A Tale of Two Women and a Set of Bungee Cords

The car moves down the highway at a steady speed. The driver notices that the sun's glare is doing a quick dance across the hood when it should be standing in one place. Next she hears a noise that catches her attention. She can't quite make out the problem, but knows it's related to the hood. The driver's ed simulation video she watched 25 years ago springs to mind and she prepares for the worst. She's not paying attention to the sun spot any more because she's watching the entire hood begin to raise. Before she has time to slow her speed, the hood shoots backward toward the windshield blocking her view.

In a calm reserved for the scariest moments in life, she slows the car abruptly, checks the side mirrors and pulls onto the shoulder.

The scenario above was our worst nightmare as Christa and I drove home from Indianapolis. I was talking to a friend on my phone. While I talked, Christa noticed the glare on her hood didn't stay in one spot as it normally did. Then she heard the noise. I missed these cues that trouble was lurking since I was on the phone.

My conversation was ending, and I noticed that Christa took the next exit. It seemed a remote place to stop for a bathroom break. She pulled over to the shoulder. “I think my hood is going to fly up. I heard a weird noise.” It took me a moment to register what she was talking about. She got out of the car and tugged on the hood. It didn't move. She came back around and pulled on the hood release inside the car. I got out of the car and joined her at the hood.

The whole hood latch mechanism had come loose. We could see where at least two screws were missing. I remembered seeing string in the trunk when we were loading and unloading equipment.

I looped the string in and out of the grill and fastened it down. I had a sense that there might be a story brewing from this experience, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and documented this road side stop.

We got back in the car and laughed at what a weird thing to encounter on a roadtrip. Christa pulled back onto the highway. For awhile, our fix seemed to be working and then as she picked up more speed, we saw this:

“Dear God, Please let that rope hold the hood in place. Please keep us safe for the rest of our trip. Amen,” I prayed aloud. Christa slowed down, and the hood lowered.

At no time did we wonder, “What are we going to do?” An unspoken knowledge that we could handle whatever happened passed between us, though I did admit to having a case of nervous cackles at one point.

“I'm going to go to the Walmart in Vandalia. Surely we can find something there to tie this down better.” Christa said.

“Bungee cords. I think bungee cords are our best bet,” I suggested.

We studied our strategy in the parking lot before we went into the store. We were confident we had a workable plan.

With a 4-set of yellow and blue bungee cords, we set to work. We tested our strategy with the two longer cords and when we tugged on the hood, it still moved more than we were comfortable with. We modified our plan and felt much more comfortable with try number two.

This is what we came up with:

“That feels really empowering, doesn't it?” Christa reflected as we pulled out of Walmart in Vandalia.

“It really does,” I agreed.

Our bungee cords worked against higher speed and aerodynamics. Miles passed. We relaxed knowing that our temporary fix was secure.

We thought our adventure was over. Suddenly we saw an empty black garbage bag float across the highway. I don't remember saying it, but Christa reminded me later that I said, “Wouldn't it be funny if it...” I hadn't finished my sentence when we drove over the bag and it got caught underneath the car.

Christa began laughing hysterically. I was laughing too, but would only understand her hysteria later when she reminded that I'd called the bag getting stuck before it happened. For the third time in two hours, Christa pulled the car off the road. We could hear air whipping through the bag making a thumping noise against the car.

Our laughter was uncontrollable. I jumped out of the car, took another photo, and then yanked the bag loose from under the car.

If this is what road trips with Christa are going to be like every time, sign me up! I haven't laughed so hard in a long time, and together, I know we can conquer anything that comes our way.

PS: Our bungee cord solution got us back to St. Louis safe and sound.

In Awe of my Friend's Artistry

Wedding ceremonies are complicated occasions. For many women, this one day is the culmination of years of dreams and imagining perfection. It's an expensive day for many couples and their families, and that stress adds to the complication. This weekend I carried the lens bag and other equipment as my friend Christa shot a wedding in Indianapolis. I got the microscopic view of just what a unique, pressure-filled role Christa fulfills. She is paid to capture every moment for the couple and for posterity. A narrative is born as the camera clicks away. As I learned this weekend, performing this function well is just another piece of her artistry.

My daughter and I were subjects for Christa's art when she documented our fashion session this winter for my 4040 list. From my own experience, I knew that the bride and groom were in good hands, but I was blown away when I witnessed Christa operate in wedding mode.

The Wedding Day is comprised of 12-15 hours of preparation, ceremony, and celebration. In between those highlight moments, there are a host of variables that in the wrong dose can make wedding chaos: missed timelines, family dynamics, guests' experience, overheated and antsy groomsmen and ushers, camera-shy grooms, too many drinks poured. Christa juggled all of those scenarios and more.

The linen-tuxedoed St. Bernard dog-baby of the couple got separation anxiety at the slightest hint that it was time to leave the wedding party. It took the groom and dog handler minutes to wrangle the dog back to the car. Wedding photos without a groom are generally discouraged, so we waited as precious minutes leading to the scheduled start time of the reception ticked away—time that needed to be devoted the couple's portraits.

Christa takes her responsibility as the documenter of All Things Important seriously. She also has a knack for putting nervous brides at ease. Before the ceremony, the mother of the bride arrived late. She was distracted and disheveled from the last-minute preparations. She was agitated and hesitant about being ready to stand in front of the camera at the scheduled time. Christa nimbly changed her plans, got the shots she wanted, and helped calm the mother and settle her into the task of getting her hair and make-up done.

“The great thing is, the wedding doesn't start until you are ready,” she reminded the bride. Later as we waited for the groom to return, Christa coached the bride that a few minutes late to the reception was not the end of the world. “You have nothing to apologize for on your wedding day,” Christa comforted the bride as she apologized for the delays and other details. As Christa said these words, and repeated similar ones throughout the day and evening, I watched the bride's shoulders relax and her beautiful smile return.

Christa's artistry was on display again and again. I watched Christa do all of these things AND take photos. I know this couple will love the photos and moments Christa captured long after the hangovers fade and the honeymoon is over.

Post-run Stream of Consciousness

Today is my first run in nearly a month. I have one month and two days to go before my next 5k race.

The fitness room at the Drury Inn called my name. I ate a bowl of oatmeal, drank some coffee, and headed to the treadmill.

I get thinky when I run. These are (some of) the things that crossed my mind (in no particular order):

* Imagine Dragons' Night Vision is a good addition to my running accompaniments.

* There's a Sara in my life I need to write to.

* I still can't believe I love to run. 8th grade Julie would never believe it if 40 year old Julie had whispered it to her from the mists of the future. Never. Especially when little Julie finished last every time.

* I have said that I trained for my first 5k alone. That is not exactly true. Today I realized that I have underestimated what a motivating force the voice in my earbud was to the process. That voice needs a name. From here on out, my virtual running partner will be: Radley.

* Gosh, I love naming things. I may have only had one daughter to name, but as a writer I have limitless opportunities to name people.

* It's time to start training for a 10k on my phone app. I am much better at running when I have a goal. Radley, are you ready?

* I always think of my brother-in-law, Rich, when I run. I love his encouragement. And the running quotes he sends my way. This week's was: “Running has thrown me into adventures that I would otherwise have missed.” - Benjamin Cheever, American writer. Rich added this personal note: “I hope you keep looking for adventures.” Don't worry, brother. I agree with Writer Ben. Running has given me adventure too. There's no end to my thirst for them now.

* It's time to put another race on our calendar, too, BIL.

* Running makes me feel strong and healthy in ways I've never felt before. That feeling is delicious.

* I ran 2.5 miles. I wanted to quit around the 12 – 14 minute mark, but I knew I didn't need to quit, I was just bored. I powered through the boredom and past Radley's announcement that my workout was complete. I had technical difficulties with my earbuds and phone. I didn't want to cheat my work out.

* I love sweating because I am generally not a sweaty person. The sweat adds to the sense of accomplishment.

* I'm excited about today: I am the photo assistant to my photographer friend who is shooting a wedding in Indianapolis, hence the hotel fitness room workout. It will be amazing to watch my friend express her creativity in her special way and I am honored to share this couple's special day with them. I also like the idea of adding skills to my resume: herding cats, aka: groomsmen. FUN!

* Post-run sun salutations are far more satisfying. I can touch the floor with more ease and less pain and my arms feel STRONG.

* Time to hit the shower and get my party clothes on!

Naming the things that ail us

I suffer from a condition I call Low-Grade Loneliness (LGL). I call it this because it lies just below the surface. It is not a full-blown fever of despair and loneliness like many people experience, but is enough to make me feel not quite right. It is a confusing condition for me because my life is a garden in full bloom with friends and loved ones who love me very, very well. And yet in the colorful, vibrant garden, the loneliness persists.

LGL is the reason I was drawn to reading books as a child and into adulthood and why some of those books' characters feel like friends I like to revisit again and again. I escaped into stories when I didn't have a name for this affliction.

Then social media came along. Facebook connected me with the people who live far away—Colorado, Kansas, Michigan, Australia, France, and Colombia. For a long time, this online connection helped to ease the ache. It felt so good to see photos of my friends' children, to read what they were doing in their every day lives, and to share my own details. It has become a less-effective aid lately. Often, checking in online makes the temperature of this LGL raise.

When I am particularly susceptible to the LGL, I feel clingy and needy, which only serve to make me feel worse. I don't like the feeling of putting people out or being a drain on their energy. In these moments I am also sensitive to feelings of rejection.

While labels can be a bad thing, box people in, and be limiting, they can also serve as lightbulbs shining light on dark places. Calling this feeling I have Low Grade Loneliness makes it concrete and puts me in a position to seek out approaches for solving or at least easing the ache.

These strategies combined—some new, some long-used—are making a difference. I am:

*accepting that LGL is a part of who I am.

*no longer trying to mask it or make it go away.

*sitting quietly in these moments when LGL spikes. I self-soothe by reminding myself that I am okay, everything will be okay, and the moments of excruciating loneliness will pass.

*remembering to keep breathing.

*learning more effectively the times when I need to reach out to other people and the times when it's best to cope on my own.

*learning the healthy balance between the benefits of activity and rest and choosing which moments call for which one.

*praying.

*practicing acts of random kindness.

*writing.

*keeping perspective. Loneliness is worse for people who are not well connected. I have an incredible network.

*Breaking my routines. One recent Sunday I opted to skip church. I am there every Sunday unless I'm sick or out of town. Taking a Sabbath from my Sabbath helped me to rest and relax and rejuvenated me to return the following week. I was excited to see my people again.

*Journaling (I consider this different from writing listed above. Journaling isn't seen by anyone but me, and my writing I plan to publish on my blog or elsewhere.)

*watching Netflix.

*being intentional about having fun and finding things that will make me laugh.

*spending less time on Facebook.

*making appointments with my counselor.

Another side effect of LGL is feeling weak or broken. The strategies listed above work really well in helping me feel strong and healthy. While they don't make LGL completely disappear, I am much better able to cope with these tools in my tool box.

8. Visit Four New Labyrinths – Complete

T and I chose the fourth labyrinth based on traffic patterns and distance from work. “I have a feeling it may not be particularly aesthetically pleasing,” I warned as I plugged the address into my phone.

We pulled into the parking lot and walked around the building in search of the labyrinth. My gut was right. The stones and weeds had grown together making the path hard to distinguish.

I reminded my friend about the shedding of life's worries that one does as she enters the path, the quiet reflection at the center, and then the walk out ready to take on the world again.

“This labyrinth walk may supply some metaphors not found at the other labyrinths,” I suggested before we started our walk.

I took the lead and we silently made our way as best we could through the winding path. It was comforting to pass T on occasion and I did not experience the claustraphobia of two days before. Partially because I was so focused on keeping my way on the path. We struggled to differentiate the path as we approached the center.

Once there, we smiled and looked at each other. “Wanna say a prayer for each other?” I suggested. T nodded and I asked what I could pray for. We clasped hands, bowed our heads, and I prayed. When I was finished, she began praying for me. There really isn't anything like the closeness of friends who pray together for each other. When our prayers were said, we hugged and began our journey out.

We got stuck. We couldn't unwind our way out. And so we began pulling weeds to make sense of where we were. We stood and studied the dirt, the dirt-colored stones, and the weeds.

We pulled weeds and then walked further only to get stuck again. We pulled more weeds and stood back to assess our progress. We gave it a fair chance and finally decided to call it over.

We stood outside the labyrinth and continued to talk. The best metaphor I could think of in the moment was that this grown-over path is a good reminder of how important boundaries are in life and relationships. They make interactions clear and safe. Without clear-cut boundaries, things get murky and confusing, and it's hard to know how to proceed.

Later as I was skyping with a friend about the evening's visit, she pointed out some other takeaways: I mentioned that it had been tricky getting to the center. “Julie, that's a great metaphor for the contemplative life. It IS hard getting to the center.” I love having friends that “get” this journey I'm on and who add to it.

I also explained how the weeding felt like a “pay it forward” kind of thing. “Julie, there's another great metaphor! You two were making the path easier for those who followed! I love it!” my friend reflected.

“I want to take you to the labyrinth I visited on Saturday,” I told T as we headed back to my car. “I want you to experience a really good one.” We've only visited grass covered ones when we've been together.

While this wasn't exactly the experience I had hoped for, it was fruitful and joyful nonetheless. I really do have a desire to spearhead a labyrinth project at my congregation, and this fourth labyrinth was a cautionary tale about choosing materials for a path. If we're going to go to the effort and expense to build one, we need to think about future maintenance. I am certain that this labyrinth wasn't overgrown at the beginning. I'm certain the path was clear and easier to navigate. Once the newness wore off, it became one more thing for busy people to maintain, and it fell off people's to-do lists.

I am so glad that I put these labyrinth visits on my list. It put this beautiful practice back on my radar. I have missed walking them. These visits have piqued my interest in going to the other ones throughout the region. I still want to take in the one in Chartres, France. Maybe I'll add that to another year's list. For now, #8 is complete.

How to Become a Confident Cook

With very few exceptions, giving a cookbook to a woman who isn't comfortable in the kitchen does not fix her problem. My aversion to cooking is legendary. Every few Christmases or birthdays for at least a decade a new cookbook would find its way into my lap. I'd smile and say thank you and say to myself, “What am I going to do with this one?”

The problem for women who don't like to cook is not a shortage of recipes from which to choose, which the cookbooks can remedy. The problem is a shortage of confidence and know-how. Most cookbooks do not supply these missing ingredients.

Making a joke about the loaf of store-bought bread or dinner rolls that the woman brings to a potluck instead of a casserole or salad is also not recommended for helping the woman feel more comfortable in the kitchen. The store-bought items are her attempt at contributing to the meal. She needs to hear that a covered dish is not the only valued way she can contribute to the community.

If you really want to help a woman build her confidence in the kitchen, invite her into yours and give her a job to do. Ask her to chop the onions and show her the technique you like to use. Ask her to stir something. Show her by your example why you feel joy when you're preparing a meal for the people you love. Demonstrate that mistakes are part of the drill and can always be corrected.

Watching Joanne Weir's PBS cooking show, Cooking Confidence, with my preschooler helped to begin changing my attitudes in the kitchen. Her kind, smiling face demonstrated how much she loved spending time in her kitchen and she was adept at teaching the episode's student the tricks of her trade. Cadence and I would lay on the couch in our living room and pick an episode from the menu on our DVR. For thirty minutes, my four-year-old and I would learn together. We would have real conversation about the ingredients she had chosen and how she was preparing them.

Cadence enjoyed it so much, we began playing “Cooking Show” when it was time to prepare a meal. We would look at the imaginary camera in our kitchen and tell our audience what we were doing. Some days we would tell them we were washing our dishes first, so that our kitchen was clean before we started our recipe. So much regular stuff could get accomplished under the spell of playing “Cooking Show.”

My daughter didn't know it, but it was her little hand taking mine that led me into our kitchen and helped build my confidence. I didn't want her to feel helpless in the kitchen like me, so I chose recipes I knew how to make and began teaching her how to make them. Raspberry muffins were our first success. When we didn't have nuts one particular Saturday morning, we substituted them with coconut and a new tradition was born.

“I'm a good cooker, aren't I, Mama?” Cadence began asking with regularity. I would smile and answer, “Absolutely.” In these moments, we were both learning cooking confidence. I have had so many cooking successes since then that it's no longer accurate to say that I don't like cooking or am not very good at it. It turns out that now I'm a good cooker too.

8. Visit Four New Labyrinths - #3

I pulled into the church parking lot hoping that the labyrinth directory online wasn't outdated. I spotted the sign with “Labyrinth” and an arrow and turned my car in that direction. I saw this sign and felt a catch in my throat.

Before I found my way to yoga, labyrinths had caught my attention. They are both disciplines focused on stillness in the midst of chaos, connection to something greater, and living in the present moment.

Each labyrinth I have visited is accompanied by some contextual information. I love reading what each organization that hosts the labyrinth chooses to share with visitors. I especially like what I read on this one:

“Ancient Celtic Christianity emphasized the connectedness of all things. This was symbolized by a circle in the center of the cross. One of their defining beliefs was the presence of God in creation.

They often spoke of the thin places, a place where the veil between the physical realm and the spiritual realm become so thin that we encounter the presence of God in a deeper way. A thin place is a sacred location that draws you into the life of God. It is our hope that this garden will become a thin place for you.”

I slowly approached the labyrinth grateful for my sunglasses. The late afternoon sun was shining directly on the center of the labyrinth. I set my keys on the bench nearby and began my walk.

The whole point of the pattern of the labyrinth is that you can mindlessly follow it without having to pay attention to where you are going leaving mental space for quiet reflection and meditation.

Yoga and labyrinths are also good disciplines for me because stillness of mind and body do not come easily. Both disciplines allow movement while seeking inner quiet. I had taken no more than a few paces on the path when tears began to flow. I have learned that these tears are always a sign of the Holy Spirit's presence and I welcome them. I kept weaving my way through the path. I always seem to hit a moment of panic—it's like a flash of inner claustraphobia that strikes—when I've walked deeply into the path. It always happens on my walk inward and leaves as quickly as it comes.

When I entered the center, the tears appeared again. I took a few photos as I always do to document my arrival in the center. I sat down to pray and listen, my back to the sun. I felt the heat of the sun warm my black-tee-shirted torso. I let the warmth absorb. I watched the cars buzz past on the highway that was within view of the labyrinth.

I heard two sounds: highway traffic and birdsong--a strange combination and not especially meditative. I was reminded again of what yoga has taught me that could be applied as I sat on the warm concrete. We can be at peace even with noise and chaos surrounding us. Life doesn't come with a mute button. We have to train ourselves to find quiet and stillness and peace in the midst of the noise. And so I did.

I spent a lot of my walk into the middle thinking about my life right now and how I am adjusting to having more time to myself than I have had in a long time. Suddenly these words came to mind: “Don't be afraid of being alone right now.” Deep comfort and confidence washed over me because I knew these were not my words. Because I was open and listening, I heard God share what I needed to hear. I am so grateful for being willing to be quiet and listen. I am never disappointed. I took in these words, let them resonate inside me for a few minutes and then laid down in the center and soaked up the heat of the sun's rays and warm concrete. When laying down no longer felt comfortable, I sat back up, looked around and tuned into the hum of the highway and the birds chirping again.

I stood up and began the walk back out feeling lighter than when I'd entered. I exited the labyrinth and walked to the bench where I'd set down my keys. I sat down on the bench not ready to leave. I looked around the labyrinth dreaming about how to spearhead the construction of a labyrinth on our church property. I'd spent the morning mowing, trimming, and weeding my yard. My hands were tender from pulling the tough weeds. I saw a few weeds poking out of the cracks around the labyrinth. I stood up and walked over to the first weed. I yanked it out. I plucked all of the weeds that had sprouted outside the labyrinth--my admission fee for time spent there. Something practical to do with my hands as my heart and mind prepared to leave.

I have one more labyrinth to visit before I can cross this item off my list. I'm going to visit the fourth one with a friend who has walked labyrinths with me before. I love that I introduced my daughter to labyrinths as part of my check off, and am really looking forward to my time with my friend on #4. But I am also deeply grateful for the chance to have experienced one on my own—free to stay as long as I want and to experience what I did in solitude. I indeed consider this a "thin place" and will visit it again and again.

If you're in the St. Louis area and would like to visit this labyrinth, it is located on the property of the Dayspring Baptist Church at 1001 Municipal Drive in Town and Country, Missouri.