On disappointment....

I do not enjoy being disappointed...by people, by situations, by decisions that affect me. Does anyone? Even more than that, though, the thing I absolutely want none of is watching my boys deal with disappointment.

Oh sure, I know all of the right answers...the ones we say to them when they are disappointed...that this will build their character, that there is something better out there for them, that this wasn’t meant to be...but, even as I hear myself repeating these truths to my kids, I really wish I could change reality and give them what they were hoping for.

If I’m being honest, our three boys have not been dealt any major disappointments.  They haven't experienced any great loss, things come fairly easily to them, none of them have had any enemies to speak of.  And yet, there have been moments in each of their lives that have brought tears and even some despair.  

I.want.to.fix.it.  I want Jesus to take the wheel and re-navigate the situation to my boy’s benefit because I.want.it.fixed., thank you very much.

But what if the disappointment is the gift? What if getting the full scholarship would not have taken him to the places that watching God piece together the provision will take him? What if it’s in the dugout or on the bench where he will find the joy, the learning, the opportunity for the most important growth? What if getting a supporting role instead of the lead teaches him that it’s not all about being center stage? What if losing the game actually brings about more opportunities than winning would have? What if getting what he thought he wanted would have brought unnecessary pain or heartache? And then what if occasionally there really isn't any explanation except that life sucks sometimes because we live in a broken world?

This is where I land, time and again.  These boys were never really mine to control like pinballs in an arcade game.  They belong to the Father, and he sees their lives in ways I am incapable of seeing in. I trust him.  I have to, as I know no other way.

It will, indeed, all be ok...

Old Friends...

Music makes me think, it paints a picture in my head that sticks around for awhile.  Sometimes this sticking inspires me to change my behavior or thinking; other times it makes me remember earlier times with vivid clarity.

This song makes me remember, and the remembering causes me to be grateful.  The friends I have made in the last 30 years have brought joy and growth to my life in ways I can't even put into words and sentences.  And yet, there is something about those friends from childhood that cannot be replicated or recreated.

I could make my way around John and Judy's house on Holly Lane with a blindfold on.  I can still see in my mind the Tupperware pitcher of tea in the refrigerator.  If I concentrate really hard, I can hear the bug zapper on the back deck.  I could dial their landline phone number right now, from memory.  Down the stairs and on the left is the closet where the rock salt was kept.  Jill and I would sometimes eat a piece (that's so weird, why did we do that??).   No one else can reminisce with me about going to Lincoln Trail park on a Saturday and playing on the equipment while our parents cooked breakfast on a fire and drank coffee.  Her aunts and uncles and grandparents became mine.  [Side note:  now I live in her grandma's house, and the preciousness of this is not lost on me]

No one besides Nicole knows about the time our parents created chocolate syrup out of Nesquik and milk because the Hersheys syrup was all gone.  Only Mike and Lesli will laugh when we recall me telling Mike "you should feel the back of my teeth with your tongue" (don't ask!).  It was Nicole's living room at Golf Lakes where I watched Dirty Dancing for the first time and dreamed of one day having my own Patrick Swayze (oh yeah, Mr. Wood fits the bill!!).

Every Sunday afternoon, it was either on 7th Street or Michigan Avenue where Gretchen and I wrote a new original musical to perform for whatever parents we could sucker into watching.  The back bedroom of their giant two-story house was the location for the store Gretchen's older sister would create for us to come shopping in.  Only Gretchen could tell you what we ordered every Sunday night after church at the L&K.  I can still see in my mind Jack's mug in the downstairs bathroom that said "I hate it when it snows on my french toast".

These friends are not a part of my every day life these days, but I know they would be right here if I needed them, as would their parents.  There is something so very special about the folks who have known us and our people from way back.

"No one knows you like they know you and no one probably ever will...you can't make old friends...."