How to Grow Old, If You Really Must--Unbirthday Playdate

Linking with Laura, sharing a Playdate with God:



The plan for my birthday had been to spend the day giving things away. I've lived long and well, and there are few things I really need to make me happy. Besides, I figured handing gifts out to strangers would provide me with some good stories to tell.

Handing out presents was fun, and I had some laughs, but I found the real stories were elsewhere.

Ethel and Rock Star Diva arrived at my house early to begin our day at the beach. Along the way we stopped at Rock Star's childhood home, and the first gift of the day was getting to see the house that built her.

Our next stop was The Art Cafe.

There was coffee, and there was art.

We chose to skip the coffee and start the day with champagne instead. Then we looked around in the gallery and enjoyed the gift of watching little ones learning to make art, clipping their masterpieces to a clothesline to dry in the summer breeze.

The big project for the day was using making prints using real fish:

So grateful for the beauty of this place and all I had witnessed there, I left a favorite quote by Evelyn Underhill on the outdoor chalkboard:

Our next stop was the trailer owned by Rock Star Diva's sister. She calls it her tin can on the beach. For the joy of listening to the waves wash ashore each night, and in order to wake each morning to a view like this:

I would gladly spend my summer in a tin can, a shoebox--heck, even a port-a-john. The view was just that lovely, reaching all the way to Martha's Vineyard. On the beach, Ethel and I were introduced to many lovely people, one of whom had given the gift of a kidney to the sister who sat next to her on the sand.

I thought about how my friend had been blessed last summer, soaking up salt air, summer sun, love and prayer as she sat on her sister's deck overlooking the ocean while recovering from cancer treatment. This year I received the gift of sitting with her on that same deck, breathing in gratitude for God's healing work in her life.

The day ended at a local Rhode Island vineyard where we listened to a Beatles cover band named Abbey Rhode. Get it? Beatles cover band? Rhode Island? Their music was every bit as good as that joke.

But we raised our glasses and toasted our friendship, celebrating a day none of us wanted to see reach its end.

The celebration ended, or so I thought. As it turned out, my friends had taken me to the beach and to a Rhode Island vineyard merely as a ruse to distract me from finding out what they were really planning:

The next evening, at a local Connecticut vineyard, there was food, there was music; there were balloons, bubbles, and laughter. There were friends ranging in age from two to sixty:

There were friends I've watched grow from children into young adults, and I realized that one of the gifts of getting older is the joy of seeing God's faithfulness throughout the years in the lives of those whom I love:

Ethel made cupcakes and made magic, because that's just what she does. I encouraged all the little ones to be sure to eat at least three cupcakes. It was definitely a three-cupcake kind of night.

At the end of the evening, I gave away my last unbirthday gift to Lauri, who blogs at Living to Die Well.:

Lauri had left me a comment on my blog, telling me a story about an unbirthday gift she had given. And, as I've always said, tell me a story and I'll love your forever. (Okay, I've never actually said that but, to steal a line from Harrison Ford in Sabrina, it sounds like something I would say)

Lauri is a huge fan of the noble giraffe, and since I'd found this giraffe dress in a thrift store the day before I decided to declare her the first runner-up in my unbirthday give-away. I figured it was my contest so I could do whatever I wanted.

At the end of another perfect summer evening, (How many perfect summer evenings is one old, gray-haired woman entitled to enjoy?) I received a final gift from the hand of my loving Father:

Praise the LORD, my soul;
   all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the LORD, my soul,
   and forget not all his benefits—
who forgives all your sins
   and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
   and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

 Psalm 103:1-5, NIV

A Most Eccentric Un-birthday Giveaway!

This is the big one:



Next week, I celebrate the big one--Nancy 5-0. On August 11, 2011, I become officially eccentric.

Go ahead, smirk to yourselves; I'll wait. I know what you're thinking:

And, until now, just what exactly HAVE you been?

Practicing. I've merely been practicing. And now I get to own it,utterly and completely. I'll be a middle-aged, gray-haired, eccentric woman who says and does the most outrageous things. In public. Without apology.

And how does one celebrate such an occasion appropriately? Well, one doesn't. But Ethel and Rock star-diva girlfriend have some big plans for me. There will be shenanigans.

I also want to invite you to join in celebrating with me. How? By giving stuff away, of course! Because if you have never learned anything from the marvelous writings of  Lewis Carroll, learn this: Although you celebrate your birthday only one day a year, there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents. And, as Humpty Dumpty says to Alice, "There's glory for you!"

So here's my plan: I'm going to spend my birthday celebrating un-birthdays by giving things away. Throughout the day I'm going to give gifts to random people while wishing each a happy un-birthday. At the end of the day, I imagine I will have stories to tell. 

And I'm inviting you to join me. Between today and my birthday (August 11), help me celebrate by giving something away to someone--anyone. You may wish someone a happy un-birthday if you like, or simply say you're giving stuff away because some crazy old gray-haired lady on the internet asked you to. If you have the opportunity to say that the gospel is a free gift of God's grace, by all means, go for it.

Be creative. Pick up the tab for someone's Starbucks. Hand a bottle of cold water to a stranger. Pass along an heirloom you know would be meaningful to someone in your family. Share an old family story. Visit someone who needs the gift of time. Send a donation to a charity you've been meaning to support. Dig into your re-gifting closet, wrap something up, and hand it to someone completely at random. (Don't even think about rolling your eyes at me about the whole re-gifting thing. You know you do it).

Then come back here, leave a comment, and tell me what happened. Or, if it's a really great story, write a blog post and link it to my Facebook page. On August 12, I will be selecting one winner from among all who leave comments, and then guess what?

I'll be giving away another un-birthday present!

I'll send the winner a gift card from Kiva, an organization that absolutely rocks my socks. Kiva works with microfinance partners around the world, making loans to entrepreneurs in an effort toward alleviating poverty. That means I'll be giving away something which, if you win it, will enable you to give even more away. How much fun is that?

Through Kiva, loans are repaid by the small business owners who receive them. The current repayment rate is 98.79%. If you make a loan through Kiva, you will receive that money back. You can then either re-invest your money, helping another entrepreneur through Kiva, or use it to to download I-Tunes. Buy more farm animals for your Facebook game. Whatever you want.

I might pick a winner at random by pulling a winner out of a hat. I might spend a few hours on Google trying to figure out how a random number generator works. I might just choose the person whose story makes me laugh so hard that coffee squirts out my nose. I might be more likely to choose you if you click the box on the right and become a follower of this blog, follow me on Twitter, or Like me on Facebook (or leave me a comment saying you already do).

I make no promises. That's the thing with eccentric people--you never know what they'll do. Or why.

I may I wish you all a very, merry, happy, un-birthday! (Unless of course it's your birthday also then, never mind)

(In case anyone is wondering--I receive no compensation whatsoever for promoting Kiva. I'm just doing this because I like the organization, and doing this makes me outrageously happy! )

Sausage and Peppers and Rock and Roll

(Taking advantage of the summer to do summery things. Re-posting a slightly edited piece from the archives)

Remember when parents used tell their kids to turn off the rock and roll music?

Back in the day when I attended Baptist Youth Camp, one of the speakers called on the young people from my church to reject rock and roll as the devil's music. We were told to gather our collections of records, bring them to church, and throw them into a bonfire. Begrudgingly, I sacrificed my copy of The Partridge Family album, thus protecting my soul from being led down the road to perdition by Keith Partridge. Eventually I backslid, and the music of The Eagles, Steely Dan, REO Speedwagon, Boston, The Cars, and Styx formed the soundtrack to my youth.

Last fall when I saw that Dennis DeYoung, former member of Styx, was playing at a local harvest fair my first thought was, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” Then I thought, “I wonder if teenage son would be interested in driving to the fair, eating some unhealthy but oh-so-delicious fair food for dinner, and then going to the concert?”

Instead of telling my son to turn off the music, I decided to drag him along with me for an evening of classic rock.  I had seen a PBS special featuring Dennis DeYoung and knew that, in addition to having written many hit songs for Styx, the guy had some mad keyboard skills. Because music is one of teenage son’s love languages and the keyboard is his instrument, I thought he might be willing risk the embarrassment of being seen in public with his gray-haired mother in order to see an aging rock star perform live.

After filling up on sausage and peppers, corn dogs, and soft-serve ice cream, son and I settled onto the fairground’s bleachers and watched as roadies set up equipment and performed sound checks. Son was intrigued, fascinated by watching people who obviously knew what they were doing and who were very good at performing their craft.

The stage lights dimmed and out walked Dennis DeYoung, sporting the standard-issue white sneakers worn by AARP members on bus tours throughout national parks. I admit, I was more than a little afraid to hear him sing. The long-haired rock star I remembered from my youth is now a sixty-three year old, white-haired man.

Once he launched into The Grand Illusion, however, I realized my fear was unfounded. At age sixty-three, Dennis DeYoung has a voice that is strong and clear and more in tune than most American Idol finalists or Taylor Swift, even on a good day. Man, can he sing.

And his keyboard skills? His fingers moved in directions and at speeds which hardly seemed human. I glanced over at teenage son and saw that he was smiling big. He didn’t even seem to mind that I was singing along to the music. All the words. Out loud. In public.

When introducing Babe, the most popular song Styx recorded, Mr. DeYoung introduced his back-up singer who also just so happens to be his wife of forty years. The two had been high school sweethearts who married, traveled together on the road, and stayed married despite a career within the rock music world. DeYoung told the crowd he had written the song as a personal gift for his wife, that is, until his record company heard it and told him it had to go on the record. It turns out that demand was a good call by the record label. Every girl on the hall in my freshman dorm used to go weak in the knees whenever it played.

I have no idea about Dennis DeYoung’s worldview; nor about what motivates him to remain married to his childhood sweetheart over the long haul. I do know I was privileged to witness a man doing what he was put on this earth to do—write and sing and play music--while honoring his marriage vows.

And on a perfect autumn-like evening, the scent of fried foods hanging heavy in the air, I received the gift of connecting with my son while listening to the devil’s music.

Flannery Was Right--A Good Man Is Hard To Find

This week, Faith Barista has asked us to share our thoughts on the topic, "What I Wish Someone Told Me About Dating."  This is an edited re-post of an earlier piece I'd written.

There is a group of beautiful, godly young women in my church who take seriously the words from Titus 2.  These young ladies seek out wisdom from the older women in the congregation, and sometimes I think they mistake my full head of gray hair for wisdom.  Whether because of my hair or the fact that I’ve been married to the beloved Swede for more than twenty-five years, they invited me to meet with them. They wanted to know about male/female relationships and about marriage. Their questions were honest and simple and sweet; they were holy. But I think the unstated question most wanted to ask was this, “How do I find a godly man to marry?”

Were I to have answered that question honestly, I’d have had to have said, “I haven’t got the foggiest idea.”

I certainly couldn’t point them to my own experience because, according to most popular Christian authors writing authoritatively on the subject, I had clearly gone about it all wrong. As a young girl, I knew my King James told me not to be unequally yoked, but I took one look at the young men in my church’s youth group and knew there was nothing for me there. Not that any were interested, mind you. So I dated a few guys in high school about whom, if I stood back far enough and squinted my eyes, I could tell myself that although some may not have actually been Christians, I could see how someday they might be and thus convince myself that I wasn’t truly backslidden.

Then there were the blind dates. I’ve lost count of the times well-intentioned friends tried to fix me up with acquaintances using this description, “You’ll like him. He’s tall.” Having reached the Amazonian height of five-eleven by the sixth grade, it became important to me to find a young man I could look up to. Literally. Even if he had disgusting personal habits or was an axe murder. Just so long as he was tall.

There is a prominent voice in the homeschooling community who articulates a very convincing argument that courtship is God’s only way of finding a spouse. Normally, whenever I hear a speaker or author advocating anything he or she has written as being God’s way of doing anything, I clap my hands over my ears and run screaming from the room. This writer, however, is highly intelligent and puts forward a very compelling argument, and I guess I was seduced into thinking he was smarter than I was. So the first time a young man expressed interest in spending time with our baby girl, the Swede and I resolved to follow this author’s advice as neatly detailed on two pages of his book, including ample white space and margins.

Problem was, the young man and his parents--good people who were also trying to be faithful followers of Christ--hadn’t read the book. They thought we were nuts. And, real life, and particularly male/female relationships tend to be messy and not easily defined by words on two pages of a book, especially with white space and margins. Trust me, the experience wasn’t pretty.

My in-laws celebrated fifty years of marriage this past December, having told their parents they wanted to marry during Dad’s graduate school vacation, two days before Christmas. My grandparents eloped across the Pennsylvania state line. Other godly, intelligent, hard-working, faithful couples I know married while still students and without a job in sight.

So how did I find the beloved Swede? I like to say that he blindsided me. While I was busy scanning the horizon for tall men who weren’t axe murders, he emerged from a group of mutual friends and asked me out. It’s probably closer to the truth to say that God threw him at me, as if to say, “Here. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. Here is a good, good man--better than you deserve.  My gift to you.”

And I think that really is my answer to those young ladies who were gracious enough to listen to my ramblings about life and relationships and marriage. You don’t find a good man. Sometimes God throws one at you.  Sometimes you trip over him.  Sometimes like Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, he's been there all along.  However you find the love of your life, remember--he’s a gift. And I treasure mine.

And he really, really likes my gray hair.

Notes From A Bridal Shower

Traveling this week, so am digging into the archives for a post to link with emily at imperfect prose.

This is an excerpt of a devotional I gave for a young lady from my church.  She is one of the most imaginative, creative, whimsical young ladies I know. As a kindergarten teacher, she probably seems more like a fairy godmother to her students than their teacher. This is some of what I shared with her:

Your creativity, imagination, and sense of wonder and play are amazing gifts, and I am in awe of them. These are gifts you will bring to your marriage and to your relationship with (your husband). Now that I have all this gray hair and alleged wisdom, however, I’m slowly starting to learn that sometimes our gifts can also be our biggest stumbling blocks. Your gifts and your talents are very beautiful and very important. They were given to you by God, and He expects you to use them to serve others and for His glory. The challenge, however, for someone like you with your creative, artistic temperament and way of looking at the world can be summed up (in a quote from a popular Mary Engelbreit) illustration:

Life is just so daily.

Daily life all too often seems to have little use for the creative, the imaginative, and the whimsical. Maintaining a home, a job, a car, a marriage calls for daily offerings of duty and responsibility, not all of which allow for free-spiritedness and artistic interpretation. Some of it is just downright boring, repetitive, and feels like drudgery. Employers, landlords, banks, and tax collectors tend to frown on creative interpretations of their demands. Things break down and need to be maintained or replaced. While you will be managing these things side-by-side with the man you love, you won’t always be able to draw on your strengths in building a life and a home together.

And that’s actually a good thing.

Because although (your fiance) was drawn to you, in part, because of all your beautiful, whimsical, creative strengths that we all know and love, if you could manage marriage and life simply by playing to your strengths, you really wouldn’t need Jesus. It’s in our areas of weakness, when we are out of our element—when washing machines break down and schedules conflict and the taxes are due and life is getting stressful and hard--that we realize how desperately we need to cry out to and cling to Him

In II Corinthians 12, the apostle Paul wrote:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.  Verses 9,10.

Or, to put it another way, in the words of an old Sunday school song that, I’m sure is near and dear to anyone, like you, who loves working with young children:

Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong.

We are so excited about your upcoming marriage, that the Lord has given you a godly man who loves you and gets you and appreciates all of your marvelous strengths. But know that in the context of your marriage, your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities, your sin will be exposed. This is true for (your husband) as well as for you. Within the context of your marriage, you will be given the blessing of having the opportunity to live out the gospel in this life that is just so daily--to acknowledge each others’ weaknesses, to ask for and extend grace, to cast yourselves before Christ and learn ever more deeply just how much He loves you. Don’t be surprised by your weaknesses, nor by (your husband's).

May God give you eyes to see them as opportunities to draw nearer to Him. And may the power of Christ rest upon you both. I love you.

When I Was A Child...

...I talked like a child, I thought like a child, and I was seriously bummed that my birthday fell in August because that meant I never got to take cupcakes to my classroom in school.

But now that I'm a middle-aged gray-haired lady, I am grateful that I have an August birthday because it provides the opportunity for:

447.  Lobster rolls!

448.  Time for sitting on the beach, inhaling salt air, and taking in quintessentially New England scenery.

449.  Getting to have my feet in the sand.

450.  The chance to wear a birthday crown while walking the streets of a coastal New England village.

451. And the opportunity to see colorful boats which I wouldn't have noticed except that Ethel, who is an artist, sees things like that.

452.  And receiving the gift of hearing Ethel's stories of childhood memories and magic from this place.

453.  And knowing that we have a loving Father who gives us moments of magic when we need them most.

More gifts, more magic:

454.  Hot, freshly ground and brewed coffee ready and waiting for me every morning.

455.  The husband who bought me the coffee maker and sets it up for me each evening (even though he doesn't like coffee).


456.  My friend Sue feeling strong enough to invite me over for lunch; grace to receive the gift of a meal from her (and a Mother of the Bride t-shirt!).

457.  That Christ continues to pursue my heart.

Joining with Ann VosKamp and others at Holy Experience, counting the gifts from the hand of our gracious gift-giving Father.

Flannery Was Right--A Good Man is Hard to Find

This month, Ann Voskamp has invited readers to share on the topic of spiritual practices of holy matrimony:



There is a group of beautiful, godly young women in my church who takes seriously the words from Titus 2 and seeks out wisdom from older women in the congregation. Perhaps they’ve mistaken for wisdom my full head of gray hair and the fact that I’ve been married for twenty-five years to the beloved Swede, and they invited me to meet with them. They wanted to know about male/female relationships and about marriage. Their questions were honest and simple and sweet; they were holy. But I think the unstated question most wanted to ask was this, “How do I find a godly man to marry?”

Were I to have answered that question honestly, I’d have had to have said, “I haven’t got the foggiest idea.”

I certainly couldn’t point them to my own experience because, according to most popular Christian authors writing authoritatively on the subject, I had clearly gone about it all wrong. As a young girl, I knew my King James told me not to be unequally yoked, but I took one look at the young men in my church’s youth group and knew there was nothing for me there. Not that any were interested, mind you. So I dated a few guys in high school about whom, if I stood back far enough and squinted my eyes, I could tell myself that although some may not have actually been Christians, I could see how someday they might be and thus convince myself that I wasn’t truly backslidden.

Then there were the blind dates. I’ve lost count of the times well-intentioned friends tried to fix me up with acquaintances using this description, “You’ll like him. He’s tall.” Having reached the Amazonian height of five-eleven by the sixth grade, it became important to me to find a young man I could look up to. Literally. Even if he had disgusting personal habits or was an axe murder. Just so long as he was tall.

There is a prominent voice in the homeschooling community who articulates a very convincing argument that courtship is God’s only way of finding a spouse. Normally, whenever I hear a speaker or author advocating anything he or she has written as being God’s way of doing anything, I clap my hands over my ears and run screaming from the room. This writer, however, put forward a cleverly devised argument using heady-sounding words and impeccable grammar and syntax, and I was seduced into thinking he was smarter than I was. So the first time a young man expressed interest in spending time with our baby girl, the Swede and I resolved to follow this author’s advice as neatly detailed on two pages of his book, including ample white space and margins.

Problem was, the young man and his parents hadn’t read the book. They thought we were nuts. And, real life and especially male/female relationships tend to be messy and not easily defined by words on two pages of a book, especially with white space and margins. Trust me, the experience wasn’t pretty.

My in-laws will celebrate fifty years of marriage this December, having told their parents they wanted to marry during Dad’s graduate school vacation, two days before Christmas. My grandparents eloped across the Pennsylvania state line. Other godly, intelligent, hard-working, faithful couples I know married while still students and without a job in sight.

So how did I find the beloved Swede? I like to say that he blindsided me. While I was busy scanning the horizon for tall men who weren’t axe murders, he emerged from a group of mutual friends and asked me out. It’s probably closer to the truth to say that God threw him at me, as if to say, “Here. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. Here is a good, good man--better than you deserve.  My gift to you.”

And I think that really is my answer to those young ladies who were gracious enough to listen to my ramblings about life and relationships and marriage. You don’t find a good man. Sometimes God throws one at you.  Sometimes you trip over him.  Sometimes like Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, he's been there all along.  However you find the love of your life, remember--he’s a gift. And I treasure mine.*

The secret to a lasting marriage? As Ann would say, “All’s grace.”   From beginning to end.

*And he really, really likes my gray hair.

Notes From a Bridal Shower

This is an excerpt from a bridal shower devotional I gave last weekend.  The bride-to-be is one of the most imaginative, creative, whimsical young ladies I know.  As a kindergarten teacher, she probably seems more like a fairy godmother to her students than their teacher.  This is some of what I shared with her:

Your creativity, imagination, and sense of wonder and play are amazing gifts, and I am in awe of them. These are gifts you will bring to your marriage and to your relationship with (your husband).  Now that I have all this gray hair and alleged wisdom, however, I’m slowly starting to learn that sometimes our gifts can also be our biggest stumbling blocks. Your gifts and your talents are very beautiful and very important. They were given to you by God, and He expects you to use them to serve others and for His glory. The challenge, however, for someone like you with your creative, artistic temperament and way of looking at the world can be summed up (in a quote from a popular Mary Engelbreit) illustration:

Life is just so daily.

Daily life all too often seems to have little use for the creative, the imaginative, and the whimsical. Maintaining a home, a job, a car, a marriage calls for daily offerings of duty and responsibility, not all of which allow for free-spiritedness and artistic interpretation. Some of it is just downright boring, repetitive, and feels like drudgery. Employers, landlords, banks, and tax collectors tend to frown on creative interpretations of their demands. Things break down and need to be maintained or replaced. While you will be managing these things side-by-side with the man you love, you won’t always be able to draw on your strengths in building a life and a home together.

And that’s actually a good thing.

Because although (your fiance) was drawn to you, in part, because of all your beautiful, whimsical, creative strengths that we all know and love, if you could manage marriage and life simply by playing to your strengths, you really wouldn’t need Jesus. It’s in our areas of weakness, when we are out of our element—when washing machines break down and schedules conflict and the taxes are due and life is getting stressful and hard--that we realize how desperately we need to cry out to and cling to Him

In II Corinthians 12, the apostle Paul wrote:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. Vs. 9, 10

Or, to put it another way, in the words of an old Sunday school song that, I’m sure is near and dear to anyone, like you, who loves working with young children:

Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong.

We are so excited about your upcoming marriage, that the Lord has given you a godly man who loves you and gets you and appreciates all of your marvelous strengths. But know that in the context of your marriage, your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities, your sin will be exposed. This is true for (your husband) as well as for you. Within the context of your marriage, you will be given the blessing of having the opportunity to live out the gospel in this life that is just so daily--to acknowledge each others’ weaknesses, to ask for and extend grace, to cast yourselves before Christ and learn ever more deeply just how much He loves you. Don’t be surprised by your weaknesses, nor by (your husband's). May God give you eyes to see them as opportunities to draw nearer to Him. And may the power of Christ rest upon you both.  I love you.