My People

I have some news that I want to share but I can't on account of it not being my news. But I feel like it is my news. But feelings are not facts. - Feelings are NOT facts. - So...I have to wait.

The news involves a dear friend and I am just over the moon for her!

Over the moon? Do I say "over the moon"? Am I 65 or a publicist for Sarah Jessica Parker? NO!!

What I meant so say, is, like, I am so, SO totally psyched for my girl. Yeah, that's what I meant to say. But, I can't tell anyone why, yet. Hopefully, soon, though.

Yay!

Having this news and waiting to share, however, made me think about how wierd it is that I am so excited for her. She's not family. She's not my bff. But, somehow, some way, there is this spot in my heart just for her. She's one of my people. One of my people that I just love, just because I do. One of those people I love and kinda act like they belong to me, sometimes. Not in a creepy way, more in a momma kind of way. I think about them and pray for them and hug on them whenever they are around. I can't explain it. It just happens sometimes.

I'm glad it happens sometimes!

The last time it happened was with Nin. She's Canadian. And...before I tell you anything else about her, let me ask you a question. Do you know any Canadians? If you don't, rectify that immediately! I don't care what the movies tell you, Canadians are awesome. They aren't backwards. They don't all wear overalls. They don't all say "eh"...which is actually kind of sad for me. But, regardless, find a Canadian and become their friend today. You won't regret it! So, anyway, back to Nin...

She lives in Canada. She has piercings. She likes to dye her hair a lot. She is fearless in a way I may never know. She's married with 2 adorable kids. And, the year she was born, I started my period, tried my first cigarette, and got grounded often for wearing make-up without permission. Good times.

We couldn’t be more different, really. Well, except for our love of movie quotes. But, I love her? We already have several inside jokes...like the question mark after "love her" and, though we've never met in person, or even talked on the phone, I feel connected to her. She is one of my people. I can't explain that. It just happens sometimes. And, I'm very glad it happened this time.

Then, there is Yves. He's my brother from an African mother. He speaks French. Adores hip hop. Wears really cool outfits that include members only jackets, trucker hats, pink Chucks, and fake gold “$” chains. He is very cerebral and philosophical and theoretical. The year he was born, I fell in love with Michael Jackson and wanted to be Olivia Newton John. We met on an RV at midnight not quite 2 years ago and, for whatever reason, I decided he was going to be my friend. He disagrees with how our friendship "went down", but I tell him all the time, he can be wrong if he wants to...its ok. Regardless of the origin, or the organic outgrowth of it all, and the fact that we pretty much disagree about everything, I love him. I really do. As I type this, my brother from an African mother is in the custody of the Immigration Department. So, if you think about it...please pray for him.


Finally, there's Jonathan. (Sigh) My hairy little atheist. When it comes to polar opposites...we be it! Not only is he an atheist (which is kinda wierd because he sorta looks like the popularized version of Jesus), but he is also a liberal and a vegetarian. I was a sophomore in high school the year he was born, so I, quite literally, am old enough to be his momma. That is, of course, if I had slept around in high school...which I didn't. Anyway, I first met him in his dad's cubicle at our office. He was half asleep and didn't even raise his head to say hello. But, for whatever reason, I felt compelled to speak to him every time I saw him in the halls. Sometimes, he would grunt back a reply and then run away. But, after about a year of this, I was feeding him crackers in my lap at lunch time. Ok, that's a slight exaggeration, but we did get very close very fast and, still, I love him like I birthed him. And, my heart breaks when I pray for him.

I can't explain how all of this happens. But it happens sometimes...and I'm so glad it does!

My Ovaries Didn't Hate Me Today

Today, my friend Steph delivered her second child...a boy...named Carter Edison. Steph's husband's name is Eddie, so...get it? Eddie's Son. Cute, huh? Anyway, I decided to bump up my lunch hour and try to squeeze in a visit to the hospital to meet Carter, check on my friend, deliver the androgynous gift I'd purchased over the weekend and, of course, snap a photo or two of the new little one.

Generally, when I meet brand new babies, I cry. If I also hold them, and get to sniff their heads when I meet them, I cry more. Furthermore, after said meeting (and optional holding and head sniffing) my ovaries wage an all-out assault on me as I drive home. At times like these, when there are new babies around which I did not grow in my womb, my ovaries can be down-right mean! They do painful things to my body, obliterate my mascara and threaten to shrivel up and die on me if this happens one. more. time!

But not today.

Today, I met little Mr. Carter Edison. I watched him snuggle in his gram's arms, suck on his fingers, and god help me, even yawn real big and my ovaries barely made themselves known. Well, one time, I think I detected a sigh, but that was about it. So, either they did shrivel up and die on me, or they are getting better at accepting reality and rejoicing with others, OR they are on vacation in Fiji. Either way, me and my mascara are greatful. More than that, I'm just super excited for my friend! Pretty much everyone was convinced she was going to have another girl...including me! But, in this case, I don't mind that I was wrong. :)

Freedom or a Cell?

A few weeks ago, I saw an acquaintence's status update on Facebook. It said something about finally being released from prison or paroled or something like that. Several of his friends chimed in and congratulated him. The only thing is, this friend wasn't really in prison...he was speaking of his divorce being final. His status and his friends congratulatory remarks made my heart sink. I know his wife. I know his kids. I know what divorce does to families. Most of all, I know God hates divorce. As my friend was rejoicing in his freedom, God was not rejoicing with him. I believe God was grieved. I know I was.

But, thankfully, before I could harshly judge my friend, the Lord turned his light on my own heart. He hates my sin no less. My sin grieves Him just as much. Like my friend, I often mistake sin for freedom. The steps I take in that direction lead just as certainly and swifty to the opposite of freedom. Indeed, every step we take away from God and what He calls good leads to slavery and a prison cell...albeit a very clevery disquised cell.

What my friend did in divorcing his wife and rejoicing is what I do when I choose nachos over the word or vain imaginations over being where God has called me to in that moment. Every day we are capable of, and often do, exchange what is truly good for what seems good right now. And, each time we do, we are exchanging God for a lie...freedom for prison...good for sin.

God, help us to choose rightly and desire you above all things! Amen.

One Year Ago Today...

Since I migrated over all of my old blog posts, I have spent a little time taking a bit of a trip down memory lane. Because I'm naturally curious and nostalgic, I thought it might be fun to see what I was up to one year ago today. Here's what I found:

My oldest brother, Nicky, thinks he looks like my maternal grandpa (we called him, Pa Pa). He doesn't, really. He acts a lot like Pa Pa, or at least tries to emulate him, but there is no strong physical resemblance outside of hair color and skin tone and bow-leggedness. In reality, Nicky looks like a fair-haired member of my Dad's side of the family, especially when he wears glasses. He has the nose, the eyes, the bone structure of a Gaspard. Granted, there are a few pictures in the family album where Nicky could easily pass for a Lemoine and bears little resemblance to the Gaspards. However, more often than not, if you lay out every school photo ever taken of my poor, deluded brother, he is Gaspard all the way...except for the blonde part.

Me, I have no delusions. I look like my mom. She couldn't deny me if she tried. The only things I inherited from my dad were his "birthing hips" and "thunder thighs". Well, that is, only in terms of physical resemblance. When it comes to personality, at times, the resemblance in each of us to our parents is far more striking than the physical.

I laugh like my mom and share her inability to do math when it comes to money.

My brother Brad is not only another fair-haired version of my dad but also shares his temperment down to a "t".

Our "middle child", I think, inherited the best qualities from each of our parents. He consistently works hard, is kind, thoughtful, insightful, generous and funny without being cutting or overly sarcastic.

These thoughts came to me the other day as I was driving and listening to a new CD titled, Sons and Daughters. The theme of the CD is about our standing in Christ with God our Father. As I meditated on this idea, and the Lord brought to mind all the ways I resemble my parents, I was almost immediately aware of all the ways I don't resemble my Heavenly Father.

I didn't finish the post or publish it. I'm sure I had tons of insightful and possibly witty things to say, but, alas, they never made it into type. Perhaps my lunch break was over or I was distracted by a small shiny object. We may never know.

Around that same time, though, I also blogged about a dream where I grew fur, my response to a friend's divorce, my ovaries, and some of my people. And, that's just a small sampler platter of the seriousness, silliness, and randomness you're sure to find here at It's Just Me!

Aren't you just, like, totally excited?!?!

(silence)

(crickets chirping)

Hmmm...guess its just me, then. ;)

Another Odd Dream

The other night I had what could arguably be called the oddest dream of my life. It all started in my bathroom, however the dream had a sort of "en medias res" quality to it...which, in regular people speak means it seemed like it was in the middle of the story. I was looking at a large black, swollen area just below my arm pit. I had seen this black thing before and was growing concerned. As I examined this spot in the mirror, I looked down at my arm and saw what appeared to be werewolf-looking skin and fur all the way up my arm. I turned around and saw that the the black skin and fur was well over my shoulder and making its way towards my back. "I should see a doctor. It seems to be spreading." I thought. "Seems to be spreading?!!?" I would say so.

After that stroke of genius, I walked out of the bathroom and had another. "I'll just rub the blackness a bit and see if it peels". At first, the fur started pilling and peeling off. Then, a bit of black skin separated and turned up enough for me to grab...and before I knew it, I was pulling the blackness off like a really gross legwarmer. Only it wasn't a legwarmer and it was on my arm. And it was gross.

That is all I remember. I think even Dr. Freud would have a hard time finding the meaning in this one, folks! Though, I suspect, he might think I have a "thing" for hairy preternatural creatures. But I don't. I promise. Really.

Today's Daily Light

His mercy is for those who fear him.

Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of the children of mankind! In the cover of your presence you hide them from the plots of men; you store them in your shelter from the strife of tongues.

If you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one's deeds, conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile.—The Lord is near to all who call on him . . . in truth. He fulfills the desire of those who fear him; he also hears their cry and saves them.

“Because your heart was penitent, and you humbled yourself before the Lord, . . . and you have torn your clothes and wept before me, I also have heard you, declares the Lord.”—“But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.”—The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

(Luke 1:50; Ps. 31:19, 20; 1 Pet. 1:17; Ps. 145:18, 19; 2 Kings 22:19; Isa. 66:2; Ps. 34:18)

Me & P-Dub = BFF4L

About a year or so ago, a friend introduced me to The Pioneer Woman...and my life has never been the same. Since meeting The Pioneer Woman, or P-Dub as she is often called (though her real name is Ree. I've never known anyone named Ree. I might name my first born Ree. Or maybe, I'll name her Rhiannon, because I've always loved Stevie Nicks and Ree would be a cute nick name. What was I talking about, again?)

Um, so anyway...yeah...my friend recommended Ree's blog to me and my life has never been the same. I said that already, but...its my blog and I can repeat things if I wanna.

Moving on.

Since I started reading her blog, I've discovered a desperate need in me to make cinnamon rolls and chocolate sheet cake from scratch; collect whimsical china place settings; eat new and strange foods like bacon jalepeno thingys, something called migas, and pots de creme; to own every lens Canon has to offer; and to move to the boonies and get a bassett hound. Her blog'll do that to ya! And, you'll probably gain some weight.

Despite these desires that are alltogether new to me, P-Dub and I do share many common interests and character traits. I mean, its like we are the same person, she and I. She loves to cook. So do I! She loves photography. So do I! She has red hair. I sometimes dye my hair red. She is tall. I am tall...er...when I stand on my tippie toes. She's a homeschool mom of 4 married to a rugged cattle rancher. I want to be a homeschool mom married to a rugged rancher...or carpenter...or plumber...or English teacher. Uncanny, huh?

I know!!

I generally check out P-Dub's blog on my breaks at work and in the evenings when I'm home...every 15 minutes or so. She likes to spring these give-a-ways on me. Kitchenaid Mixer give-a-ways! Need I say more?

Anyhow, it would seem that my frequent visits to her highly-addictive, and Kitchenaid dangling, blog has had an effect on me besides the urges for china and bassett hounds. Two nights ago, I dreamt about The Pioneer Woman. I dreamt I was at her house visiting. At the first, or the first of what I can remember, we were sitting down for lunch. Obviously, if I visit the creator of The Pioneer Woman Cooks, we are going to eat, right? So we did. But instead of the elaborate and amazing meal she serves all of her other visitors, and chronicles for us on her blog, I was handed a plate and directed to grab handfuls of fresh, raw veggies off the counter. So...um...I did. As we were sitting down at the table, one of my carrots fell on the floor. I picked it up and I ate it. P-Dub germs are like sugar on a strawberry to me! So we ate our lunch together, chatting and giggling like friends from way back, when her sister-in-law, Missy came strolling in. In my dream, the character of Missy was played by Naomi Watts. Missy (Naomi) had a bag of tortillas with her. She walked over to the counter without stopping her stride and scraped a tortilla against a halved avocado and continued on her way. Ree offered to make guac, but Missy (Naomi) gave her a polite "No thanks. I'm good." and walked out of the dream and my life forever.

At some point during lunch but before the next "scene", her baby boy took a liking to me. So, from this point forward you can just picture him on my lap or on my hip or on top of my head.

After lunch, my small group from church showed up. We decided to have our small group meeting at Ree's house. I have to confess, I was very rude to my friends. They kept trying to come and chat with me, but Ree and I were a huddled, giggling, impenetrable social stonewall. That is, until there was a rucckus outside. Sirens and screeching tires and barking bassett hounds commanded everyone's attention. So we all ran outside and the cops told us there was some drug activing going on in town and they needed me to ride along and help catch the perps. Of course, having extensive criminal background in the form of one criminology class in college and copious hours of crime TV watchin' and book readin', I felt up to the challenge and obliged to help.

Once in town, I boldly hopped into the perp's car, subdued them and carefully placed the evidence in an evidence bag.

Then I woke up.

If I'd known I wouldn't make it back to P-Dub's house, I would have at least hugged her goodbye...and given her baby a big kiss right on the top of his blonde head.

Sigh.