Mable: My Grandma Beyer as I Remember Her

 My high school English teacher, Mrs Hilger once told me that I was a spitfire, in fact, that every red head she had ever known was a spit-fire. Takes one to know one, Mrs. Hilger, takes one to know one. Mable Beyer was Irish. She fought hard and worked hard and loved hard and played hard. She swore and told you what was on her mind and she had nine kids, countless spitfire grandchildren, and one love of her life. 

When I was 15, I was sitting in her den on Christmas Day watching the weather channel, which was always on at grandma's house, and generally trying to pretend I wasn't mortified to be there. Ugh. How could it be that this is where I was on Christmas Day?- this is just great. Mable looked at me over her reading glases on a string. "Sarah, how old are you?" "15," I answered, "Grandma, I am 15." "When I was your age" Oh, lordy, here it comes. "I had a best friend, and Carol did not like my best friend, and she made her life miserable. Carol, well, one day, she crossed the line and called my best friend a bitch. That was just not okay. I thought to myself that something had to be done, so I cornered Carol in sewing class and punched her. That should teach her." 

What is our heritage, Grandma? "Well, between me and your Grandfather, we have about 100% Irish and 100% percent German. I am more Irish than German, and your Grandfather is more German than Irish." With a maiden name like Mable McLanahan, you best be mostly Irish, and there was little room for doubt. 

We were wandering the streets of Cincinnati, looking at a model train display and probably just having come from Skyline Chili, when the New Year's song came on. And Mable, she just started singing along. Truthfully, I didn't know that song had words, and yet, here was Mable, singing words, clear as day and in perfect time. "What, Sarah? I have been to a party or two in my day, I know all the words, just you watch." 

After college, we wrote good, old-fashioned letters. I asked all about what it was like to raise nine kids, and how she met Grandpa. "I saw him in the dance hall, I just knew that he would be mine, so I made my way over there and made sure that is what happened." I asked about Grandpa changing his last name and about what it was like to be alive during the space race and the Cold War. I heard all about those things and about what it was that was ailling her, who she saw that week, how her bowling league was going, and even what she ate. I heard much more than I asked, and that was Mable. 

Last year when year Grandma turned ninety, we called her on Christmas Day. "You're 90, how do you feel, Grandma?"  "I'm still alive and kicking." In return, I teased, "I would expect no less." "Sarah, my plan is to die at 100, shot over jealousy about another woman's man." 

I have the quick wit and the Irish temper. I am more likely to threaten violence than to back down. I have no hestiations about giving you the truth straight, no chaser, and I am awfully fond of whiskey. But it is more than that. I am Mable's granddaughter and I had best live my life the best way I know how and with as much heart as possible. I had best open my heart and love those around me, I should find hobbies and lean into them, I should cross dance floors and flirt with  attractive men.

I have her bad knees thanks, Grandma, and her red hair thanks, Grandma, and her spitfire thanks, Grandma. 

That's the thing about Marla

There are so many things in my daily life that are touched by Marla. She was the first to make me listen to Brian Regan, she and I shared a love of muppets, and a love of decorating, and a love of applying movie quotes to daily life. She insisted that I try mint caramel dove chocolate, and we both love candy corn and tim tams. Even as I look around my office I see a stuffed kitty-kat that Marla gave to me one winter when I was battling a particularly nasty cold, a mug in the shape of a caldron that was filled with fall themed candy, a book that I loaned her years ago and just never took home, and a picture of us at NACCAP in front of a very amusing 4-story tall mural of Jesus. All of these things are shot through with joy, sass, and tenderness. I have so many memories of Marla saying something completely unexpected at just the right time, and it was hilarious. And even as I try to remember all the places in my life that are touched by Marla, it only hints at what it is that she meant to me and the impact she had.

That's the thing about Marla- her greatest impact is shown in the lives of people around her. Sometimes it feels like everyone says that, but it was true in such a special way with Marla. She listened without judgment, she was great at keeping confidences, and she invested deeply in the lives of those around her because she had a gift of seeing beauty and good in others. She was great at remembering and caring about things that were going on your life, following up on those things, and asking you what you needed in order to grow and move forward in your life. It is a rare gift indeed to actively invest in the growth of others as it interacts with daily reality. 

I think this last thing was rooted so deeply in Marla that it was hard to see. It can be hard to see that someone cares about your personal growth and your relationship with God. It can be harder to see when someone is invested deeply and advocating for you; and it can be even harder yet to see when that gift is in someone who is unassuming. I have seen it today in the outpouring surrounding Marla’s death. So many people have shared kind words and stories about Marla and they all contain some reflection of this particular strength. “She always wished she had more time to spend with each one of them.” “I am privileged to have known her.” “She truly fought hard to live well.” “Your love for the Lord was evident and you will be missed.” “Boss and dear friend.” “Co-worker, friend, confidant.”

One thing people remark on is Marla’s faith and her attitude in the midst of several battles with cancer. She would be the first to tell you that it was the Spirit in her. I know that she treasured the chances she got to point to the Lord and that she carried a burden for others to know the love of Christ. That has also been very clearly reflected in people's remembrances of Marla from sharing verses to talking about her example, encouragement, and joy that she is in heaven.

A few years ago, right after Marla was diagnosed with stage four cancer, her church started a series on heaven. It was a delight to be friends with Marla as she learned more about heaven and leaned into that reality in a deeper way. She had the unique position of being able to learn knowing that it would be true not just “one day” but one day soon. One of my favorite memories was when she learned that we will work in heaven- that we will have labor that is free from the fall and full of reward and fruit. Marla loved work, she loved TIU, and she loved the people she worked with. So the thought of having a role, a way to contribute that is not fallen and tainted with the struggle of sin- that was a glorious thought! I cannot wait to get to heaven and see what it is that Marla is up to and how much work she already has done, and to hear about it, and see the things she has built. As I sat there listening to her, we were both getting excited about this upcoming reality, and it hit me- she got to go first. I told her as much and she replied “You are darn right I do, I have cancer, and something good has to come out of this.” And it has, friend. I submit that many, many good things have come out of your cancer, and I am so deeply sorry that you had to walk through this and I can only wish that you never had to. 

  

Music, Mustaches, and Musings

I have a love-hate relationship with travel season. I love getting out of the office, I love the change of pace and independence of travel season. I hate being away from my hobbit hole and the people who anchor my daily life. I love working at a pace that forces me to do a 60 minute task in 20 minutes. I hate being so busy that work invades what little personal time I do have so that I have to decide if I should do laundry or go out with a friend and laundry wins because it is the only time in the next 8 days when I will have 3 waking hours at home. It is an interesting season that pulls at the rhythm of my life in ways that I don't always see coming. 

One of the effects of all this independence is that, for a time, I see my own city differently. I see all possibilities of places to go and just how close it is to Lakeview, Evanston, Naperville, or Milwaukee. I have recently been in touch with the limits of my needs to sleep and eat and rest and be alone, so it is easier to decide to go out until 12:30 on a Tuesday.  So I am more prone to local adventures. It also means that when I am home, I am enamored of the idea that it is my home. I get to stay. I get to form and mold this place to fit my needs for home and comfort and beauty. Naturally this means buying a zebra print chair, curtains, and metallic accents. It also means that, for a time, I enjoy things like dishes, cleaning, and grocery shopping. Cooking is a great creative outlet. So, this year the return to living at home has taken two forms: a concert at the Metro, and a a smoky, comforting, fall meal. 

My newly found friend, who I knew for a week as Mustache Mark, but who is actually named Johnny, has impeccable taste in music. So, when he told me he was going to a show in Chicago with not one, but two Irish bands with a folk flavor, I decided to drag my roommate along and check them out. You should, too- Foy Vance is amazing! Just unspeakably good amazing in all of his mustache rocking, playing a guitar with a bow, wrangling a crowd, Irish accented glory. This return from travel season brought a good reminder that I live in one of the best cities in the U.S. for feeding my love of live music. 

The second result from this post travel homecoming rush? Cooking. Not only do I get to decide what to eat and when, but I have the time and resources to invent something new.  This is one of the simple joys of being home. A trip to Mariano's, some Pinterest inspiration, and a new recipe emerged. This, of course, gets posted to instagram, and now, by popular demand, the fruit of my post travel season homecoming rush. 

Smoky Gnocchi, Sausage, and Kale

2-3 sausage links. I used something involving feta and spinach, but I recommend something with a little more kick.
1 Bunch of kale - chopped
2-3 cloves garlic- finely chopped
1 Pkg gnocchi
4 Tbs butter
1/3 cup chicken stock
1/8 cup? Half and half
1.5 cup shredded smoked Havarti - I used this. It was really smoky, so you might want to temper it with another cheese.
1/4- 1/3 cup Hefeweizen

Brown sausage with olive oil in large pot.
Remove, scrape browned bits and by all means keep those in the pot.
In same pot, Add chopped garlic. Stir frequently, do not let it burn.
Once browned, add butter. Once melted, Add chicken stock, beer, and half and half, Salt, pepper, and Red chili flakes to taste. Stir frequently.
Once simmering add uncooked gnocchi.
Let simmer 4-5 min
Add cheese, kale, and sausage

Of course I recommend that you enjoy this with the rest of the Hefeweizen while listening to Foy Vance. 

On the Dangers of Blogging

http://convergemagazine.com/26-unmarried-and-childless-8736/

I have said a lot lately that blogging is a big conversation, and while I never saw myself speaking in a public forum about my love life, I have done so. Let me tell you it was scary and exhilarating and, at points, confusing to have such a personal subject out there on the internet. Oddly enough, this post is not really about singleness, but more about my recent experience of blogging. 

Over the last few days I have seen the blog post above floating around Facebook, and it has generated a lot of conversation. Her post is not only about a common experience, but also about how people interact with a part of her life that is deeply personal. What she communicates so well in this post is that sometimes something so personal can feel very public. Being out of place with what we feel we ought to be doing can often make us feel like we are subject to the commentary of others. 

I've gone and made something public that I never thought would be. In the midst of all this I hear other people sharing their stories and thoughts- finding a place to use their own voices to talk about something that might be on their mind or heart. It can be easier to write a comment or an email and send it off into social media where it is several steps removed from face to face communication and there are advantages to that. Written communication, when focused correctly, zooms in on ideas. We can talk about the nuances of something that is shared across miles, crafting our thoughts, honing them to say what we want to say. That can be a very good thing. 

The same distance that makes it possible to talk about ideas across the miles also makes it possible to forget that we are talking with people about ideas. It is easy to see what someone writes as just what someone write and it is, essentially. But it is also personal. Each person speaks out of their experience and motivation. And we live in a world where sharing your opinion is common place. This makes a live possibility that our ideas and opinions will personally impact someone miles away, without understanding for their context. That also is what it is, and by participating in this global conversation, we are opening ourselves up to that possibility. I think it is important that we talk about ideas with compassion. Absolutely, let's talk about it. I think that we will be missing out on one of the biggest opportunities of our time if we were to shy away from these conversations. 

You might be thinking that this post is a reaction to feedback from those who have read this blog or responded. It is not. Everyone who has interacted with me about my blog has been respectful and kind, for which I am very thankful. Truthfully, I wrote about things that were on my heart and mind and I found out that they are on many hearts and minds, and that surprised me. I want to enter into this medium and participate in the larger discussion, and you actually want to talk about the same things. I was not prepared for that. My quiet little blog has been not so quiet lately and that has been a learning curve for me. These thoughts on social media are fruit of my internal learning curve. I am learning first-hand that social media is a strange blend of public and personal. 

32 and Single: Realistic Expectations?

One of my favorite things about blogging is that it is a big conversation. I recently posted a short commentary entitled 32 and Single: A Response to "How I Know My Wife Married the "Wrong" Person." Many of you responded on Facebook, over email, or in person and I enjoyed hearing your thoughts. Thank you for sharing pieces of yourselves. I am surprised that the most popular topic of conversation has been about doing the work involved in marriage. While I have many thoughts about this, there is one piece of feedback in particular that I keep coming back to. A friend of mine pointed out that it might be unrealistic to look for a man who is ready to do the work of marriage, but instead to look for someone with the character qualities that are the building blocks of this kind of work. At first, I thought she was splitting hairs, but she pointed out that things like admitting you are wrong, apologizing, and being open to confrontation, and even counseling, are things that are much more socially acceptable for women.

I think her point might connect to gender based social norms. Why is it that we praise a man who is going to become a counselor, but catch our breath and pause when a man we know mentions that he is going to counseling for his own benefit? Why is emotional and mental health something that might be more acceptable for women? Is it? Really? Even if that is case, marriage is one of the hardest and best things that I have seen and as such it seems like it is one of those circumstances where it is okay to hold out for this quality. Personal, internal growth is one of my deepest values, and I hope that should be enough reason for me to wait for someone who can meet me in this place.

But is it? Other pressures and voices vie for my allegiance.You are getting older and there will be less opportunities out there. Don't back down from being yourself- you are only going to attract someone who isn't afraid of a strong woman if you are acting like a strong woman. But don't be too intimidating. Don't be too hard, or too soft. What, if anything, about this is available for compromise? Isn't marriage at least partly about compromise? All of those voices feel thin. They don't have the meat of the Spirit.

As deep calls to deep
Now you, who began with the Spirit, how do you think you can continue in your own strength?
Love one another deeply and from the heart
Do not lie to one another... since as member of the same body, you were called to peace

The Spirit challenges me and calls me forth in such a way that I have to be the most full version of myself in order to answer. These voices ask me to leave something substantive behind to "get a man." The voice of the Spirit calls me to bring all of myself and my values and to be transparent and honest with others. Listening to those other voices feels like a lie because they ask me to hide some of my fire, complexity, and fear. I think that I need to hang onto all of those things in order to honor the depth of the Christian life. So, yes, I think I do want to wait for a man who is capable of doing the work of marriage. And I think there is merit to the idea that the work of marriage-things like apologizing, owning and working through one's dysfunction, challenging others to be the best version of themselves- is more socially acceptable in women. What do you think?

The Wrong Questions

For months now many areas of my life have been in flux - my boss took a job in New York; my roommate of three years got married; I left my church of thirteen years to join not only another church, but a totally new denomination; two of my dear friends and co-workers left to have a family and move to another state. And I complained. I am complaining.

Basically every day I am upset that these are the changes I have and not the changes I want. Why isn't my career taking off? or moving at all in any direction of my choosing? or at all? Why am I still single? How does eHarmony work anyway? Why am I without active or real connection to youth ministry? Does God still have a plan for my life that involves any of these things? Did I hear that wrong? Am I still hearing God?

Am I still hearing God? That is probably the first real question I have asked in months. It is a life-giving question that leads to another question for me- What is God doing right now, and how am I supposed to respond or be involved? Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. 

I have all this free time. I am in the midst of many mid-level changes. No, they are not the changes that I desire, but this is where I am. Since there is no such thing as wasted time with The Lord, then what do I do with the circumstances that are right in front of me? God, what are You doing and what should I do? I have not been listening to You, not for months. I have been too occupied with wondering why I am not where I think I ought to be and making sure You know that I am not happy. How foolish I have been- how wrong to stop listening, to stop seeking You for who You are already are and not who I want You to be. You will not be changed, manipulated, or cowed. You Are who You Are. I love that about You and I love You for it. 

I have been wrong, and I have put all my energies into the wrong places for the past few months, maybe even years. I have been asking all the wrong questions. 

Luke 2:1-40 Human Reaction to the Supernatural

Luke 2:1-40

I am having a hard time with this whole thing- angles and prophets and people told what will happen before they die. I realize that is a bit the theme of this chapter, but, really? Really? There are three distinct stories that mingle the natural and the supernatural, three sketches of responses and reactions.

The shepherds are just going about their blue-collar jobs in the middle of the night when a group of angels appears in the sky. I know that would shock me and get my attention for sure. I can't remember the last time angels appeared at my job, let alone singing and announcing that the savior of their nation has been born and is in a manger not too far away. If there had not been angels I am sure they would have thought there was just a crazy person wandering around. I know that I would have thought that. And, to their credit, they go to see. I mean it when I say it is to their credit. It would have been easy to either right the whole thing off or to have been so stuck on the angles singing and announcing things that there would have been plenty of reason to stay- but they got it, they left and went to see this baby. I admire that.

Simeon is one of my favorite characters in scripture, and I love that God tells him he will see the Messiah

before he dies. There is so much mystery in that! Why would God do that? Especially because Simeon is old, and does not appear to do anything with the information other than rejoice and prophesy. Of course, that is enough, but it feels like not quite enough. It is the Messiah, the Savior, the birth of the person at the center of so many hopes, dreams, and promises. So, really, just a statement in the temple? Shouldn't there be a conference and teachings and books and podcasts and telecasts of this event? I suppose it was big enough that Peter knew about it, told Mark and now it is in this document passed down from generation to generation. That is something. And he says amazing things- he seems to really get it. "My eyes have seen your Salvation... a light for revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of Israel." He gets what so many others seem to have missed at various points- that Jesus is the point of Israel and that this is a message for the whole world, the glory of Israel for the Gentiles.

Anna, like Simeon has a more subtle, internal prompting. The shepherds had a concert in the sky, Simeon is moved by the Spirit, and Anna is already there because she is often there. Here are three very different circumstances under which people received news of what God was doing. I would like to think that I am more like Anna or Simeon and that I can respond to the move of the Spirit or see God in my daily life in such a way that I would see His actions and piece of His plans. I am far more likely to need a concert in the sky - especially these days. Part of the reason I am bogging about Luke is to give myself some kind of accountability to read Scripture. I am that rusty, that far from being anything like Anna or Simeon.