keeping in touch with him through the years and I regretted not singing for him on that last visit, but I cannot imagine improving on our bon voyage conversation.
I am so very grateful for the opportunity to have loved Don Begnaud and for the opportunity to have been loved by him.
Begnaud was larger than life, and that fit with his love for theater, especially of musical theater. I met Don when I was only 17. He was cast as the leading man in Hello Dolly and I was Dolly as a high school senior. I enjoyed the way the whole cast fit together. As I think about it, that experience was magical for me. I believe it might have been the first Lafayette High performance that Don was recruited for. Don taught English and I still thank God that I never had him as a student (I knew many who had him and I so enjoyed our working relationship. Being his student might have changed things for us.) Prior to the musical, I remember only knowing of him. I knew where his classroom was. I knew that many of my friends loved him as a teacher. When our school choir director, Mary Jane Jones, said he would be part of the cast and the leading man in Dolly, Horace Vandergelder, I remember thinking that we were all in for a treat.
As we began rehearsals, I found him to be charming and professional. He sang great, knew his lines and reminded me of mine when I forgot them. He was kind, caring and a joy to be around.
Many times that spring and the summer following my senior year, I found myself dropping by his home. He was the kind of person you just wanted to be around. He laughed often and out loud. Our performances were for us a piece of heaven. We always talked about how magic happens. Looking back, I know now what the magic was. It was about our being together. There is something that happens in life. I think it is a glimpse of God’s kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven. When communion happens. You look around at the people in the room, at those in your circle and you are filled with joy, with love and it bursts forth. It surrounds you and you are captured by it. Hello Dolly was one of those experiences. I found it in our director, Mary Jane Jones who brought out the best in all of us and believed we could be better than we thought we could. I found it in the cast and crew, many who were friends or who became friends. We worked as a team as we cheered for each other and we knew we were a part of something special and timeless. Don Begnaud was a large part of that gift for me personally.
The things that were larger than life about Don were his presence, his friendship, his smile, his sincere delight in others, his words of encouragement… his spirit. I learned through my experience in Dolly that there are people who find joy in making others look good. Don was one of those people.
Our first performance was a matinee. As is the tradition, many well wishers sent flowers or cards to cast members. When I arrived at the auditorium for our first evening performance the next day, I met Don waiting in the parking lot for me. He handed me a package. It was wrapped simply in brown paper and masking tape. I opened it with the glee of a child to find a beautiful painting of flowers and a butterfly that he had painted for me. He said simply, “I hope you like it.” (There’s a photo of that painting at the top of this post. The real painting is about 12″ x 16″ and it still rests in the frame that Don chose as its home.) Today it brightens my home, and I look at that painting everday. I have often thought of Don and of his lasting gesture of love that day. He knew that I’d lose a card, the flowers and photos would fade and be lost in attics, we’d all grow older and move on from that night.
Don was first and foremost a teacher. I still have his painting and have carried it with me this far along with some other gifts that I learned from him.
Here are some that I have know to be true because of my teacher and my friend Begnaud:
- Life is precious. Savor it.
- Love is a genuine, unconditional, selfless gift. Give thanks for it.
- Joy is at hand for each of us. Embrace it.
- No stage is too small or too big, not to step onto it.
- Be who you are. Leave it all on the stage or give it all, embrace it all, be completely in that moment.
- No fake smile will work. Work at just seeing something to smile about. You don’t have to try so hard to be real. Indubitably was one of his favorite words and he used it frequently. Don was indubitably genuine. I believed that he was Horace (his character), because he believed. He lived into it, he embraced it, he found a way to put his heart and his life into that story.
- Be wonderful. Don was full of wonder and delight, be it art, music, theater or acting. He was filled with the wonder of others. He wanted to know how you were, to hear your story. He listened as intently as if he were hearing a beautiful aria for the first time.
- Be about helping others with their lives. On opening night there was this one scene that I could never get the sequence of the dialogue. I practiced it a thousand times. I wrote notes on props and then I forgot it. Don didn’t miss a beat, he covered for it and made me look good. The second night, he did the same thing, though we both got tickled and almost broke character, the audience loved it.
- Sometimes it is not gonna come out perfectly, but it still might be better than we planned.
- Realize that any magic that happens really has little to do with you. It is all about giving, for the pure love of giving.
So be you a teacher, singer, actor, stay-at-home mom, preacher, doctor, lawyer, importer, painter, choral director or whatever you are; do it with joy and with love and trust that nothing will be wasted.
Don taught me some great life lessons. When I think of that last visit, what I will remember is his smile. Though I knew him to be in pain, sleepy from the drugs and weary from the fight; he still had energy to muster joy, share his love for me and to live in the moment on his terms. I want to be like that. I want to be about things that last, kind of like his beautiful painting in my home that I walk by every day. When it’s all said and done, love will be the the thing that matters. Faith, hope and love abide, but the greatest of these, really, really, really is love and that lesson (in painting and in example) for me is indubitably Begnaud’s legacy.
Rest in peace, friend. I’ll see you at the buffet!
I love you, Celia
Donald Ray Begnaud
(May 24, 1938 – August 5, 2009)
Here are a couple of links: Tributes | Obituary
Mothers’ Day 2009
As I think about the upcoming Mothers’ Day, I am mindful of what Max says when I ask him to kiss me goodnight. I tell me he loves me and say something sweet. His something sweet is the same every time and it said with the spirit of “I want you to give me something!” Moms and dads out there know the tone! He says, “You are the best mom ever!” I kiss him, tell him I love him and say something sweet back like, “You’re the best Max ever!”
Honestly, there are days when I don’t feel like the best mom ever. In concert, when I set up the song “Most of All You Were There” (It is found on our new lullabies CD and in my new gift book for women “One Wish For You” It is about our son Zach at school a few months ago. Ron and I got our trays and sat with Zach and his first grade class. Two girls immediately begun to talk to Ron and urgently want his attention, “Zach’s dad, Zach’s dad.” As Ron turned around, they said, “Zach’s dad, Zach is so gross, he’s sticks his finger up his nose.” About that time Zach interrupted quietly, “Dad, Dad.” As Ron turned around Zach said, “Dad, you know those girls you were just talking to? They bug me all the time. If I want them to leave me alone, all I have to do is stick my finger up my nose!”
Ok, I am not condoning this practice (no cards and letters, please. I have talked to him about this behavior and if you have been to one of my concerts with your children and I have told this story, I apologize.) I’m just saying no matter of talking to him is gonna keep his finger out of his nose!
As I think about Mothers day and about what makes a good/best mom, here are a few thoughts:
- If I am any good at being a mom, it is because of all the best moms I am around and that have learned from. I try to pay attention. I think of one mom I babysat for. Her 5-year daughter showed her a picture that she had drawn at school. The mom gently said, “I bet that picture makes you feel so proud and happy. I am delighted to see what you have created, tell me about it.” And then the mom listened intently to the explanation. I also remember the daughter who told me that her mom stood at the front door everyday before the daughter left for school and told her, “You are amazing!” The daughter told me that everyday she walked out of my door believing that I was amazing and capable of whatever I would encounter. Another friend told me that when her son lost his temper one day and began to yell and cry, he said “what’s really wrong is that I miss dad and I’m so sad he died.” She sat down and said, “me, too” and they had a long cry together.
- I guess I have been a student all my life and will always be. When it comes to becoming the best mom I can be. The best mom’s encourage, apologize, empathize, aren’t afraid to say, “I’m sorry,” aren’t scared to say, “I didn’t do that so well,…I’m gonna get better,” handle the most joyous times with humility and most challenging moments with grace. One of my favorite compliments was received while having dinner with the President of our alma mater, Centenary College of Louisiana, Dr. Kenneth Schwab and other members of the faculty and my family. Our best behavior would have been very appropriate and we even had a family talk about it prior to the event. It was one of those events that a sitter would’ve been great for, but it was an opportunity for my sons to be exposed to an event that was good for them. It was after I spoke at the President’s day convocation to the student body a few years ago. While we had dinner in the cafeteria, my boys were quite busy and entertaining. Zach played his armpit during the dessert, as I tried to silence him while keeping my composure. My aunt Dinah came up to me and whispered in my ear, “Celia, I can tell not only how much you love the boys, but you all really like each other.” I feared I would be judged as my friends and my aunts, yet I was embraced with such a sweet compliment that made the lunch feel right at home.
- If I am becoming my best mom, it is because of others who parent along side me. One reason is because I am raising my boys with a best dad. Ron Whitler makes me a better mom simply because he is an incredible dad. I am more than blessed. Most days I feel my life is a dream. I am constantly receiving these outlandish moments — they are gifts. Daily in small ways, he gives over and over all he has. We are partners in this and I am thankful everyday that we are walking this earth together and that Max and Zach know and are known by their father. He is slow to anger and quick to compassion. He is fun, caring and can still swing from a rope swing into a river with the best of ‘em–he did it last week.
- I truly feel we cannot do it alone. Even when we feel as if we are working alone. There are those who help, who fill in, who nurture, who parent alongside us–dads, grandparents, neighbors, doctors, teachers, Sunday school volunteers, counselors, coaches, aunts, uncles, cousins, church members, babysitters and friends. They all make me better as a mother. They quilted my journey as a child. I have often thought of ways my mother did the best she could and about how many others filled in the gaps. I am counting on that with my own sons. There are so many ways I am going to fall short and so many wonderful mothering my two will receive from other people. Thank goodness I do not have to do this alone and I believe our children are better when we raise them together. When I had Max, we traveled so much and there were so many who held him as I sang. I always thought he wasn’t just mine and I still feel that way. I so wanted to share him with the world and for all of us to love him. I think of those children without mothers, even those times I have been in the park and seen a child be mean to another beyond the sight of an adult. I have gently stepped in and said a word. I am counting on you to do the same with my sons.
- Each night I pray that God would make me more loving. I have so many days when I know that I am not my best. I have lost my temper before 8 am. I have said the mean thing, when I knew self control was a better option. I have forgotten the class tee shirt for the field trip. ok that happened two days ago, it was the right color, so it was 2 sizes too small because it was little brothers from last year. Instead of sharing shame, Max, when I saw it was the wrong one shared grace. “Mom, no worries,” he quickly said, “and I’ll wear it on field day, too. It was the right color, who cares if it doesn’t have an eagle [mascot] on it.”
- I am much harder on myself than anyone else is on me about my performance as a mother. I know if the super Nanny came to my house today, it would be a two hour show! So I am on my knees saying a prayer that one friend shared with me a couple of years ago, “Lord, you got me in this mess, so you are going to have to get me out.” I continue to go study the fruits of the Spirit — Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I also revisit the love chapter: I Corinthians, Chapter 13. I guess I would say that I am the best at trying, the best at looking for ways to improve. Maybe that needs to be on a plaque that I can look at each day. I have always joked that I heard the first 30 years are the hardest for a mom, but I know that isn’t true. When I delivered those two boys I played U2 and BB King’s version of When Love Came to Town in the delivery room and I believe it is true. Love did come into my life as it never had before.
I just tucked love into bed for the night with their favorite blankets, bear and dog… nite nite … mommy loves you!
God could not be everywhere and therefore He made mothers.
Jewish proverb
Real
One of my favorite sayings is one from my friend Ms Viola Cook. At a spry ninety years old, she says, “the best part of life is living.”
Several nights ago while reading “The Velveteen Rabbit” to Max and Zach I was reminded of this saying. I’ve always loved that story; especially the conversation between the Skin Horse and the little rabbit.
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick – out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made, ” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt? Asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up, ” he asked, ” or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once, ” said the Skin Horse. ” You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
” Give me my Bunny!” the boy said, ” You mustn’t say that he’s a toy. He isn’t a toy He’s REAL!” When the little Rabbit heard that, he was happy, for he knew that what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real, The Boy himself had said it.
I started a conversation about what it means to be real. Max was already asleep–when he gets still he can’t make himself stay awake. Zach like his mama is nocturnal. He doesn’t want to go to sleep because he is afraid he might miss some fun!
“What is real, Zach?” “You know,” he said, “when you’re alive.” “What do you mean Zach?” Like I didn’t get it, he looked at me and said, “Alive… really living.”
OK there’s living and then there’s really living. You know the difference.
* Living is a paycheck. Really living is doing something you love and you can’t believe they pay you for it, working with folks who love what they do, feeling like you are making some kind of a difference and the world is better because of what you do!
* Living is a house. Really living is a home, with 4 loads of cleaned clothes piled up in one laundry basket, loud dinners, and baseball games in the front yard with chairs as bases and everybody runs on everything. I’m sorry and I love you are spoken often, and the kitchen border is some kind of art project made with construction paper, markers and string,
* Living is a boyfriend. Really living is finding the love of your life — someone you want to share all of your life with, someone who doesn’t laugh when the new haircut didn’t turn out exactly like the hairstylist described it, someone who wants to meet your family–really your family–now that’s funny, someone who will get dressed up for a dance, take you to a fancy dinner with stuff on the menu that he can’t pronounce when they would just as soon hold your hand and walk to Dairy Queen for a chocolate dipped ice cream cone.
* Living is someone you know. Really living is having friends — friends who you sit and have coffee with and you laugh till you cry or you start to cry and they try to make you laugh; friends who get you — the no-makeup you and the Oh my what in the world I’m late and I’ve got go and I forget to say good bye late friend. Friends who don’t need to speak when yu are together for you to know how loved you are.
* Living is the perfect family picture for Christmas on the mantle. Really living is your real family — mom and dad, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents, neighbors and friends who are family… people who get your mess, who you have to text and say what did you mean by that? People who walk through the fire with you, who come over to eat birthday cake when no one else does… who help get our splinters and who know what real love is and know it can be a mess sometimes.
This kind of love lasts forever as Margery Williams in the Velveteen Rabbit reminds us. The real that once you are real you can’t be unreal again.
May we all get a little nursery magic on us …
Yours, Celia
Thoughts and prayers are with those affected by storms
Jackie Street — June 17, 1959 – Feb 17, 2008
Before I moved to Nashville, I met Jackie Street at the Cooker–a restaurant. Jackie had a couple of restaurants that were considered his offices and I met him at his office. He always had time to stop at your table and give you a hug. I never saw him in a hurry. His own troubles never were the topic of his conversation. I want to be more like Jackie Street. Jackie was an incredible bass play who played on lots of live shows and on albums. (I’m using the term album to mean a collection–Jackie probably played on 8 tracks, vinyl, cassettes and CDs). I will miss Jackie.
Comments about Jackie on NashvilleMusicPros.com
Jackie’s song credits on AllMusic.com. I’d be VERY surprised if you haven’t heard Jackie play bass on one of these songs.
If you saw SNL on Saturday 2/23/08, Carrie Underwood’s bass player Mark Childers had “IMO (in Memory of) Jackie Street” written on his bass in big letters. Jackie’s family was told before the broadcast about the tribute and it was a nice gesture. Mark played on “Live Christ” and the rest of the CD in my book.
Jackie, Rest In Peace
Real-Life Love
Valentines Cards paint love as simple and easy, but I’ve always thought that real-life love is messy.
Tonight I had a chance to be with my family. I thought about leaving tomorrow, gone for the weekend and idealized a loving family night together. What really happened was that we fussed and negotiated about the normal parent-child stuff and ended up apologizing before we headed outside to watch stars before a family skip-bo tournament. I had pulled out twister, boggle, hi-ho cherry-o and was ready for a fun evening. They’ll have to wait.
Oh well, that loving family evening didn’t turn out as I’d planned, but whatever does? As I’m writing this Zach is awake playing with an empty laundry bag. He’s walking around the kitchen. He’s supposed to be heading off to bed. I wanna be frustrated but it is really funny. He looks like a walking laundry bag.
On a visit to my home, a friend brought me a canvas that hangs in our kitchen. It says,
“In this home…
we do second chances,
we do grace, we do real,
we do mistakes,
we do I’m sorrys,
we do loud really well,
we do hugs,
we do family,
we do love.”
That sums up our family. It can be a mess, but it’s a lovely mess and it’s our mess.
This past week I was with a group of teenage students. I told them about the times that Zach used to say, “I love you one thousand.” Then he started saying, “ I love you 1,016,” then one day he said, “I love you like a chicken.” (I’m not really sure what that means. Maybe it means, I love you with all I can think of.) I have shared this phrase with tens of thousands of concert-listeners. This weekend I shared that story and asked the youth to greet each other. Tell someone you’re glad they came this weekend or maybe that you love them or maybe that you love them like a chicken. On the way to the bonfire, Emily said, “I don’t get the ‘I love you.’ I mean tell a stranger or someone you hardly know that you love them. Isn’t that a little awkward and forced.” Well I smiled, I said to Emily, “maybe I needed to say it as much as or more than someone else needed to hear it.” “I get it she said, we could all use a little more love in our lives right?” Even it it’s messy or unexpected or feels a little out of place or strange.
I thought of a conversation I had recently with a friend who I hadn’t heard from in some time. I had called her a few months back with a prayer request and didn’t heard back from her, immediately. Last week, we finally connected. Within minutes of our talk she apologized for not returning my call. First I laughed and said I am a moving target, so you probably wouldn’t have gotten me either and again she said, Celia, I love you and am so sorry I didn’t call you back. It had obviously bothered her more than it bothered me. All I could say was I love you and love isn’t like that. It doesn’t want to make someone else feel bad. It doesn’t want a friend to feel horrible (“aherrible”- as Zach used to say. He insisted adamantly that he had the word correct and you didn’t.) The only way to love is messy. Recently a new friend and I spent an evening together and at one point she said, I’m gonna let you down sometime. It thought , “but I might let you down first.”Isn’t that how life and love are.
Back home, as the lights are low and every one’s asleep but me and my Dog Lilly, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The sign in my kitchen catches my eye. I want to grab and sharpie marker and add to it, “we do messes” Love is messy. It’s heart breaking it’s frustrating, it’s complicated, it’s wonderful, it’s forgiving, it’s a million things and more. The only way for it not to be a mess is not to love.
My prayer for you and I is that we that we willl know how loved we are. Because to be honest, more than loves is a mess, I am a mess in spite of it. There is a God who knows all the stuff hidden under my bed and that same God loves me now more than I could ever imagine and loves you the same.
Watch some stars with someone you love this week. Tell someone you love them like a chicken.
Yours… Celia
On Directions
Who do you ask for directions? I had an experience last month that got me thinking.
I was returning from a visit with my friend Kathleen and I arrived early at my gate at the D/FW Airport, so I picked up breakfast from the McDonald’s in my terminal. Upon returning to my gate I noticed an empty information booth. It was perfect — no one was sitting there; it had a counter and a chair; it was near the door at my gate and it was near the main floor to the terminal. It would be a great place to enjoy my breakfast and to people-watch (or so I thought)! So I did what I normally do, I made myself at home. Placing my carry on bags underneath the booth, I took a seat and began eating my breakfast. Something funny happened. Instead of my watching people, people started watching me. Above my head was a sign that said, “information.” As folks walked by, they stopped. At first I thought, “surely they will know that I’m just at traveler, like them, stopping to eat my breakfast.” I mean come on my sausage biscuit was sitting right there next to my Starbucks. OK I love McDonalds breakfast… but Starbucks was a must! I guess they thought that I had some information they needed and they began to stop.
“Excuse me, do you know how to get to Terminal C?” As I looked up at a family of four, “Sure,” I answered. Catch the Skylink right behind this hallway and it will take you right there. It’s just two stops away and you’ll be there in no time,” I smiled.
A man came by wearing a “Life is Good” baseball cap on his head. “Say can you help me get to the extended parking? I’m having trouble remembering which bus to catch?” “Alright,” I said, “this one’s a little tough.” There was a map nearby and I said, “it might take a while, but be patient you’ll get there. The trams do come my quickly and when I’ve been away from my car for a while I have to stop and think ‘OK. now where did I leave you?’” And off he went.
A lovely retired couple came by asking how one might change a flights and leave a little later on another flight. Hmmmmm I knew they’d need a higher power. “You know what? You’ll need a gate agent to help you. I can’t do that one.” So I directed them to the nearest gate where a friendly agent quickly began to pull up their record and redirect there route home. After a while I picked up my biscuit and thought I might as well eat while I’m here. I called my friend Kathleen and I got so tickled as we laughed at how once again I had found myself in an interesting situation. I told her it was funny as I watched the family of four run off to catch the Skylink train to make their flight. They all smiled and waved at me, “hey thanks for the help.” “Have a fun trip,” I laughed. Kathleen and I giggled that I should leave while I could, before I sent someone in the wrong direction or gave out bad advice and made their trip worse.
One of my favorite movies as a child was “The Great Impostor (1961).” Tony Curtis starred in it. His character took on roles of different people. At times others thought him to be that person and they treated him as if he was. Once he was a doctor and once a warden of a prison. The funny thing is that he was good at his roles. He became who others thought of him to be. Instead of being just the impostor, he genuinely became that person and really was quite good at helping people and at making a difference. Yet he was always wondering if he would be discovered.
The role of information expert fell on me by accident and I don’t encourage pretending like someone you are not, but I felt a little bit like I was in that movie while I sat at that booth. I wondered if someone would finally see me for who I was. I was not the information lady, but someone waiting for a plane and eating my breakfast. I wondered if anyone from my flight had seen me at the booth and wondered “what in the world? What’s she doing? She can’t sit there. What information does she have that can help? There needs to be a qualified official information person in that chair.” I just smiled and thought, “you will have to tell it to the 25 people who I just helped along their way.”
I wonder how it can be that I’m the person being asked for directions when, I’m guessing much of the time. And there are moments when I think, “now I don’t have the answer for you, but I’m here with you and I can point you in a direction I’d look if I were you.”
Here’s the thing, you never know where you’ll find information about your direction and who might be the one to lead you there. God is using all of us. We are all instruments. Even if we don’t feel like we should be sitting in the information booth.
My desire is to move people and I think music is the way I’m called to do so. Sometimes it’s not just a moving of the heart or emotion, it’s more like pointing the way. How do I get from here to there? How do I get un-lost? How can I understand which way to go from here?
I have to tell you that as that family ran by, I had a moment when I thought, “this is it. This is my purpose… to help others on the way to somewhere.” I’m not sure how it works. I spend my days writing and singing songs, telling stories, taking morning walks, chatting over coffee, sharing great dinners, taking road trips, sharing music that I love with others, eating birthday cake to remember someone special, going to a water park, making and taking phone calls, making late trips to sit by a friend’s side and offering words of help and comfort. Sometimes — OK many times – it’s just about being there.
Who are you called to help? Who is your neighbor? Who is near you? Sometimes it is a proximity thing — Love God with all you heart, mind and strength and love your neighbor as yourself. The best thing I had to share at that empty information booth that day was myself.
Blessings to you fellow travelers, I love you and my deepest prayer is that wherever these days lead you, that you will feel God’s loving arms around you and know as you journey that you are not alone.
Celia
PS To the guy looking for extended parking: I’m sorry if I didn’t say it at first, but you might have needed to have caught the bus on the lower level. I hope you made it to your car that day. Loved the hat. Life is good!