Predicaments and Ponderings Blog

Years ago, my cousin in Etowah, TN, hooked me on Jim Croce. I loved his music, especially his ballads. I remember a song called Photographs and Memories.[i] Unfortunately, I can't give you the lyrics because of copyright infringement, but hopefully, I can share the title and cite it without issue.

I was a freshman in college, somewhat stupid and incredibly naïve. In fact, folks still tell me I'm naïve. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. It is what it is, I guess. I know that regardless of what others think of me, I am who I am, good or bad, in their eyes.

Here's my moment of vulnerability. It's no secret I've always been a fearful person. Things bother me (not things like ghosts, etc), but the things I can't grasp hold of. Now, you ask, what does that mean? I'm not sure I can explain it, but I'll give it my best.

I've always been a pleaser. If things were broken, I'd do my best to fix them, to see those I love pleased. My mother always insisted I be the better person, strive to be good, and work to achieve something she called "your best." I saw it as "perfection"—unattainable and impossible. Now, don't get me wrong. I have an amazing mother who wanted nothing but the best for me. She taught me buckets full of things, and I love her with my whole heart. It's my honor to help care for her in her aging years. I am fortunate to have her and more than grateful for all she has done for me through the years. But in my mind, I could never achieve "my best," if that makes sense. It's all on me. My mother is not to blame for the demands I placed on me. However, I have always felt like I fall short of expectations.

Recently, our church lost a chunk of its heart when our dear friend, Stan, died. Not only was his passing sudden, but it was also out of the blue. Totally unexpected. Stan was a counselor. I'd lie if I said I hadn't spent a few hours in his office. He helped me gain some skills to work through an extremely overloaded schedule. He guided me through the fear when I nearly lost my husband, not once, but twice. I want to think that Stan "got me."

The Thursday morning before he grew wings that evening, Stan stopped in my classroom at church before the Ladies Thursday Morning Bible Study. He knew I frequently didn't sleep well, and his first question, when he'd walk in the room on any given Thursday, was, "How ya sleepin' these days?" But this particular day, we somehow got on silly animal stories. He told me story after story of his experience with silly animals, which spurred my own stories, and before I knew it, we laughed uncontrollably. Our laughter echoed down the church hallway, and for an instant, I snapped a photograph of that moment in my mind—a sweet memory I'll cherish forever.

Some forty years ago, I lost another friend. Lisa. Lisa had more talent in her little finger than twenty people put together, and she chose to be my friend. You see, the working word here is chose. Lisa was beautiful, talented, and amazing—things I could never have been, yet for some odd reason, she picked me out of a passel of folks and became a sweet sister. Her death was also untimely and unexpected…worse, unnecessary. I remember once when she called me to her apartment to show me a stuffed banana she'd sewn for her art class. She'd added Velcro on the peel so she could literally peel the banana. "Do you think this is TOO MUCH?" Lisa broke into a song you'd hear on television as if there were a stripper show. Then she slowly stripped the peel away, revealing Miss A Peel. I stood staring at the banana that donned a red sequin bra and bright red, sexy lips. Then, I dropped to the floor hysterically laughing. The two of us laughed and laughed, and in my mind, I snapped a photograph of that memory. A year later, she was gone. Murdered. And I was devastated.

Ten or so years ago, the Prince and I met my college friend, Mark, and his wife, Nancy, in Cookeville, TN. We spent a few hours chatting and laughing until our sides hurt. He has been and is still such a dear brother, and when the Prince underwent cancer surgery, Mark and Nancy drove from St. Louis, MO, to spend ONE day with me while Tim was in surgery. He made me laugh amid the fear. Mark chose me to be his friend, and as a result, I gained sweet Nancy, too. In the middle of my fear, we laughed, and as I glanced at his smiling face, I snapped a photograph in my mind.

The Prince and I celebrated 39 years today (June 1). Twice, I've nearly lost him and twice I've insisted he stop pulling such stunts. A lot has happened in our thirty-nine years, but nothing, absolutely nothing, has shaken our bond. Today, we're driving through town, and he cracks a joke he's cracked a hundred times during our marriage, yet I still laugh out loud. We both laugh. It never gets old, and at that moment, I took him in and snapped a photograph in my mind.

I woke up one day and realized I was looking at 67 years old. Somewhere along the way, time took hold and then slipped through my fingers. My children are in their mid-40s, my hair has greyed, and stupid health issues are slowly creeping in — achy joints, unwanted pounds, and lessening stamina. I have to pick and choose what I can and can't do. Though I don't consider myself old by any means, I cannot deny the years are catching up to me. I look at my sweet Momma and know she will be 99 in August. I have good genes on my side, or…do I?

I suppose several things spurred this look back, but the biggest one is that time is not our friend. The best we can do is hop on the second-hand and ride the turns. Every time one of those precious moments pops into our lives, we pause and snap a photograph in our minds. One we can look back over and relive, if even for just a moment.

Photographs. Pictures in our minds. Memories. The sweet scent of love, joy, and laughter. I doubt I'll ever feel good enough, but I have sweet reminders of those who thought I was. 

If I can be that same friend to others, then I believe… I'm pretty sure… I've done what God has gifted me to do. Love and laugh. Feel His presence in those things.

I skipped out of the keynote session at a conference I attended this week to watch Stan's funeral that streamed online from our church. I watched as friends and family honored this sweet man, and that photo I'd snapped earlier in the week poured into my memory. I cried. I realized what a sweet gift that photo in my head was. It was just the way I wanted to remember Stan.