Cousins, A Box, and Blue Grass...a Masterpiece in the Making

Family is a peculiar thing. Families are a compilation of imperfect people, with varying interests, preferences, and attitudes – all thrown into the same unit, none by informed choice. We are born, adopted or married into these hodgepodges of beautiful insanity. Ironically, we may find ourselves related to persons we’d otherwise cross the street to avoid. They mourn common losses; they celebrate many of the same life events. We sit near them in pews, fellowship halls, and the homes of our grandparents, aunts and uncles… not always knowing who they truly are - sometimes not caring to find out.

The last occasion I saw all of my North Carolina cousins was my grandmother’s funeral in September of 2010. Due to family strains that preceded her death – the infrequent visits at holidays and celebrations were fraught with awkward questions, conversations and blatant reminders of pains below the heart’s surface. Too often, I was guilty of not spending enough time with my grandmother and other relatives. Regretfully, avoidance of discomfort led to an absence of extended family. Yesterday, I was reminded of my shortsightedness.
A few weeks ago, one of my cousins invited me to join her and others for lunch and shopping. Grateful for the invitation and eager to reconnect – I quickly accepted. A handful of my NC cousins came to Atlanta for the day. It was wonderful to spend time catching up on life, reminiscing and laughing. Too easily, I become caught up in my own drama and forget what some of my childhood best friends may be experiencing as adults. 

My mind was flooded with fabulous childhood memories – good times. My NC relatives were an integral presence and active influences in my youth. We’d often visit my Grandparents for the weekend and there was my much anticipated week in the summer – without siblings. (Those weeks were the best!) With so many cousins on the same dirt road, there was no shortage of fun: Climbing on the red mud bank; walking down to look at the creek, going to Aunt Lil’s or Aunt Dinky’s house for scrabble – Barbies – and sleepovers with the cousins. Sleeping over at Aunt Lil and Uncle Sam’s house meant staying up late with Sis (Jennifer) and Cricket (Melissa). It also meant we’d wake up to the absolute best biscuits and gravy ever! In those early years, aunts, uncles and cousins taught me a lot – they probably didn’t realize the way I valued them nor how much my life was impacted by times together. It’s clear to me now, that Aunt Dinky likely launched my “germiphobe” tendencies. She was tenacious about handwashing….. and I LIKED it!

Aunt Lil probably doesn’t recall asking me one day if I was “saved”. Saved I thought – hmmm….. I suppose so. (The truth of the matter is that I had no clue what she was talking about!) That led to me ask my grandmother what Aunt Lil meant. Nannie went into detail about the gospel. When pressed for the “age” that this life changing decision should take place – she told me about the age of accountability. That answer did nothing but frustrate me because it was too vague. Looking back, Aunt Lil and Nannie were planting seeds that coupled with investment by others throughout life - would later grow into the faith that is my own today. Ironically, it was Aunt Marilyn on my dad’s side of the family that was taking me to church with her regularly when those seeds became fruit.

Granted, as the years went on, I loved asking Nannie questions about her faith. As my own knowledge and personal convictions grew – it became apparent that some of our beliefs were different. She had strong feelings about jewelry (she thought earrings should be limited to one per ear – I disagreed); makeup – I liked it….she was not a fan of my cosmetic application. She didn’t think that it was appropriate for children to play “Go Fish” or “Old Maid”, and she was outspoken against drinking. Of course, one of our more memorable conversations was when she alluded to the fact that dancing is not something I should be doing. This made absolutely no sense to me – and since dancing was a passion, I pressed in. “Why is dancing considered “wrong”? She told me that we should never do anything that we didn’t want to be doing the moment Jesus came back to Earth. This still made no sense to me – and I responded with “Well Nannie, I’d much rather be dancing than in the shower!” She was probably a little exasperated at that point. My convictions remained unaffected. Perhaps to her chagrin, her make up wearing –card playing – wine drinking - multiple pierced granddaughter has since spent quite a bit of time dancing. If she could, she’d probably roll over in her grave if informed of my tattoo!  So, while we didn’t agree on “shoulds and should nots” – we agreed on the fundamentals of Christian faith.  

The time with my cousins yesterday brought back great memories of being a child. It’s good to remember the positives and there were many. My cousins were my earliest best friends. They taught me a lot about life, and spending time with them was a refreshing respite as a kid! Besides, if not for my cousins – I would’ve believed in Santa forever and would’ve erroneously thought the word “virgin” was a bad word. 

Once home from our mini-reunion, I placed a box in front of my husband. It was a box given to me by my sister-in-law at lunch. It had been in her possession for some time and yesterday was the first opportunity to transfer ownership. Mixed emotions again flooded my thoughts as contents were removed. I imagined the process of family members sifting through 88 years accumulation of belongings, mementos and correspondence. The items that come to mind when I think of Nannie are her Bible, Scrabble game, cast iron skillets, Christmas stockings, ornaments and her glasses.  Who's box contained those items?  It’s strange what stands out about people and places – but these made an impression for varying reasons.    

The box of Nannie’s belongings that are now in my home consisted mostly of pictures of me (and later my family) and greeting cards from the time of my birth until recent years that were signed by me, or by my mother when I was too young to write. There is a broken figurine of a little girl – was that meant to be symbolic of me I wonder? There are three angel figurines that will find a place of value in the next day or so. I don’t remember them in her house – but the fact that they were hers makes them special. There were a couple of the ”grandma” gifts that I’d given her over the years – and two handkerchiefs that will be given to my daughters.   

There were a few discoveries from reading the greeting cards and photo backs. Apparently, everyone tried calling me “Tawnda Lee” for a while – thankfully, it never caught on. Apparently too, my grandmother went through multiple “grandma names” before “Nannie” was locked in. I never knew of the original monikers…but can’t imagine calling her anything but “Nannie.” Reading through news clippings and dance programs (how ironic) that she had kept all this time lets me know that she valued me. While I am beyond grateful for all the pictures and cards that were passed to me – the true treasure lies in the memories I have of long talks, marathon scrabble nights, big hugs that almost hurt and of course, the origins of my faith. While my views are somewhat different than hers, it was with my grandmother(s), aunts and cousins that I picked up little nuggets along the way, deciding for myself which I’d keep and which were not meant for me.
Between the wonderful afternoon spent with my cousins – and reviewing the contents of “the box” – I remembered being the little girl who loved spending time with Nannie, Papa, and all the aunts, uncles and cousins on Golden Road. These are people who were greatly foundational to the person I am today…and hopefully, they have some positive recollections of our earlier years too.  
Our lives are much like a patchwork quilt. The people, places and experiences known to us – good, bad or indifferent, influence the individual squares – some are beautiful, and some squares are just so-so. With the proper lining, backing and stitching, the finished product is a beautiful piece of art that brings warmth and comfort to generations that follow.

Cousins with August Birthdays - Karl, Melissa (Cricket), Me

My North Carolina relatives are about as “country” as country could get…. How fitting that this morning’s worship at FBC was “bluegrass” and that the hymns were reminiscent of childhood visits to Simonds Chapel…the tiny little church on a dirt road that occupies many of my childhood memories.  The banjo and steel guitar caused me to think of sitting with my grandfather on the front porch.With his overalls on and Red Man tobacco in his cheek, and a spit cup by his feet - he'd sing "Going up a cripple creek...Goin' up t' Cripple Creek, goin' on the runGoin' up t' Cripple Creek t' have a little fun"   

I’m grateful for a great weekend of reconnection and reflection on family. We vowed to get together once a quarter from now on… there’s no excuse to let years pass. Life is short and time is precious. As with every aspect of life, I pray my children will not repeat the mistakes of their mom, but that they will be different ….better at keeping up with their extended family as the years come and go. 

Lily & Bella - Their First Year (in pictures)

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Staff Serve Day - Project Open Hand in Midtown

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.... Not Made to be Fearful

She was extraordinarily quiet.  On rare occasions when she actually spoke, few could hear her.  She’s the girl who was typically first to finish assignments, yet would be the very last to raise her hand in answer to a teacher’s question.  If there were a group project, she’d be thrilled to complete all necessary research, illustrations, bibliographies, etc. – anything but the “verbal presentation.”   She was the seventh grader so nauseated from the thought of reciting the Star Spangled Banner in front of her class, that Mrs. Rayner  postponed her “speech” to the last possible moment.   In sixth grade, an A+ speller – she refused to sign up for the school wide spelling bee.  However, Mr. Graybert encouraged her to “give it a try”, persuading her to reluctantly enter at the very last minute and with zero study time.  Well, she won. (You’d think that could’ve been a great pre-adolescent confidence booster….but no.)   This horrifically awkward, insecure child, as you may have guessed – is me.

I’d be delighted to report that the shy little introvert grew into an easygoing, vivacious, confident woman with no apprehension of standing before peers, extended family, and groups in general.  Delighted – but lying.  The same overwhelming fear that accompanied “oral reports” throughout my academic career has yet to escape me.  While cheering my own children along in this very arena, great effort and creativity aided my escape from the dreaded “speaking role” – times too many to count.

There were a few occasions in my “younger adult” days that I thought this curse of silence had lost its hold.  But alas, it was merely the inhibition reduction associated with “name- your –fruity- Rum –drink- here”.  There is clearly no other explanation for a painfully shy girl to enter a dancing contest on stage at  Rupert’s in Buckhead .  It wasn’t ballroom dancing; it wasn’t the ballet studied for years – it was a Corona sponsored  event, at which members of the audience were invited to hop on stage, and dance with a 6’ inflatable Corona bottle, to the tune of “My Sharona”.   Just enough of a “Strawberry something” can make one momentarily forget the shy, awkward identity she clings to.  She loses sight of the fact that her place is in the corner…far away from any spotlight. 

Fast forward to a few years ago; at a staff event that I coordinated down to the last detail – it was requested that I make a brief introduction of a speaker.  Out of habit – my response was, “I can’t do that – I’m a behind the scenes person.”   No sooner than those words had left my mouth, my 5’9” stature felt about 3 inches tall.  Somewhere along life’s journey, this anxiety over “public speaking” became an identity I could safely hide behind.  Ironically, fashioning my worst fear into an adult-sized security blanket. 

That event resulted in a painful awareness of opportunities and experiences missed – because of my own avoidance.  At that realization, I vowed to move past this issue; like most vows, easier said than done.   There have been teeny tiny advancements and giant steps backward.  Toward the end of 2011, a revitalized conviction set in.  It was obvious that no amazing metamorphosis had occurred since that “awakening” a few Octobers earlier.  Drastic times call for drastic measures.                     

My hope at the onset of 2012 is that this year would be different – that my life would be different.   Specifically, areas that have long been unattended undernourished or underutilized.  No longer would I ride the waves of complacency, but instead choose to live with greater intentionality, embracing the victory and freedom and joy that are availalable to all of us. No longer did I want a major facet of my identity to be “the quiet/shy/awkward/don’t call on her” one.    It all requires awareness, effort, adjustment, accountability, and lots of prayer.  My journal for January points to an emphasis on relationships, worry and prayer.   The month of February has been saturated with lessons and reminders about overcoming fear.   (Not that relationships, worry, prayer and fear are all contained to a particular calendar month… it just seems they’ve been dominant lessons.)  My greatest fear, as silly and shallow as it may seem to some – is simply speaking in front of others.  (Regardless of group size/familiarity/ages, etc.)

On January 12^th, I was asked to talk to a group of junior and high school students at an FBC event to take place Friday, February 17^th. With over a month between “saying yes” and actual execution - I felt comfortable enough.  Beyond that, I did my absolute best NOT to let anyone know what I’d agreed to.    Better yet, I didn’t want the student ministries staff to know of the instantaneous nausea that afflicted me the moment I clicked “send” on the acceptance.

Heightened awareness of blind spots and a 2012 commitment to intentionality – have landed me in precarious positions in the last few weeks.  In Thursday Bible Study, not only did I “not look down” overtly avoiding eye contact, but I actually VOLUNTEERED in response to a request for a 15 minute VERBAL presentation on the Attributes of God.  SERIOUSLY?  Was that ME???  (It was uncomfortable to say the least, but I completed it – without barfing, fainting, or crying.)     The Attributes of God presentation was challenging enough.  Then the next big challenge set in  - the radical and uncharacteristic commitment  to speak to a sanctuary full of teenagers, adult chaperones, and leaders.  (Teenagers contributed to my ever increasing angst throughout school…. What was I thinking???)

The topic was my son, Tyler.   Let’s face it; I’m kind of an expert on the subject matter.   Specifically, I would share about him, making him “personal” and known to the students present.  Then the goal was to communicate the incredible supportive value that letters provide to our deployed Military.   Being the very proud Mom of a Marine son, complete with firsthand knowledge of deployments – this goal seemed compatible with acquired maternal insights. 

However, two days before the event, on Wednesday the 15^th of February, I was teetering on backing out.  Honestly, it was more of a “leaning” than a balanced teetering.  Since I hadn’t made a big deal about this endeavor to other friends and staff members – no one would have to know that fear won out.    Ahhh….. The deceptive enticement that accompanies a profound lack of accountability is threatening to all promises made.  ( a TLH original ) 

Seated across the table at our staff meeting was the unknowing person who extended the dreaded invitation.  Contemplating just the right words to alleviate the discomfort associated with simply TALKING to a group – my attention went back to the front of the room.  Oh yes, Pastor is talking…should probably pay attention. 

Dr. L.  The epitome of a wise, grounded and Godly man began sharing from his heart about conquering fear.  (Seriously? I thought) “The answer to conquering fear is not courage itself, but a healthy “fear” of God.  When our focus is magnificent communion with God – we don’t settle for finding “solutions” to our fears.   Our devotion and communion with Him is everything.   It’s not just an intellectual thing – it’s got to be visceral.”    He went on….

1. Fear causes us to justify disobedience.  (GULP! It’s as if he knows what’s going on in my head.)   
2. Fear is idolatry; unbridled fear occupies your thoughts (DANG IT! He must know.)  Admittedly, I did come to this realization a few Octobers ago – but the idol remained securely in place.
3. Fear, unless conquered – always leads to disobedience.  (Okay, so maybe I’ll not back out of Friday’s event - it would be disobedient on many levels, ultimately I’d feel guilty and again, the Enemy would have won that battle.)

 Several other pages of notes follow the “fear” talk – but the points listed above were exactly the ones that needed to penetrate my heart on that morning.  I love when God speaks to us all at the same time, but differently.  Others in the room likely heard these same words as applicable to a situation they face with health; finances; children, etc.

So, Friday the 15^th came and went.  I thought about what should be included in the “talk” and wrote it all down to maximize recall.  If there is one thing that the 12 year old Tawnda taught me though – it’s NEVER hold a piece of paper in one’s hands while speaking.  So, when we walked onstage – it was just me and another staffer, microphones, no notes – and a bright light that made me extremely warm, while making the audience invisible.  (Not one face was discernible.)

Afterward, on the drive home, WGH was talking to me about this experience, encouragingly of course.  It was bizarre because I had ZERO recollection of the words that fell from my mouth.  I only hope that it wasn’t incredibly painful for those within earshot.  (Slightly painful is okay – just not incredibly!)  I knew that everything written down was not said….and that what was said, was not written in my notes.  So much for planning.

In the comedy of ironies that compose this journey of mine – I’m on staff with men and women who think nothing of getting up in front of 100s and in some cases 1000s of people at a time – without a hint of trepidation.  Unimaginable, it must seem to them, for one to struggle in front of 40 or so well- known peers; classmates,  family members or friends.  

Great oratorical skills, much like athletic ability, may never be my thing. I may have been fearfully made – but not made to live fearfully.  For whatever time remains, I will press into Him, and walk through whatever grand adventures wait – with eyes wide open.  No longer will fear remain a part-time master nor a cloak. 

"I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears." (Ps 34:4)