Real Life Reflections

I attended a wedding this past Saturday. The groom stood up front with the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and the minister behind him. Everyone stood and watched the bride walk down the aisle towards him. She was stunning, beautiful. She held her father's arm with one hand and a bouquet of white in the other. His eyes never wavered from her face, only blinked in an effort to clear their tears.There were over two hundred people in that room, all of them watching the bride - except me. You see, I was the mother of the groom. A few months ago, I was the mother of the bride - a much more prestigious position. As mother of the bride, I helped plan the party. I had input. I had a voice. The ceremony and the reception were on my home turf. All of my family and most beloved friends came to celebrate with us. I had the time of my life that day. It was all about my beautiful, wonderful, amazing "little" girl, and I loved lavishing her with the attention. But here's the thing - my husb...

Today is Fathers' Day. My own father left when I was seventeen, though it wasn't his choice. It was cancer. I've gotten used to Fathers' Days without him, and most years, I do okay. Although I don't think I'll ever stop missing him. It's been thirty-one years since my mom woke me in the middle of the night and said, "Daddy died." He wasn't a super-dad. He wouldn't have won a contest if I'd written an essay about all the things he did for us. Truth be told, he didn't really do a lot of hands-on parenting. He didn't coach our little-league teams. He didn't take us fishing or camping or hiking. He didn't come home from work each night and play ball with us or go to bat for us when a teacher "unfairly" disciplined one of us. So what did he do? He loved us, and we knew it. We were safe as long as he was there. He was our protector, our provider. Dad always knew what to do. We didn't have to worry. He would rig...

I have a pet peeve. I have a pet passion. As you might expect, they're polar opposites. My pet passion is simple: be who God made you to be. You don't have to be anyone else. You don't have to live up to anyone else's expectations. You don't have to answer to anyone's judgments of you except God's. He's the One to whom you answer. We only have so many years on this earth. I want to do something with those years. I have a t-shirt that says: "You have one life. Do something." I want my life to make a difference. My name may not go down in history, but if I love passionately, if I obey the call of God for ME, I will affect other lives. That's all I want - to affect at least one other life in a positive, life-giving, life-changing way. In order to do that, I have to be who God made me to be. I have to do what God made me to do. We're all so different. That's on purpose. We all need what each other has to give. I've lived most of my ...

Today is June 12, 2009. Nathan and Megan's wedding is two weeks from Saturday. Ami and Brad will celebrate their 15th anniversary on that same day (by 15th, I mean 15 weeks, not years). Nathan will have been a college graduate for all of 7 weeks on the day of his wedding; and he will have lived on this earth (independent of my womb) for 23 years and 1 day. To say this has been and continues to be an emotional season for me would be akin to stating that Barack Obama is president of the United States - it's just a fact. I find myself often on the verge of tears and easily tipped over the edge. I watch the little boy who lives behind us with longing for the days that were, the days that trickled through my fingers, averse to my attempts to hold them tight. Jonah has brown hair and a little body just like Nathan's at the age of 3. He rides his jeep down their steps over and over and over - giggling each time he hits bottom with a thud. He throws rocks - at their house (Mom obv...

I read on someone's blog this week that Jack Bauer isn't real (http://bradclemons.blogspot.com) You can imagine my horror at such a suggestion! Without Jack, America as we know it, would have been destroyed seven times over (and counting). I love super heroes like Jack: Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Ironman, John McClane, Frodo. The list goes on and on. Why? Why do I come away from super-hero movies sighing in contentment? Why does everything in my world align when a super -hero saves the day? I know the plot is unreal. I know the feats are ridiculous, but I can't help it. These are "feel-good" movies, and I love them. I suppose I could blame it on my brother, Ed, who was an avid Batman fan in the 60's. With only one TV (gasp!), and Ed being my older brother, I either watched Batman or started on homework. Which of those would you choose? So I became an addict in my formative years. Thanks Ed. I'm truly grateful. Super heros give hope. Sure, the actuality o...