The Year I Lost It - The Earring, with a side of biscuits

This is Part 4 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 2 - The Boss
Part 3 - The Father
Part 5 - The Budley
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January 2011 was the month that made me want to eat biscuits. Eating biscuits (or as they’re known around my house – lard sandwiches) is what I do when I’m at the end of everything I know to do and have no clue what to do next or how to handle anything. After getting through the whole Scott-losing-his-job-and getting-it-back-event and the Christmas program that sustained us, my dad died, my boss retired, I had jury duty, and then I got sick with a nasty sinus infection. It took a lot of biscuits to make it to February.

February started with my annual gynecological exam, bone density test, and mammogram. I lost one of my favorite earrings that day in the women’s center. It was one of a pair of tiny silver and red hearts that a friend gave me when we were in college. Her dad was an English professor and had taken a sabbatical in Poland. She took her own sabbatical that semester and went with him. She came back with these precious little earrings for me. I have treasured them all these years.

Of course, I didn’t realize I was one earring short until I got home, an hour away. It was only then that I realized that the little tug I felt on my ear back in the dressing room when I disrobed was not just due to a narrow neck opening in my shirt, it was my earring leaving my ear lobe.

I went back to the women’s center a week later, but not specifically to look for the earring.

I went back because I had to re-do the mammogram.

At my initial appointment, after I’d gotten outfitted in a little pink paper bolero shrug and unknowingly deposited my earring on the floor somewhere, the sweet technician called me in. She got me all pressed down and squeezed in and told me to hold my breath (why do they tell you to hold your breath? It’s not like you can breathe all squished up in that thing anyway). The machine locked up. With me in it. She apologized and finally figured out the code to get it to release me. Whew.

She worked with it a little and then we tried again. Press, squeeze, don’t breathe.

The machine locked up again. Again with me in it.

I had contortioned into a breathless pose two times now but still had no pictures to show for it. At that point we all agreed the best thing to do was reschedule the appointment and call a service technician.

I went through a drive-thru on my way home to order a biscuit. Or twelve.

I went back to the women’s center a week later. No problems with the machine that time, and no sign of the missing earring either.

I celebrated the success with a biscuit. I followed with a chaser biscuit to console my disappointment about the earring loss. Those lard sandwiches are good for just about anything.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 2 Corinthians 4:7-9

This is Part 4 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 2 - The Boss
Part 3 - The Father
Part 5 - The Budley

The Year I Lost It - The Father

This is Part 3 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 2 - The Boss
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was just one week and a few days away from Peter’s (my boss) retirement party. I was wrapped up in guest lists and invitations and caterers and venues and collecting decades of memorabilia and old photos. Life interrupted all that party planning. I was busy gearing up for Peter’s departure from our office when my dad departed this world.

We all knew my father’s days were numbered, but I really didn’t realize that a chuckle over the funny papers would be our last laugh together.

The last time my dad and I were alone together, he was sitting in chair with his narrow little reading glasses low on his nose. He held the newspaper up and was reading the comics out loud to me. We both laughed out loud about one that had something to do with lawyers. The frame was something about one of them suing the pants off the other, the retort then was something about needing to check his briefs.

His pastor, Dr. Young, came to visit about that time. I sat in on their visit together, again not realizing it would also be the last time they would see each other either. My dad was a bit talkative, Dr. Young was very attentive. When Dr. Young got ready to leave, my dad told him that he loved him. I was smiling again, but for a different reason. I knew my dad meant what he was saying. How many men do you know that would tell their pastors that?

Hardly even 24 hours later Dad was gone.

I am so thankful that my dad loved to read a daily newspaper and that he like to share what he read. I’m so grateful that he didn’t just stop at the news articles but also took the reading of the funny papers just as seriously. I will always cherish that last laugh.

I will also cherish the fact that one of the last people he said “I love you” to was his pastor. That meant as much to me as when he actually said it to me. My dad understood the ministry. A lot of people not in the ministry think they understand it, but they don’t. Not really. But my dad did. He knew.

I was left with the funny papers and an “I love you” and a retirement party to get on with. I lost my father; I was losing my mentor and boss. The loss was happening around me, but I felt like I was the one that was lost.

So I go through the motions. I show up for the party. I buy newspapers. I read the comics.

But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead. Philippians 3:7-11

This is Part 3 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 2 - The Boss
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley

The Year I Lost It - The Boss

This is Part 2 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 3 - The Father
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter came to work with me in 2004. It was just to two of us in the office for the next six and a half years. He was the boss. I was the clean up crew and everything else.

When Peter recounted his first few days as director here, he told me he was skeptical about me. He had no idea about my skills. He had no idea whether I was competent or not. With me being the only person in the office, I was all he had to work with. He was stuck with me. Thankfully, I think I was able to meet his challenge.

To be fair, I had my reservations about him at first too. Turns out, he wasn’t the easiest person to work for, but once I learned the dance, I enjoyed it. As the weeks and months went by, our mutual respect for each other grew in spite of the days where days he drove me nuts or I frustrated his patience. We found a great appreciation for each other.

We figured out how to work together. We worked. And it worked.

Peter taught me more about economic development than I ever wanted to know. He helped me gain an appreciation for things that I never knew existed. His standards were high and his professionalism was constant. Being influenced by those character traits made me want to be a better person, even on those days that he drove me crazy being so driven.

In January of this year, I was busy planning Peter’s retirement party. This was his retirement not just from our office, but from work altogether. He was in the business a long time before he ever came to our office. He has a lifetime of friends and associates all over the state and country. It was going to be a bigger party than I had planned in a very long time.

He tried to retire the year before, but then changed his mind after the new resumes came in. When he announced his retirement this time, we teased him about staying still another year, but we all knew this was it.

As his final day approached, the harder it was to make myself go to the office. I was very happy for Peter, but not so happy for myself. Peter accomplished a lot in the few years he was here. He built a strong foundation. For me, there was way more at stake than just who the new boss would be. The whole vision and program of our professional mission would likely change.

Peter was the one who reminded me to leave some things behind. He was the one who motivated us to move forward. Now, he was moving away.

The loss was palpable. How were we going to move forward without the one who had been pushing us in that direction?

I have no idea. But I do know that Peter constantly reminded us all that we could be better than we are.

And I’m going to try.

Realize that wisdom is the same for you. If you find it, you will have a future, and your hope will never fade. Proverbs 24:14

This is Part 2 of 5

Part 1 - The Job
Part 3 - The Father
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley

The Year I Lost It - The Job

This is PART 1 of 5


Part 2 - The Boss
Part 3 - The Father
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s the one year anniversary of my husband receiving a pink slip. At the time, for us, the loss of his job meant moving. We spent the month or so after that day last year cleaning, packing, making plans, and dealing with the loss. The pink slip was the result of a budget issue. Mostly, anyway. When you work at a church, it’s always more than just the budget because it’s “family”. Not by blood, but in spirit. The letter of explanation regarding his job elimination that was addressed to the entire church membership was signed by members of four different committees, all of which were involved in the decision. I know they agonized and deliberated over it. I’m certain it was not an easy thing to do. I’m also sure they consulted everyone about the decision except the one person whose life it affected the most.

Scott was not oblivious to the budget situation and was very much aware that something needed to be done. He was willing to offer some personal sacrifices to help the situation and make their decision easier had he been included in the process. I know the decision was not his to make, but he does have more insight about his specific responsibilities than anyone else. While Scott was spared any burden from being an actual decision maker, he might have been able to help them make their task a little less daunting. But, alas, the decision was made for us, not with us. We accepted it and saw it as an answer to prayer; not exactly what we were praying for, but an answer nonetheless. We also saw it not just and AN answer, but THE answer.

We had been trying to make a change like this for quite some time. This simply was going to force us to do it and we were grateful the push. We came close to making that change on our own several times before, but in the end there was always something that swiped it from our hands leaving us to wonder again about our discernment and purpose. Even in all the uncertainty, the one thing we did know was that God had placed us where He wanted us. To move us from that place would also be up to Him; not us, not them.

Yes, God gives us a choice. For us, the desire to be in the center of God’s will meant there was no other choice for us but here. The choice God gave us was solely about following Him; not about where He was going, or staying.

This time was no different. Within the month, more meetings and discussions were held that involved the entire church membership (not just the committees) and the result was that Scott’s job was reinstated.

Before that final full-membership decision, I begged one of the committee chairpersons to let their yes be yes and their no be no and to please just let us go. I begged God to just let us go. I just wanted out. I did not want us to be a reason or excuse for such strife.

Then, all the other options were off the table. Staying here is what God had in mind for us.

We accepted that with mixed emotions. We had already begun to work through the loss and once you do that, some of the stuff you deal with is gone forever and you just can’t get it back. Like relationships. It changes them. Some for the better, some not. Some, just different. It is sort of like learning the truth about Santa Claus. Once you know the real story, you can still go through the motions and even enjoy it, but you just don’t love Santa like you used to and you will never be as excited or hopeful about that unknown as you once were. It’s just not the same.

The names at the bottom of that original letter that dismissed Scott were more than just signatures or committee members to us. They were people we live and work with and depend on and are faithful to and are called to serve. In their original decision to eliminate Scott’s job, as difficult as it may or may not have been, they felt like they were making the right decision and we honored that. Then, the greater majority overruled them and told them they were wrong. And we had to honor that.

How do you do that?

How do you leave it up to God only to find that He leaves you stuck in the middle?

Well, I don’t really know but I think it has something to do with forfeiting your option when people are choosing sides. You deliberately elect to take the loss on both sides. Maybe that’s part of what makes the road narrow.

Today, a year later, some people have shown great grace and gratitude for us still being here. They have shown an appreciation for the fact that Scott has hung in there in spite of it all. I’m thankful and grateful for them, also in spite of it all.

There are also some people who still, even a year later, think Scott’s job should no longer be Scott’s job. There are many days I’m inclined to agree with them because sometimes it’s so hard to live without some of what’s been lost. I know it’s hard for them too.

And, it’s that time of year again. I’m not sure the budget situation is any better now. I also don’t think, if we were faced with that situation again, that we would think or feel are react the same as we did last year.

Circumstances like that have a way of affecting you and changing your perspective. Loss does that. You learn to do more with less.

I don’t understand it, but I accept it.

He must become greater; I must become less. John 3:30

This is PART 1 of 5

Part 2 - The Boss
Part 3 - The Father
Part 4 - The Earring
Part 5 - The Budley

How wide and long and high and deep?

From the archives.

This was originally written on September 11, 2001

God is brokenhearted today.

He is brokenhearted because you and I may have at some time in our lives ignored our call to share Christ and to show His love with one of the peopled killed today. We may have been face to face with them, whether we knew their names or not, and perhaps were afraid to speak up. Now, a different kind of fear is spreading.

Maybe we had just put Christ out of our minds at the time. Just what were we thinking? They may have been watching us from a distance at some interstate rest stop or an amusement park or a shopping mall or some other outlet where our paths may have briefly crossed. Had we taken a vacation from our responsibility to Christ as well?

God is brokenhearted over unique pieces of His creation embracing evil. Oh, the blessings He had in store for them. Sadly, their choices just blew them all away. As much as it may have physically hurt to have a Boeing jet crash into your office and land on your desk, as much as it may have hurt to have the temperature register hot enough to melt steel, God’s hurt is even greater; greater now because some of His precious creations are lost. Not in a pile of rubble and debris, but lost eternally.

God is brokenhearted that any of His creation has to needlessly suffer. He, most of all, knows what it means to suffer. But it is suffering that causes us to trust God for who He is, not what He does. And who He is, is bigger.

God is bigger.

As far as the fall was for those who jumped from the buildings, as far beneath the rubble as some were buried, God’s love will go farther.

As long as it takes to search, as long as it take to recover and rebuild, as long as remembrances of these days will be voiced, God’s love will last longer.

As deep as those pictures are ingrained in our minds, as deep as the hurt is, God’s love will always be deeper.

As far across the earth as the repercussions have been felt, as far as those rescue works and relief effort have increased the boundaries of our generosity, God’s love will stretch even wider.

Our God is bigger than any tragedy.

God is in control.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:14-19

Hello, my name is...

C'mon, admit it. I know you've done it.

It's not a bad thing, really. Depending on your motives.

In fact, the Best Buy Geek Squad probably recommends that you do it occasionally just to be sure there is nothing suspicious out there with your moniker on it.

So, go ahead. Google your own name.

What'd you come up with? Anything interesting?

Recently I Googled images for my name.

A lot of pictures of this lady came up. Her fame came with a different last name, but before she married a president, her last name was Davis. No introductions needed. Here's Nancy Davis Reagan:

The second most popular entry on my Google search results page was for this woman:Maybe she looks familiar to you, maybe not. She made the news circuit back in January 2011 when she was shot and killed in Mexico by drug dealers. Nancy and her husband, Sam, were missionaries in Mexico. They were gunned down at an illegal roadblock set up by drug dealers. The dealers were after the Davis' pick up truck. A bullet came through the rear window of the truck cab, struck Nancy in the head and killed her. Sam survived.

Not far behind her on my search results page was this woman. Again, meet Nancy Davis.Apparently she is a well known philanthropist. Unless your bank account is large and your financial contribution record phenomenal, you likely haven't heard of her. Most of the pictures had celebrities surrounding her. She always seems to be dressed in a formal gown and attends lots of elite social events.

I also found another Nancy Davis.
Isn't she lovely? The link for this picture was on one of those genealogy research sites. I don't think she's related to me in any way, but she looks so much like my dad that it's almost creepy.

Sidebar here...I did a little online research on my family history. I found that my great, great, great, great, grandmother's name was also Nancy Davis. She lived in the same county I live in --which is weird because none of my living family even lives in the same state that I do (I'm the one who moved away). Also, she lived to be 104. Wow.

Back to my google image search page. There were several versions of this too:
Funny thing. Not one single solitary picture of me came up in my Google search.

Oh, Google, where is the real Nancy Davis and what have you done with her??

So often when life gets tough and it gets hard to find the happy, I look around and wonder who's life am I living anyway? I mean, I thought I was doing all the right things and working very hard to avoid all the drama, all the struggles, all the setbacks, all the do-overs. Where did this life I have come from? How did I end up here? With this??

Honestly, what I really think is...who in the world is living the life I'm supposed to have?!

Where's my Presidential china?

Who is wearing my orange designer ball gown?

Why isn't there a framed picture of Paris Hilton on my mantle?

Where is the book written about my heroic martyr's death?

Oh, wait a minute. I'm not dead yet.

Well, then. I have no idea.

I can only hope that 100 years years from now when my own grave marker is overgrown and covered with dirt and mold that somebody finds my picture on a genealogy website and thinks I look like their dad.

I suppose looking like the Father is not such a bad thing.

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to be my disciple must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me. John 12:24-26

The handwriting on the envelope

We received three high school graduation invitations this year. All of them were from young men. Three different high schools. Three different cities. These three boys don’t know each other. In all three cases, it’s their parents that are our connections with them, but they are all associated with us in different ways.

I noticed something about all three of the invitations as soon as I pulled them out of the mailbox: the handwritten address on the envelope. It’s just so rare to get a piece of mail that has been addressed by hand any more. Technology has made fancy schmancy labeling and printing more accessible to us all and we tend to view it as a time-saving technique as well as good excuse to use a curly script font that mocks actual cursive writing. Email and social networks have also eliminated our need for handwritten invitations, or letters, or any other correspondence for that matter.

I know that high school graduation invitations are not really sent with the intention of having the recipient actually show up at the ceremony. I realize that those programs are usually in gyms or auditoriums that have limited space. All the parents, siblings, grandparents, and step relatives usually take up all the allotted number of tickets per student.

And that’s OK. We love you and are very proud of you and we will be happy to go if you really want us there, but we don’t necessarily have to personally see you and 400 of your closest friends walk one by one across the stage.

Truthfully, unless there is a really awesome, well known speaker giving the commencement address, the ceremony itself it lost on those of us who are not directly involved. If we do go, we sit there remembering our own high school graduations and then we start thinking about the course our lives have taken since then and that leads us to thinking about all the things we need to be sure and tell you before you pack your car for college but, since you’re not our child, it's not really our place to tell you. Then we get overwhelmed by it all and need medication to get over it, so perhaps it’s better if we just stay home anyway.

I also get that a graduation invitation means a gift is in order. I’m totally OK with that. In fact, I kind of like getting a reminder about things like that. As long as the invitation stays on my kitchen counter or tacked to the refrigerator, I know I still need to respond. Without it, I’m likely to forget to acknowledge it at all.

Still, I love to get the invitations. It makes me feel special. It reminds me that we belong in a group of people that wants us to share their joys. I love that.

I especially love it when the invitations have been addressed by hand. That extra effort means something to me. I appreciate the person with the pen in hand actually sharing something of themselves that is so personal: handwriting. Handwriting is very individual and telling enough that the whole science of handwriting analysis was developed. While it may not be an exact science, I do think there’s something to it.

For instance, I knew immediately that two of the graduation invitations we received had been addressed not by the young men, but by their mothers. I could just tell by the handwriting. It was like that old Sesame Street song… “one of these things is not like the other....” Moms 2, Sons 1. Or in my mind, SON WON.

I don’t really know why, but the one that the young man wrote himself made a definite impact on me unlike the other two. I felt like it wasn’t just a proud mom saying look what my son has accomplished (which, of course, there’s nothing wrong with). It was a young man himself saying, “this is important not just to my parents, but to me, and I want to share it with you.” Or maybe he was saying something like, "I have no idea why you care, but am glad you do."

Of course, I don’t know how much his mother had to prompt him to address those envelopes, but nonetheless, his extra effort spoke to me. It was just a personal touch that made me feel like he was actually thinking of us when he wrote our names. At a time when he had every right to be thinking he should be the center of attention, he actually took the time to think about us. A rare thing in today's world.

That was sometime in the last month. I hung onto all three of the invitations for a few days before I responded. I don’t see any of these boys on a regular basis. I bought cards for each of them (spending a good deal of time trying to find just the right card for each individual), added some money, and sent them off.

Last week I got another envelope in the mail. The address was handwritten in familiar penmanship. I opened it to find a thank you note. It’s the only one I’ve received so far (thank you notes are rare these days too, but that's another story). As I already knew, the handwritten message inside was from the same young man that addressed his own invitations. He thanked us for the money, but more than that he mentioned how great his God was. I felt like he was really thanking God for everything that was happening in his life and he was letting me be privy to this personal praise to God.

A handwritten thank you note from a young man I hardly know reminded me that every good and perfect gift comes from above. And for me, this kid and his handwriting is one of those good and perfect gifts to this world.

This kid with his mother’s smile, his father’s stature, and God’s heart gave me hope for the Class of 2011. And for the rest of us.


Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17