Author: Celia Whitler

WHAT·NOT n.

WHAT·NOT n.
1. A minor or unspecified object or article.
2. A set of light, open shelves for ornaments.

January 7, 2006 – My flight was early. We were scheduled for a 6:46 AM departure and for me, that’s early. I had already had a half a cup of coffee and had been up since 5:04 am. I was staying at a hotel located literally feet from the airport. As I entered the lobby, there was an airline crew sitting on couches. My best guess is that they were two pilots and a flight attendant. As I loaded my bags into the hotel shuttle, I saw them walking to the terminal. It was a cool morning and I was glad to be sitting in a warm van. Ricky was our driver. By 5:30 my friend who was traveling with me playing guitar, Thad and I were on our way. We were 50 feet from the American Airlines terminal. Ricky was friendly for 5:30 am. He said you stay over at our hotel again. We not only offer rides to the airport, but to shops, fast food restaurants and whatnot. I smiled and said the whatnot is probably where I’d want to go.

What is whatnot? I’ve often heard that term, but have never been sure what it was. I guess I’ve always thought it was the extra stuff after the important stuff. Once on a visit to Nashville before Ron and I moved there, I visited an area near music row and near downtown. It was a strip of tourist shops. I wish I could remember all of the names of the shops. As I meandered my way from store to store killing time before I met with someone to talk about what I needed to know about the “music industry.” Sometimes I’d meet friends of friends asking me about my writings songs, singing on the road, selling music. Those first years, I’d travel to Nashville and like a good student, I’d learn what was working and what wasn’t working for others. Many people assisted me as I journeyed this road. Funny I might have a meeting at 10 and then nothing until 2 PM. I hung out at a few places. Long before Starbucks, I went to the “Slice of Life” a quaint coffee shop / restaurant near music row. They had great tea. I’d sit for hours writing songs and reading the newspaper. And sometimes I’d visit the string of souvenir shops. My favorite was the Elvis Presley Museum. Every time someone entered the door, the young lady from behind the counter beamed and faithfully recited her speech. As I remember it, “Welcome to the Elvis Presley Museum. It is our pleasure today to offer you private pictures, personal possessions and never before seen items of Elvis Presley. Before you is an array of items to purchase, signed autographs of Elvis, his very own Driver’s License, tee shirts, music, videos, books written about Elvis, Love me Tender Lotion, whatnots and such.”

I would wander around to pass time. It seems there was also a car in the lobby Elvis had owned. I might be the only one entering the store and about the second or third time I’d drop by, I’d just wave her off and say, it’s okay, I’ve heard it. I kept thinking I’d write it down, I have not done it justice. She was much more thorough and chipper. She made most greeters seem pretty somber. And always dressed with a southern smile. How do they find these wonderful people? Especially with repeat customers, I’d be like a whatever — helps yourself to the whatnots and such.

And I’m back where I started at 5:30 AM, the extra stuff. I get distracted by the whatnot, I’ll be honest. I’ve gone in to the grocery store for milk and left with a bag of whatnot and no milk. I guess my new years resolution is to do better with the whatnot, to not lose sight of the big, real, vital things in my life. To name them, give them my time, attention, prayer, efforts and let the whatnots and such fade out of my vision. How can I do that? My only road map like many of you is to stay focused — for me, it’s to stay focused on Christ. I want what matters to Christ, to matter to me: what I should be doing, who I should be reaching out to, where my treasure should be. I want to make an effort to line myself up with that this year, this week, this day and this moment. The whatnots often seem appealing, but when I get them or focus on them I later discover they were neither as important nor as sustaining as their initial appeal.

Mind you the “love me tender lotion” along the with house slippers with Elvis head attached above the toes, had their lure–but their appeal wasn’t abiding or lasting. And the next time I visited there, I’d always be on the lookout for a new whatnot.

Coming to Nashville on these early trips, what I spent my time on then, I know now, still hold its value. The relationships I built and the people I met, as we each heard God’s call and followed those paths somehow we bumped into each other along the way and the same is true today. There a lot of whatnots out there. Places to go, things to distract us, agendas to seek, goals to meet and this next year, my prayer, my deepest desire is to find those that are the truest, that are aligned with Christ — my faith, my family and my purpose. I’m gonna focus on those and pray somehow they are the ones that matter. As Ricky dropped me off curbside, I thanked him for the ride. I asked what he was gonna do, when he’s off at 6 am. “Oh I have a 13 year old daughter and that’s my first priority each day.” “Have a good day with her and God Bless you both,” I said. He doesn’t seem interested in the whatnot and I shouldn’t be either.

the Real Santa or just a helper?

The line was moving slowly and Max and Zach were not moving slowly, as usual. How crazy is it to stand in a line for a half hour just to see a man sitting in a chair? On the way to the mall we had a long talk about the difference between the real Santa and his many helpers. We had prepared the boys to meet one of his helpers–there are so many malls these days. At one point Ron left with both of the boys for a potty run and I was left in the line by myself for ten minutes. It was funny to stand in line alone and when they returned, Zach had been leaning against the split rail fence in the mall. The rough wood had left a million or so pulls in his sweater which were going to be seen in the photograph. This was the first time he had worn this sweater. I repaired those and we were back to waiting . Finally we were next. Zach peered around the corner and turned back and said to us, It is really him. It’s really Santa. One of his assistants ushered us toward Santa. Max and Zach sat on Santa’s lap. As the photographer finished printing pictures of the child in front of us, I could tell Max and Zach were talking to Santa. They were laughing and carrying on. The photographer told me that as long as we were buying a photo (at the mall price) we could snap a few of our own while they worked. I took a few pictures, but was moreinterested in hearing the conversation that was going on. Then I saw Zach lift Santa’s beard and examine the connection between the whiskers and skin. Santa said, “see, it’s real. It’s really me.”

Quickly the photographer returned and to our surprise, the first image was a keeper. As the boys left Santa, they said, “thanks,” and “we love you.” Santa motioned to Ron and I and shook each of our hands. He looked us dead in the eye and said, “Merry Christmas and God bless you. You have a dear family–very special.” To say I was taken back is an understatement. I’m not sure what I expected him to say. Something more like, “order package A of the prints for $139.95;” certainly not, “God Bless you and your dear family.” I was so moved. I smiled and said, “God bless you, Santa. Thank you.”

Okay here’s the thing, he really had a twinkle in his eye. As I shook his hand, I thought about our drive to the mall and about Zach’s questions. I told Zach I’m not sure maybe he’s a helper and the real one was busy at the North Pole. Is he the real one? As I stood face to face with Santa, I wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t and I am still wondering today.

As we drove away, Zach said, “you know he’s the real one, mom.” I asked what they had talked about. Max let me know what he told Santa that he wanted–band instruments, so when his friends come over they can play. Goodness, start the therapy fund!! Zach said, “well I asked him how do you get skinny?” “What do you mean Zach,” I asked. “You know mom, how does he get skinny to get down the chimney.” Santa told me, “it’s magic, I can’t tell you.” Max made sure he knew wewill be visiting grandparents on the all-important day and to make sure our toys get to the right house. I assured the boys we’d leave him a reminder note.

I don’t know where you are this season or if you’ve visited Santa, yet. Let me just say, he is real and he can still speak to us. Maybe your conversation will hold an unexpected blessing, like mine did. Santa, who sometimes is the symbol for every commercial message that we hits us during this season, reminded me that he knew what the focus of the season is and should be. It’s about faith and family. The birth of the Christ child in our hearts again this year. May you be surprised again and let the mystery of Christmas come into focus. Rest assured that there is no place where God’s truth and message cannot find you, even in the mall.

The last thing Zach wanted to know was if Santa could see through our skin to our bones–an X-ray kind of vision. Max told him, “no, that’s Superman.” It is so easy to get mixed up this time of year.

God bless you and Merry Christmas! I like you and love you, Celia

On seeing and witnessing

On December 17, 1903, the Wright Brothers made the first successful powered flight and entered the history books for years to come. They flipped a coin to determine who would go first on the flight. Several failed attempts were to follow until that morning. Orville Wright flew their 1903 Flyer 120 feet in twelve seconds and a dream was realized.

One of the things that intrigues me is that as bicycle mechanics, beyond wings, they were familiar with wheels and so were also aware of what it took for a safe landing. I becomes about looking at the same situation from a different angle. These creative minds were focused on seeing the critical issues and resolving them. It was about the seeing. Like the innovators, the witnesses who realized what was actually happening, were the ones who had eyes to see. There were only a few witnesses on that sandy hill on Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. Most of them firemen and other locals who had watched from afar – why they came out that day, no one knows. But they witnessed something. I wondered how it affected their lives.

One who was instrumental in that historic day was William Tate, postman, fisherman and jack of all trades. With the encouragement of the chief weatherman of the Outer Banks, William had written a welcome letter years before that day that said to the Brothers not only is the weather right and the terrain perfect but the best reason to come to North Carolina is the people. They are most hospitable and would welcome you here and make their stay a pleasant one. The brothers even housed with the Tates until their housing was established. His wife used her sewing machine to make the modified wings for the 1900 gliders and Wilbur and Orville used Tom Tate, his 6 year old son to fly several gliders due to his light weight. This welcome letter swung the deal..William Tate’s biggest regret is that on that day he was not to see them fly. He thought it was too windy that day and really never got over not being present, but it wouldn’t have happened without him

Among those present was a young man, John T. Daniels who snapped the famous picture of that first flight with Orville’s camera. The funny thing was he wasn’t sure he even did it correctly. Not only did he capture the flight perfectly, but they learned much about the flight because of the detail of his pictures. It amazes me is that he didn’t know for sure, he just took the picture and trusted what he got was what they needed. I’m not sure he understood how important it was that he was the one who took that picture and his part though he was unsure was more than right … it was perfect.

The person I am most intrigued by who was there that day was Johnny Moore, a 16 year old boy who skipped school to watch the flight. I’ve thought since I heard that story that Johnny, the boy who skipped school on that day of all days, would do something great, that he would go on to make an extraordinary contribution. Maybe he was just like most of us. Yes, he witnessed something great but didn’t really know how that translated to him or what he would contribute that would be considered history changing. Not much is known of Johnny Moore’s life. He lived a long life into his 80’s and was the life of the party every where he went and of course he told everyone he was one of the ones who was there. Ron and I walked through the memorial on the coast of North Carolina. We stood on the hill and walked on the very sand they flew over.

A couple of weeks ago, in my Sunday School class, we talked about our faith with regard to Christ’s miracles and the miracle of the resurrection. I spoke about the cross and I realized how overwhelmed I am by the thought of my witnessing that sight even secondhandly. Even the thought of that kind of love is unconceivable to me. I’ve always thought of the birth and death of Christ. What would it have been to be in the midst of that crowd or would have seen those miracles? How would my life would have been changed if I had been on the hill when the little boy offered his loaves and fish and through Christ fed us all? Or what if I had, like Thomas, put my hands in Christ’s pierced side and touched his pierced feet and hands? Would I believe differently if I had witnessed these things first hand? Would I get my role in these events? Or would I be the one who had gone about my business or maybe at a party with my friends said I was there–boasted for boasting sake? How many times like Tate have I thought I missed it the biggest part on have not realized what I did.. the small thing was the biggest part!

What if my life where changed and I didn’t need to say anything.–my life said it all. The sureness of my doing what I am suppose to be doing and being where I’m suppose to be, says it all. I’m not saying I’d have done it any differently. How many times have I finished singing and wondered… was that right.. oh if I had only done it this way.. I wish I had sung this song instead of that.. or said this instead of that. Then there are moments I’m simply caught up in God’s grace and I am so assured that I am where I am suppose to be doing just exactly what I am suppose to be doing. The second part is just as important–how my life is changed after that encounter. I know that I am meeting people in the presence of God’s love, grace, forgiveness. Daily I am given opportunities like Johnny Moore that have such grand potential to change my life and others, if I’d let it–if I’d grow from it–if I’d not be afraid–If I’d not make it about me, but make it about God’s using me. If I’d make it about letting the spirit come through me and about trusting that I am doing it right. Like John T Daniels, I’m sometimes not sure, but I’m faithful and I show up. You and I have a chance today to get it, to do it all differently, to offer something small with hopes that it will make a big change, for the kingdom of God, to let go of regret , to be faithful, to experience God’s presence and become a witness to it. Because of the life of Christ., I cannot-not be changed and seek to give all I have not knowing the outcome. I’ll leave that up to God today. I love the vision of the kings leaving Bethlehem and going home a different way.. I’ve always thought that didn’t just mean a different route, but maybe a different life as well. They were different and nothing would ever be the same, because of what they had seen. Day after day Christ is new every morning, and today I want my life to be a reflection of my witnessing that story.

Be on the lookout and let your life be a reflecton of the miracles you see. Fly your own way today and change history.

Your friend, Celia

P.S. Thanks to the park rangers at the Wright Brothers National Memorial, Kill Devil Hills, NC. and especially Lynn Nashom who was working at the information desk. If you haven’t visited it’s great. lots of cool vintage planes and kids love it. They have kites, toy airplanes and model airplanes of the Wright Brothers‘ plane.

Cherish What is True

Cherish what is true. Be about that which is eternal. Be able to name it both when life is easy and when the going gets tough. Some questions I have asked myself recently are: Does what I am doing have a purpose? Will this matter in 5,10 or 20 years? Do I spend my resources–time, energy and money–on things other than myself and is what I am doing worthy of my efforts? Do I surround myself with those who edify me–who lift me up and do I in turn lift up others? Am I sharing God’s love in all I do and say each day.

When I was in eighth grade, I liked a boy–okay I probably liked lots of boys in eighth grade–but I’m thinking of a particular cute cajun boy from Golden Meadow, Louisiana. His name was Jacob and he played eighth grade football. We had maybe three conversations and he let me wear his ID bracelet with his name engraved on it. I remember having it on, as my dad and I drove from our church in Golden Meadow to our other church in Grand Isle after school one day, my dad asked about the bracelet. As a parent, I am shocked that my dad even noticed it on my wrist, but I was probably paying close attention to it. I remember the loud silence in the car before I finally said, “I like him–I really like him.” My Dad smiled and said, “tell me about him” and I had nothing. After lots of “wells” and “ughs”, I said “he’s cute and well, ugh…” I realized I knew little about this guy. Within a week Jacob asked for his bracelet back and that relationship with that boyfriend ended. It wasn’t a true relationship–it wasn’t real. I loved the IDEA of a boyfriend, I didn’t love him. I loved the idea of his getting to know me–not that he knew me. As I reflect on it today, I’m reminded to cherish what is true, not what you wish were true. When the real deal came along, I could tell.

On a recent Sunday evening I sang at a youth gathering and I noticed a young couple near the back sitting with their arms around each others shoulders. As they left, I asked how long they had been dating. They laughed and said, a week. When I asked, “what do you love about each other,” he quickly looked at her and said, “she’s kind,” and as he looked into her eyes, I knew he knew. She looked away for a moment and thought, “well, ugh, I never thought, well, he…” I stood there. Finally she said, “I never thought about it, but he’s great.” I’m not saying that they are not a match made in heaven or even predicting that I won’t receive a wedding invitation in years to come, I hope to. I was struck by his quick response–he knew the answer, could identify it and embrace it on the spot. Like him, I love that I know what is true about the relationships in my life.

I remember having Max and thinking now that is eternal… that is real love… something true. I spend time and energy with things that do not really matter, but when I run into something that matters immensely–well I’m able to see it clearly. That is what I want to spend my life on–the real stuff. When you meet someone and they have IT–you might not know what it is, but you know it when you see it. When you find yourself in the presence of real–cherish it, soak it up, swim yourself in it, have a hefty dose of it, so that when you find yourself in a shallow, superficial, situation there will be no comparison–kinda like the prodigal son coming to his senses in the pigpen. I want to be about the light, about truth, about what is real. I am blessed to have experienced such a wide variety of situations where I have encountered real–where truth lights a single candle in the midst of darkness.

Recently, I experienced the real stuff–I was privileged to sing for some ladies from New Orleans who had been displaced by hurricane Katrina. I wish you all had been with me and with those ladies in the parlor of First United Methodist Church, Arlington, TX. We shared smiles, stories, music, tenderness, and love — an outpouring of love — we were sisters in the truest sense. I listened as they told stories of searcing for loved ones and of being far from home. I told them of the churches my father had served in their area and I sang a few songs for them. Several closed their eyes, sat very still and just listened. I gave them each a CD. One of them turned to me, held up the CD and said, “well, Celia you’re my music collection. I lost all my gospel music during the storm and am so thankful to have this music.” I felt like the boy with the loaves and fish. I wish I had more to give them, but the love seemed to be enough. I am so thankful for eyes to see and an awareness to recognize the people and the moments–the revelations where God shows up. To be honest I could’ve missed it. On that particular Sunday those ladies were the seventh group that I sang for. I started at eight o’clock that morning and I met these ladies in the parlor at eight that evening. I could easily have missed it something so true, so real and as simple as the 9 of us basking together in God’s presence. That evening, I could name real and claim real and claim what makes it real. What made it real, I believe, was God’s love.

I was once asked by a marketing person at a record label what size group I wanted to sing for. I thought for a moment and said, “anywhere there are people.” It was not the answer he was looking for, but it was my answer. He wanted to know if I really wanted to sing for arenas or for great big churches, but it was my honest answer. I have sung for 25,000 and it’s great; but some of my favorite concert memories are doing a concert for one person in a hospital room or for eight in a parlor or for ten in a juvenile center. I enjoyed the 25,000, but I wouldn’t want to miss the eight, either. So, I’m staying with my original answer–“anywhere there are people.”

Blessing friends. May our paths cross soon and until then may you recognize God’s presence in your life. Celia

LOVING WILDLY

Christ reminds us in John 15:13 No one has greater love that this, to lay down ones life for ones friends. Then he says, “you are my friends, if you do what I command.” What does Christ command? John 15:12 “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”

“Do you wanna be pals? I wanna be yours.” That’s what Zach said to me last night. Then he put his arm around me and smiled. I couldn’t help but laugh–really belly-laugh. My reply was, “yes, of course I want to be pals!” I have been reflecting on what being a pal means to me today. It seems to be about LOVING WILDLY! I have carefully chosen the word “wildly.” According to the dictionary, “wildly” means unrestrained, extravagant, eager–eager means ardent–ardent means devoted and passionate. Those are the ways I want to be loved and the ways, I believe, we are called to love others. I don’t know how to love any other way. I have been blessed to been surrounded all my life with people who loved well and loved wildly.

Loving Wildly is about EXPRESSING IT. Just this past week, I got a chance to be with a friend from another town. We were getting ready to leave a hotel, when she just broke into the sweetest words, “Celia,” she said, “I have been all over the world and met several folks in my life and you are one of my favorites. I love you and feel so privileged to know you and call you friend.” Well I was not prepared for this type of comment from her. We were both putting on makeup in a small bathroom. I was putting on mascara and my first thought was, “what made you say that?” We both leapt to our feet and hugged and talked about how good it is to have a friend that knows you and to recognize that kind of love. So today I called two people that have been on my mind. I wanted to tell them I loved them and was thinking of them. They are two of my best pals and I love them wildly. I had nothing specific to say, they were just on my mind, so I called. That seems to be the kind of gentle nudge I receive from the Holy Spirit. When was the last time you just told a friend you loved them and that you were glad they were in your life?

Here are some other things that I have learned about my loving wildly. Loving wildly to me means…

HOLDING ON WHEN LIFE IS HARD. Last month I received a gift from another friend, an angel that has one of my favorite quotes on it. The quote was from Mother Teresa–“We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” I am reminded of our friendship each time I walk past that angel. (It now hangs in my home). I remember the ups and downs that we have experienced together and I remember times we have cried together through difficult times–we have carried each other. It is not always easy to walk with someone through the valleys, but it is the inescapable risk of loving. You cannot regret loving, even when life is hard. Loving wildly sometimes takes you there. I think of all those times when friends have been willing to just BE with me in my hurt and just let me be: a fender bender at age 16; when I my boyfriend broke up with me my senior year; my last concert with my college choir (Centenary); our miscarriage and the loss of my sister and parents.

BEING WILLING TO FEEL DEEPLY. I cry easily (Ron will tell you that the “On Star” ads on the radio get me. Maybe you have heard them, “My baby is in the back seat, etc. please help us”.) I remember a time when I heard that some close friends’ dog was hit by a car. I drove to their home and the 3 of us just sat and cried on their front porch while we held the dog’s vacant leash. (Incidentally, the dog made a full recovery, but at the time, recovery was uncertain.) My friends have been willing to feel with me through both happy and sad tears. I have felt their prayers and their presence in those times. Someone once told me if you are never intimate, you’ll never be hurt, but you’ll also never feel the joy of loving fully.

BEING IN THE MOMENT. A willingness to be live in the present moment does not make you a punctual person.If I have been late to meet you because I was in the moment with someone else, I apologize. However, there is something pure about tuning everything out and just being with someone–about listening, and about really giving from your heart, about allowing no distractions.

GIVING MYSELF. Beyond my resources: (gifts.. time.. energy.. cards), my whole self… just like the hokey pokey, I put my whole self in. I want to give myself to others. Last week my sister-in-law was in a car wreck. Wreck is the right word for it.–the car–her body– the other person involved–recovery in the months to come. Ron and I got a chance to sit with her for a few days–to answer the phone and take messages. I felt like the rest of the world could wait and that being present was what I needed to do most. It was a little like the movie “It’s a wonderful life.” As word of the accident circulated, there were calls, food, gift baskets, flowers, e-mails pouring in. Over and over we heard , “What can I do? How can I help? What do you need?” Love showed up, incarnate. As I thought of what she means to me and about what she has meant to me, I tear up. My life would have a huge crater in it if she had not walked away from that accident. If you saw the pictures of her car, you would know what I know. How she survived the wreck is a miracle and I know how blessed we all are that she is here with us. My driving has changed, how I hug my kids has changed, how I am living my life since August 5, 2005 at 3:30 PM central time has changed and I hope it does not just fade into gray. I hope I continue to learn the lesson that life is a precious gift and that we are not guaranteed anything except that God is with us and we have each other.

LAUGHING WELL WITH OTHERS. Wouldn’t that be a great thing to overhear someone say of you, as you walked away from a friend?–he/she laughs well with others. Maybe we should add that to our report cards. There is nothing better than laughing with someone. Some of my best memories are laughing with my kids, with youth groups, at concerts, with family, at memorial services, with Ron, with friends. For me laughter is very healing and I feel God’s presence when I laugh. At a recent wedding reception banana splits were served as a big band played and I laughed as I got in line. What a great way to celebrate the uniqueness of that couple and their new life togher. It was so them–they laugh well with others and the chocolate fountain was a nice touch!

Finally, I AM MADE BETTER BY LOVING. I can say that anytime I have loved, I have received more than I have given. That is the paradox of love. It is about giving for its own sake, but when we give, we in turn receive. Some of my finest hours have been when I gave to others without regard for what I might receive in return.

Lives well, cries well , laughs well…loves wildly; not a bad way to live. Maybe a little more wild is what we all need . . . Celia

P.S. If this note reminded you of a friend, send it on to them with a note that says I’m wild about you. If you received this from a friend, something in the message put you on the mind or in the heart of a friend.

On Fear

LaPlace, Louisiana was the location. The task was to learn how to ride a bike. The parsonage was a small three-bedroom house. It was the first house on the street. We lived across from a racetrack. When you live that close to a racetrack, you know exactly when the cars are running. I gonna guess the church got a good deal on it — location, location, need I say more? The front yard had a ditch that always flooded when it rained. On an average day, it held enough water to be full of crawfish. I spent many a day catching those crawfish. I remember my sister and brother coaxing me onto my bike. It was faded pink with pink tassels on the handlebars and a pink and white banana seat. As we went down the road, I remember screaming, “Do not let go! Never let go!” My sister and brother would take turns running with me and I remember my dad coming out to give them a break. They would run along side the bike. I screamed the whole way, “Don’t let go.” They screamed, “keep peddling” and finally they would let go. The bike and I would wobble for a few yards and then crash. One thing I remember distinctly was my fear. How I hated the feeling of no control of my bike, of my entire life in that moment. I hated it more than liver and onions. My mom liked liver and onions, but I digress. I hated it more than a cold. I hated it more than when I split my pants at school right before recess and had to wait in the principal’s office till my mom dropped off another pair of pants we called gouchos (they were in fashion at the time.) I hated fear more than being dumped by a boy in my adolescence. I knew what fear looked like and I did not want anything to do with it. And then one day riding the bike was easy. The fear was gone. The next thing I remember about biking was riding down thrill hill in my next home in Many, Louisiana. There I remember riding with all of the neighborhood kids. We gave each other rides on our handlebars. Riding on a friend’s handlebars, now that should have caused great fear but nothing like learning how to ride could compare.

Since then I have had moments like that experience, when fear takes hold of me. It is as if someone grabs me around the neck. And it seems to squeeze all the good stuff out, and everything goes black, except of course the fear. I remember that same fear finding me on Mount Magazine in Arkansas. We were on a youth outing called “Senior Summit” and I was about to dangle my body off of a rappelling rope that disappeared off of the edge of a 150 foot cliff. Words cannot adequately communicate the fear I felt stepping off of that mountain It felt like death and I could not get my breath, like things would never be right again. I remember halfway down the mountain, I finally enjoyed the descent. As quickly was the fear had come, it was gone–like the onset of hiccups–there they come and there they go. Poof the fear was gone and I was in the middle of joy.

Last week, our family was in central Illinois visiting some of our extended family from Ron’s side. Some cousins were riding bikes and doing jumps off of a ramp and our oldest son Max, who we have only seen ride a bike with his training wheels, jumped on one of there bikes and started riding. I do not mean trying to ride, I do not mean learning to ride—he was riding, There was no mom or dad holding on. There was no yelling or wailing and gnashing of teeth. In Chicago, we learned an expression that Cubs fans use. When a homerun is hit completely out of the park (on the left field side), it lands on a street called Waveland Avenue. Max did more than just kind of ride the bike, he “hit it onto Waveland.” He glided past us and I remembered when I was 8 and I remember how hard it had been for me. We clapped and celebrated. Fear had passed over him on this one and he was captured not by fear, but by joy. There was a simple beauty in the moment.

Some things are just going to be easy and others so awfully difficult and we do not know which will be which. This past year I watched the show “Lost.” Why someone who travels on planes would watch that show, I do not know. The season started with a plane crash. One of the characters talked about fear. He said he gave fear only 5 seconds. He really felt the fear with all his being and 5 seconds was all the time he was going to give it. I thought about that concept.

In my life, I can jump in without fearing fear. I can refuse to be afraid that I will fall apart or break or somehow get stuck in fear. I can survive moments that seem scary, because I have seen the joy that lies beyond. So I trust that joy waits, out of sight on the other side. When I have felt that grip, the next thing that follows is a prayer that usually begins with, “help me please…” and ends with “…thank you Jesus.” Sometimes life is as easy as gliding and other times I am holding on with white knuckles, but I try to remember to breathe, and to remember that God is with me in both the fear and the joy.

Bedtime

A couple of weeks ago I was tucking Max and Zach in bed. The normal routine is as follows. We talk about our day and answer the questions, “what was the best part and what was the not-so-best part of the day?” I loved the days when the boys answer, “there was no not-so-best part.” My next question is, “who do we want to remember in our prayers tonight?” Many of you are mentioned: friends, family members, classmates, pets, etc. As a Christian Education major at Centenary College, I remember one of the first prayers Dr. Don Emler stressed to the class to teach young children is the Lord’s Prayer. We say the Lord’s prayer. Max has added his own hand motions similar to Power Ranger’s moves when we get to the kingdom, power and the glory portion of the prayer. By the time we have had baths, read books, gone through the not-so-best part and best part of the day, and we have mentioned friends and family and said the prayer ending with the Lord’s prayer and the final closing, hug and a kiss; I am crying tired.

One night when I asked who we should remember, Max answered, “Anyone who’s bleeding” At first thought, I was taken aback– ugh. What a yuck kind of thought. Then Zach chimed in and said, “yea ‘cause they’re hurting.” So we said, “anyone who is bleeding.” If you were in that list, that night; I hope you felt God’s presence. It’s funny to think about the specifics of that–anyone who is bleeding is visibly hurt. We have scrapes and cuts around our house daily. Blood means someone needs attention. How many times have we all had a hurt that is not visible to others but it still is just as real? Depression… addictions, estranged relationships, and past wounds–I can think of several. My prayer is that I have eyes to see those hurts of others, that are visible and those not so well seen. God sees them all and fulfills every need.

Last week, we were at the beach with a youth group from Texas (shout out to First UMC Richardson). During worship on the beach it was shared, “as many as the sands on the beach and as much water as we can see and as far as the horizon is–God knows and loves us more.” As I am sitting in my church this coming Sunday, sometimes beside folks who know my seen and unseen wounds and have been there to bring healing, my prayer is that I will and that you will be agents of God’s love and presence in each others’ lives. As Max and Zach stumble through the Lord’s prayer and make ninja gestures toward the end of it, may I too be reminded of God’s love and presence in my life.

Letterboxing

In the Nashville newspaper there is a column called “from Ms. Cheap” Ms. Cheap suggests various things to do around town and in the surrounding areas that are, let’s say inexpensive. Cheap sounds so… well, cheap. She tells of best music opportunities, such as free concerts in the park, or of new openings of stores where a free hot-dog and drink might be attained. One of the best things we did last summer was taking the family to a big band concert at a city park. They gave a free dance lesson, then the band played for a couple of hours. Some folks even dressed for big band dancing and the dancing was great.

Recently a friend of mine shared with Ron and I something she and her family do for fun…. it’s called “letterboxing” and it has quickly become a hobby of ours. I think Ms. Cheap would smile on it and our family highly recommends it.

What is letterboxing you might be asking? Well the way we described it to Max and Zach is that it’s about finding hidden treasures. The longer answer is that people have hidden Tupperware containers all over the place. Inside of the container you’ll find a rubber stamp–some are ones folks have carved themselves others are stamps they might buy at a fancy stamp store or at a craft store. You’ll also find a small pad of paper and an ink pad. When you find a letterbox, you log your discovery (keep reading).

When we got ready to give letterboxing a try, our family came up with a name and logo “Two Boys Having Fun” and we went to Michael’s and found a stamp with two boys and a dog in the middle of them. We also bought a black stamp pad and some markers if we want to color our family stamp before we stamped it. When we find a box, we use our family stamp to stamp the pad then we date it and tell who we are–“Two Boys Having Fun: Ron Celia Max and Zach were here”! We have letterboxed two weekends and had a great time working together. This summer, we’ll be hiding some letter boxes for others to find and finding new ones in our town and maybe in your town.

You can learn more at: letterboxing.org. The website has clues to where over 15,000 boxes are hidden, all over North America. There are additional twists to this hobby, but they’re all explained on the website. Another website , has a little more of an international coverage. On either site, you can enter a destination and find out where nearby letterboxes are hidden. To learn more about the origins of this hobby, follow this link to the Smithsonian Magazine.

Since I’ve found a few of these boxes in prominent places, it’s funny to think of how many times, I’ve walked past a few of these boxes and had no idea they were right under my nose. Now when I visit one of these locations, I can’t help but think I’m in on a secret as I walk past a box I’ve found. It’s kind of like the little things we miss along life’s journey, while we’re busy doing what we think is important. The past few hears have tuaght me over and over again that maybe the little things are really the big things. I have realized that some of God’s greatest gifts are right in front of me. I have either missed them or overlooked them in my busy-ness. I pray that you and I enjoy all the wonder of summer — catching fireflies, walking barefoot in the grass, swimming, playing on the slip and slide, having our feet in sand, reading a great book, spending time with good friends, eating fresh veggies bought at a roadside stand, marveling at God’s greatest sunsets and maybe a new adventure with your family doing something fun (letterboxing or whatever you choose).

It’s not really about the coffee. . .

I love Starbucks – I have journeyed through many a Starbucks and have landed at the quintessential drink for my taste — chai tea with soy milk, no water, no foam with nutmeg on top. It’s heavenly! Thank you, Jamie, for the recommendation. No matter where I am I can order that drink and all is right . . . OK, some things are right.

Last week I was in a Starbucks in Memphis and the girl at the counter asked my name. Then she said, “Chai soy, for Celia no water, no foam.” When my drink was ready, I heard “here’s your chai tea, Celia.” They got it right. They called me by name and instantly I felt connected to them. One of the things we want most is to be remembered (as my friend Billy reminds me).

I was visiting the Starbucks location in my hometown. (If any Starbucks is going to know my name, it should be this one.) I have been in here several times since they opened (I actually got there first — I ate at the meat and three in that location, BEFORE Starbucks even looked at the place.) Once again they asked my name and I waited for my drink. They also asked the name of the guy behind me–it was Bob and he was having the coffee of the week. While he and I waited, I said hey to Bob. Then the server said those words I love to hear, “Chai Tea for Celia” She handed me my drink, but she did not look me in the eye. OK–it was a little gesture, but it represented something much bigger. People who really know me, look me in the eye. I was ushered back to reality by that small, negligent act. They don’t know me! They don’t remember me. No matter how many times I show up and they call my name, they just don’t know me. Starbucks can use my name, but they don’t know me. Of course I’ll keep going to Starbucks; but make no mistake, it’s for the Chai tea.

Merridees, the bakery down the street also serves coffee. The minute I walk in the door, I could be on the Cheers show. The guys from the telephone company are there and I know their names. They gave Max a hard hat with his name one it. These people not only know my name, but also my children’s names. Folks there ask where I have been, where I am going and how I am doing. The manager comes from behind the counter and hugs my neck as she wipes down tables. She smiles like an angel. As I sit with my friends, we talk about life — basketball, music, the weather, news from the front page and things we should’ve invented. When I am not there, I miss them. I could go on, but you get the picture. More than my name, they know me.

When I am home on a Sunday, my church reminds me why I belong there. People call my name because they know me. I am re-member-ed (put back together), when I am in community. I need that, maybe we all need that. I sometimes believe what I am sold, but I know the difference. I am fed by real connections. There is something so simple and pure about a name. It is even better than perfect every time chai tea. You cannot beat plain-old feed-your-soul rich connection. Be on the look out and when you find it — drink it up. It is Holy (set apart) and God is there.

Isaiah 43:1 But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.