What Is Love?

This is my Christmas letter from 2007. It means as much to me today as it did the day I wrote it. I hope my blog followers will enjoy reading it. For some, it's for the second time.

What Is Love?

This was a question posed to me this summer by a very dear friend. Did I have an answer to the question? My immediate knee jerk response was, “Beats me!” followed by countless hours of pondering the meaning of love. Now, as the holidays draw near, and we turn our attention toward gift giving and receiving and celebrating our faith, family and friends, I decided to share some of my insights with all of you. I could write on and on about love, but maybe this Christmas letter will hit the highlights. I always welcome responses from you if you have something you’d like to share with me on the subject.

First, I’ve come to the conclusion that love is enduring. Even when we think love dies, it doesn’t. Through the pain of what we think is the death of love, we find ourselves growing and our horizons expanding, and we become capable of even greater love- it may be directed into a new direction, and might lie dormant for awhile, but it is still there waiting to emerge and bloom.

Love makes us cry. We cry when we are happy and we cry when we are sad, angry or grieving. It is love that brings tears to our eyes and pain to the pit of our stomachs. Sometimes love causes us to hurt- it isn’t love that hurts us, but how we deal with the many facets of love.

Love makes us a family. Whether those we love are blood-kin (a familiar Campbell family term) or are those we “adopt” into our family, it is love that binds us together.

Love changes. Romantic love matures to either enduring love or transforms itself through heartbreak and loneliness as it motivates us to expand our reach toward others. Disappointment from love not returned motivates us to find love in new places.

Love is flexible. It is forgiving.

Love comes in many shapes, sizes, and flavors. I love Phil, I love
my sons, I love my friends and family, I love my home, I love my
dog and cats, I love the feel of the wind on my face, I love pizza
and English toffee, I love a long hot shower, I love country music.

Love is eternal. I love my parents dearly, even though they have
been gone from my sight for many years. When asked if I believe
in life after death, I have two reasons for believing as I do. First,
I am incapable of not believing in it, and second, l believe that
love cannot be destroyed, and is the essence of God.
We are created to love and to be loved.

Love is the song of the universe and God’s greatest creation and gift.

May you be blessed this Christmas surrounded by love.

Dear friends, let us love one another, because love is from God. (I John 4:7 NEB)

Not a Winter Person!

I miss sunlight, warm breezes, and open windows! I am not a winter person.

When I woke up this morning, it was still dark. I thought about summertime, when I’d be out in the garden picking vegetables at this early hour, getting a head start on my day. As I wrapped myself up in my warm, fuzzy bathrobe, and slipped on my equally fuzzy slippers, I wished for a t-shirt, shorts, and my gardening Crocs. I could hear the furnace running, pushing warm air into the house, and I wanted to open the French doors in my bedroom to listen for some early morning summer sounds. I poured myself a cup of hot tea, cuddled up underneath a warm lap blanket, and longed for daylight.

With light brightening the day outdoors, I decided to go downstairs to see what Phil was up to in his shop. I knew the weather report for last night was for freezing rain, but when I hesitantly checked the deck floor, I was delighted to find that it was wet and not icy. Thankfully, I continued with my cautious steps, so when I slipped on the top step – ice! – I wasn’t caught entirely off-guard. As my feet went out from under me, I proceeded to slide and bump down the stairs. I grabbed the handrail and was able to stop my forward progress after only six steps. I hate icy stairs! With my slippery slide halted, I checked myself out, noting that nothing on my body was terribly painful, although I knew I had hit pretty hard. I couldn’t stand up or get a foothold, so I ever so slowly inched myself backwards step by step by pulling with my hands on the handrail. When I finally reached the deck floor, where it was only wet and not icy, I was able to stand up, and walk back inside.

Once inside the house, I discovered that I had a pretty raw scrape on my arm, a sore place along my spine, a red spot on my left thigh, and I was shaking like a fall leaf on a windy day. I checked my robe to see if it had torn, but it was only wet. Other than that, and being shaken from my adventure, I gave a prayer of thanks that it hadn’t been worse, and poured myself another cup of tea.

Now, an hour later, my neck is beginning to ache a little, my arm is burning from my scrape, and I know that I’ll have a few bruises on my back and leg. I’m not going to venture outside again until after the sun has hit the stairs, and has melted all of the ice.

I think I’ll spend the rest of the day dreaming of warm days and sunshine!

What Christmas Means to Me - My Annual Christmas Letter

When I was a child, there was an annual Christmas activity in my elementary school classroom. The teacher would write the word “CHRISTMAS” on the blackboard and then instruct us to make a list of holiday words, using each of the letters in Christmas. This was back in the dark ages when we could talk about Christmas in school, have parties, and wish everyone a “Merry Christmas.” In the spirit of Christmases Past, here is my updated list as my Christmas letter to my family and friends.

C - H - R - I - S - T - M - A - S

C – is for Cookie Baking Day, the highlight of the Christmas season for Phil and me. On the first Saturday in December, our home transforms into a cookie-making workshop for the day. Friends, family, and sometimes strangers, fill up our home with laughter, memories, fun, and wonderful things to eat. We spend the day baking cookies, and then share them for everyone to take home. It is my day to bask in the warmth of those I love, celebrate the start of the holiday season, and overdose on sugar.

H – is for home. There’s no place I’d rather be at Christmas time. My home is my nest, my sanctuary, and my anchor. It is the place where I know I belong.

R – is for reindeer antlers. Every year as I unpack the holiday decorations, I dust them off, straighten them out, and get ready to wear them on Cookie Baking Day. On Christmas morning, Diamond wears them for a short period of time. Even Phil takes a turn with the antlers at some point in the season. I haven’t figured out a way for the cats to take their turns. The antlers with jingle bells on them add a little bit of silliness to the season. I love my reindeer antlers!

I – is for the incredible feeling of thanksgiving I have for living to experience another Christmas season. Even with all of the traditions, each year brings something new and special – simply incredible!

S – is for spices. I have some special recipes that get pulled out every December. One in particular that I bake every year contains molasses, ginger, ground cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg. How I love the way my house smells when these cookies are baking! Also loved are my spice-scented candles and herbal teas.

T – is for travel. While I love my home at Christmas time, it’s a rare season that we don’t travel somewhere between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Whether it is to attend a holiday concert where Roy is performing, to spend a few days at my friend Beth’s beach house, or to simply take a day trip, we really enjoy a little holiday travel.

M – is for mystery. Bishop Kenneth Goodson preached a sermon many years ago on “Stewards of the Mysteries of God” that I’ll never forget. While he was speaking directly to an ordination class of ministers, the message penetrated my heart. Christmas is filled with mystery, which leads to faith. There is so much that I don’t understand about God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, but as a steward of God’s mysteries, I embrace the message and the gift.

A – is for angel tree. When I married Phil, I brought a box of Christmas tree ornaments from my divorce that were special to me. Most had been given to me by friends, students, and my boys. As I unpacked them the first Christmas that Phil and I put up a Christmas tree, I realized that most of them were angel ornaments. Thus, my Angel Tree was born. Over the years, more ornaments have been added, transforming it to an Angel and Other Stuff Tree, but I treasure my angels, and the story that each one holds.

S – is for steak dinner. Christmas Day is usually a quiet day at our house. My sons rarely come this far south or east for Christmas, and Phil’s sons typically spend the day with other branches of their family. Instead of preparing a traditional turkey dinner, we have developed our own tradition – steak. I set a romantic table, complete with wine and candlelight, Phil grills the steaks to perfection, and we feast on Christmas filet mignon.

So, dear family and friends, this is what Christmas means to me. What do the letters in CHRISTMAS mean to you?

Merry Christmas to all!

A Strange Case of Writer's Block

I’m back in my Collection of Days. I’d like to say that I’ve been suffering from a case of writer’s block for the past month, but if I am going to be honest in my writing, I have to admit that it’s been more a case of writer’s avoidance! It’s not that my days have not been interesting. On the contrary, my dilemma is that I haven’t found the words or the courage to honestly write about some recent special days.

Last month my mother-in-law died. It affected me profoundly, mainly from the perspective that it was a huge relief that she finally let go of her earthly body at the age of 89 and journeyed to her next place. I loved her dearly, and I wish I could say that she was a wonderful person, which she was in some ways. However, in reality, she was very difficult for me to love, and for many years I wasn’t sure how she felt about me. It wasn’t until her final three years of life that we became close, became confidants, and I finally let myself love her unconditionally.

I remember a comment she made to me early-on as I told her that Phil and I had married. Her response, “That’s wonderful, Jennie. We always hoped that Phil would marry Susan.” [a former girlfriend]. Then, one Christmas early in our marriage, she proudly presented everyone in the family with a new pair of bedroom slippers. When she got to me, she said, “Sorry, Jennie, they didn’t have any in your size on sale.” It was comments such at these that built the wall that separated us. I could see how she loved her family and was always helping out people in her church, but I wondered where I stood with her. I also knew that she was always trying to get me to influence Phil to do things that she thought he should do. When I refused to intervene, she didn’t like it one bit.

In spite of things like this, I grew to love Mom. After Pop died and she moved into an assisted-living apartment, we became fast friends. I shared my writing with her, which she seemed to enjoy reading and discussing. She also confided some of her deepest thoughts with me. Whenever I’d go to visit her, she wanted to know about my sons, and how they were doing. She was always interested in hearing about their lives and careers. Up until a few months before her death, when senility took more and more of her away from me, I knew that she was aware of who I was when I’d visit her in her nursing home room, because she never failed to ask me about Wade and Brian.

Her funeral was difficult. Phil and his sister haven’t spoken to each other in several years, and Mom’s death didn’t change anything. While the minister spoke of her love of her family and how much it meant to her, I felt a deep sadness that her family had splintered and was uncomfortably enduring having to sit together in the same pews for her service. I also admitted to myself that some of it was her fault. When something difficult came her way, she’d turn her head the other way, wouldn’t want to hear about it, and would pretend that everything was fine. She just never could admit that things were less than ideal in her family, even though she was always willing to add a critical comment about whatever the issue of the day happened to be. In contrast, she would always find excuses for everyone’s, including her own, behavior, as her way of forgiving herself for making such caustic comments and thinking such thoughts.

Mom was a World War II veteran, and she was buried in the National Cemetery in Canton, Georgia, with military honors, next to Pop, also a veteran. As the bugler blew Taps, something inside of me was released, and I finally let Mom and all of the Lazarus family conflicts drift away with the warm October breeze. I knew that Phil and his sister might never reconcile, and that the awkward times with the family were now a thing of the past for me. In a purely selfish thought, I realized that never again would I have to endure the strain of family get-togethers, when someone was always mad about something, and never have to dread coming face-to-face with Phil’s sister who openly despised us both. Instead, I thought of the good things that I knew about Mom, and cherished the special moments that we had together acting like girlfriends in her apartment, and later in her nursing home room. I remembered the way she would grip my hand, not wanting to let go, and how her eyes would sparkle when we’d share a private moment or joke. I remembered her smile when she’d spot me walking down the hall toward her room, and the delight in her face that I had come for a visit.

No, Mom was not perfect, and she had the ability to get under my skin and irritate me to no ends. But I miss her, and will miss my visits with her. I am happy that she is finally at peace and is exploring heaven with her beloved Trooper.

Good-bye, Mom. I love you. I am now ready to write again.

New Cheap Entertainment at Our House

There is nothing like a kitten to provide hours and hours of cheap entertainment. Again, we have a kitten in the house, and our home dynamics have changed once more.

When Diamond and I were on our daily walk on Friday, she took a keen interest in the kudzu –covered bank near the beaver pond down the road from our house. I knew she had found something, but didn’t know if it might be a turtle, an armadillo, a grasshopper, or some other small animal. I let her off leash and began listening. Coming from the undergrowth was a meek little “meow.” Oh no! Not another kitten! I waded into the twisted vines to investigate where she was sniffing. I heard a “PFFFT” coming from deep in the brambles, after which Diamond quickly went into reverse and backed out. I took her over to the edge of the road and put her into a sit-stay, so that I could get a better look at whatever she’d found. Out from the kudzu leaves poked a little black and white face, showing curiosity, fear, and false bravado. I put my hands out, palms up, and this adorable little kitten approached me gingerly, sniffing my fingers. Scooping it up into my arms, I immediately felt a ferociously strong purr box. Diamond waited patiently in her position, but I could tell that she was keenly interested in her find. I released her, and she headed right back into the kudzu. While I held the kitten, now snuggling up in my arms, I heard another “meow”, as Diamond sniffed further into the mess of kudzu vines. I tried to coax this second set of vocal chords out into view, but wasn’t able to see the other kitten. It was too scared to take a chance on us. After about five minutes, with kitten in arms, we reluctantly left the pond bank, and headed back home.

Entering the house where Phil was resting in his lounge chair, I announced, “Look what Diamond found.” Phil knew that it was a kitten, as this has happened more than once since Diamond has come to live with us. I put the kitten into his lap, where he flipped it over, announcing, “It’s a little girl.” I was elated. With two male cats in the house, I was ready for a little female. I took her back from Phil, while he prepared a welcome-home meal for her of cat chow and milk, and loved on her a little more. Her purring never stopped, and she didn’t object at all to being held the way our Rocky does. After letting her down to eat, we let her investigate her new surroundings, and except for being wary of Diamond, who was chomping at the bit to smother-mother her, she settled in just fine.

Big Tom sauntered through the cat door shortly after Little Girl arrived, gave her his typical “ho-hum, another cat in the house” look, went to the food dish, and pretty much ignored her. Rocky, on the other hand, was traumatized. One glance at her, and he went into an over-drive frenzy of kitty panic, zipped through the cat door, and disappeared. We didn’t see him again until suppertime, when he slunk back in, hoping not to encounter this new monster in the house, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed back to the safety of outdoors.

Two days later, the little kitten, still without a name, sleeps next to me as I write. Tom still ignores her, and Rocky has decided that even though she is terrifying, he doesn’t want to leave the good life he has here, and steers clear of her. She and Diamond touched noses this morning, which delighted our sweet German Shepherd mommy dog. Hope springs eternal. For me, I’m in love. She slept on a pillow above my head last night, and I roused once to feel her nibbling on my hair and to listen to her beautiful purr. When I awoke this morning, she was curled up in one of Phil’s big hands, receiving a gentle petting from him.

The little girl has already made us laugh until we just about doubled over. She declared war on her shadowed reflection in the wood floor, attacked the door mouse doorstop, spent twenty minutes wrestling a piece of yarn, chased the laser pointer light all over the living room, doing flips and turns as she pursued it, and practiced her left hook on Diamond’s nose when Diamond got a little too close for comfort. She also got stung on the face by some kind of insect that she captured. But most of all, after figuring out how the cat door works, she proudly practiced going in and out several times in a row.

There’s just nothing more enjoyable than a kitten! Now to figure out the perfect name for her, because we’ve decided she’s a keeper!

Cottage Industries - A Sign of the Times?

I was driving down I-20 a few mornings ago, daydreaming as I drove to my job over near Spaghetti Junction. I had been listening to country music, as I always do when I’m in the car, and for some reason it had begun grating on my nerves. I switched off the radio, and was enjoying the silence inside my car. Because I wasn’t bombarded with music, I became more aware of my surroundings, namely the other cars on the highway. A new phenomenon became obvious to me as vehicles passed me and I whizzed past others, giving me pause for thought. I began reading magnetic car signs.

The first one that caught my eye was an old pick-up truck towing an open trailer loaded with lawn mowers, rakes, blowers, and all the stuff needed to manicure a lawn. Pasted to the driver’s side door as I passed this slow poke was a magnetic sign advertising “ABC Lawn Service”. I glanced as I passed, noting that inside the truck was a young man and woman.

Next was a mini-van that buzzed by me. The first thing I noticed was the extension ladder fastened to the roof. The magnetic sign on the side of this vehicle identified the young woman driving – “Kim’s Chandelier Cleaning” - complete with phone number and website. Kim, who I assumed was the driver, was an attractive African-American woman, probably in her 30s or 40s.

A little further down the highway, I discovered more interesting reading. There was a sign stuck to the side of an old sedan. It read “East Atlanta Courier”. A man about my age was the driver, and he was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere. We were at a place on the interstate where the traffic was stop-and-go, and we inched forward side-by-side along the jammed-up highway. I knew he was in a hurry, because he was drumming the steering wheel with his hands and was furiously chewing on a piece of gum. He kept answering his cell phone, talking for a couple of seconds and then hanging up. I imagined that he was updating someone on his progress, while carrying an important document or package to its destination in Atlanta.

Once traffic began moving again, more cars and trucks of varying ages and conditions caught my eye. I saw one advertising a “fix-it man”, another hawked “cake decorating”, and yet another claimed to be “carpenter, dry-wall, painter, plumber, electrician.” Wow! A man of many talents in that old truck! I also saw three Mary Kay decals on back windows and an Amway bumper sticker. I hadn’t seen one of those in years. I also passed four more lawn care trucks and trailers. This must be a pretty lucrative business, or at the least a relatively easy one to start up.

All of this set my mind to thinking about the people supplying these services and products. I wondered if they, like me, had been the recipients of a lay-off visit from human resources somewhere in the past couple of years. Were they still looking for work, or had they used their ingenuity to reinvent themselves with independent businesses in order to make a living? I was curious, and also impressed.

I then began thinking about myself, imagining what my magnetic sign might say if I had one. Of course, “Jennie Lou’s Treehouse” came to mind, as this is the name of my Saturday market booth. What would I advertise - my home-baked breads, jams and jellies, the cotton and bamboo fiber wash cloths that I knit and crochet, photo note cards, rag rugs, dried herbs, fresh vegetables? Or would I hawk the services I provide – research, organization management, meeting planning, tutoring, writing? I would most certainly need a super-sized sign for all of the little things that have kept me busy since I left my last office!

I turned into the driveway of my part-time job, which by the way, is located in my friend, Beth’s, home, and is a very successful independent enterprise. I was ready for a day of utilizing my talents to help her business flourish. I grabbed my bag filled with bread, jelly, and vegetables from my garden, and entered her home ready for a day of research, proofreading, organizing, data entry- whatever tasks she had ready for me.

With one last thought of the people I had “met” on the interstate, I said a quick prayer for them to succeed in their endeavors, and began my workday.

As My World Turns

The past few weeks have been amazing to me. I continue to marvel at how the world turns to bring around surprises into my life in which I can see the divine hand in it all, and view in awe the ways God is sending his grace gifts my way.

This all started with an email to me from my minister at Social Circle United Methodist Church a few weeks ago asking me if I’d be interested in a job opening in the church’s district office. Our district superintendent had sent out a notice to all of his pastors asking for recommendations for an administrative assistant at his office. Since Richard, our pastor, knew that I have been officially unemployed for the past year-and-a-half, he contacted me to see if I’d be interested. My response to him --- as long as it doesn’t involve a daily commute to Atlanta, I’d like to hear more about it.

Lo and behold, Richard sent me the name and email of our District Superintendent – Dr. Gary Whetstone! There could only be one Gary Whetstone in the world, and that would have to be the big brother of Pam and Mona, who were members of the youth group at New Hope United Methodist Church, David’s student appointment when he was in theology school back in the 70s. Being a fringe member of our church, and not actively involved beyond my weekly knitting group, our Relay for Life team, and early service on Sunday, I didn’t even know who our DS was! I typed up a quick email to Dr. Whetstone, with my resume as an attachment. I told him that I wasn’t sure if I was qualified for the position, but I sure would love to know about Pam and Mona, as well as news about his parents.

I think Gary invited me to Athens for an interview as a courtesy, since I had a history with his family. It was a lovely interview, and I enjoyed meeting with Gary and his search committee. I knew, however, on the way home from the interview that this particular job was not the one for me, and definitely didn’t have my name on it. I faced the fact that I really didn’t want to become close to the policies and politics of the church again, and while I felt that I would enjoy working with Gary, I knew that this wouldn’t be a career choice for me at this point in my life.

However, it opened the door for me to make contact with Pam through Facebook, which led to a lunch with her last week in Blue Ridge, when Phil and I were returning home from seeing Brian at his play’s premiere in Kentucky. Seeing Pam was like having a burst of fresh air on my face, and the years faded away as we visited over lunch with her mother, Lu, at a little Chinese restaurant in Blue Ridge. Pam encouraged me to contact other New Hope youth group members who were also on Facebook, and after returning home, I did just that.

I am now Facebook friends with several of our youth group from those three years we were at New Hope. I love Facebook! It has brought me, after so many years, back to people whose lives touched mine while I lived the life of a minister’s wife, and has renewed my faith in Christian love and the incredible ways God can reach across decades and the internet to bring me back into the loving arms of those people I knew in the churches we served. It has been a year of Facebook surprises. First, it was a reunion between me and friends from Fieldale United Methodist Church in Virginia, and now with these great “kids” from New Hope. If it weren’t for Facebook and my local minister, none of this would have happened.

All of this also led to another revelation. While driving to Lincolnton this week to have lunch with a friend, my mind was wandering over the past 18 years since I first met her as my academic advisor and professor at library school. I realized that I have been an ex-minister’s wife longer than I was a minister’s wife. Those years, however, had a dramatic impact on me, and were instrumental in designing who I am today. With writing my novel this past year about a minister’s wife, and then reuniting with former church friends, a lot of memories – some of them buried very deep – have bubbled to the surface, and I can examine them with fresh eyes and attitude. I can also shed my ex-preacher’s wife cloak and simply be an old friend to laugh and cry over special memories and share in what’s happening today in all of our lives.

As I collect the days of my life, these recent days have certainly been worthy of noting in my Collection of Days. And I want to take this medium to thank those people who are now connected to me through Facebook and through my blog to say “thank you” for loving me and standing beside me, for reaching out to me, and for being my friends. For so many years I lived in the shadow of my ex-husband, who was adored by his congregations, not realizing that I could be loved apart from him as an individual in my own right. It took a bit of time for me to lose the feeling of invisibility, and I am thankful that God is patient and kind, and has blessed me by bringing so many special people back into my life.

But before I give Facebook all of the credit, I cannot end this Day without a mention of two special friends who have kept up with me since pre-Facebook days. My two friends in Virginia, Jane and Norma, are my angels who have lifted me up on their wings ever since the day my marriage ended. They never judged, they never questioned, they always loved, and they have been a constant in my life since the day I moved out of the parsonage so many years ago. And I also want to thank Wade, Brian, and Roy for encouraging me to sign up on Facebook, because it is through them that many of these wonderful connections have been made.

Wonder what the next surprise will be….. Stay posted!