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Conversations

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Yesterday at my orthopedic doctor appointment,  I looked around. Six feet of space. Masks on. Sanitizer available. Coffee bar out of order.  Yep. All normal.  Now please understand this. Since Covid restrictions have started, I’ve been definitely healthier in that I’m no longer getting all the normal bugs I usually get all year long.  I like not being sick with normal stuff.  But I think something else has happened. Something not so good. And it’s one that we can correct. You just have to be intentional. Connection.  As I sat in my chair far away from everyone, I noticed a young man. He had a knee brace on. His hair was fixed in a dreadlock updo. He was college age and obviously uncomfortable.  I cleared my throat and got his attention. “Football?” I asked, pointing at his knee. He nodded yes. And then we started talking.  We talked football and college and scouts and pro ball and hopes and dreams…his. We also talked about disappointment and plan b and choosing to make hard decisions. 
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My Library, My Refuge

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I remember the first time I went to the library at school. I was in the first grade and I was totally and wonderfully enthralled. Surrounding me were all the books I could ever want. As a little one just starting out, I hurriedly learned to read so I could explore the library and all of it’s secrets.  I loved books. I mean I really LOVed books.  It was in books that I could become anyone or anything. I read the classics. I read biographies and autobiographies. Mystery, adventure, and intrigue….all contained between the covers of book.  And when I didn’t have a library book, I read the encyclopedias at home from cover to cover. From A to Z…and then the new additions that updated them. Medical books about human ailments , books of poems, and even newspapers. There was a whole world out there ready to explore. In our little town of Van Horn Texas was our city library. In the 60’s and 70’s I frequented the aisles. I would walk the many blocks just to get to walk in the door. The library wa
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Turquoise Shoes

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When I stepped into the waiting room, she was sitting with a blanket around her. Her head was tipped back and eyes were closed.  Radiology.  Both of us had appointments for scans.  I sat in my chair on the other side of the room. Just the two of us. Me in my oversized hospital gown. Her in sweatpants and swaddled in a blanket.  I played on my phone. Read a little. Answered some comments on Facebook. Just wasting time till my name was called.  Then I noticed something. Her turquoise tennis shoes.  I cleared my throat and she looked up. I pointed at her shoes and told her that I really liked them. This led to a conversation about shoes. And purses. And girly things.  I shared my story of wearing two different shoes at the same time. We both laughed.  I asked her name. Carol. I shared mine.  She asked what scans I was here for. I answered MRI to check for liver cancer. She made a face of sympathy. She was waiting for a CT to check on progress of chemotherapy on her pancreatic cancer.  The
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That Day

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I remember that day. It doesn’t feel like there’s been twenty years between now and then. The feelings are just a visceral today as they were on that day.  I remember getting a phone call from our son. I was still in bed asleep and the call woke me up.  “Mom,” he said, “Something horrible has happened. I think we are at war.” I remember I turned on the television in my room and watched in horror as the news reporter described the events unfolding. And even as he stood there, Tower Two began the very quick process of collapsing.  I remember the next two planes. Fear set in as I wondered with my country…is there more? Will this day end without anyone else dying in this? I remember getting ready for a meeting I was speaking at that morning. The numbness of trying to understand what I had just seen.  I remember that as I walked into the meeting hall, the tears, the silence, the blank stares of those around me. We quickly got through the meeting and hugged one another and left. Each of us d
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Bartholomew

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I remember the first day I met Bartholomew.  Actually, the word “met” is stretching the encounter a bit. I was taking the trash out and was getting ready to lob it into the dumpster when he raised up. In the dumpster. Surrounded by trash.  I think I screamed. It wasn’t exactly something I was expecting that day. When I screamed it startled him. Then I immediately felt bad and apologized. He apologized and then asked if there were any cans or bottles in my trash bag. I told him no.  We were living in an apartment in Michigan in the suburbs of Detroit. Doug and I had moved our family there to begin an apartment outreach ministry the summer of ‘93. Cans and bottles in Michigan had a ten cent deposit.  As he climbed out of the dumpster, I looked at him. I mean really looked. He had a long flowing white beard that was stained yellow around his mouth from nicotine. He had smudges on his cheeks and a ball cap on his head. His hair was long and touched his shoulders. He was wearing an old chec
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Tia Delphina

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The first time I remember tasting homemade corn tortillas I was about four. My Tia Delphina was the culinary expert in this and she would make the best ones. They were thick…thick enough to slice. They were both sweet and slightly nutty flavor. And a perfect texture.  In case you didn’t know, Tia is Aunt in Spanish.  She and my Tio Ladisloe lived next door to my grandparents in Del Rio, Texas. My grandfather, my Buello, was her younger brother. There was a connecting gate in the backyard to their properties and a little wooden bridge that we would walk on to get to her house. Beside that bridge was one of the largest pomegranate trees I’ve ever seen.  My Tio, also called Larry, was a carpenter. All around their home were little things he had made with his own hands in his shop. He built shelves for my Tia’s plants. He built her a room for her African Violets and their small breakfast table. Sunday mornings after church I would hurry over there to sit on his lap as he read me the Sunday
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Remember

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I remember the big, boxy, console TV that sat in our livingroom. It was a black and white. Received four channels but we were only able to see three. And it had an antenna that was called rabbit ears. A flag of foil on that antenna helped get the channels we were able to receive. .  We watched our Saturday morning cartoons on that TV...and we watched as Captain Kirk and Will Robinson flew off into the dark depths of space in their ships. Disney was on Sunday nights and Old Yeller, Pollyanna, and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks entertained us all. And yes, we heard the first strains of the theme to Sesame Street.  I remember watching the ‘68 Olympics. I balanced on our livingroom’s tile lines as Cathy Rigby did her routine across the balance beam. And held my breath and cheered for the power of the Soviet men’s gymnast, Viktor Klimenko. And I did watch the award ceremonies as Tommie Smith and John Carlos, each raised a black-gloved fist during the playing of the US national anthem. I had no i
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