Snippets of Spring

A deep breath of fresh air, a little more sunshine, and a lot more color. Thank God for spring.

Running

The kind of spring that gets me running. A bag of workout clothes and tennis shoes always packed and in the trunk of my car, just waiting for me to go for a run after work. I recently ran farther than I ever have in my entire life. I ran five miles with a girl at work who is training for Nashville’s half marathon this weekend. I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit so badly. But she kept running, so I did too. And by the third mile I was feeling good again. And by the time I was close to mile five, I was all smiles and cheers when I finished out the run. You might be rolling your eyes. I, too, am an eye roller when people talk about running. It makes me a little crazy, especially when people talk about running and liking it. I usually don’t. In fact, I always hope that someone will see me jogging down West End and get the impression that I am athletic. The best part of running in Nashville right now is that there are so many runners training for the marathon that if I get tired and am out of breath after running one block, people have no clue if I have just run 20 miles or 20 yards.  Oh, and you might be rolling your eyes because you run 10 miles every morning. In that case, get it girl (or dude). More power to you.

Power Walking

A few friends and I did the Chick Fil A 5k in Brentwood last weekend.

We just walked it. And when I say just walked I mean that there was a little power walking involved. Because I think it’s hilarious. And it was on video. You’re welcome.

Advertising

I recently purchased makeup from Bare Minerals for the first time. Cover Girl quit making my compact, so I moved on. I went into the Bare Minerals store and got the free makeover to test the products / shades. I let the sales girl do her thing, made my purchase, and then continued on my way throughout the mall. People were noticing me. Staring actually. I trotted through the mall with a newfound confidence in my new makeup. I must look great, I thought. Bare Minerals really is the best, I confidently told myself. And then I got home. And I set my bag down on my bathroom counter. And I took a look - my first - at the bag that I had been carrying around the mall all afternoon.

I'm not wearing foundation.

Yep. That's why people were looking. Staring awkwardly. Because I was a carrying a giant sign begging people to stare at my face. Great...

Sleep Talking

I went on a Spring Retreat with my young professionals group at church a few weekends ago. One morning I showed up at breakfast, sat down at a table of girls from my cabin, and said “Ashley, your sure did talk a lot in your sleep last night. And loudly!” They all turned to me and gave me a You must be kidding me stare as one of them said, “No, Emily. You talked in your sleep.” In my sleep I thought I was talking to Ashley, but I guess I was just talking out loud to myself. And I talked loud enough to wake myself up. Nice.

Wrong Talking

Something very important happened to me recently. I discovered that for 25 years of my life (all of them) I have been wrong. Very wrong. And I didn't even know it. All of my life, I have used the word "stook" as if... well.. as if it is an actual word. "I stook up for him when they were making fun of him." I know the phrases "stood up" and "stuck up", but all of this time I thought that "stook" was acceptable as well. When someone questioned me, I said, "Oh. Must be a southern thing." So I consulted the mother of southern lingo - my mother. She informed me that it's actually just an "Emily thing". I'm bummed. I like it and find myself wanting to say it even more frequently.

Biking

It’s finally time to dust off the motorcycle again. I’m obsessed. I go home any chance I get to hop on the back of the bike with dad.

A friend recently asked me if I wear leather when I ride. The answer to that is no. No, I don’t wear leather. In case you were wondering, I usually wear jeans and a tshirt. I’m not that intense. Although dad and I are planning another Harley weekend trip this summer. Destination? Charleston. Cruising down the Atlantic coast. Oh yes, I am so pumped.

Planning

Oh yeah, trips. I have a big one coming up this summer. Currently planning a big driving trip out West with the parents. Flying to Denver, then driving through Nebraska, South Dakota (Mount Rushmore and Custer State Park), North Dakota, Montana (my best friend!!), Wyoming (Yellowstone), Idaho, and then flying back out of Utah (Salt Lake City). I loved Yellowstone when I went a couple of years ago. I’m so excited that I can’t stop talking about it. Seriously, though. Have anything that I must see? Let me know.

Praying

My thoughts and my prayers have been consumed by Boston and West, Texas. My heart is broken for the families who are hurting. I find myself praying over and over again “Hold their broken hearts. Carry us.” Thank God for spring because it reminds us of Life and Hope and New Beginnings – all of which we so desperately need right now.

Olympic Barbie

It was my ninth birthday and I finally was having the Chuck E. Cheese party that I had always wanted.  I had invited the girls from my class at school and church.  Most of them asked me what I wanted as a gift and, without hesitation, I responded the same way to each of them: The Olympic Gymnast Barbie.  

The overall quality of this commercial makes me feel really old...

This wasn’t just a regular Barbie. She came with a gym bag, a medal, a “magic tumbling ring”, AND her knees and elbows bent which was great for doing stunts. Well, of course my girls came through for me. I got three.  And after the party when my mother asked if I was interested in returning two of them in exchange for a different toy, I declined. I needed enough to have an Olympic team. I didn’t have quite enough to actually represent each of the 1996 Magnificent Seven US gymnastics team who, at the time of my party, were dominating the scene in Atlanta, but I had enough to represent Shannon Miller, Dominique Dawes, and Kerri Strug – my favorites.  And of course Barbie’s bendable knees were perfect for reenacting the moment when Kerri Strug landed a near-perfect vault on a broken leg to seal the US team’s gold medal.

The swimming and running and volley balling and ping-ponging all impress me. But the gymnastics? They have always absolutely captivated me. Which is why I haven’t missed a minute of the Fab Five’s 2012 Olympic competition. And when the team won gold on Tuesday? I cried. 

I am not a gymnast. I used to be a pro at walking around the house with a book balanced on my head (my sister’s friend told me that models trained to do the cat walk that way, so I practiced it a lot), but other than that, I have no marketable skill. If I were to try to perform on the uneven bars, I would likely just jump up, grab a bar, and hang there.  If I tried to vault over a pommel horse, I would probably run at it full speed, come to a halt a few inches away from it, and just stand there staring at it. A floor routine full of somersaults and dance elements? Not likely. A back hand spring on a 4-inch wide balance beam? Ha.

These gymnasts captivate me, but they also represent me. Not me, exactly. But my country. My right to dream big. The dream to do something extraordinary with someone ordinary. The dream to accomplish something bigger than myself. The dream to defy odds and astonish crowds and inspire a nation. A world, actually. It’s their stories, combined with their accomplishments, that make us fall in love with them.  It’s the reason why laundry detergent and breakfast cereal and credit card commercials touch our hearts. It’s the reason that the national anthem is on replay in our minds during the games. It’s the reason that I needed three identical Olympic Barbies.

It's knowing that you are in the presence of greatness. And that's what changes us.

My Sunshine

I’ve told you all about my experience with anesthesia when I broke my arm. I was as serious as ever and questioning whether or not I was even alive.  I was crazy and totally not fun. But this wasn’t my first experience with anesthesia, and fortunately my first experience was nothing like the second. When I was 14, I had my wisdom teeth taken out. When I came out of the surgery, I was silly.  Super silly. I (more athletic at the time) kept proclaiming things like, “I am NOT a cheerleader! Did you tell them I’m athletic?!?”. And then on the ride home and throughout my entire recovery process I insisted that my mother sing “You Are My Sunshine” over and over again to me. Why that song? I have no idea. But it started a trend and even after my quick recovery, that remained “our song” and has been sung countless times since. When I moved to East Hampton at 16 to be a summer nanny, I unpacked my suitcase on my first night there to find a stuffed bunny tucked in among my swimsuits and beach towels. I thought, “How did this get in my suitcase? What even is this?” As I picked it up, it began to sing. My homesick nervousness turned into a warm confidence as I listened to the lyrics of “You Are My Sunshine”, knowing that while I was out on my own, I was on my mom’s heart. And whenever we lived apart through my time at school and for various jobs, we would often text each other the standard, “I love and miss you!”. But in those special moments when that just didn’t feel like enough, our messages looked more like, “Look for the sun. You will find me in the sunshine.”

 With Mom at Loveless Cafe for her 4th of July Birthday Lunch

Okay, okay. That sounded really sappy. But isn’t it so true that the people that we love the most bring an incredible light into our lives? 

Super Blue Man 

 Lots of Family on the Fourth

 A Little Independence Day Croquet

 Ally dominating the game

Shooting off Model Rockets in the Field

 The kids watching the rockets

 Rocket Recovery from the very large trees

 A little family

 Dad and Ally with the old Farmall at Loveless

Ally's attempt at a Loveless Cafe ad. "Here, look! I'm posing with the logo on the front of my cup, just perfectly!"

 My girl friends and I at the 4th of July Bash

 Girl's Night - Lots of snacks, laughs, and nailpolish

It’s a light by which we see our love, our heart, our confidence, our security, and our family. A light worth fighting for.  A light as bright as fireworks on the fourth of July,

Downtown Nashville Fireworks Show

But a light treated with as much care as a flickering candle on a birthday cake - careful to not be blown out by the wind, but a light that instead marks the beginning of wishes and prayers.

Mom's traditional Striped Birthday Cake on the 4th, courtesy of my talented big sis

I adore all of these little lights in my life, these little bursts of sunshine.  And to me these beautiful people, these relationships, and these memories are all a reflection of True Light. A reflection of “The Light of all mankind. The light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:4-5. One of my most common prayers is for Light. For God’s Light to shine on this earth. For me to be a reflection of that Light. For His Light in my thoughts and my relationships and my future. For God to pour Light over my friends and my parents and my sisters and my family.

And His Light always shines. It’s the kind of Light that makes us happy when skies are gray. The Light of a Son that sings over us, “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.”

"You Are My Sunshine" from my hometown's bluegrass jam. There's nothing quite like a Small Town Saturday Night.

Dawn's Early Light - Memorial Day 2012

I’d imagine that it was sometime in the middle of August 2008.  It was the welcomed lull between spending a summer studying at Georgetown University and beginning my last semester of college at Oklahoma Christian University where I would graduate with honors with a B.B.A. in Marketing. My parents, I’m sure, were feeling rather proud.  I, having just celebrated my 21^st birthday and preparing for a highly anticipated collegiate graduation, was feeling “old” and accomplished.  

On this particular afternoon, my family and I were scattered around the living room eating dinner and watching some type of sporting event – too early for football and way too soon for Olympics, so I’d imagine it was a NASCAR race.  As is typically the case, a young girl took the microphone before the famous “start your engines” call.  The crowd stood.  Hats were removed.  Hands were lifted to hearts.  And everyone at home watched, holding our breath to see if she could hit the high notes of The National Anthem.  I honestly can’t remember if she did, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and say probably so. 

At the end of the song, I casually mentioned aloud “I still have never figured out what donzerly light is.” My comment was met with blank stares.  Instead of picking up on any nonverbal cues from those in the room to quit talking and act like nothing was ever said, I continued on. “I mean, donzerly light sounds so cool.  So powerful and bright. Like fireworks, maybe? I think I’m going to start using donzerly as an adjective for everything.  It’s an entirely under-used and under-appreciated word.”

My mother slowly whispered in her are you serious right now - please say you are kidding voice, “Emma. It’s. Dawn’s. Early. Like Dawn. Early in the morning. Dawn’s. Early. Light.”

I’m certain that my rosy red cheeks and muffled “OOOOooooooohhhhhhhh…….” were a dead give away that I was, in fact, being serious. And in that moment I felt more like Jessica Simpson than I ever had in my entire life (“I mean, is this chicken or is this fish?”). It was a particularly humbling experience.

A quick google search just taught me two important things about Francis Scott Key, the author of The National Anthem.  Number One.  He was a man. I always thought he was a woman.  Number Two.  He was from Georgetown, the city that I had been living in just before I butchered his lyrics. Full Circle Moment.

I have always been really bad at understanding song lyrics.  I blame it on my parents for not exposing me to more rap music as a toddler. But the purpose of the anthem? The point of the Pledge? The meaning of the memorials? The celebrations behind the holidays? Now that I understand.

I understand it because I grew up hearing Pa tell me all about his time as a paratrooper in Japan during World War II.  Pa is no longer with us, but on Monday – a Day of Memorials – my parents and I celebrated him by visiting his brick at our county’s Wall of Honor tribute to all veterans. 

And just a few bricks away from his name? The name of my Great Uncle. My Granny's brother. The one who served and never came home. 

My family’s roots have bred in me a deep American pride.  I am in love with our country and am forever grateful for the ones who protect it. Every single day, someone is fighting for me. Someone is protecting me. Someone is making this world a better place for me. And for you. And for our children. For our present.  And for our futures.

Early in January, a friend and I went to a Welcome Home ceremony at Fort Campbell.  I have always recognized the sacrifice of our soldiers, but on that day my eyes were opened even more to the sacrifices at home. The children. The wives. The husbands. The fathers. The mothers. The friends.  All of the people who support and love our soldiers from far away.  Their sacrifice is great. 

When I was little, my Granny would sneak into the closet of the front bedroom and pull out Pa’s war memorabilia when he wasn’t around. She never knew if he would like to talk about it, so she hid it from him most of the time. But she loved talking about it. Not the war. She loved talking about the wait. The homecoming. The marriage. The life built on a foundation of loyalty and American pride.  She would show me the tiniest little photos that Pa had sent her from Japan. She would recall the letters that he had written to her. I would always respond with giggles and a squeal of “Granny and Pa were boyfriend and girlfriend? Ew!!!” (Because, of course, I thought that cooties were real). But Granny’s sacrifice is a familiar one to many.  The sacrifice of the time. Of the wait. Of the worrying and the wondering and the praying and the flags in the yards and the yellow ribbons around the oak trees.

So at the end of our Memorial Day, after the classic American grilled meal and fancy family picnic,

And after putting together a Care Package for a local Marine serving overseas, Mom and I visited our Granny memorial.  

It’s new and unfinished and still needs more flowers and a sweet little bench and an engraved stone somewhere that reads “Granny’s Garden”, but its right there on our farm. Our Granny memorial. A place to be grateful. A place to rest. A place to remember.

Thank God for the people who fight. Thank God for the people who wait. And thank God for those who remember.