Pitiful. Awkward. Boring. Or in today’s vernacular, “whack.” I’m being honest here, and it’s only my opinion, but that’s how I remember many singles retreats back in the days of my singleness. Pitiful, because these things were berthed when couples, who, after experiencing euphoric romantic excursions, felt woefully sympathetic. Awkward, because all thirteen of us (usually something like eleven women and two guys ranging in age from nineteen to fifty-seven) were there under the pretense that our only chance of marital bliss existed within the four walls of a tiny Howard Johnson’s banquet room. Boring, because it just was. And whack, because it was boring.
But I’m not bitter. That was a long time ago.
This weekend, however, being Singles Pastor Extraordinaire I had the great blessing of experiencing something much different. Lora and I, along with Kenny, Bethany, and friends, Wayne and Shennetter Maynard, spent a few days in the Virginia mountains with thirty-six single adults. Looking back now I have to say that it was one of the most fulfilling group getaways I’ve ever been a part of. An obvious plus was the array of beautiful homes we stayed in, one of which had nine plasma TVs, a built-in theatre and a real English pub. Not kidding.
But there was so much more. I can’t summarize everything that happened since Wednesday night, particularly from the perspective of more than forty people. But while it’s fresh on my mind I’m gonna blog a few of my personal standout memories.
#1—Arrived at Wintergreen sometime after 3 a.m. Thursday morning (me, Lora, Michala, Liv, Courtney and Ebony). Loaded the Expedition after church and traveled in dense fog and rain to find that our aforementioned mansion had no key in the lockbox. So we crashed the house reserved for the guys. Goldilocks style. Our house was ready the next day, and we left the guys’ house in pristine condition. They still don’t know.
#2—Drove forty minutes to Charlottesville to buy breakfast groceries for forty people. Somebody accidentally mistook oatmeal for grits, and some old ladies stole Liv’s cookie-baking butter.
#3—Twenty-five of us stormed one of the resort’s restaurants to their recession-conscious delight. Halfway through my Philly cheese steak, Vicky stood up to reveal her custom-made T-shirt. It featured a photo of herself and yours truly with the words in bright red letters, “#1 Single.” A prearranged barrage of photoflash from the rest of the group was a really nice touch. Love you, Vicky D.
#4—The Friday morning session revealed the players on the red and blue teams. The spirit of the group was high. I spoke on the theme, “Alone In His Presence,” referring to the examples of Jacob, Moses, and Peter who were changed by being in the presence of God. We got really personal about things, and I believe the Lord broke down some difficult barriers.
#5—Lora and I found a tiny grocery store that was only ten minutes away. This time, it was for dinner food. Cash only though. Yikes! We had 125 bucks. It all came to $124.50. I did my best on the grill and, after two hours of smoke inhalation later that evening, we ate. Thomas figured out the complex audio system so that Bree could bless us in song. Pastor Kenny challenged us that night from Psalm 16 about fullness of joy in the presence of the Lord.
#6—Had a serious conversation with a single who shared some changes God was making in their life as a result of the message earlier. I was equally shocked and encouraged.
#7—The night was still young and free time was on the agenda. There were dangerous and silly card games, at least 20 rounds of silent killer and old-fashioned hide-and-seek. Ben never stopped talking. MJ was terrified of truth or dare, and Jon fell off the ottoman at least twice from laughter. Lights out around 3 a.m.
#8—Woke up at 7 a.m. on Saturday. Miraculous. Mom drove up to speak to the ladies. Pastor Kenny challenged the guys about being mighty men of God. Bro. Wayne spoke about financial freedom. Good biblical application despite his personal disdain for QVC. “Three easy payments?” How would they know whether or not it’s easy?
#9—Final session competition between the two teams: First, write and perform a skit on the topic of “jealousy.” Second, arrange and sing a song. The red team managed to score big on both contests, but not enough to thwart the blue team’s overall weekend victory. Cynthia Brent was voted “Retreater of the Weekend.”
#10—Ashleigh sang a cappella. Wow, did she ever! So very proud of you, Ash! Stirring testimonies accompanied by laughter, tears and admissions. Nobody wanted it to end.
I really, really love these people. And despite my run of the mill attempt at a recap, I want to reiterate. This was an amazing retreat!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Mom's the Word
Throughout life there are events so poignant, so surreal, that they leave an indelible impression, so much to the point that even the smallest details are remembered. Here is one of those events…
It was the spring semester of my junior year at Tennessee Temple University. Finals week. Many of you know what that’s like. All-nighters and caffeine-laden helps like Jolt and No-Doze (Red Bull hadn’t been invented yet, or at least not FDA approved) coursed through my veins, remarkably unhampered in flow by a gracious quantity of Krispy Kremes. Oh yes, these were as valuable as having the test answers in advance. Or so I am told.
In the other corner of the ring were those euphoric visions of the summertime that was soon to be. Home. My family. My bed. My church. My friends. My …
Sorry. Like then, it’s still hard to focus. But I managed to. Despite the caffeine overload and the “daymares” inherent with Music History and Greek finals, I managed to focus. Because I needed that A. I wanted that A.
So on Monday, I geared up for the week ahead, realizing the enormity of the task at hand while allowing the prospect of Friday’s exodus to be my impetus. I couldn’t wait to head down Orchard Knob, to Main, to Willow to I-24, to I-75, to I-40, to I-81, to I-66, to I-495, to Chain Bridge, to International, to Spring Hill, to Lewinsville, to 8464 Clover Leaf Drive. Yes. I sooo wanted to see Chattanooga’s beautiful Lookout Mountain…
… in my rear-view mirror.
By Tuesday afternoon I’d had two hours of sleep in two days. And the toughest finals were still ahead. I felt like I was gonna die. But I was still focusing.
A year prior I had traded in the luxury of dorm life for a one-bedroom apartment in East Ridge. Taking a brief respite from study that afternoon I flicked on my TV to watch a newly syndicated episode of the Cosby Show. It was the one where Vanessa and her friends were doing the “locomotion.” Don’t ask. Anyway, I happened to notice through my balcony’s sliding glass door that the driver’s side window of my 1984 Audi 5000 was halfway down. It was just starting to rain. My pre-TiVo quandary was now in effect. For a moment I thought, “Leather seats can be wiped off.” Pssshh. I quickly shook off that thought. Missing thirty seconds of a sitcom is much better than interior water damage.
So I ran to the car. Man! Forgot the keys. Ran back inside. Stopped to look at the show. Auugh, it’s raining hard now! Ran back outside. Put the window up. Ran back inside. Show was over. Man! Oh well, at least the car didn’t get too wet inside.
But I was drenched. So before A Different World came on, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and started drying my head and face off in front of the TV. It was going to be a long night, so I planned to make the most of this “break.”
The show’s theme song was interrupted by the loudest, most guttural, shuddering, scraping noise I’d ever heard. The accompanying vibration, though not earthquake worthy, gave me pause.
What in the world??
I distinctly recall a good ten seconds of terror, augmented by the fear of this totally bewildering sound.
I looked out of the sliding door again…
… just in time to witness a huge city cement truck plow backwards into my aforementioned European sedan, smashing the driver’s side doors, flipping it on its side, and relocating it with toy-car effort to its resting place in the hedges adjacent to my building.
What in the world??
I ran outside in the rain, hoping that what I was seeing wasn’t real, and, perhaps the result of a lack of sleep. But it was very real.
The million-ton cement truck had been parked on a steep hill in our parking lot. Apparently, the emergency brakes were no match for the combination of weight, gravity and wet surface. And obviously, my car was no match for the cement truck.
Strangely, all I could think was, how am I gonna get home?
“Are you okay?” A city worker had run down the hill to where I was. “I saw you get in the car a minute ago, then this happened. Are you okay?”
That’s when it hit me that… it didn’t hit me! I had forgotten that only three minutes earlier... well, I could have been in a different world for sure.
At that point, everything shifted from studying for finals to filling out police and insurance reports, getting damage estimates, coordinating temporary and long-term reimbursement with the City, etc., etc., etc.
I called Dad that night and several times that week. I was so bummed. I remember telling him how awful my week was going. I wasn’t getting cooperation from the City. I still had finals. I was starting to feel sick. I was so frustrated.
Dad and mom told me that they were praying for me and that everything was going to be okay. That was easy for them to say, I thought. They're not here to deal with all of this.
I want to pause here to say two things. First, notice that every sentence two paragraphs ago began with the word/letter “I.” That was my basic state of mind that week. Not good. Secondly, I really hope that 21-year-olds today are not as stupid as I was to think that finals week and my associated crises were akin to Armageddon and, thereby, significantly more troubling than the problems that others—particularly my mom and dad—were facing.
I made it through finals. Got a rental car arrangement worked out with the City. Drove home Friday while listening nine hours straight to my Cole Porter CD. Got home ‘round midnight, by the way ;). Dad helped me bring my bags up to my room and sat down on the bed. Uh oh. Had they faxed my grades already? This wasn’t looking good.
These aren’t exact quotes, but it went down something like this…
“Had a rough week, huh?”
“The worst,” I said.
“Your mom and I knew that, so we wanted to wait until you got home to tell you that she had a biopsy last week."
“Ok??”
“She has breast cancer.”
{Silence}
“She’s going to start chemotherapy and radiation immediately. But we’re trusting the Lord.”
The weird thing is that though I have pristine recollection of that whole week, the next few minutes that transpired are a blur. I was blown! I had never had a more awful experience. The next thing I remember saying was,
“I’m not going back.”
“We have all summer to talk about that.”
“Ok. But I’m not going back.”
And I didn’t. Of course, I could blog forever on the divergence of my life path for which, in retrospect, I am eternally grateful. But I made up my mind, in less than a minute, while sitting on the side of my bed, on a Friday night in May of 1990, that I was not going to graduate from college in Chattanooga.
I soon became aware that churches around the country had been praying for mom for days. Many of my college classmates and the faculty at TTU were aware of the situation but were sworn to secrecy--for my benefit.
And I was having a bad week?? The conviction was so real that it makes me want to “I John 1:9” all over again.
But Dad and Mom never complained. They were never short with me on the phone. They empathized and showed genuine love even while dealing with all of this.
In fact, through all of those years of chemo, radiation, surgeries, pain and countless sleepless nights, Mom never complained. I never saw her worry or question God. I never even saw her cry. Through all of that she managed to rear two younger children, function as a Pastor’s wife, speaker and counselor. She built and directed a child development center. She missed no more than three church services through the whole ordeal. She was verbal in constant affirmation that, “My God is good.” Her faith and testimony have inspired thousands.
And now, nineteen years later, she is cancer-free.
This blog entry has been mostly about me, but it’s not intended to be. Today is my mom’s birthday. And every year, on October 12, I tend to reflect on that week in a spirit of thankfulness for the incredible mother that I still have. I consider my parents and my family to be my greatest earthly blessing. This year I chose to write about it.
Happy birthday, JB! I love you. You are the most faith-exercising and God-loving person that I know.
It was the spring semester of my junior year at Tennessee Temple University. Finals week. Many of you know what that’s like. All-nighters and caffeine-laden helps like Jolt and No-Doze (Red Bull hadn’t been invented yet, or at least not FDA approved) coursed through my veins, remarkably unhampered in flow by a gracious quantity of Krispy Kremes. Oh yes, these were as valuable as having the test answers in advance. Or so I am told.
In the other corner of the ring were those euphoric visions of the summertime that was soon to be. Home. My family. My bed. My church. My friends. My …
Sorry. Like then, it’s still hard to focus. But I managed to. Despite the caffeine overload and the “daymares” inherent with Music History and Greek finals, I managed to focus. Because I needed that A. I wanted that A.
So on Monday, I geared up for the week ahead, realizing the enormity of the task at hand while allowing the prospect of Friday’s exodus to be my impetus. I couldn’t wait to head down Orchard Knob, to Main, to Willow to I-24, to I-75, to I-40, to I-81, to I-66, to I-495, to Chain Bridge, to International, to Spring Hill, to Lewinsville, to 8464 Clover Leaf Drive. Yes. I sooo wanted to see Chattanooga’s beautiful Lookout Mountain…
… in my rear-view mirror.
By Tuesday afternoon I’d had two hours of sleep in two days. And the toughest finals were still ahead. I felt like I was gonna die. But I was still focusing.
A year prior I had traded in the luxury of dorm life for a one-bedroom apartment in East Ridge. Taking a brief respite from study that afternoon I flicked on my TV to watch a newly syndicated episode of the Cosby Show. It was the one where Vanessa and her friends were doing the “locomotion.” Don’t ask. Anyway, I happened to notice through my balcony’s sliding glass door that the driver’s side window of my 1984 Audi 5000 was halfway down. It was just starting to rain. My pre-TiVo quandary was now in effect. For a moment I thought, “Leather seats can be wiped off.” Pssshh. I quickly shook off that thought. Missing thirty seconds of a sitcom is much better than interior water damage.
So I ran to the car. Man! Forgot the keys. Ran back inside. Stopped to look at the show. Auugh, it’s raining hard now! Ran back outside. Put the window up. Ran back inside. Show was over. Man! Oh well, at least the car didn’t get too wet inside.
But I was drenched. So before A Different World came on, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and started drying my head and face off in front of the TV. It was going to be a long night, so I planned to make the most of this “break.”
The show’s theme song was interrupted by the loudest, most guttural, shuddering, scraping noise I’d ever heard. The accompanying vibration, though not earthquake worthy, gave me pause.
What in the world??
I distinctly recall a good ten seconds of terror, augmented by the fear of this totally bewildering sound.
I looked out of the sliding door again…
… just in time to witness a huge city cement truck plow backwards into my aforementioned European sedan, smashing the driver’s side doors, flipping it on its side, and relocating it with toy-car effort to its resting place in the hedges adjacent to my building.
What in the world??
I ran outside in the rain, hoping that what I was seeing wasn’t real, and, perhaps the result of a lack of sleep. But it was very real.
The million-ton cement truck had been parked on a steep hill in our parking lot. Apparently, the emergency brakes were no match for the combination of weight, gravity and wet surface. And obviously, my car was no match for the cement truck.
Strangely, all I could think was, how am I gonna get home?
“Are you okay?” A city worker had run down the hill to where I was. “I saw you get in the car a minute ago, then this happened. Are you okay?”
That’s when it hit me that… it didn’t hit me! I had forgotten that only three minutes earlier... well, I could have been in a different world for sure.
At that point, everything shifted from studying for finals to filling out police and insurance reports, getting damage estimates, coordinating temporary and long-term reimbursement with the City, etc., etc., etc.
I called Dad that night and several times that week. I was so bummed. I remember telling him how awful my week was going. I wasn’t getting cooperation from the City. I still had finals. I was starting to feel sick. I was so frustrated.
Dad and mom told me that they were praying for me and that everything was going to be okay. That was easy for them to say, I thought. They're not here to deal with all of this.
I want to pause here to say two things. First, notice that every sentence two paragraphs ago began with the word/letter “I.” That was my basic state of mind that week. Not good. Secondly, I really hope that 21-year-olds today are not as stupid as I was to think that finals week and my associated crises were akin to Armageddon and, thereby, significantly more troubling than the problems that others—particularly my mom and dad—were facing.
I made it through finals. Got a rental car arrangement worked out with the City. Drove home Friday while listening nine hours straight to my Cole Porter CD. Got home ‘round midnight, by the way ;). Dad helped me bring my bags up to my room and sat down on the bed. Uh oh. Had they faxed my grades already? This wasn’t looking good.
These aren’t exact quotes, but it went down something like this…
“Had a rough week, huh?”
“The worst,” I said.
“Your mom and I knew that, so we wanted to wait until you got home to tell you that she had a biopsy last week."
“Ok??”
“She has breast cancer.”
{Silence}
“She’s going to start chemotherapy and radiation immediately. But we’re trusting the Lord.”
The weird thing is that though I have pristine recollection of that whole week, the next few minutes that transpired are a blur. I was blown! I had never had a more awful experience. The next thing I remember saying was,
“I’m not going back.”
“We have all summer to talk about that.”
“Ok. But I’m not going back.”
And I didn’t. Of course, I could blog forever on the divergence of my life path for which, in retrospect, I am eternally grateful. But I made up my mind, in less than a minute, while sitting on the side of my bed, on a Friday night in May of 1990, that I was not going to graduate from college in Chattanooga.
I soon became aware that churches around the country had been praying for mom for days. Many of my college classmates and the faculty at TTU were aware of the situation but were sworn to secrecy--for my benefit.
And I was having a bad week?? The conviction was so real that it makes me want to “I John 1:9” all over again.
But Dad and Mom never complained. They were never short with me on the phone. They empathized and showed genuine love even while dealing with all of this.
In fact, through all of those years of chemo, radiation, surgeries, pain and countless sleepless nights, Mom never complained. I never saw her worry or question God. I never even saw her cry. Through all of that she managed to rear two younger children, function as a Pastor’s wife, speaker and counselor. She built and directed a child development center. She missed no more than three church services through the whole ordeal. She was verbal in constant affirmation that, “My God is good.” Her faith and testimony have inspired thousands.
And now, nineteen years later, she is cancer-free.
This blog entry has been mostly about me, but it’s not intended to be. Today is my mom’s birthday. And every year, on October 12, I tend to reflect on that week in a spirit of thankfulness for the incredible mother that I still have. I consider my parents and my family to be my greatest earthly blessing. This year I chose to write about it.
Happy birthday, JB! I love you. You are the most faith-exercising and God-loving person that I know.
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