Scotch Tape and Love

Scotch Tape and Love

On the wall above my computer, there are one hundred and sixty seven snapshots of people whose life travels have intersected with mine in some way or another.  There are pictures of old pets from my childhood, pictures of friend’s kids with whom I am no longer in contact, and multiple pictures taken of my family across the years.  In short, this wall has slowly become a patchwork quilt of memories sewn together with scotch tape and love. 

There is the picture of me at the Candy Striper awards ceremony some thirteen years ago.  There is a picture of Harrison, one of the kids that I babysat during high school. There are photographs of me with Point of Grace, me with my best friend, Britney at the beach, even a print copy of my legendary Grandfather and his old mule.  And I realize that these snapshots are not merely ink and paper but rather, momentary evidence of lives well lived.

And sometimes, when I am at my desk trying to find inspiration to write, to keep walking, to do it afraid, to take one more step- all I have to do it look up from my pen and legal pad and know that I have one hundred and sixty seven people cheering me on.  And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I cannot do it for myself, I have to do it for all those faces staring back at me from their two dimensional perspective. 

And suddenly, I wonder if Jesus had some of these same feelings.  What if- during the whole process of his trial, his beatings, his crucifixion- what if he, too wanted to give in and give up? I mean after all, his closest friends were betraying him and denying him and falling asleep during the most intense night of his life.  I think, while he was being whipped with a cat of nine tails, while the crown of thorns was digging into his skin, while the nails were driven through his wrists, one thud at a time- well, I’ve always had the vision that when the pain was at its worst, when tears and sweat and the knowledge that he was truly alone really hit home, I think he looked up at his wall of scotch tape and love, carefully selected his favorite snapshot of me and said, “I’m doing this for you.”

            

                      I think that is the definition of true friendship. 

  

“Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

                                                                                     John 15:13

To My Friend, Elyse

those eyes
encase the words said
with emotion
so obvious
it hurts.

painful, yet the burden
seems lighter all the same
because someone listened.

and although circumstance
can be eternal,
sorrow is not,
cannot be,
i'm sure


your eyes
hold me in their grasp
letting me know
that you understand.

and then i realize
that you are a not so ordinary angel
that i have come to love
because you listened.

and although circumstance
is so eternal,
tears are not,
cannot be,
i'm sure.

Mastering the Monkey Bars

            I remember my first day of kindergarten- my first day of hanging up my jacket and storing my brand new Care Bears lunch box in my own, personal cubby hole.  I remember wearing my cool, new Velcro shoes and wearing a dress that my mama made just for me.  I had planned to face this day bravely. However, when mama said goodbye that first morning, I was sporting an attitude that could easily be translated into “I cannot cry. I cannot cry. I will not cry.”

            It wasn’t long, however, until I got lost in the amazement of a strange and beautiful world- a universe that had not been explored.  There were toys and books and circle time and other kids and trapper keepers. And, best of all, we had a whole hour of recess each day.

            The first recess was kind of awkward.  The first and second graders knew each other from the previous year so it was just this band of kindergarteners against the big, big world.  It amazed me that the “big kids” could swing their way across the monkey bars at maximum speed and without missing a beat. Some of those kids could even skip every other bar.  And suddenly, I set my first goal, my first matter of business in this, the beginning of my formal education.  I would be the first one in my class to master the monkey bars.

            And so, the year began.

            I found out quickly about blisters. Three days into the school year four little red marks displayed themselves on each of my palms.  And they hurt. And they seeped. And they begged for a break.  But there was no way that I was going to give up this early. So I kept swinging from bar to bar.  And one reach at a time, I conquered the monkey bars.

            I changed a little in those days and weeks and months that followed.  After the first time across, I began to build confidence.  At times, I would go across quickly to show my speed and at other times, I would go slowly to show my strength.  Sometimes, I pretended that I was a real monkey.

            My hands began to change as well. I no longer had oozing blisters- I now had tough calluses on my whole palm. And for awhile, there was nothing in the world that I could not do. 

            Eventually, I learned that life is a lot like monkey bars and the formation of blisters. These are the things I learned:

1.      All through life we will set goals. And the goals that are most important to us get the most attention.

2.      We will all get blisters, scars and battle wounds.  We have to remember that even when the blisters hurt like hell, you can’t have calluses until you have blisters.

3.      Sometimes, we are going along just fine but then our hands get slippery and we lose our grip. We have to start over even when we try and fail and try again.

4.      Sometimes, other kids laugh at you. It’s ok. Just focus and keep your head in the game. Suck it up and keep moving.

5.      Respect the ones who have already accomplished the goal.  Take their advice but also learn to cross the bars “free style.”

6.      Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.

7.      Finally, when you reach the farthest bar and land safely on the other side- Be proud of yourself and CELEBRATE.

I know that these steps aren’t comprehensive and that there are other factors and variables and paradigms that cannot be accounted for. There are at least a few exceptions. And I believe that Robert Fulghum created a more complete list of ways that kindergarten and life intersect. However, I guess the purpose of this essay is just to say that like pain, blisters are not bad. They turn into calluses making you strong and tough and resilient.  They build confidence and teach lessons. But most importantly, they make you stand a little taller and be a little bolder just like I was on my first day of first grade when I proudly showed the new kindergarteners my rough, callused hands.

Grace

     Grace is when you have “I want to die” carved on your arm and you hear that still, small voice that says, “I already did.” And then tears start streaming down your face because no matter how hard you try to take things into your own hands, you are being cradled in the arms of your Father.  And he sees you. And he knows you. And he loves you more than anything in the world.

     I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I forget that.  Sometimes, I try to control outcomes and predict variables and convince people that I’m “doing ok” when on the inside, I give way to the voices that tell me I’m all alone, that no one cares, that the ugliness I feel on the inside is leaking out and is contaminating everyone around me.

     And sometimes, I’m scared. And I believe that I’m alone in this world. And I think how the world would be a better place without me.  And the words keep piling up and piling up until they come spilling forth in ways I don’t understand.  And then the storm commences. 

     Clouds gather. The winds pick up and the leaves on the trees begin to turn.  Rain begins to pelt my skin and hail falls with unmatched force. It’s kind of like my own, personal hurricane except it’s all on the inside and the most important thing is that it stays that way.

     

     So, I smile. I laugh. I carry on, hearing nothing but the rush of mighty waters, the sound of wind tunnels, and the screams of demons on the brink of Hell.  And I feel the heat. I see the flames- jumping, flashing, and trying to consume one more life.  I hear the lost ones who are among the ones who are void of hope. 

  

     And then, like the eye of the storm, there is that still, small voice.

     

     This is not the voice of condemnation that I have heard before.  It is not the voice of judgment. It is not the voice of loneliness.  It is, in fact, the voice of Grace.  Softly, before I can hear the words, I know that I am not alone.  I am rocking in the arms of a gentle Savior.  I am the one for whom the angels rejoice. 

And even when I know that the rest of the hurricane will come, I am sheltered in the peace of the one who created me in his image and loves me unconditionally.

This, my friend, is grace.