What I Learned From Jen Clapp

So the other day, I started to tell a story. Big surprise there, huh? I said, “We used to have a party for the anniversary of when we bought our old house and  . . . “

I was interrupted right then by my daughter-in-law Jen, who said sweetly, “Any excuse to have a party. “ Oh, look,” she said, pretending to be me, “our bush died. Let’s have a party.”

That stuck me as so funny that I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I laughed until no sound came out. If I had been standing up I probably would have wet my pants.

She poked fun so gently that I felt loved and appreciated. She showed me a truth in my life and that truth made me very happy. Here it is: I love to have parties. I love to have people over, to go out for lunch, to make plain old chores an adventure. If it’s fun, it’s a party.

Until she said it, I never saw that truth before. I never saw how much I wanted it to be true. I never saw that I had achieved a great goal in my life until she said, “any excuse to party.” Any excuse to bring joy, to have fun, to gather people and enjoy them, any reason to get happy, to light up a room. I’ll take any excuse to fight the dark, fight loneliness, or sorrow, or isolation.  

So I’ll make the cookies and put on the coffee. Having you here will make the party. Thanks, Jen.    

What I Learned Inked

I got a tattoo last night. It is my second one. Come and look at my left arm and my right arm, see both of them and have a coffee with me. 

The first one I got about five years ago. It’s a line drawing of Aslan the lion, from the Chronicles of Narnia. He is a representation of Christ. This tattoo is a designer label. I look at Aslan and think, “I am God’s design, and He's not done with me yet."

 In this new tattoo, a Big Man is kneeling listening to a little girl talk. He is smiling while she yaks away, and in one hand, He’s holding up a globe. This reminds me that God has time to hear anything I have to say. He wants to talk. He is big enough to keep the world spinning, small enough to live inside me, and loves me so much that He never gets tired of me. 

This tattoo is bright, happy colors, as I am when I remember Who can handle my worries. The Big Man wears purple Chuck Taylor converse high tops, and the little girl (me) wears red ones.

My new ink is a symbol of me trusting Him even more, of laying down worry and fear once and for all. Thank you, Stella Novack. Thank you, Jacob Institute. 

Don’t write to me about being addicted to tattoos, they hurt! Save your lecture about me blowing my professional image, nobody knows what’s under my short-sleeved shirt. And don’t tell me I’ll get tired of my lovely pictures, I’m 56, I only have thirty years until I’m senile and forget about them! 

Just rejoice with me that I trust God now more than ever. Rejoice that there’s Somebody who’s never tired of hearing my voice.

What I Learned From A Turkey

It’s almost Dooms Day for turkey-kind, and if I were Martha Stewart, I’d tell you how to set a lovely table with napkins rings made from potatoes, pre-mashed of course. But, as you well know, I’m not Martha Stewart.

The best Thanksgiving I remember is the one that started with a phone call from David telling us he couldn’t make it home. 

So Roger, Margaret, Shayna, Anny, and I hustled around, got pies, potatoes, butter beans, turkey, and went to Penn State. Let me tell you that Penn State looks weird on Thanksgiving morning with nobody walking on Beaver Ave. Nevertheless, the Starbucks is open. 

David lived in a duplex, with guys who worked for Navigators (plus David who was still a student) on one side, and girls who worked for Navigators on the other side. Don’t know about Navs? Look it up, they're an amazing bunch of people. 

There was one girl who didn’t go home, Christine from out west somewhere, and David, who had to work bright and early on Black Friday. We cooked the turkey and set the table at her house, and made the rest of the stuff at David’s. With him helping as cook.

Just before we put dinner on, we rushed back and forth from one back door, across the porch and into the other back door carrying hot food to the table. We had to improvise parts of the meal and it was delicious. I think it was so fun because it was a challenge, and the kids were glad to have family. 

Another Thanksgiving we had on Black Friday, Kathy Kroh cooked it, because Thanksgiving Day my mother was in the hospital. Last year we made the turkey and went to Rachel’s and Anny’s where Margaret, Rachel, and Anny proved themselves good cooks. 

But all those Thanksgiving when Louise made miracles in her kitchen and Irv carved the turkey were good ones too. Or when we were in Florida eating turkey with them on the sun porch that was tropical Thanksgiving fun.  

Or when I was a kid and went to Gillespie’s or Uncle Orin’s or they came to us? Weren’t they the best ever? 

I guess every year with people you love is the best Thanksgiving, right?

What I Learned Not to Share

     I had a stomach bug this week. I kinda like those days, when you sit in the recliner in front of TV while work piles up and you just don’t care. I missed my Saturday blog. But I remembered a great story about NOT sharing everything. 

     I wanted to put on a perfect party for the family. It was Margaret’s birthday, (3^rd maybe?). I invited my Uncle Orin, Aunt Bobby and my cousin Bill, my parents and tons of relatives. I had a table that could seat twenty-two and I remember how perfectly the table was set. I wanted the table to be beautiful   because you saw it first as you walked in the door where we used to live.

     I used the Noritake, and the good tablecloth given to me by Rachel Prevost for my wedding. I always loved Rachel’s house. I thought that tablecloth was extra beautiful. 

     So, the table was set and everything was shiny and perfect. The family was chatting in the living room as I got the children ready for the party. Margaret wore her new dress, and, as I lifted her to put her in her high chair, she had diarrhea all over my new shoes her and beautiful dress. 

    My whole family had been sick the week before it, but I thought everybody was over the stomach flu.

I remember that Bill Jaquish was the only one in the room. He turned green and hightailed it back to living room as I cleaned us up. Then we all sat down to dinner. 

    The dinner was lovely and the family had a good time. Only most of the guests--especially Orin’s family—had stomach cramps and diarrhea later that week. 

    Some things you just should not share.

What I Learned About Sameness

I was so nervous Friday I almost backed out of going on a spiritual retreat. I knew I would do this so I invited a friend to ride with me. I had to go then, she was depending on me.

She wasn’t really a friend yet. She was interesting and likable but I didn’t know her well enough to call her my friend.  

  

I picked her up and we chatted the whole way to the retreat center a half hour -away. By the time we got there, friendship was growing between us. I could see we had many interests in common. 

She was articulate, friendly, accomplished in her field—a high-pressure one at that. She was funny and interesting to talk too. Then she said, “I am so honored that you asked me to ride with you.” 

She went on, "When you asked me I thought, why she would want to ride with somebody like me? She’s so smart, funny, and interesting. Why would she want to be friends with someone like me?”

Which is just what I thought when she said she’d ride with me.  

We were both nervous. We were both thinking the other one was a better person. 

I turned this over a few times in my mind since Friday and I know my new friend and I are  not the only ones who think like this. 

The next time I meet new friends I’m going to remember that they are wondering why I want to be friends with somebody like them. It’s because I am somebody like them, wondering exactly the same thing.