Memories - Big Mama

The new gal pal

July 1, 2008

Okay, so where did I leave off?

Friday night. Philips Arena. Crying.

Change Friday night to Saturday morning and that pretty much sums up the whole weekend.

I went into the weekend really wanting to hear from God and it’s funny how He responds to that. I think He was serious with that whole “Ask and it shall be given, seek and ye shall find” stuff.

Priscilla Shirer began her talk with Exodus 19:9. The minute she mentioned the wilderness I knew I was going to hear something powerful. I’ve spent so much time in the last few years feeling like I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going. I’ve watched our lives take some crazy, unexpected turns that have left me breathless.

I was so moved to hear her talk about how God often calls you while you’re still in the wilderness. He brings you there to show you who He really is and I can say without a doubt that the last two years of my life have taught me more about God’s power and provision than any other time in my life.

On Saturday morning I woke up at 6:30 a.m. BEFORE THE ALARM EVEN WENT OFF.

This has never happened in the history of my life.

I was so excited about the day that I was actually up and dressed by 8 a.m. AND WAS HAPPY ABOUT IT.

Saturday was another awesome day. And, yes, I pretty much spent the whole day wiping tears from my eyes.

By the afternoon I looked as if I had a bad case of the pink eye.

Note to self: Don’t be afraid to bring some Visine next time

Another note to self: Also, some Kleenex might be a good idea.

The only thing that wasn’t fabulous about Saturday were the real issues that arise when there are 19,000 women in one arena who all need to go to the bathroom at various points throughout the day. I, myself, can go about ten times before noon on a good day.

However, I didn’t want to miss one minute of anything so I just tried to focus on other things that were unrelated to water or flowing rivers.

Finally, it was lunch time. Sophie and I planned to eat lunch with Annie who offered to bring us lunch. She met us down on the floor so we could follow her to the designated lunch spot. We needed to go to the bathroom, but took one look at the lines and decided we didn’t have 58 minutes, or the better part of my life, to spare.

After lunch, I thought my luck might be better.

I am so naive.

Did I honestly think that the restroom situation was going to improve after 19,000 women spent an hour drinking Diet Coke and assorted Starbucks beverages?

I started to wait in a line, but I could tell that there was a good chance I was going to die from old age or a bladder explosion before I actually made it to a stall, so I just headed back to my seat. I figured if I was going to die I might as well be enjoying some good praise and worship music.

Thankfully, I was able to get to a restroom located backstage. Otherwise I shudder to think at how badly it all could have ended.

At one point I was even considering the purchase of a Stadium Gal for my next Deeper Still Event.

Stadium Gal, for when you’ve gotta go, but you wanna stay.

I am not kidding. It’s a real product.

Maybe someone could make a special Deeper Still Stadium Gal.

Oh, there are so many multiple meanings in that title.

A story of summer sausage…and potatoes

May 22, 2008

I talked to P yesterday morning and told him I was planning on cooking dinner. He told me to not worry about because we had plenty of leftovers in the fridge. He is a peach.

A little later on, I was reading some blogs and noticed that Barb had posted a recipe for a dish that involved sausage and potatoes. All of a sudden I knew there was no way I could eat leftovers. I must have sausage and potatoes. Barb’s dish called for some other ingredients, but I wanted to make them just like my Pa-Pa used to. Sausage, potatoes, a little onion, and lots of butter. It’s a meal that will keep cardiologists in business for years to come.

So I made it for dinner last night and it was good, but not as good as Pa-Pa’s.

The summer after my freshman year in college I lived with my Me-Ma and Pa-Pa. My mom had moved to Oklahoma, my daddy lived in Houston, and I wanted to spend the summer in Beaumont because that’s where my friends were, and most importantly my high school boyfriend who I’d been dating for the last two and a half years.

It wasn’t a good relationship and in truth I knew it was on its last legs, but I was nineteen, insecure, and desperate to hang on to something familiar. No one really thought I should stay in Beaumont, but Me-Ma and Pa-Pa agreed to let me spend the summer with them on two conditions. I had to go to summer school and I had to be in by 10:30 every night.

Think about that. I had just finished an entire year with all the freedom that college offers and I was going to spend the summer with a 10:30 curfew. Even on the weekends. That is what you call a tight ship.

The funny thing is that I respected their wishes. And at a time in my life when I wasn’t afraid to rebel against authority, I didn’t dare break their rules. At the time I wasn’t really sure why, but looking back I think it’s because they were my grandparents, they had always adored me and thought the best of me even when I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want to disappoint them.

I thought I was staying with them and enduring a 10:30 curfew as a last resort, but I look back at that summer as one of the greatest gifts of my life. I’d always spent a lot of time with them because my daddy drove in from Houston every other weekend and we always spent the weekend at their house, but that summer I really got to know them in a way that can only happen when your daily lives are intertwined.

I had an 8:00 class every morning. I think it was a political science class but I honestly can’t remember because for me college wasn’t so much about the actual classroom experience as it was about the extracurricular activities, but I seem to remember some talk of various branches of the government. I’d wake up in the morning and stumble into the kitchen even though I’d had plenty of sleep the night before, thanks to my 10:30 curfew.

Me-Ma and Pa-Pa would be sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and reading the newspaper. They’d also discuss what they needed from Market Basket that day because heaven knows not a day would pass without at least one trip to the Market Basket.

I’d head off to school and get back home around lunchtime. By then Pa-Pa had spent the morning watching The Price is Right and making the first trip of the day to Market Basket. They were gearing up for General Hospital which started at 2:00. I swear the sound of the ambulance in the opening credits of General Hospital will always make me think of their house.

Anyway, Pa-Pa was always a master of various culinary delights. Early on in my childhood he introduced me to the artery clogger known as a baloney sandwich on white bread with Miracle Whip. It makes me gag a little thinking about it now. However, my favorite Pa-Pa specialty was sausage and potatoes. I’d walk in from class and there he would be, standing over a skillet on the stove getting it all ready for me. “BIG MEL! The cook has your sausage and potatoes going!” I’ll never make them as good as he did.

That summer ended up being a defining summer for me. I finally broke up with the bad boyfriend, decided to go back to A&M in the fall, and managed to keep my weight at a decent level in spite of all the sausage and potatoes. I watched a lot of General Hospital and cried a lot of tears on my Me-Ma’s lap.

And I was home by 10:30 every night.

But I think the greatest gift I received that summer was spending every day with two people who thought I could do no wrong. They built me up and loved me unconditionally at a time when my self-confidence was at an all time low. They gave me a safe place that forced me to go back to childhood for a little while and catch my breath.

For that, and the sausage and potatoes, I will be forever grateful.

I just wish I could tell them how much.

I hope they knew.

I suffer from a touch of the seasickness

May 1, 2008

Many years ago, when P and I were newly married and childless, a very nice family who had kids in our Campus Life ministry used to let us stay in their beach-front condo for one week every August. It was the perfect vacation for a couple of poor twenty-somethings and we looked forward to it every year.

We’d usually drive down there and stay for a few days by ourselves and then invite a few friends to come join us for the remainder of the week.

One summer P decided it would be fun to invite his friends Todd and Jay to join us and we could all go deep-sea fishing. I thought it was a great idea.

Because I am an idiot.

An idiot with very little short-term memory.

I get seasick. I know this. It’s been well-documented.

In fact, two weeks after P and I got married we were invited to go fishing with some dear family friends. Everything was fine until we started fishing in the surf. And then SICKNESS! NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE! Please someone throw me over the boat so that a shark will eat me piece by piece and this horrific seasickness will finally be over.

Not to mention the mortification of throwing up repeatedly in front of my very new husband and our friends.

While wearing a bathing suit.

Precious memories.

And sure some of it may be psychological, but to this day I don’t really do that well in the backseat of a car. Heaven help me if it gets hot. Even if I’m riding in the front seat I can’t turn around and look at Caroline in her booster without starting to feel that queasy feeling.

The point is I have motion sickness issues.

So, in hindsight, deep-sea fishing, not really the best idea.

But I was reeled in (get it?) by the thought of all the cool fish we might catch. Maybe I’d catch a huge swordfish even though I’m pretty sure they don’t live in the Gulf of Mexico. But they could have swam (swum? tomato? to-mah-to?) there for vacation and what if I was the first person to catch one?

Plus, I really wanted to go because I knew P really wanted me to go. It was going to be a great trip. Seasickness has no hold on me. It’s all about the power of POSITIVE thinking. OPTIMISTS UNITE.

However, as a precaution, I stocked up on Dramamine, Dramamine patches, and ginger pills which are supposed to help with the motion sickness.

Because I am like a Girl Scout. Always prepared.

The details of that morning are hazy, which is probably due to the fact that I’d already popped two Dramamine and was wearing a Dramamine patch on my arm. I just remember that we left well before daybreak, which should have been my first clue that I was not necessarily cut out for deep-sea fishing expeditions.

We arrived at the boat and were met by Captain Awesome and his first lieutenant, Tattoo. Honestly, I don’t remember their real names so I just made those up. It’s called CREATIVE LICENSE because I was too whacked on Dramamine to remember anything.

The boat started heading out towards the deep sea. And here’s a critical fact that I was not aware of, it takes a long time to get out to the deep sea. A really long time. Fear started to overtake me as I realized that I couldn’t just decide mid-day that I’d had enough of the fishing. I was clearly going to be stuck out at sea.

So I popped another Dramamine to quell my rising fear.

Finally we stopped at our destination which was, for lack of a better term, in the middle of the dadgum ocean. I couldn’t see the shore. I COULDN’T SEE THE SHORE.

Even now I can still feel the panic.

And the boat started rocking. Not rocking in a good way, like “rocking” from all the fun we were having. Oh no. It was rocking because of the waves. Oh sweet mercy the waves.

The sea was angry that day, my friends.

But not as angry as my stomach, which immediately began a mutiny on every meal I had ever consumed in my life.

Captain Awesome and Tattoo tried to distract me by baiting my hook and handing me a fishing pole. I think the logic was that if I could start catching fish I would forget about writing my will and screaming “JUST KILL ME NOW”.

All of a sudden my fishing pole almost bent in half and the line started dragging like crazy. Everyone was yelling at me to reel, reel, REEL! So I did and I forgot I was in total agony because I was about to bring in the largest fish ever caught in Texas deep-sea fishing history.

And I did catch something very large. Our boat.

That’s right, my friends. My line had gotten wrapped around our boat motor.

And that pretty much sums up how the rest of our day went.

P, Todd and Jay fished with Captain Awesome and Tattoo while I laid on the back of the boat, popping Dramamine repeatedly, hoping that seagulls would come carry me off and drop me in the mouth of a whale to put the final nail in this hell I was living out.

We didn’t catch one fish that day. Not one.

Captain Awesome was not awesome. He was the devil. The devil that knew nothing about fishing. The devil that had bought a boat on a whim and a book called “So You Want to Be A Deep-Sea Fishing Guide” and then forgotten to read the book.

In fact his last words to us, as he took his money for the day, were “I’m going to go get drunk”.

But no matter how much he drank, I bet he wasn’t as hung over as I was three days later when I finally woke up from my Dramamine-induced coma. P said at one point he thought about holding a mirror under my nose to make sure I was still breathing.

P and his friends were furious about the way the trip had turned out. Not because I had almost died at sea mind you, but because we hadn’t caught any fish.

Which warms my heart to this day.

They felt that Captain Awesome had misled them about the way he fished and the places we would go to find fish, and since P had read about Captain Awesome in Texas Fish and Game magazine (not to be confused with Cheaper Than Dirt!) he wrote a letter to the editor voicing his displeasure.

He had me proofread the letter before he sent it, because I may not be able to deep-sea fish, but boy can I proofread. And that’s what every man really wants, a good editor.

The letter talked about our disappointment in the day and how Captain Awesome hadn’t lived up to the hype of the article about him in Texas Fish and Game. It was passionate and heartfelt. Our struggle with the angry sea and a belligerent captain. Like a modern day “Moby Dick”.

But my favorite line of the whole letter, in fact maybe my favorite line ever, was the part where P wrote, “The real tragedy is that because of this experience my wife will never go deep-sea fishing again.”

I told him to add an exclamation point to that sentence. And put “never” in all caps.

Even though I disagreed with him.

The real tragedy is that I spent four days of my life passed out from Dramamine. Days that could have been spent lying by the pool. Looking at water that doesn’t move.

Brevity is not my gift this New Year’s Eve

December 31, 2007

So, it’s New Year’s Eve.

We’ve had an incredibly exciting day here. Really, I hesitate to share because I don’t want to create envy and bitterness over the fabulousness that is my life.

P has fever and hasn’t felt well all day. I spent the day setting up a new bed in Caroline’s room and cleaning out her closet. Caroline left to go out to eat Italian food with Mimi and Bops and then spend the night with them.

I’m so proud that our four year old is having a more exciting New Year’s Eve than her parents.

Of course I did go to Central Market and pick up some chicken noodle soup for P, so it’s not like my day has been completely without fun and adventure.

And now, we are sitting side by side on the couch in our flannel pjs watching the Chick-Fil-A Bowl. Dick Clark can only hope his New Year’s is this rockin’.

But, in all honesty, I couldn’t care less. I have had my share of festive New Year’s celebrations. Including one unfortunate year that involved me wearing red jeans, a sequined shirt and being overserved to the point of getting lost on my way back from the restroom at Chuy’s Mexican Restaurant.

I don’t know what’s saddest about that event, but I’m pretty sure it’s the red jeans. Although the sequined shirt is a close runner up.

There was also the New Year’s that P and I broke up because he wouldn’t come home from the ranch to celebrate a “fake holiday”. Gulley and I ended up spending that New Year’s together. We ate way too much at Carrabba’s and I think I had too much wine, which is my only excuse for how many times I belted out Faith Hill’s “It Matters To Me” because I felt like it best summed up my feelings about P’s New Year’s Eve apathy.

I bet Gulley doesn’t remember that year as her favorite New Year’s celebration.

But P shot a nice 10 pointer on New Year’s Day, which only served to confirm in his mind that he made the right choice.

And these days I tend to agree with him that big New Year’s celebrations are highly overrated. In fact, we received an invitation to an unbelievably fancy New Year’s Eve party this year. The invitation was hand-delivered. In a box. With a beaded chandelier inside the box. The attire was Couture/Black tie.

We turned it down. Because these days we prefer non-couture flannel. And watching bowl games. While taking lots of Sudafed.

But, because it is the end of another year, I have spent some time over the last few days thinking about 2007. I will now share those thoughts here because this is, after all, a record of my life. And while there are so many things I tell y’all on a daily basis, there are many that I don’t.

2007 has been a year of incredible transition. If someone had sat me down in January of 2007 and told me all the things this year would bring, I think I may have curled up in the fetal position and stayed there for the next twelve months. It’s been a year that has refined my faith in ways I didn’t even know it needed to be refined.

This year has been a 12 month process of God stripping away everything in which I’ve tried to find security. In January, I was faced with false allegations that made me fear I’d lose my job and just the thought of that possibility sent me into near hysteria (or if I’m being completely honest, full blown hysteria). The allegations were proven false, but then some other things happened along the way that led P and me to make the decision for me to resign in April.

The pharmaceutical job I’d held for ten years was gone. The income, the company car, the benefits were gone. But, I consoled myself with how well P’s business was doing and how much money we had in various accounts. We were totally fine.

And then P’s best employee ended up going to jail (it’s a long story), which slowed down the progress they were able to make on various jobs. Shortly thereafter, P’s back went out again and we knew he was going to need surgery.

Our new insurance didn’t want to pay on some of the claims which left us with medical bills higher than we expected, the brakes went out on P’s truck, we had to get some major dental work done, and finally, someone wanted to break out my car window right before Christmas.

We began to joke that we might as well just start flushing hundred dollar bills down the toilet because it was a more efficient way to drain our bank account.

The Bible study my group did in the fall was “A Woman’s Heart” by Beth Moore. In Week 2 of that study, Beth wrote, “Take the risk of inviting Him to do whatever He must to fan your flame again.” I knew as soon as I read it that God was calling me to take that risk. And I didn’t want to because I was scared.

But I did it. And y’all need to know that I did it with much fear and trembling. I had no idea what was going to happen but I knew that I had lost some of my passion for Him and I wanted it back. Ultimately, my need was stronger than my fear. Which means I had ALOT of need.

And that’s when the bottom fell out. But, honestly, it was almost comically apparent what God was trying to show me about myself. I have been so guilty in finding my security in the things this world offers. It’s not even that I love money so much or have to have it, I just like the security it offers. I felt like as long as our bank account had a certain balance then everything would be okay.

The irony is that “A Woman’s Heart” follows the Israelites as Moses leads them out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. I spent a lot of time being like the Israelites grumbling to myself, “I don’t know why God led me away from my job and all that security if He’s just going to hang us out to dry like this.”

But then God reminded me how He provided manna for the children of Israel every morning. He gave them what they needed for that day. Their security had to be in Him and in His provision. FOR THAT DAY. And that’s what He’s promised me, He will give us what we need for that day.

His provision doesn’t hinge on what the bank says we have or what the stock market does. He is over all those things and He is faithful and just to provide.

I’ve spent this year being refined in a way that I have never before been refined, but I can also say I have drawn closer to Him than I ever have before at any time in my life. When all the fears and worries begin to rise up, I’ve learned to run to Him instead of adding up bills in my head and trying to come up with my own solution.

At one point this month, after another setback had come in, I sat at the desk and started to cry. I opened my Bible and this is the passage I found:

“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.” Isaiah 42:16

And as I’ve prayed for 2008 and all that this new year holds, the verse that keeps coming back to me is:

“You will be blessed in the city and blessed in the country. The fruit of your womb will be blessed, and the crops of your land and the young of your livestock – the calves of your herds and the lambs of your flocks. Your basket and your kneading trough will be blessed. You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out. The Lord will grant that the enemies who rise up against you will be defeated before you. They will come at you from one direction but flee from you in seven. The Lord will send a blessing on your barns and on everything you put your hand to. The Lord your God will bless you in the land he is giving you.” Deuteronomy 28: 3-8

2007 has been a year of God leading me into a new land. A year of me questioning what I believe and how much I believe it. A year of me learning that it’s okay to ask Him to help me overcome my unbelief. A year of me literally putting my money where my mouth is or more accurately where my heart is. A year of learning to trust in Him in ways that I have never trusted before. It has been a hard year and there are still struggles ahead, but I know that He that began a good work in me will carry it on to completion.

And as I completed my Bible study of Moses and the tabernacle, I learned something that I had never realized before. It’s something that really resonated with me. From the time Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt, through all the grumbling in the desert, through all the hardships, to the completion of the tabernacle, one year had passed. ONE YEAR. How is that even possible that all that happened in one year? As Beth says, “It had been the worst year of his life and the best year of his life.”

I feel you, Moses. I think that’s how I’ll remember 2007. The best and the worst. But I already know that, like Moses, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I’m sorry this is so long. I knew it would be, but my heart was full of so much to say and I had to get it all out. If you’ve read this far, then God bless you for your patience.

I wish you all a Happy 2008 filled with all good things! My life is richer because y’all show up here every day.

Someone help me, help me please

November 13, 2007

Okay, so I have been at war with myself over whether or not to write this post. But the part of me that cares about what people think has lost the battle. I am compelled to share something with the world wide web that is causing me to swallow my pride.

Put your hands in the air if you watched (and loved) The Osmond Family on Oprah last Friday.

I’m so ashamed.

I wanted to think that I was above Osmondmania. In fact, I almost deleted the entire show off my DVR. But the kind hand of television fate intervened, and since P had taken Caroline to the ranch for the whole day on Sunday and I had time on my hands, I decided to go ahead and watch the first few minutes just to see how The Osmonds were holding up.

Oh, pride goeth before a fall.

I have prided myself that I have been above watching Marie on “Dancing With The Stars”, even after hearing she passed out cold on national television. And, really, that’s just good T.V.

I have even scoffed at Marie selling her dolls on QVC because, really, the whole doll collection thing is just beyond my realm of comprehension.

Please don’t be offended if you collect dolls. That’s great. I’m just saying that they kind of creep me out. I’m not proud of the fact that I still have to remove all the dolls from the room I sleep in when I visit my Nanny. It’s just who I am.

I’m a big coward who is afraid of glass eyes that stare off into space and heads topped with unnaturally flipped hair with jaunty berets on top.

Anyway, The Osmonds. I’m fascinated. There were like over 632 of them on Oprah’s stage and not one of them has an immediate family of less than 26 children or something like that. And they all look alike. And they all have perpetual smiles.

And I am afraid I am going to be tempted to shell out big bucks to attend The Osmond Family Reunion Tour.

I know. I’m frightening even myself.

Oh, I pretend to be above it all, but I AM NOT. I am a weak vessel given to waves of 70′s nostalgia.

After all, Donny Osmond was really my first love.

I would spend Friday nights not more than 5 inches away from our huge console television because I believed Donny could see me watching him while I wore my purple socks. I felt connected to him because I understood his love of purple socks and I, too, believed I was a little bit rock-n-roll.

Sadly, this wouldn’t be the last time I would decide something was my favorite thing because it was also the favorite thing of the boy I liked. Hence, my great love of Dr. Pepper throughout my 7th and 8th grade years because of a guy named Kendall. I was sure our common bond of drinking Dr. Pepper would seal our joy for eternity. But then he moved out of town and I went back to drinking Coke, which at the time was Coke Classic because of a huge marketing blunder by the bigwigs at the Coca-Cola company.

Where was I?

Oh, Donny.

I remember being heartbroken when I found out that Donny couldn’t actually see me through the T.V. screen. I just knew if he could see me he would be immediately smitten with the six year old girl in her Snoopy nightgown, missing her front tooth, re-enacting the entire “Donny and Marie Show” with her Donny and Marie dolls complete with soundstage set.

And really, I can’t even get into how envious I was of my friend ZZ, who not only had a Donny and Marie lunchbox, but also a Donny and Marie 8-track player. I believe that’s when I learned firsthand what the Bible means when it says “Do not covet your neighbor’s donkey”…or their 8-track player.

But then, Donny and I grew apart. His show went off the air, he got married, and I was over him. It was a tough transition but, eventually, Rick Springfield came along and I forgot all about Donny.

I believe it was 1988 when he came back on the scene with “Soldier of Love”.

Anyone?

“Soldier of Love”?

Until now, I have never publicly admitted how much I liked that song, but I did. I may have even bought the cassette tape.

Oh, the shame.

So, when I Donny and Marie opened the Oprah show with a medley of songs that was reminiscent of The Sweeney Sisters, I was ready to point and laugh with disdain. I was prepared to roll my eyes and ask no one in particular, who cares about The Osmonds anymore?

But then, Donny began singing “Puppy Love” and either I had allergies or I might have had a tear in my eye over what we used to have.

I’ll never tell which one it was.

The new gal pal

A story of summer sausage…and potatoes

I suffer from a touch of the seasickness

Brevity is not my gift this New Year’s Eve

Someone help me, help me please

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