Lonesome Whistle

I woke this morning to a lonesome train whistle at 5:45am. How do I know it was lonesome? Well, it sounded sad in the silence. But I'll admit, I was a little sad.

 

It's Mother's Day. And even though I am lying in bed listening to my husband softly snoring, (softly, I swear) I feel a bit like the train whistle.  

I won't see my mother or grandmother today, as I would like. My mother is in Texas, and my grandmother is definitely with The Lord. I say definitely because, if she was locked out of Heaven, she would talk to St. Peter until he agreed to let her in. But I digress. 

The train whistle. I used to live close to a train in Waco, Texas. When I say close, I mean that the windows rattled. It was a roller coaster time in my personal life, but I loved my radio family during that time. The train became my alarm, as I worked mornings with Flash. I often considered the train my lifesaver, until it blocked my path across the road. 

When we lived in Austin, the train ran through the center of town, down Mopac between the traffic lanes. It always fascinated me that they built the highway straddling the train. It moved away by the river, and we rarely heard the whistle in our home. 

The train that rolls in the Hill Country near my parents' home in South Texas has become more audible since developers have come in and cleared the land. I wonder sometimes if the train I heard in Waco or saw in Austin was the same one that rolled through the hills. 

My parents have my grandmother's antique bedroom suite. I used to sleep with my husband and the twins in that bedroom on the train side of the house, and listen for the whistle, waking to the feeling of my grandmother touching my arm the way she always did.  It used to aggravate me when I was young, but that bedroom was a haven for her spirit for a time. 

When I awoke this Mother's Day, it was the loneliness in my heart that the train's whistle called to, for my mother and my grandmother. I wondered how to assuage it, as it threatened to overtake me. So, I turned to the Upperroom: 

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.  - Isaiah 66:13 (NIV)

The author's prayer today? 'Help us to depend on you, dear God, as children depend on their mother. Amen.'

It occurs to me now that when I was furthest from God, the train was closest to me-the whistle loud and overwhelming. When my faith has been strongest, the train and it's whistle have been soft and sometimes distant. This is the way he shows His love, rattling the windows and then moving away as we are close to the river, the water of life. 

This Mother's Day, I take comfort in God's word, and His presence in my daily living. 

Yes, Lord, I hear you...softly blowing the whistle for me.  

Can you hear me now?

Occasionally, you hear yourself--and think "that's not me"!  But it is. And you realize, the person you are in your head might actually be the real you. 

I was out of radio for too long. I was never really okay with it, I pretended I was, but I was lying to myself. I would hear women on the radio and be aware of their every misstep, squeak, and error. I told myself I could do it better. Or so I thought. 

But what of those years absent from the air? Well, I like to think I invested in my listening skills. Hearing myself from the outside is easier now, as I can record--voice track--a shift in order to multitask. But listening to it gives me the ability to rate my own work, and hear what was inside my head from the listeners' point of reflection. (I made a lot of sound level errors yesterday, btw.)

It's the engagement that I am seeking. How can I keep them interested? Tell a story that will delight and engage...this is my journey now. Take the me inside my head, the witty, kind, thoughtful me, and hand it over to the person on the other side of the radio. 

What do I have to offer? I am, and have always been a radio listener--it just so happens that I am the DJ too. 

Want to listen? K103FM.com. 

M-F 2-7pm

I'm the one with the smile in my voice. 

Cape Central Tiger Jungle

An open letter to the CT Jungle:

This year we have ushered in the Class of 2014, a little bittersweet for me.

The year we moved to Cape was 2009, & our kids began 7th grade, and I subbed for a while--a lot at the junior high for the 8th graders who are now seniors. 

I had a great time, and watched stayed connected when I could, even after I departed to attend college at Southeast. 

This group of *Bo-Eric-Travis* kids has often acknowledged me for having been the fun sub, and asked me to come back over the years, and don't think I wasn't tempted. But radio is a career, and substitute teaching was never meant to be one.  But I digress, and this was meant to be a letter to The Jungle. 

Tigers, you made us proud tonight. You have shown great school spirit this first part of the football season, filling the stands--even tonight in the rain. We have been to games with better weather and far less Jungle present.  Even when we were down 40-7 at the half, y'all stayed. And cheered. And chanted. Mind you, this was all without the band to egg you on...

To sum up: keep it going. I want to see you finish strong. Making the grades, skipping the drunken parties, and proving that your generation has just as much to offer as the ones who have come before. 

What? Too deep? Fine. Whatever. 

GO TIGERS! 

*Bo-Eric-Travis? Yeah. Bo Wilferth, Eric Craiglow and Travis Simmons thought it was cute to switch names in class. I figured it out. Eric's a bad liar and Duncan McKinley and Jacob Boerboom kept laughing. Dead giveaway. Class of 2014, enjoy your senior year. 

Possessions

Possessions.  Life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.-Luke 12:15

Haha. I thought I wanted to tackle this. Psych. 😝

Help Me

As the summer draws to a close, the twins scramble to squeeze everything in, including the summer reading books: The Catcher in the Rye and The Help. I do not envy them the aggravating tale of Holden Caulfield. I never enjoyed a book less than that one. The Help, however, was a painful look at a part of America's past that hit far too close to home for my comfort.  I see the connection between the two, though. 

Anissa and I watched the movie version of The Help with Emma Stone just a few months ago. It was a strong retelling of the 1960s segregated south. While the pain of black Americans during this period was deep and unmistakeable, the story focused on the narrater Skeeter's pain. She was robbed of a relationship with a black woman caregiver by her fearful white mother-a woman driven by other people's prejudices. Skeeter is a journalist, and decides to tell the story of the painful truth of the black maids in the south. She almost comes unravelled in the process. 

As we watched, Anissa grew more distraught with the concept and every hate filled act of ignorance. She wept, and I wept for her. It was not something she had truly seen in her life. We often laugh and say "you do go to public school"--but her school is integrated. Our kids have many friends who are black, or biracial, or hispanic, or whatever. We have worked hard to create an environment of love and acceptance for all. We have even brought international college students into our lives for them to know the world. 

But the book, it is bringing it all back for her. Every painful detail. And her love for her friends, it clouds her comprehension of who could think that way. I remember. I remember many who did. Including me. 

I remember being in 4th grade. It was 1976.  (10 years after my father's high school-my future school-was integrated.) We had moved to Germany, and knew no one. My father was Air Force, and we went to school on base. The first friend I made was Dorothy. She was so beautiful. Caramel skin, curly hair, and funny!  She was nice to me, and I wanted to be her friend. But, I lived in a house that didn't allow it. I knew that, or at least I thought I knew. My parents were much like Skeeter's, it was just how they were raised. They never knew that I had turned down Dorothy's request to have a sleep over because her father was black. I was afraid of what my daddy would say, but I never gave him a chance to say anything.  I allowed our friendship to disintegrate. (I never noticed the origins of that word until just now.) I have regretted it ever since. There were moments in high school that I had opportunities to fight the color barrier, but I was too scared of fighting that battle. I didn't push. (Sorry, Reggie, you deserved a chance.)

While I was in high school, my father went back to college. I remember being so proud to attend his graduation. A degree in industrial management. But it was the psychology classes of his minor that helped him the most. He finally understood the why of how he was raised, and moved forward. My father is a Democrat, and I wasn't sure what he would do in 2008. He called me the first time he voted for Obama. I cried when I got off the phone. I cried for Dorothy. I cried for me. My tears were for a victory that wasn't about an election. It was about my childhood, and all those lost relationships. All those I could have loved, but allowed society to tell me I shouldn't. 

Anissa texted me yesterday-she and Dave were driving to a conference youth meeting in Springfield. She said the book was upsetting her so much that she had to put it down for a while. I reassured her as best I could, but it brought back so many painful memories of chances missed, bravery denied. I still was haunted last night by the president's words: "It could have been me." Yes, Sir, it could have. But if its up to Anissa and Austin's generation, it won't always have to be that way. 

My children don't have to feel afraid, like I did, they just need to feel. My words to you: don't allow yours to grow up in a color cocoon, it will break their hearts later when they realize what they have missed out on. 

Dorothy and I, we weren't meant to be.  But my new friend Tamara? Yes, she and I have a chance. 

Sorry, I couldn't resist including the DYAC moment. Oh, and don't worry, she'll finish the book, she's too much like her mother and grandfather to not finish what she starts. 

2013 NOLA Mission Trip ends, or does it?

Our final day was one of travel, and pleasant surprises. We awoke at the same 5:30am as we had all week. And yes, it was painful, but not because our muscles were tired. We all knew that this was the end of our trip. We were not really ready to say goodbye to our friends and the beauty of New Orleans. 

So we crossed the bridge from the West Bank one last time to experience the French Quarter, and the tourist stops. 

We had to stop at Cafe Du Monde for beignets. This is that moment, when you are raised eating them cooked by your mother or aunt or grandmother, and you can finally say you have had the original. 

 Mmmm, so good with Cafe Au Lait!  Then we did our sight seeing, hitting the square and St. Louis Cathedral, street musicians, the Katrina museum and a little shopping. 

Yes, I do have photos, but you will need to buy stock and come to the Stockholders Banquet on August 18th to experience that!

Again, we knew this was coming to a close, and finding it bittersweet. 

CCYMer Garrett, however, reminded us early Friday morning that this is not the end of our mission. This is the beginning of our task to take up the full armor of God: Shield, breastplate, shoes, sword, helmet.  We must go out now and share the gospel--the good news of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ--knowing that we are protected by our faith. After Garrett, Bev Boehmer spoke of our return home, reminding us to be inclusive of our family and friends to those jokes and games and experiences that we shared along the way. It is for that reason I have shared this web log of our journey, so that you too may experience the faith, hope and joy that this 2013 New Orleans Mission Trip has brought to us all. Now we can all go out and shared the Good News: GOD IS GOOD!

Blessings to you all, and may God bless New Orleans. 

"Hurricane" Audra 

Post Script: To our adult leaders, Barb Kinder, Roberta Humphries, Amy Brookover, Leah Denby, and David 'Chip' Wilson--you are a blessing to these kids. Thank you so very much for your service, guidance and love. 

To my husband, the youth minister:  Dave, you are building and growing a powerful ministry that will live in these kids' hearts and minds and spirits FOR-EV-ER. (Sandlot style)

Thank you for including me. I love you.  

2013 NOLA Mission Trip Day 4

Our final day on the worksite, but several of us were moved over to a "punch list" house-a home that is nearing completion and you are simply finishing off a list of small detail items. So I'm not sure how the last day at the Marigny house went-but we will have photos from SBP for the Stockholders Banquet. BTW, we are already planning the menu! Yummy!

The alternate site was in a small town-Violet. It is the location of a Valero refinery, and near the port. There were lots of oil company influences that I noticed, having grown up around that. 

The site supervisor was Claire. She had only been in the house 2 days, and was stressed! Even Mitchell, the 8th grader noticed. Britney and Brendan hung a door and frame for the laundry room. Mitchell and Leah painted the soffit. And I ran the chop saw to finish out the corner bead on the kitchen and bath cabinets at the floor level. Lets just say that our experience paid off at this house!

The kids have just been fantastic, we always have such fun with them. But they have bonded with some new adults, and this group meshes very well. Oh, I thought you might enjoy the size of this bug:

Upon completing the workday Thursday, we returned from our sites and had lunch and showered, then headed down to St Charles Ave to ride the trolley. We saw Hannah Kinder's old apartment, and her new street! 😀 (Barb got to hang out with her later.). The kids loved the historic homes, and a group of CCYM leaders went too. It's fun to see our kids so strongly bonded with them, as they are from all over the conference. 

We then went to have dinner at the Knights of Columbus Hall. This group has been feeding volunteers every Thursday for eight years. We were their last meal guests, and they put many babies in the 'King Cake' so that we would all carry the party on with us. (Google it.) Kate and I had a selfie when we got back. 

Worship was led for a final night by Manchester UMC, and Tristan closed the themed week of the 'Full Armor of God'. 

She killed it with her witty Lord of the Rings anecdotes. 

It wasn't hard to fall asleep. We were exhausted. 

I will give you the synopsis of the trip home next time. 

Blessings!