Spicy Magnolia

Shenanigans

The clock says 8:15 p.m. The kids are in bed and the house is quiet for the first time since 4:42 a.m. this morning. The past week I’ve taken a stroll down memory lane, which always leaves me in a nostalgic coma, kinda weepy and a lot grateful.

Today, five of the girls I lived with my senior year in college, some of my bestest and lifelong friends, are partying up in Chicago for our ten year college reunion. Ten years. Holy cow! Rather than sit around sulking that I’m not in my favorite city, with some of my favorite peeps, eating some of my favorite pizza, and laughing until my ribs hurt, I thought I’d drag you down memory lane with me.

1999-2000. One of the best years of my life. Did I meet the man of my dreams? Well, sorta yes and sorta no. “Scullz”, as Matt was known among his bunch of nine other guy buddies, was pretty funny and made me laugh a lot. Despite being a great friend, I regularly wished to myself over and over, “I hope he doesn’t like me. I hope he doesn’t like me.” And he didn’t. Not in that kinda way. Yet.

I don’t remember what precipitated it, but I was caught up in a prank war of gargantuan proportions with “Scullz”, my future husband and love of my life. So much so that people began asking each of us individually if we wanted to be more than just pals. The prank wars certainly had a level of flirtation, but I was emphatic about Matt not being the guy for me.

I was the designated house mom to this group of ten fellas who took up residence in a college house called “Graham House”, named after an infamous Wheaton College alum named Billy Graham. I have to chuckle thinking about the house’s namesake, because if Billy Graham stepped foot in that should-have-been-condemned structure, I think he’d want to keel over. More because of the stench, stains, and grotesqueness of its upkeep than the actual edifice. Ten guys under one roof. I’m sure most of you can only imagine. Or maybe you don’t want to; I won’t blame you one bit.

One night, I perpetuated the biggest prank of all by throwing two huge glasses of cold water onto Matt, who went to bed unusually early that night while the rest of us were downstairs hanging out. Granted, I wasn’t thinking about how the ensuing scenario would play out. My adrenaline overtook any rational thought, not giving the slightest forethought as to the awkward state of dress (or lack thereof) that my buddy would have chosen to sleep in that evening. All I knew was that this prank was gonna top all the others.

Those two large glasses of ice water awakened a 6’5” man out of bed so fast as he pursued his trespasser that all I could do was run for my life. Come to find out, the other thing I didn’t consider in this oh-so-great-idea of mine was if this would bring an hibernating grizzly bear out of the man I assumed to not have an ounce of grizzly in him. But he flew at me down the stairs as if that beast was just waiting to be aroused by a foolish twenty year old. I’ve never run so fast in my life, bounding down the stairs two or three at a time, fleeing behind someone I hoped would protect me.

I think Matt took one look at me and realized that I had the girl thing going for me and didn’t lash out (and I can attest to this day that the man doesn’t have one iota of grizzly in him). Thankfully, he was moderately dressed because my cockamamie plan left him half ‘nekked’ in the middle of his living room for dozens of eyes to see. I shudder to think about how catastrophic and compromising it could have turned out to be.

Fast forward several weeks. The wheels were turning in that brain of Scullz’s as he devised a plan of revenge so sweet that it officially ended the prank war because it was the topper. Every so often, I’d get a note in my mail threatening me, warning me of my imminent demise.

After heading up to Wisconsin for a camping trip with a campus ministry I was involved in (whereupon I dropped my keys in the feces filled outhouse pit…that’s a whole other story), I returned back to my apartment and noticed my bag of dirty laundry had disappeared. Kindly thanking my roommate for her thoughtfulness in doing my laundry, she sheepishly replied, “Meg, I didn’t do any of your laundry.” At that, my eyes took a wander at my closet and each of my drawers only to discover that every item of clothing I had at school was gone. All of it!

The only item left behind by such a conniving thief was a hideous, psychedelic, full-length 70s-looking dress that I would never, ever wear of my own accord. On top of it sat a hand-written note saying that I had to wear that dress all day the next day (even to my night class) in order to have my confiscated clothes returned to me. It was dreadful looking. And itchy.

If I had to cave into these ransom demands, I wanted to do it up right. I borrowed a set of platform heels (also something I’ve never since worn), put on thick makeup, painted my toenails, and played the part full on. The shoes ended up being the humdinger; by 10 p.m. that night, my feet were frozen and achy. It was a Chicago winter after all.

Bless him. Looking at this aged picture, Matt looks like a very agreeable sort alongside my outlandish attire <grin>.

While it took me another six months or so to be convinced that there might be something more to this goofy guy than what met my eye, those shenanigans are some of our fondest memories of college and each other. I think both of us are afraid to start up any kind of prank since we’ve been married. At least I am; I know firsthand they can go in a dangerous direction. But I have some time this weekend to muster some courage and brainstorm (I’m all ears, by the way).

Who woulda thunk it? The man who I caused to stand half ‘nekked’ in the middle of his living room drenched in freezing cold water and who left me sans clothes, holding them ransom, is my hubby, the man of my dreams. Oh, the irony.

A Look at Christmas Past

Grab a cup of hot tea or hot chocolate before reading this post. If it’s as cold where you are as it is here, I know a hot drink is just the necessary concoction to warm you up through and through. Here are some pictures from our Christmas in Virginia with Matt’s family that cover the highlights.

We arose at 3 a.m. on the 23rd to catch a 6:30 a.m. flight on Southwest, which is by far the best airline in the industry. We saved at least $200 on bag fees! We flew through Chicago going to and from Virginia, which had the potential to be very hairy. Fortunately, there were no hiccups on our way out east, and we narrowly flew out one hour before they closed Midway because of freezing rain on our way home. It would not have been pleasant in the least to be one of those families stuck on the Midway tarmac for 7 hours.

Upon our arrival in D.C., Matt’s dad picked us up and we joined Mac and Julie for a quick lunch before we made the trek to Charlottesville. We ate at a burger place that sparked tons of memories. Mac didn’t remember one iota about Henry J’s, a burger place we ate at regularly as little tikes with Gaga. I take that back; he remembered the layout of the building, but nothing of the burgers. I had this picture snapped of Brennan playing with the Trivial Pursuit cards because Henry J’s used to put the same ones on their tables. It simply provokes sweet memories to me.

 

Our beloved Mac and Julie! It was a treat to see them for a couple of hours. Mac is still wallowing in pity as Brennan made much ado about Julie, and him, not so much. I’m jesting a lot about Mac right now; I love that boy to pieces. Oh wait, he’s not a ‘boy’ so much as a grown, aging man who will be 30 in a few weeks <grin>!! Hahahaha!!

We had a full house! There were ten of us all together between Matt’s folks, Melissa, and Tom and Kim and their two boys. Yep, that’s right. Three two-and-a-half year old boys under the same roof for five days. It was WILD! It was our first time to meet Baxter, our youngest nephew, who is now 7.5 months old!

Our first full day in Charlottesville was Christmas Eve. This picture was taken right before we left for the Christmas Eve service. The little guy looked so handsome and thankfully, did really well through his first full church service. It even seemed as though he was listening intently to the pastor.

 

Brennan’s new favorite position: riding on Daddy’s shoulders.

 

This girl, Kimberly, was our amazing chef for most of the week! I’m talkin’ gourmet chef kinda cookin’, y’all. For Christmas Eve dinner, she made a fabulous gorgonzola stuffed chicken breast with a cherries jubilee sauce. Look at her plate; it was divine! And for dessert, she made a pumpkin ice cream pie with graham cracker crust and chocolate shavings on top. For our last night together, she made a steak with a balsamic reduction sauce, roasted potatoes and butternut squash and a salad with pomegranate seeds and other juicy fruit. I really need those recipes! And once I have the time and energy to cook like that again, they’ll be the first things I make <grin>. We ate like kings and queens!

 

Brennan misses eating such feasts! One thing to note about the food, was that Brennan became obsessed with clementines. He’d eat at least 6 at a meal.

 

Our family tradition since I was little is to open one package on Christmas Eve and it’s always new PJs to wear to bed. Here we are opening Brennan’s PJs together. That’s as close as he got to me; once he knew they were PJs, he wasn’t as interested in the present <grin>.

 

We three are the early birds when it comes to Matt’s side of the family. While we are in bed by 10 p.m., everyone is up till at least midnight and then they sleep in, while we’re up with Brennan around 7 a.m. So we always have the quiet mornings to ourselves. We woke up to the delight of snow flurries on Christmas morning! You can’t see them in the picture, but they were there. No one else witnessed the flurries that morning, so it was a little Christmas treasure we tucked away in our hearts.

 

Isn’t the tree pretty!? Ruth did such a lovely job with it and the rest of the home. She always makes me feel very welcomed.

 

Look at the precious family of four, all cheery on Christmas morn.

 

An up-close of Baxter.

 

This is what Brennan looked like often while in Virginia, mesmerized by a Thomas the Train video on the TV.

 

We opened stockings first, then had an incredible breakfast of pumpkin waffles, bacon and scrambled eggs with green onions, tomatoes and spinach. Brennan ate three waffles, keeping up with his Daddy! Here are Jadon and Brennan eating together like big boys. The Thomas the Train on the table is noteworthy. Despite having one each, they were the cause of many disputes. Those boys are passionate about Thomas. We’re obviously in a season of learning to share.

 

After breakfast, we dug into the presents. There were a lot; it was pretty overwhelming for little Brennan, and me for that matter.

 

What gifts can you recall being given that made you feel humbled and undeserving of that gift? One of the most obvious gifts such as these would be Jesus’ love for me and His saving grace. Talk about undeserved! That gift of His by far tops all others in this category. But I’m thinking more in terms of meaningful tangible gifts or acts of service that cause you to pause and recognize, “I really don’t deserve this gift.” The depth of love behind the gift is indisputable. There have been a number throughout my life that my family has given me that made me feel that way, and in turn, it’s made me extremely grateful and assured of their love for me.  Amazingly, I received two such gifts during our time in Virginia. Ed & Ruth published my post called You Can Do It, Brennan. It’s a beautiful and meaningful gift! First, they recognized my love for blogging/writing. I’ve never shared with them, or anyone really, about a dream of being published, but when they said, “Now you’re published!”, it was a sweet note to my heart. The gift of being believed in. And as they said that, tears swelled in my eyes while I whispered back to Jesus, “Yes, Lord, if this is the only way I’m published, the story of the lives in the book are what will last, and that’s what I want.” Second, they know my love for Brennan and the joy I have as a momma. And that was a special couple of afternoons he and I shared together!

The second gift such as this I received was from Tom and Kim. Kim spent hours working on publishing a cookbook with all of the recipes I’ve posted on the blog, or made reference to, with pictures and snippets of my writings that went along with each recipe, noting the memorable event and faces that were a part of that moment. Wow, it’s incredible! As I read through it, I was flooded with priceless memories and precious faces of loved ones that have been drawn together by these recipes, some favorites from other cookbooks and some timeless family recipes. She knows my love for cooking and my love to make events special for others.

I had no idea they were working on these projects; I was completely surprised. I’ll be the first to admit that I am not the best in-law. That can be a post for another time, but their extravagant love of time and creativity poured forth into these gifts left me humbly and wonderfully staggered with affection. And the sober realization their gifts are very undeserved. I’m grateful! The beautiful books now take up permanent residence on our coffee table, and Brennan loves reading our story.

 

 

Christmas Day is also Ed’s birthday, and this year happened to be his 60th! Usually we have a big extended party on Christmas night, but we moved it to Sunday evening so we could leisurely enjoy Christmas and have a special evening for Ed. Actually, Ruth’s 60th birthday is the end of January, so we kids plotted the evening to be a combined birthday celebration since we were all together. I was in charge of Christmas dinner and made crostinis topped with pesto, sundried tomatoes and feta to start off; Pioneer Woman’s lasagna; garlic bread; a salad full of goodies; and chocolate Texas sheet cake. For the parentals’ gift, we managed to arrange a getaway trip later in the year to a beach near Destin, FL as a special 60th birthday family celebration.

 

Full plates=full tummies.

 

Jadon and Brennan helping blow out the birthday candles.

 

On Sunday the 26th, we spent most of the day getting ready to host just over 30 people for a dinner party! We needed the whole day! We took a break to take Jadon and Brennan sledding. You saw Brennan’s picture in the last post. He was not crazy about sledding. Nor the snow. Nor the cold. A true-blooded Texan he is <grin>. But Matt and I love the cold and the snow, so we’ll help him adjust. That means more trips to Colorado <grin>! Jadon, on the other hand, loved it.

 

The fresh snow we woke up to on Sunday morning.

 

Right before the house exploded with people and became very chaotic, we took a calm family photo <grin>.

 

The first batch of first-cousins and spouses who were at the party. This picture excludes all our offspring (and there are a lot!) who were running around playing. I was so thankful for Tom, who could relate to me and desire to find a quiet corner in the house to escape the crowd. I say all this very light-hearted because it is a fun party. Those of us who happened to marry into the family, however, acknowledge that it is a tad overwhelming <grin>, so we do our part to try to have meaningful one-on-one conversations while stationed in a quiet part of the house.

 

On Monday morning, Melissa treated the boys to a special outing at Bounce-n-Play. I stayed back to rest a bit, but it looked like an incredible indoor play area I wish were in Austin! Brennan was most fascinated by the kitchen.

 

Matt’s Grandpa wasn’t feeling very well and didn’t attend the Christmas Eve service nor the party, so we stopped by on Monday afternoon to see him. Our visit with him, while brief, was a highlight for me. You have a keen sense of the gift of grandparents and the treasure time is with them when you don’t have any grandparents anymore. My heart was tender toward this 90+ year old man who told Matt that at the beginning of the new year, he was going to write Matt a letter detailing his involvement in World War II, which included serving on D-Day. Like most veterans, he hasn’t shared much about his experience despite our questions. But he has remembered our interest throughout the years and said he would give us this gift for us to save and make copies for other family members. I really, really hope he writes Matt this letter.

 

I don’t have any pictures of our evening, but another highlight was going out with Tom, Kim and Melissa on Monday night! What a treat it was for Ed & Ruth to babysit our three boys. We ended up doing a progressive dinner with appetizers at a tapas bar and then the main course at a lovely restaurant where most of us ordered filet mignon. It was the best night of conversation all week <grin>!

For their Christmas, birthday and anniversary presents (ha!), we gave Ed and Ruth a family photo shoot appointment with a great local photographer, Eric Kelley. It happened to fall on the prettiest and warmest days of our visit, which was a huge blessing. Being the type-A person who planned this photo shoot, I was very anxious about it going smoothly. So it didn’t help matters that our child was the only one who was having a fit, who was uncooperative, crying and had his paci in his mouth for the first half of our shoot. I was flushed red with embarrassment and at a loss for what to do, trying to roll with the punches as much as possible. Of course, loosening up helped <grin>. We had the pictures taken on the UVA campus and I’ll share the link of pictures with you when they’re ready. I hope there are some good ones!

The second batch of first-cousins and spouses who weren’t at the party but who came over for a visit Tuesday afternoon after our family pictures.

 

What a fabulous Christmas! It was full of fun and full of crazy at the same time. Anyone who shares holidays with kiddos can attest to the craziness. Next time we’ll all be together, we’ll be sitting in sand instead of snow.

And that’s a wrap, folks! You best go refill your hot drinks. I’m going to get mine soon; in the meantime, our fire is keeping my tootsies warm. Love to y’all!

Sealed with Thanksgiving

The sound of the landing gear, as always, makes me jump a bit in my seat, my pulse beating more rapidly. And let’s not forget the sweaty hands. The desert below me was tinged with green more than usual for the middle of September. I was not ready for the plane to land, to come to a stop at the end of the runway. Twenty-two years of memories came flooding back to mind as we hovered over the landscape. The McDonald’s we met my Daddy at where he gave me my first trophy he had specially made for marking my learning how to swim. The stoplights I dared get out of the car to join my friends in a Chinese fire drill. Fourth of July picnics running around with sparklers, worry free. Well, I was worried about being burned by the sparkler, but other than that, carefree. The crisp December morning I woke up to walk down the aisle to the love of my life. The countless faces who have shaped and molded me: teachers, peers, mentors, old and young.

El Paso is a town with indelible moments I hold in a treasure box. The later four years of my life that treasure box has had to be let open to something painful that strikes us all at one time or another: death. Death of family and friends. Most of them experienced life to the full. One’s life was tragically cut way too short. It’s bizarre that a town with so many cherished memories and faces has been marked so significantly to me lately with grief and saying, ‘goodbye’. So no, I was not ready for the plane to stop. It meant one more ‘goodbye’. And in many respects, this was the final closure.

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I barely fit into the dress I bought the year before, the black and white strapless one with the big flower on the front. You know, the kind of dress that makes you feel like a princess. I’d hoped with everything in me I could suck myself in well enough to make it through the entire evening intact, but it was clear by the end of the glorious celebration of my cousin’s wedding that was the last time I’d be wearing the princess dress for longer than I’d like to admit. I still can’t wear it. That night I walked around with a secret that only a few knew. And it certainly wasn’t the appropriate time to let others in on it. But one additional person would know that evening, if I could pull it off inconspicuously well enough. The cake had been cut, dancing and celebrating ensued, and I was waiting for just the right time. He left the ballroom and headed to the bathroom where I followed and waited outside, listening to the piano player and whispers of surrounding conversations in the next room. He emerged from the men’s room and gingerly walked over next to me. First thing was first though: he had to promise not to tell anyone. It was our secret for the night to share together. He promised. Hard of hearing, I had to speak it into his ears a couple of times before he grasped what I was saying. 

Papa, I have something to tell you. You’re going to be a great-grandpa.

Thrilled for me, he gave me a big hug. He was delighted with the news. I’m sure it was an evening he sorely missed his love of fifty-seven years, but even still, he celebrated. He soaked in the moment of his granddaughter’s blessed marriage and the news of his other granddaughter’s secret. That night I also shared with him another first: our first dance. Aside from some childhood memories that will linger with me through time, that night will be the one unforgettable.

 

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The desert has great color. Yes, driving through it can at times be painstaking, but if you look carefully, the beauty is unique and surpassing. Hidden. And sometimes so robust for all to see, like the sunsets and sunrises. There was a stillness about that Saturday morning; it was a lovely desert fall morning to wake up to. Maybe the stillness would better be described as a reverence. I dressed Brennan in his Sunday best: a maroon plaid button down shirt, khaki pants, his brown loafers, and his first brown belt. He looked like a young boy. I wore a simple black skirt and a white shirt that surprises people when they touch it because it has some texture. On my right hand I wore a ring of pearls that looks like a flower blossom that my grandmother, Cita, had given me for my high school graduation. Draped around my neck was the heart-shaped diamond necklace my other grandmother, Gaga, had been given by her love before he passed away before I was born. She wore it draped around her own neck for thirty years until she passed away.

We drove up to the cemetery, my heart starting to pound and my hands getting clammy. It was just moments before our eyes caught sight of the brown casket covered by an American flag. Standing honorably beside it were several members of the United States Navy. Having served in World War II with the South Pacific Theater as an aerologist attached to the Airwing Seventh Fleet Command, the Navy now stood guard erectly and respectfully next to Papa’s grave. The trumpets initiated the service playing Taps while the American flag was gracefully removed from the casket and folded tightly into the shape of a tri-cornered hat. This was the first memorial service I’ve been to with the presence of the American military. It was powerfully moving to say the least.

There was a gentle breeze that made the wind chimes in a neighboring tree make their music. My eyes roamed around to see the faces of loved ones of family and friends. Friends of my family’s who have come to each of my grandparents’ services the past four years to support and love on us even though we haven’t lived in El Paso for eight years. Never wavering, lifetime friends. I wonder if there was something about the moment that Brennan knew was sacred. He stood with me silently for awhile and then got passed to Matt. Then he landed in the arms of a precious man who buried his wife a couple of years ago and his eldest son this past May. Despite the overwhelming, crushing waves of grief this man has endured, he came. He came to my grandfather’s service standing by us and gracefully embraced my son, walking him through the trees, pointing to this and that. Oh, what the heavens declare in moments like these!

We said ‘goodbye’ that day to Papa. He was the last of my grandparents and the only one of them who was able to meet Brennan. He is with Jesus now. As are the others we have mourned the loss of the past four years: Cita, Gaga, Becca and Robert. It was a time to say ‘goodbye’ to the season of my life filled with the presence and gift of grandparents. Their legacy of love, their faith in Jesus, endurance, good humor, and love for things like gardening, cooking, hospitality, reading, dancing, beauty, and the Southwest lives on.

I’m not sure when I’ll make it back to El Paso again. I’m sure the time will come around when I hover over that expansive desert gripping the seat as the landing gear is lowered. But in the meantime, I will revel in the cherished memories I hold in my treasure box from that season of my life, my childhood. And although painful, I will embrace the parts of the treasure box that hurt, that are stained by tears of grief. Because ultimately, that treasure box is sealed with an overflow of thanksgiving.

 

 

To the loved ones of El Paso, whom I grew up with and have stood by my family faithfully through the peaks and valleys of life, I am forever grateful for you. You are deeply loved.

 

Potty Talk

Warning: This post could lend itself to be amusing or a tad unsettling to a queasy stomach. It could also drastically change your opinion of me forever. You’ve been forewarned!

 

In the eighth grade, one of our writing assignments was to pick an invention we thought had had the most impact on our world. We had to present to the class not only information about the invention we chose: who made it, when it was made, etc…, but why we chose it. Finally, we had to make a replica of it. I usually try to think outside the box on those kinds of projects. The telephone wasn’t gonna cut it for me. My teacher helped me brainstorm through some ideas, and I thought we’d hit the jackpot! It was creative, unexpected, humorous, and most assuredly, significantly impactful.

I chose:

The toilet. The loo. The latrine. The water closet.

Since last Saturday, Brennan and I have been fighting a horrible stomach bug. In fact for sympathy’s sake, let me just say that in a 24 hour period, I made about 12 face-to-rim excursions to the porcelain icon (thank goodness my Momma has been here to help us!). Therefore, I think I’m all the more entitled to have chosen this as the most significant invention to impact our world. Or at least, the Western world. I know very well from experience that there are cultures that don’t share my appreciation for the loo; in fact, they think it’s rather disgusting. While a change in living conditions won’t deter me in the least from traveling abroad, let me declare that aside from the food, the toilet is at the top of the list of things to which I look forward to getting back home! I’ve had my fair share of squatty potty experiences and some haven’t been the most pleasant. In fact, they could be considered down right embarrassing. But since it’s Friday, and you might like a good chuckle (or a good gag), I thought I’d kindly oblige you:

Belarus (15 years of age): Upon climbing onto the platform with an inset porcelain squatty potty, I proceeded to do my business which would have earned me two M&Ms if I had been two years old, and good golly, needed to work on my aim because I missed! The horror of looking down and finding such unpleasentries which I needed to dispose of by other means.

Zimbabwe (18 years of age): Matt thinks I’m crazy for sharing this one. And I might just lose readers. Let me simply say that we were in a place where if we had to use the squatty potty outside, we had to have a buddy to take and be mindful of thieves that were known to be in the area. I’d already disgruntled one of my teammates by waking her up to walk outside and fend off a guard dog so I could go to the bathroom a previous night. So in my sleeping bag, being the patterned people-pleaser that I am and not wanting to have to wake anyone up out of their slumber to assist me; scared to go outside by myself; and half asleep in desperation and not in my right mind!!!!, I…

Wisconsin (21 years of age): Camping with my ministry team from Wheaton, I dropped my drawers to bend over the hole of doom in an outhouse and heard a thump. My heart started pounding. I knew what happened and couldn’t bear the thought of it. Having driven our group to the campsite, my keys were in my pocket and somehow, as I pulled down my pants, they fell out and landed in the pit of grotesqueness! After shining a flashlight down there, we discovered they hadn’t sunk, which was positive on one hand and positively atrocious on the other. Our amazing fellas managed to fish my keys out with a long stick. They are nothing short of saints. And my keys were nothing short of desecrated.

I have become well accustomed to making sure I have Kleenex or TP with me while traveling. So in case I ever have a repeat of finding myself in a back alley of a country like Bangladesh that expects you to use your left hand and a small bucket of water to clean yourself, I’m prepared.

Fortunately, I’ve matured a lot in the last decade. Although you might disagree with me since I’ve been so public about these obscenities. At least I’m doing my part to make taking a pregnancy test look a little less disgusting.

I’m sure I’m not alone, here!  At least some of you overseas travelers are bound to have some stories as to why you appreciate the toilet. Do share!

Given my stories, it must have been foreshadowing that day I chose the toilet as the most significant invention. Having a child that will be potty training before I know it, I’m sure my value in that porcelain bowl will skyrocket and the tales of potty talk will abound.

However, I can’t say this is an area I hope that he’ll follow in my footsteps.

Because despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I am potty trained.

 

 

 

Our Dear Friend

It’s day two of staring at a white screen not knowing where to begin. That’s happening more often to me than I’d like because what is in my heart wants to gush forth like a geyser, but I can’t seem to find the words to type, at least not adequate words. Around the middle of last week, we knew our Memorial Day weekend was going to look a lot different than what we’d originally planned. Having guests over for dinner, a graduation party, and the church picnic we were supposed to attend were appropriately canceled to allow our family some sacred space. I wrote last week briefly about the health status of our friend, Robert, and I want to thank you so much for praying for he and his family. On Friday night, my brother, Mac, flew in, knowing that more than likely, that would be Robert’s last weekend on earth. His health very quickly and unexpectedly digressed over the past week, and Mac and some other close friends of Robert’s knew it was time to take advantage of each precious moment remaining.

I had no idea what my role was to be this weekend other than providing Mac and my parents, who also came into town, a quiet place of rest and peace to mourn, to reminisce, to contend with God about circumstances being what they should never be: a 28 year old husband, a father to three children under the age of five, a brother, a son to a man who also lost his wife unexpectedly two years ago, passing away from cancer that riddled his entire body. I didn’t know if I should join Mac on Saturday in visiting Robert and his family or if I’d just be in the way. I don’t know why in such acute emotional times like these where your sole desire is to be an encouragement and a source of comfort and grace, that insecurity and chronic self-consciousness of what other people think and fear of saying or doing something wrong can be so inhibitive and debilitating. I don’t get that.

Mac and I ventured out to Burnet together where Aimee’s side of the family was all in town for what was supposed to be a family vacation. Robert’s family had now arrived also. There were a few other visitors that were there throughout the day, and my brother’s other best friend, Oscar, also flew into town to be by Robert’s side. Josh and Shauna, Aimee’s brother and sister-in-law, are some of my dearest friends, and I spent most of the day alongside Shauna. It was the first time we’d seen each other in a number of years and not the circumstances we ever thought would be the reason we were together. The only words that made any sense at all to speak that whole day were, “Come, Lord Jesus.”

It was an honor to be by Mackie’s side that day. There are the types of friends that are as close as a brother, and the young men that joined Robert that day are of that kind. We ache and grieve for our friends, though there is no doubt they have been held by God’s strong grip over the past year. After going home for some Chuy’s take-out and to have a little break, Mac ended up driving to Burnet again and remained there by Robert’s side as he passed away and entered into Jesus’ presence. It was a sleepless night filled with heartache.

I’ve been trying to piece together why this feels so impactful on my spirit. For one reason, our little family has been unceasing in our prayers and intercession for Robert and his family over the past year. That’s not a boastful thing, it’s that we’ve cried out to the Lord for Robert’s healing, we’ve agonized in our hearts over all that he’s so bravely endured. We’ve hoped, we’ve celebrated in the good tumor markers, and we’ve been moved to tears and waves of emotion over the bad news. It’s that we’ve allowed ourselves to walk with our brother in his suffering, to carry just a little of his burden. Another reason is that he’s our friend. While he was one of my brother’s best friends, Matt and I have had the privilege of getting to know Robert a bit more with him living in Austin and with the special occasions we’ve attended together in recent years, like Mac’s wedding. I knew Robert from when we were little, but what a privilege it’s been to see him as the man, husband and father he became: a humble, wise and godly man whose faith in Jesus is a testimony to many. Thirdly and probably most poignant to me right now is that Robert’s death has had a rippling effect into more overlapping, mutual friendships than any other I’ve experienced. My family knew Robert from not only the church we grew up in but also a youth group called King’s Kids. Mine and Robert’s parents were a part of the same ministries through church, and Robert and Aimee met through King’s Kids. So throughout the 23 years of my life in El Paso, both Robert’s and Aimee’s families were a huge part of our lives and many of our mutual friends. I’ve experienced deaths of friends and family members before, but it is stirring to see how many dear friends of ours from the El Paso community have been impacted by his passing. Unlike other deaths I’ve experienced, Robert’s affects numbers of people from my whole childhood. Comments on Facebook and Robert’s blog are an indication that Robert’s story and legacy have reached far and wide.

As someone with a keen, vivid memory, I hold a special place in my heart for those years in El Paso. Reflecting on that time puts me in high nostalgia mode. Time has always been a mystery to me, how fast it goes by and the emotions that it provokes. It simultaneously makes my heart swell with joy and fondness, and it also has a bitterness to it and the stark realization that time cannot be contained or controlled. The precious El Paso community through St. Clement and King’s Kids have shared a lot through the years. We’ve gone from being little whippersnappers and awkward teens into grown adults who now have kids of our own. This community has celebrated marriages together, visited each other, kept in touch through Facebook and emails, and been there for each other through the loss of parents and spouses. And now many of us will come together this Saturday to both grieve the loss of our treasured friend, Robert, and celebrate the life he faithfully lived in Christ, who will no doubt be lifted high and exalted for the faithful God He remains to be. We will see many faces we haven’t seen in a long while but who are joined together through shared experiences, friendship, and ultimately Christ Jesus. In many ways, it might even feel like old times again. But then again, something will be very different.  A significant void will be felt. But we do not grieve as those without hope because as believers in Jesus, we have no doubt that we will see Robert again. He will be there to welcome us into heaven, likely with his camera in hand and that big grin on his face.

Oscar, Mac and our dear Robert

Loved as One of Their Own

Guide older women into lives of reverence so they end up as neither gossips nor drunks, but models of goodness. By looking at them, the younger women will know how to love their husbands and children, be virtuous and pure, keep a good house, be good wives.

Titus 2:3-5 (The Message)

As a tween and young teen, I gawked at Janna and Kim, two young women four years older than me. They were everything I wanted to be: girls who loved Jesus and obeyed Him, having a close, intimate relationship with Him; girls who were kind and thoughtful to others; girls who were funny and wise; girls who actually cared about me and let me hang out with them, making me feel accepted and not awkward. More beautiful and less insecure. They were the kind of teenage girls a parent dreams about their daughter choosing to imitate.

Ms. Tovar: as my first grade teacher, she helped instill in me the love of learning. And she was one of our most favorite babysitters when my folks went out of town. I wanted to wear the same perfume she wore. Mrs. Gommersal: I’ll never forget the first blatant lie I remember telling. And it was to her. It didn’t take long for me to get caught, and she was gracious to forgive me. She also gave me Chirpie.  Tycha: (I had to get used to calling Tycha “Mrs. Stading” when she became my third grade teacher. Upon entering the fourth grade, I quickly reverted back to “Tycha” and it will stay that way.) You’ll never meet another person who loves life and people more than Tycha. She can make any kid who hates school end up loving it. She’s a life-long friend and adopted mother of mine, adopted grandmother of Brennan’s. Mrs. Lujan: boy, did she scare the livin’ daylights out of me that first of day of fifth grade! Once we got that all sorted out, it wasn’t long before she let me see her soft, warm heart and didn’t waste an opportunity on me to join her family at an Hispanic flamingo concert.  Mrs. Springsted: only an understanding teacher would allow me to bring my bunny to class one day, the bunny she knew I was absolutely in love with and talked about incessantly, the bunny who was my bestest buddy in 6th grade. Even though I didn’t have a knack for testing into the “gifted and talented” programs at school, she gave me a go at it and believed I could do it. Mrs. Peevy: she had her “Meghan’s spot” by her desk saved for me every morning before school and during lunch. I was the abnormal kid who wanted to hang out more with the teachers than the students. Her door was always opened to me. While I never had to use the quarter she gave me in case I ever had an emergency (these were the pre-every-middle-school-kid carries a cell phone days), I knew she would come to my aid in a heartbeat. Ms. Capshaw: she saw something in my character that I didn’t, and she didn’t give up on me though I tremendously lacked in math skills. Mrs. Trominski: wasn’t a math teacher I had personally but someone I went to for tutoring sessions, ‘cause math was going to be the death of me! She had the patience and endurance to see me through it. Mrs. Peterson, well, Diane <grin>: she deserves a whole paragraph of her own as we continue to stay in touch and she’s a dear friend of mine. As my high school English teacher, her room was also open to me before school where we shared heart-felt conversations about all sorts of things. Dogs are one of the loves we have in common, as well as reading, writing and traveling. She was a safe person to confide in and gave up her own time to help me write a speech I was to give in front of the student body. She has prayed for me nearly every day of her life since I met her. These dear ladies are some of the most significant women in my life as my teachers, all from public schools I might add. I was humbly given these mentors to encourage me; to instill in me a love of learning; and who offered me trustworthy friendships--just the refreshing respite I needed in an environment that we all know can be filled with thorns and stickers. As Antique Mommy eloquently put it recently, “a good teacher always goes with you, in some small way, wherever you go.”

Marjorie, a 60-something sweet, sweet lady who let me come over to her home to simply spend time together. She wouldn’t have to say a word; her presence simply exuded the character I wanted to have. Even when she was facing the most heart-wrenching time of her life, she was filled with grace and a tender confidence in Jesus that He would carry her through. She introduced me to Anne of Green Gables. And that says a lot!

As a twelve year old girl, I sat on a bed listening to Christine teach. I have no recollection of what she was teaching, but I very clearly remember being frozen in fear thinking that she could see right through my soul, that she could see as clear as day that I had a crush on her son. I get sweaty palms just thinking about it even now. She may not have known it right then and there, but she certainly discerned it through the years, and loved me all the same. She’s loved me as her own. Aside from my own Momma, Christine has been the singular most influential person in my life and in my relationship with Jesus. She beautifully reminds me of the woman who lathered Jesus’ feet with perfume to prepare His body for burial. We’ve shared many breakfasts at Village Inn together as I poured out my heart. We see each other every now and then, but there is probably not a week that goes by that I don’t wonder, What would Christine say. She’s marked me that much.

Her “China Doll” I always was. Indelibly, Gaga was a woman who shaped my life. Ever the cultured, sophisticated and beautifully dressed lady, she instilled in me much the same manners and appreciation for the arts and classic movies. However, I’d much rather dress in a t-shirt than dress to a “t” any day—except for a special occasion. There was not one significant school or extracurricular activity that she missed. She was the first to integrate into my life the love of travel and the appreciation of various cultures. She was the one who taught my Momma how to love and take care of her family so well. It takes a special grandmother who would wake up to the gentle shakes of an eight year old at 6 a.m. ready to play another game of Uno. Meems, beware; Brennan was playing with the Uno cards the other day.

There are those ladies whom you watch from afar, wanting desperately to somehow be among their circle of friends because you admire what you see. There’s something about their life you want to capture; the wisdom and grace they live out is something you want to radiate from your life as well. It took a lot of courage for me to muster up to pick up the phone and call Gloria, asking her if she would consider meeting me on a regular basis as a mentor. For several years, we sat across the table together as I shared with her the deepest longings and most intimate prayer requests of my life. As a young wife and mother, a priceless gift in your life is to have someone older than you encourage you in this unchartered territory. Well, you feel like it’s uncharted, but in reality it’s not. Those who have gone before you are just who you need to make it less scary.

I’d never see Cita without a book; her coffee table and bookshelves were filled with them. We’d discuss our shared enjoyment of the Mitford series while Papa made his famous eggs and bacon in the background. She was an example to me of courage as she battled cancer and a proponent of living life to the fullest. And as a wise woman, she would have said forgiveness was probably the most important virtue to have in marriage.

You all are familiar with all of the mother-in-law jokes. You may have even made them up yourselves. But if I can handle Brennan getting married and leaving our family to cleave to his new wife with at least half the dignity and strength that Ruth has done with Matt, it will be a very good thing!

College is such a fun, transformative time of life. Thanks are due to Mary who kept me on the straight and narrow, welcoming me into a small group of girls that she met with weekly. I was so thankful she didn’t boot me out the first meeting we had when my alarm didn’t go off in time and I was late for our 6:30 a.m. gathering. It’s a good thing she lived just right across the street from us. Here is a woman who counts her life worth nothing, if only she may finish the race and complete the task of testifying to God’s grace. She’s known pain and loss. In fact, most of the ladies I write about have experienced hardship and difficulty. But they have stayed the course and not given up. Somehow through it all, they’re able to love Jesus all the more.

One of the most difficult parts of our first few years of marriage was my anger towards myself that blatantly came out in all sorts of ways. At the time, I was also questioning God’s love for my family. Kathy didn’t give up on me. She prayed with me over and over until God had His way with me and set me free from a cycle of anger and hurting myself. She pressed in and came before the Lord in prayer on my behalf. She stood with me to see this captive set free.

These women whom I’ve written about have all been older than me, trusted advisors and friends who have taught and mentored me. They exemplify beauty and grace, dignity and strength. They show me how to love others more fully and sacrificially. But there is one who stands out among them all: my Momma. I know I’ve exhausted my word count by at least 1000 words, but stick with me because I’ve saved the best for last. We look a lot alike, which I’m thankful for. But more than anything, I want to be like her, for she loves and serves others with a joyful heart. When I hurt, she comforts me. When I need help, she comes running in a split second. She makes me laugh. Just this week she wrote about mammograms in a way that had me in stitches! She loves Jesus and wants Him to engulf her entire life. She is a safe refuge to the underprivileged kids she works with and the other teachers respect her. She is an amazing cook. Ever need a place to crash? She’ll make you feel right at home. She can be trusted. Fervently praying, it’s no wonder her knees are so out of whack. One thing I did not inherit from her: her ability to press on in strength despite pain. I want to be served chicken noodle soup and homemade chocolate chip cookies in bed and declare from the top of my lungs that I don’t feel well, whereas she knows how to endure and not complain. She’s a beautiful artist. And a cheerful giver. She’s an example of a suitable helper for my Daddy. Growing up, I would often be embarrassed at how cordial she was to strangers, like the grocery store baggers. I’d roll my eyes in annoyance and think to myself, Why does she talk so much to everyone? We’d be out of here a whole lot faster if she didn’t. Thankfully that foolish part of me has dwindled and now she’s the first person I think of when I interact with other people, remembering how her kindness and bright smile would bless others.

As a stay at home momma, I can attest to sometimes feeling like I could be doing so many more worthwhile things. Or sometimes, it’s just simply a matter of really wanting to do anything else besides what I’m doing: something that offers recognition and acknowledgement. Something that you can at least get a good grade for, or be put on the honor roll, or win an end-of-year award. I’m sure my Momma felt like that at times, but never once did I question that she would rather be doing anything else than be my Momma. It was a role she fully embraced with excellence. And I arise to call her blessed!

I’ve wanted to write about these older women who have shaped my life for some time now. They vary in age, in backgrounds, in professions. Some of them have been direct mentors in my life and some family members. Some I’ve asked to be taken under their wings and some were placed in my life by someone else’s decision. But all of them, in some way or another, chose me as a young girl to invest in, to teach and encourage. All of them were divinely placed women whom God orchestrated to be a part of my life for specific reasons at a specific time. Some of them are mothers and some are not. But in honor of Mother’s Day, I want to recognize these dear ladies who have loved me and given of themselves, who have served me as if I was their very own daughter.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You’ve made a difference in my life. You are loved and appreciated and remembered!

Happy Mother’s Day!

Link Love

A few articles and sites you might be interested in perusing:

This is probably already old news among the blog world (even though it’s only been up and running for two days), but Pioneer Woman created a great new recipe website called Tasty Kitchen.  You can share recipes, search through them all (Pioneer Woman’s tantalizing recipes included), and even participate in live chat sessions with other members.  It’s pretty cool.  And from what I’ve experienced of Pioneer Woman, anything she puts her hands to is cool.  I don’t know how she does it all.  But she does.  And I am in awe.  She’s a special breed.  If you aren’t familiar with The Pioneer Woman, then you need to take a moment and read all ‘bout her here.  If she wants a protégé, I’ll volunteer.  Happily. 

This is a tremendously poignant post written by Melissa Moore Fitzpatrick.

I recently discovered Billy Coffey at What I Learned Today, whose writing I enjoy a lot.  His memoirs remind me of Antique Mommy’s writing style, which is how I aspire to write when I’m inspired by something…but I have a long way to go!  This post, entitled “Love Made Visible” has been my most favorite yet. 

Having been born and raised in the border-town El Paso, Texas, I found this article very intriguing.  If you’re interested in the effects of immigration, particularly as it pertains to safety among big cities, you should take a look.  Agree or disagree?

Finally, July 11th’s edition of The Economist caught my attention with a 10-page special report on Texas and an article entitled “America’s Future:  California v Texas”.  Any true Texan will automatically agree that by far, Texas is better than California; that’s just a given.  Just as any true Texan would say that Texas is better than any other state, for that matter.  Usually Texans don’t have much to back up such convictions other than our solid, prideful stance that, “That’s just the way it is.  You’re wrongly mistaken if you believe otherwise.”  That stance has worked.  Simply because it’s true. And we don’t need to prove our greatness.  But the featured article and special report in The Economist has gladly provided all you skeptics reasons for why 1) Texas is better than California and why 2) Texas is the strongest state in the Union at the moment.  It’s not all glamorous, mind you.  There are some significant failings issues that Texas needs to address soon.  However, this article presents a strong case as to why so many, including Californians, are bee lining it to our Lonestar State.  If you happen to be one of the newbies, Welcome!  As for the rest of ya’ll, Don’t Mess With Texas!

 

 

Best of 2008 in Pics

Jules from The Roost is hosting a 2008 New Year's picture party where she's posted her top 10 pictures of 2008, and I wanted to join in the fun!  She's got some sweet and funny pictures posted that capture some of her most favorite moments of 2008; click here to see her post.  There are a number of other bloggers who are also participating so be sure to check them out as well.  2008 has been, well, a very eventful year!  Here are 10 of some of my favorite and momentous photos from the past year, in chronological order (and I could post SO many more...it was very hard to choose)!

 Hubby turned 30! Last January, we had a grand ol' time celebrating this momentous birthday of Matt's.  His parents and two sisters came into town and my parents joined in the festivities as well.  This year, it's my turn!  <grin>



Matt's first 10k race:  Austin's Capitol 10k.  I was supposed to run in it as well, but I was stuck with Darth Vader.



 This was a photo shoot I had with Molly the night of May 4th.  Not only is she my baby girl and I love taking photos of this beautiful Lab, but we were taking the picture to be used in an email announcing the creation of Spicy Magnolia.  AND, it was taken just a few hours before we found out we were pregnant with Polka!



My brother, Mac, and I met up in Las Cruces, NM the end of May to visit our grandmother, Gaga.  It was such a special trip!  Here she and I are at Wienerschnitzel eating chili cheese dogs...to satisfy a craving I was having.  As Mackie and I drove away from her house in tears, we weren't sure if it was going to be our last time to visit her.  Just about six weeks later, she went to be with Jesus for eternity, but I had a priceless time with this most dear lady the few days before she saw Him face to face.  Aside from the news of and carrying Polka, the time I spent with Gaga as well as with my Momma going through all of Gaga's house was one of the most impactful and meaningful of the year, as well as in my life.


Also in May, hubby and I got to go to St. Louis to visit our baby nephew, Jadon!  It was an awesome weekend!



Of course, the news of baby Polka is at the top of the year!  It was rather a shock at first, which you can read all the intimate details of here, here and here.  <grin>  But this ultrasound picture is my absolute favorite, and I am getting super excited to meet this precious baby!
 

Me and hubby on our babymoon in San Antonio!  Wow, what a vacation!


Decorating the nursery with my parents was definitely a highlight of the year!  They came one weekend in September to help paint and then another in November to put all of the fun finishing touches on it!  Right now, it's pretty much one of the only rooms in our house not covered in saw dust.


Thanksgiving weekend!!  Our girl time decorating our gingerbread homes and having glorious spa treatments was the best!


This picture encapsulates a whole lot!  Our 6 year anniversary, dear friends, our house flooding, and a VERY memorable Christmas Eve and Christmas!

Things with the house right now are taking up more time and energy than what we anticipated, so most nights, we find ourselves crashing after a long day of making decisions, greeting workmen after workmen, and running around town on errands.  Matt wants me to stay up tonight to watch the ball drop, but we'll see if I make it.  Other than that, we don't have any spectacular New Year's Eve plans.  But I'm sure some of you do...what are they?

I hope ya'll have a fun and safe night, and as Beth Moore wonderfully put it, may 2009 be "a Jesus year" for each of us!  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Patriot Day

In honor of the 7th anniversary of 9/11, I wanted to post the lyrics to Alan Jackson's song, Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning.  Instead of simply posting the lyrics, I came across a YouTube video using Jackson's song.  Every time I hear it, I am taken back to that sobering day; the images are just as stirring and agonizing today as they were 7 years ago.  Nevertheless, it's a time to remember.

A Countdown using Beavers, Lions, and Guinea Pigs

Matt and I had an engagement period of 128 days (from August 16th to December 21st), and as I've been watching the Polka ticker in the sidebar, I've watched the days count down to where we now have the same amount of days to wait before Polka's due date on January 9th:  128 days until blast off!  Our engagement was short (I'm all about short engagements), and to realize that we are at the point where we only have about 4 months more before Polka is born is both exciting and unnerving at the same time.

I told my sister-in-law, Julie, yesterday that I had my first panic attack last week.  Literally, I could not breath as I was pondering parenthood.  The fears were too much at the time and overtook me; I felt like I was being choked by fear's gruesome tentacles.  "I'm going to be a rule-monger"; "Will I emphasize manners too much over heart issues?"; "How am I going to help Polka to know and love Jesus?"; "My perfectionism and worry-wart tendencies about what other people think is going to overtake me"; "How do I get the baby on a good sleeping schedule/routine?"; "How do I make sure our lives and schedules don't totally become revolved around Polka, but Polka to ours?"; "Matt and I are so different; how are we going to agree on anything in parenthood"; "I don't want to give up my life so much."  And on and on it went.  I can't even pick up a book on parenting.  Something in me just wants to leap, to jump straight into the pool of the unknown and simply go for it.  That's totally opposite of my natural personality of planning, but I literally feel paralyzed to do anything but that.  Well, this blog post wasn't supposed to be about all that; I digress.  But I will say that one thing that comes to mind when I fret about being a mommy is to keep in mind the simple calling on my life to be Meg totally and completely dependent on God.  That's all I can do, and that's all I can think of in the moments of sheer terror.

So back to my point.  128 days to go.  During our engagement, one of the creative and fun things Matt would write about in letters and emails to me to help countdown to our wedding day was to chart different gestation periods of animals and how they compared with how many days left we had until our wedding.  A totally "Matt" thing to do!  <grin>  So for instance, 122 days before our wedding, I'd get a note saying that beavers would be born on our special day; 108 days to go and a lion would be born on our wedding day; 68 days, guinea pigs; 42 days, a kangaroo; 21 days, mice; 11 days, finch...and so on and so forth.  It was certainly an entertaining way to countdown!  And now, even while there is much anticipation and the desire to have this baby out of my body as soon as possible to return to normal bodily comfort, I am so glad Polka's gestation period is as long as it is! Well, "so glad" is probably an understatement!