I Have No Words

 

Last week I blogged about how our words outlive us. As I sat down to craft this week’s post, I had no words to share. This week, my sweet husband would have celebrated his 68^th birthday. 

 

My family has indulged me these past few years in recognizing Tom’s birthday by getting together for one of his favorite activities, bicycling. This year may look a bit different. We are planning a socially distanced walk. I still intend to ride my bike. At least in my neighborhood. It feels right to me.

 

Back to the blog post. At first I considered posting a series of pictures. Pictures I have of Tom growing up and pictures of our life together. I simply have no words. Ultimately, I decided to share some of Tom’s words. I offer them in no particular order. Use them as you will:

 

On Fixing Things Around the House: 

“I just took it apart and put it back together.”

This approach was successful roughly 99% of the time.

 

On Treating an Injury or Wound:

“Breathe deep.”

“Put ice on it.”

“It’ll feel better when it quits hurting

99% return on the first two. 

100% right on the last one.

 

On Hospitality:

“I invited (someone from South Korea, Taiwan, Finland, India, Italy, Brazil, you name it) and his family over for dinner tonight. I hope that’s okay. I don’t know if they speak English or not.”

85% okay, but I did it anyway and 100% return on friendships around the world.

 

On Politics:

(No way am I going to write anything Tom said about politics on this post for the world to see.)

100% sure I left the room when the subject came up.

 

On Facing Challenges:

“You can do that.”

100% Encouragement with 100% positive results.

I feel compelled to offer examples here. 

 

From the kids:

“Dad, I’m thinking about trying out for….(swim team, band, symphony, cheerleading, you name it.)” 

Answer: “You can do that.” Not permission to do it, mind you. He expressed a genuine assertion that he believed our kids could do about anything they set their minds to do.

 

From me:

“I’m thinking about going for (my masters, doctorate).”

Answer: “You can do that.” Again, an assertion that I could do what I set out to accomplish.

 

“I’m going to be a teacher.”

“You can do that.”

 

“I think I’m going to be a professor.”

“You can do that.”

 

“I’m going to be an author.”

“You can do that.”

 

Almost three years after Tom died, I was asked to travel to Kosovo to teach. As I prayed about it, I could almost hear him say, “You can do this. I know you can.”

 

Tom was a problem solver. He was an encourager. He was fun and loving. He cared about people and never considered himself above others. Tom was a good man.

 

But my favorite words I heard from him?

 

I love you.

100% received. 100% returned.

 

Happy Birthday in Heaven, Tom Waters. I love you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Words Outlive Us

 Words Have a Lifespan Longer Than Our Own

 

 

My great grandmother’s final words to her six young children were, “God bless mother’s children.” From her deathbed, she told them to always trust Jesus; to do what he would have them do. She assured them God would take care of them. My own grandmother was a mere seven-years-old when she was orphaned that day, yet her mother’s words guided her life.

 

 And my mother’s. 

 

And mine.

 

As I talked with my daughter about fragments of this post, she said, “Our words outlive us.” 

 

It’s true.

 

I once heard Neil Armstrong say he knew the world would be watching when he landed on the moon. He knew it was his opportunity to inspire. He thought long and hard about what he would say. 

 

“One small step for man. One giant step for mankind.” 

 

My generation remembers those words. We huddled around our black and white televisions, watching and listening intently to the transmission. We put a man on the moon. Surely there was nothing to keep us from realizing our dreams. Anything was possible. Or so it seemed.

 

 

The words of George Floyd, “I can’t breathe,” capture for us the weight of systemic racism under which our lives and dreams are crushed. His words, uttered as a plea for help have become a battle cry for social justice. Words paint pictures of not only the way our world is, but also how it can be transformed.

 

The morning after a tragic accident many years ago, I was asked to offer a public prayer for the faculty, staff, and students at the school where I taught. When I am asked to pray or speak I always ask God to let the listeners hear what he wants them to hear. Even as I prayed aloud to the people gathered that day, I was also praying a silent prayer for God’s words to bring comfort to us all. 

 

This past week I received a message from a friend. He was remembering the words I shared that morning in chapel. We’re talking many years ago. Many. He wanted me to know he shared those words with someone else recently. Someone hurting. 

 

Words of comfort are like that. God gives them to us and they resurface when the hour is darkest. 

 

Quite simply, our words outlive us.  

 

But I would be remiss to leave it there. You see the ultimate source for words of wisdom, inspiration, transformation, and comfort are found in the Bible. 

 

God’s words outlive us all.

 

In the Gospel of Luke, (chapter 19, verses 47 & 48) Luke writes of Jesus, “Every day he was teaching at the temple. But the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the leaders among the people were trying to kill him. Yet they could not find any way to do it, because all the people hung on his words.”

 

And they still do.

 

Note: Some of my readers may look at the Bible and feel a bit overwhelmed by the mere size of it. From beginning to end it is the story of God’s love for us, his creation. If you are not at all familiar with the story, you may want to start small. For example, you can read something like The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers His Name by Sally Lloyd-Jones. Don’t worry because it was written for children. We are, after all, children of God. Get some friends or kids together and get a picture of the “big story.”

 

Another option is to start with the New Testament. The first four books of the New Testament are called the gospels. It means “good news.” All four recount the story of Jesus as he lived among us on earth. These books were written by different authors for different audiences. Choose the one best suited to you. And then read the Book of Acts, also in the New Testament, to see how the world was transformed. Social justice? Words of inclusion? You’ll find them in the New Testament. Words of love and care and comfort are embedded throughout the text. Words of inspiration? From the beginning to the end.

 

 

 

 

Weed the Manuscript, Edit the Garden: Musings From a Tired Writer

Did I say "weed the manuscript?" Yeah, well it's been a long week.

My Rose With Her Rose Many Years Ago

My youngest granddaughter carries the name Rose. She was named after her paternal great grandmother. When our little flower came along, I decided to gift her with a rose bush in honor of her birth and her name. Her father planted it in their front yard. It continues to grow. I have pictures of our little Rose watering her plant when she was two. 

Recently I made the comment that the now seven-year-old plant needs a good pruning. My granddaughter sees the few blooms on it and doesn’t want to cut it at all. It is big now. Too big. 

But for a seven-year-old, bigger is better.

For a 7-year-old, Bigger is Better

This week, as I was weeding my garden, I thought about that rose bush. Weeding out the unwanted weeds helps my tomatoes grow. Now they don’t compete for needed water. The sun can reach the plump skin of the growing fruit, allowing each tomato to turn a beautiful red and sweeten the juicy flesh. Getting rid of the weeds, offering support to my trailing vines, pruning a rose bush? 

If I may, I’ll put it in writer’s terms: It’s all about editing. 

Writers love words. Especially those we put on paper. Sometimes we become so excited to watch our word count in a manuscript grow we hesitate to hit the delete button for any of them. 

For many writers, like many seven-year-olds, bigger is better. 

But is it? Even if we edit the unnecessary words in our story, a tale too long is like an overgrown squash: pithy and undesirable.

“But what about the classics?” you ask. 

Epic novels such as War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy or Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, were well over the 500,000 word count. An “epic” novel by definition is a work of fiction over 110,000 words. 

Do I think Herman Melville could have tightened his rendering of Moby Dick? Absolutely. Did I really need to read the over 200,000 word tome in high school? Obviously not. I’m sure I skipped some of the long narratives in both Moby Dick and Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment (also more than 200,000 words) and still passed the class with flying colors. I haven’t read either of those books since.

 Margaret Mitchell penned over 400,000 words for Gone With The Wind. I watched the movie.

I meet writers all the time who want to craft an epic novel. They want to be the next Tolkien or Rowling. Tolkien’s largest offering in the Lord of the Rings series was under 200,000 words and Rowling’s only one in the Harry Potter series to exceed 200,000 words was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

Quite simply, it isn’t about the word count. It’s the story. Write the story you need to tell. Edit it to until you can do no more then wait a while and edit it some more. 

Pull the weeds out of your manuscript. Pluck off the “deadheads” doing no good to the overall look of it. Pluck, prune, weed, and pick. And when you think your crop is ready, take it to the county fair…or in this case to an editor to judge and give you advice on your next step. Try again or publish. 

I want the fruit of my effort to be delicious. I want to offer my readers my best efforts. 

Of course I can take this editing reference to other areas of our lives. Ridding our homes of clutter, dumping twenty-year-old tax files, and donating those clothes we will never fit into again to charity. We can “weed” our medicine chests, pantries, and storage sheds, trashing out-of-date or dangerous unused items. We can reevaluate our “need” for collectibles.

I can apply editing to many areas, but I won’t. I’ll leave that to Joshua Becker. You can check out his website at becomingminimalist.com. 

Please share your thoughts. I love to hear from my readers.

Surviving the Political Pandemic

I'm Feeling a Bit Un-Conventional in this Day and Time

When I announced on Twitter I decided to watch both political conventions, I received a few “unconventional” comments. Some friends asked why in the world I would ever want to do that.

“I want to hear everything for myself,” I messaged back.

Much can be lost when one person reports what they saw and heard. Remember the party game “telephone?”  One person whispers something in another person’s ear. It travels around the group, each participant repeating what they heard. By the time it makes full circle, it is nonsense.

That’s why I like to listen to the actual speeches and not merely the reporters, pundits, or Facebook wizards telling me what was said. 

And what it means. 

And how I should feel about it. 

I prefer to think for myself. Make my own decisions. How do I do that?

Look at the Source and Get the Whole Picture 

Facebook, Twitter, and other social media platforms offer everyone and his brother the opportunity to chime in on everything… whether they know anything about it or not. 

If you see something posted on social media, check out the source as well as the original words or actions taken. Research the whole issue instead of one piece of it. 

Interestingly, as I was writing this, a sweet man I love and respect called to check in on me. He asked what I was doing. When I told him I watched both conventions, he asked if I saw where one party voted on “XYZ.” He was appalled. 

“I didn’t see that at all,” I told him. (I would have been appalled by it, too.)

“It was on Facebook,” he said. As he’s talking, I’m searching the internet to check it out. He’s opening up his own computer to find it again on Facebook.

“The only thing I can find about that issue was a proposal by a delegate in 2012 and it was vetoed. Big time. It received no support,” I told him.

“I have it right here,” he said. He read the headline for me. “XXX Party Votes to xyz. I’ll play it for you.” He clicks the button and plays the video at full volume. “I guess you’re right. They voted it down,” he says. “This time.”

“But wait a minute, did I hear all of people together in one room giving a verbal vote?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s a big convention room full of people.”

“But each party's committee meetings this year were all held remotely or with only a few people in the same room.”

The other end of the line is silent for a few minutes. I hear him clicking on the computer. Listening again.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “This was in 2012.” 

If we don’t get the full picture and check the facts, it’s like the story of the blind men and the elephant. 

As the story goes, five blind men encounter an elephant. Each one explores the animal using their hands to guide them. One grasps the tail and claims the elephant is like a rope. One touches the animal’s side and says, “No, the elephant is like a wall.” The one touching the leg likens the animal to a tree, the ear is like a leaf and the trunk is compared to a large snake.

Each source is partially right. Partially. I can’t listen to bits and pieces from multiple sources and be assured I fully understand the big picture. These men are blind.

Consider the Context

Indeed. Let me offer an example here. 

Suppose I were to tell you the Bible says, “There is no God.” You would probably be shocked. Even appalled. You may become angry with me or worse than that you may go about repeating it, claiming me to be some kind of authority. Especially if I assured you it is in the Bible and I offered you the very book and chapter and verse where it’s written. 

If I put that on Facebook, I would probably be “unfriended” by a number of people I know. 

But it’s true. Check it out, which is what you should always do. But read the whole verse. Read it in the context of the entire chapter. It’s in Psalm 53:1.  Here’s the whole sentence: “The fool says there is no God.”

If I didn’t watch each convention, I would only hear the excerpts others want me to hear. To make an informed decision, I needed the context. The story… the whole sentence….the big picture. And I need to see how it was used and how it applies to the good of all. Or not.

Ask Questions

Remember the “who, what, when, where, why, and how” questions you learned in school? That’s a start. 

But dig deeper. Make sure you understand the issues. What will a particular policy mean for you…or more importantly, for your children and your children’s children. What does it mean for America overall? What might be fallout or other ramifications from the proposed policy? Put it in context of the framework our founding fathers crafted. Not that everything fits, but evaluate how it works for us or against us in terms of justice, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness for all Americans.

Simply put, don’t take everything at face value. Ask questions. Seek clarity. Make sure you understand what is being advocated.

Finally, Pray

You are not likely to agree with every single item on either agenda. You may find yourself at odds on certain issues with each and every candidate. No one is perfect. There are good, well-intentioned people within both parties. Look at the whole picture. 

I study the Bible daily. 

I trust God in all I do. 

And yes, I pray for guidance before I vote.

God is actually the only one who can see our future in its entirety. And I’ve read the end of the Book. I know we take many paths as we do our best to live this life, but in the end, God has the last word.

The conventions are over now. The ballots are filled. Before you head to the polls or mail in your vote, even if you didn’t watch both conventions as I did, you can still listen to the actual complete speeches made then and now on the internet. 

And remember, your vote is your own. You make your own…informed…decision. Privately. It is not subject to outside pressure or influence.

I love to hear from my readers but be aware, I will remove any negative or one-sided remarks posted in the comment section for this post.

God's Fingerprints Are In The Details

My friend Claudia always says, “God is so good at his job.”

I have to agree. He meets my every need. He is in the details. Sometimes he takes care of me in rather unusual ways. Like with a pool table.

Yes, I said pool table. You know, billiards? A rack of balls you try to shoot into side pockets of the table with a stick and another ball? Sounds a bit silly when you try to describe it, but there was nothing silly about my own pool table experience. I shared the story recently with a friend. She asked if I’d ever written in down.

It’s worth sharing…and preserving. So I offer it to you today for reasons I’ll share later.

Many years ago I bought Tom a beautiful pool table for Christmas. He enjoyed playing pool at the student center when we were in college so I thought this would be a nice way for him to relax. We had room for it in our unfinished basement. I gave him the rack, balls, and pool cues for Christmas with a note inside explaining the table would be delivered in January.

It was a plan. But the plan changed slightly when Tom decided to finish the basement first. He worked hard for the next month or so to get the gift intended to bring him some relaxation. The pool table was delivered in February. The whole family enjoyed it as well as the beautiful new living space he created for it.

Tom and I decided to move in 2014. We readied the house we’d occupied for nearly twenty years and started thinking about storing our furnishings until we knew where we’d live next. We accepted an offer from a young couple named Brandon and Heidi. I should tell you that although they had their realtor and we had ours, we actually knew this sweet couple. We had known Brandon and his whole family since he was probably five years old. Tom and I thought it was kind of special to sell the house to a young couple we knew and loved. 

Then the unthinkable happened. Before we closed on the house, Tom died from injuries he sustained while riding his bicycle. Brandon and Heidi graciously let me out of the contract and I continued to live there.

Tom's Pool Table

In 2017, I made the decision to sell the house. I wanted something smaller with everything on one level. I found a ranch style home that needed some updating but was in an area I liked. As soon as my grandchildren heard I was moving they started asking if I was going to take the pool table with me. The reason had nothing to do with Tom. It wasn’t sentimental. It’s simply this: They Can Beat Me at Pool. 

I knew the pool table would fit in the then unfinished basement because when I first looked at the new place there was a pool table there. The cost of having professionals take down the monstrosity I had given Tom, store it and eventually set up again was crazy. 

I told the kiddos I’d think about it.

The morning I closed on my new home I did the customary buyer “walk through” before meeting the sellers at the real estate office. They were packed up and heading out. The house was nearly empty. Nearly.

“Uh, did you forget something?” I asked. They looked at each other and shrugged. “The pool table?” I asked.

“You didn’t know the pool table came with the house?” the woman asked. She then turned to her real estate agent. “She didn’t know the pool table came with the house.”

“Not to worry,” I assured her. “I’m probably the only person around who is actually happy about it. It means I won’t have to move the one in my current house.”

With the deal closed and the keys in hand, I headed home…uh…back to my original house. I took a picture of Tom’s beautiful pool table. I posted it on Facebook asking if anyone might be interested in buying a pool table. The responses were varied. 

“I love that carpet,” one person wrote.

“Are you getting rid of the light fixture above it?” asked another.

“If I had room, I’d buy it,” said another.

Then my friend, Brandon’s mother, wrote “Matthew wants a pool table for the man-cave in his new house.” Remember Brandon? He and his wife were the ones purchasing the house in 2014. Matthew was Brandon’s brother.

I messaged her with times I would be available.  

“I’ll text him,” she wrote. “He’s off on Friday so maybe he could come then. Why are you selling your pool table?”  

I explained I was moving. “Did you sell your house?” she wrote back.

“No. I haven’t listed it yet.”

A few minutes later, my friend wrote back, “When Matthew and Ashley come to look at the pool table, can they look at your house, too?”

And they bought it. The pool table. The house. They bought it all. 

Pretty incredible, huh? Coincidental? I don’t think so. You see, as I said before, God is good at his job. He promised to take care of me. His fingerprints are all over this sequence of events. 

The "New" PingPong &Pool Table

For instance, I’ve been told that since there was a contract, the new buyers for my house could have forced me to abide by it even though Tom was gone. Brandon and I have talked about this. Brandon feels God put him in that place at that time to protect me. God knew what would happen. When someone told Brandon he could/should force the sale, he said, “I could no more do that to Becky Waters than I could my own mother.” Shortly after that, Brandon and Heidi found a great house.

Then, when it came time to sell that house, I didn’t have to list it, go through showings, or deal with stress of any kind. I simply had to post my pool table on Facebook. God took care of the rest.

When we let him in…and when we look closely at those unusual happenings in our lives, we can watch as God takes care of the details.

All of them. 

Yes, I have a pool table in my new house. It may not be as beautiful as the other one, but it came with the benefit of having a ping-pong table overlay so we can play ping-pong or pool. 

It doesn’t matter. The grandkids beat me at both.

Making The Cut

I cut my hair.

Perhaps I should back up to establish my credentials as a hairstylist. Especially since most of you know me either as a teacher of young children, a professor to young adults, or an author of books.

For forty-three years I cut my husband’s hair. Well, there was that one time he went to a barber. It was shortly after the birth of our first daughter. I was sleep deprived at the time. His decision to have someone else cut his hair was a good one that day. So with that one exception, I cut Tom’s hair for the forty-three years we were married.

Tools of the trade...

I started my one chair, one customer shop because we were in college and had limited financial resources. I eventually moved from my sewing scissors to a real pair of barber scissors. We would spread newspaper on the floor, drape a sheet around Tom’s shoulders, and I’d cut. He cleaned up. We had the routine down to a science. 

He was pleased with my haircutting skills. I was pleased with my new scissors. I used them to trim my bangs or as the girls grew up, I would trim their hair as needed. I did not trust myself to cut my own hair. Not a full-blown haircut.

Until 2020.

I haven’t worried much about my hair during the COVID-19 pandemic. I don’t really see anyone. A headband or ponytail is usually sufficient for a Zoom call. I trimmed the dead ends left over from my hair coloring fiasco in Kosovo. But a full cut? No.

Until now. 

Connie B. Dowell, an editor who also has a podcast on writing, scheduled an interview with me last week. It airs today, Wednesday, August 19. Though the interview is a voice recording only, we met on Zoom for our talk. 

Prior to our meeting, I looked in the mirror and felt compelled to try to manage my unruly hair. Nothing worked. It’s naturally curly so my hair pretty much goes where it wants to go. That usually means I have at least one or two curls sticking straight out. I can tame them with curlers or by using a styling cream. Sometimes.

Sometimes. But not on this particular day. 

I tried everything. I really did. Finally, I reached for the scissors. 

“I’m qualified,” I told my mirrored self. “I cut Tom’s hair for years. For weddings and interviews. For business trips, church, everything. I can do this. A full cut.”

I grabbed a comb and started cutting, pulling layers of hair up section by section. The front parts where I could see turned out to be pretty easy… though I did have to cut it a little shorter than I planned to make both sides even. The bangs? No problem. I’ve been cutting my own bangs for years.

You get what you pay for...

I would have been tempted to cut out all of the gray hairs, but after a quick assessment, doing so would have rendered me bald, so I embraced the gray and cut everywhere I could see. 

Satisfied Connie would only see the front, I settled in for the interview. As I said, we recorded the podcast last week. A couple of days later, I decided it was time to finish the job. I retrieved my scissors and comb. I cut the back “by feel.” (Not a technique I would recommend.) I checked everything in the mirror and for the past few days I continue to find errant hairs I clip away. 

I finally called it done. When I mow the lawn and get it uneven, I say, “Done is better than perfect.”

It doesn’t work for hair. Just so you know. 

Therefore, I’m relying on my grandmother’s saying. “The only difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is a few weeks.”

In this time of uncertainty it may be a few months. 

I’m sure we are all learning new skills and tackling everyday life the best way we can. Perhaps that will serve to humble us. Perhaps it will make us more accepting of people or at least more tolerant of their shortcomings. I hope so.

And if you want to listen to the podcast on Writing With E’s, CLICK HERE to find Rebecca Waters. The picture you’ll see of me?…Uh…well, that’s another story.

A Time for Transformation

Be Transformed By the Renewing of Your Mind.

Transformed. Changed. 

Last week I outlined ways the American experience during the COVID-19 pandemic has followed the pattern, the stages of grief, described by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross. If you missed that post, you can find it by clicking HERE. Not everyone responds to these strange times in the same way. We mourn losing the “way things were before.”

Change is the one constant we can actually count on in our lives.The truth is, we are always in a state of change. What has made this change difficult is the suddenness of it all.

There is the fable of putting a frog in a pan of cool water. (Hold on, because this is gross.) According to the tale, if you put a frog in a pan of boiling water it would jump out. But if you put the frog in cool water and very slowly turn up the heat, the frog will adjust to the slow change in temperature, making no attempt to escape. You could cook it alive…or should I say cook it to death.

The point is that we adjust to changes fairly easily when they come in small doses. In fact, we have become complacent about some aspects of our lives simply because the changes were small and therefore didn’t seem to pose a threat to our way of life. I’ll not go into those for this post. I’m sure you can think of many ways the world functions differently than when you were growing up. We all have stories. 

Some change is for the good. Some…well, not so good.

Last week’s post ended on an optimistic note. For Kübler-Ross, the final stage was that breathe deep moment of acceptance. It is a healthy and appropriate place for a person facing death to reach. But for us in this pandemic arena, bombarded with political craziness, and coupled with a greater awakening to the systemic racism that plagues our nation, I applauded the efforts of people and groups who are beyond accepting. They are embracingchange as an opportunity to “make things better.”

I’m one of those people who reads my Bible every morning. Yep, even the hard parts. In the book Paul wrote to the Romans, he says in chapter twelve, “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

Transformed. Changed.

Not by events beyond our control. Not by a virus. Not by any one person or any one thing. Be transformed by renewing of the mind. The way we think. Change as a deliberate choice; A deliberate change in direction from the chaos of the world to a place of acceptance and even embracing what is to come.

How do we accomplish that?

·      Deliberately choose to focus on the positive over the negative. 

·      Choose joy over despair. 

·      Make a list of things for which you are grateful.

·      Turn off the television during dinner. Instead focus on the delicious food… or at least the fact you have something to eat.

·      Take this gift of time to take up a new hobby or learn a new skill.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Change your way of thinking into positive actions. In doing so, you’ll be happier and healthier. So will the people around you.

Also, if you have a Bible…or the internet, I recommend reading the whole of chapter twelve in Romans. It is a most interesting read, especially for these uncertain times. Here some highlights:

            “Hate what is evil, cling to what is good.”

            “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

            “Live in harmony with one another.”

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

So what will you do this week to change your mindset?