Sometimes you don’t even know just where to begin about Your People. So you just start with a good story.

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We were so excited. The room we chose in this cabin had a queen-sized bunk bed. We’d never even seen such a thing. That means 4 of us Divas could stay in the same room. Awesome.

I definitely couldn’t sleep on the top because I get up about 47 times during the night to pee. (Teacher bladder side-effects) And that’s disruptive enough when you’re sleeping in the same room together, let alone trying to navigate up and down a top bunk in the dark. No way, Jose.

So Missy and I snagged the bottom bunk while our two other Diva-friends climbed on the top. But this was a strange set-up. The top bed was secured underneath by thick ropes instead of beams of wood, so when our friends climbed on top, there was naturally some sagging. Those two friends found themselves rolling toward the middle of the mattress, basically creating sort of a top-bunk taco, while Missy and I now laid underneath with a mattress about 6 inches from our noses.

Maybe this wasn’t such a cool set-up after all.

We laughed about how ridiculous it all seemed, but it was still somewhat functional so we tried to calm our minds to get ready for some sleep. But just before our final lights-out, when our eyes had adjusted to the dim room, we noticed something.

It was a stain. A rather large stain on the bottom of the mattress right above us. It was darkish. Brownish reddish. And pretty large. Did I mention it was large?

Did I mention 6 inches from our noses?? Yeah.

There were several minutes of lamenting this (now very obvious) stain. Debating what it possibly could be. How did it get there? Could it simply be someone had a (very substantial) bodily fluid accident? If so, why was there some splatter around the edges of the stain? Dear Lord. And if this is what’s on the bottom of the mattress where cabin renters could see it, when WHAT IN THE HECK does the top side look like? Gulp.

It was official. We decided right then and there that the mattress above us (SIX INCHES above us) had clearly been the scene of a horrific murder sometime in days past. Our peaceful cabin in the woods was now starting to give us creepy vibes.

And believe it or not, that wasn’t even the most surprising part of that weekend, but somehow we all made it through with only slight emotional damage. Good times.

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Ah, the stories. The stories we have that create the inside jokes that create the looks that know what you mean without saying a word are the very fabric of Our People. It’s the stuff that holds us together throughout an entire life.

Missy is one of my dearest friends, and that’s a huge understatement. There is absolutely nothing in the universe she doesn’t know about me. I can best describe her as a deep well of wisdom and loving advice. She’s one of the safest places in the world to take my heart’s concerns.

This is a friend you need in your treasury of People. She’s my Strawberry Pie Friend. She’s a busy momma of three amazing little ones. Her husband works hard as a teacher while she works hard from home, caring for her kiddos and ensuring they grow up to be good citizens of the world.  She has a close family and lots of little networks of friends. Her life is very full.

To hear Missy tell it, things are hectic. It’s hard to balance everything. She has a lot of important hats to wear, and sometimes they’re all stacked up on top of her head all at once. She sometimes feels overwhelmed at trying to do everything and do any of it well. We’ve all been there, right?
But let me tell you what it’s like from my perspective: This girl gets it. She knows that loving big in all the small moments is the only way to do life.

She models a healthy marriage by making sure she and her husband have time together, away from the kids. Who else is going to assure them that mommy and daddy love each other and all is secure?

She cares well for her home, which in itself can be a full-time job when you have little feet and hands all over the place at all times. Her home is a welcoming, beautiful space that makes you feel comfortable as soon as you walk in. But it’s about so much more than having a nice house. Missy knows that a welcoming place is part of overall hospitality, with which she is most definitely gifted.

Her children are well-loved by both parents, but I especially admire how she interacts with each of her kids as individuals. She knows their personalities and that what works for one doesn’t necessarily work for the other. She is never too busy to listen to a story, a lament, or a question from one of her kiddos. While doing so, she also manages to lovingly help them understand they are not the center of the universe, and sometimes they have to be gracious and be okay with their request going unmet. I thank her and moms just like her all around the world for being patient and loving enough with her kids to help them develop this perspective.

During the days when her littles were even littler, everyone was home together. All day. Every Day. All. Day. Long. She knew she would have to establish healthy routines for everyone so they could stay a happy family. She taught her tiny kiddos that the numbers on the clock held their boundaries, and from this-number-on-the-clock to that-number-on-the-clock, it was quiet time in their house. They could lie down and take their naps during this time, but if they chose not to nap, this was still quiet time. They could choose a calm activity such as looking through a book in their beds, but they had to stay in quiet time until that-number-on-the-clock.

Is this not brilliant? She knows herself and her family well enough to know that everyone needs a rest during the day, including her. (Especially her!) She’s smart enough to understand that her mental and emotional state sets the tone for the whole household. So if she and her kids could both get a little reset throughout the day, everyone would be better off for it. She gets that we all have a limited capacity, and that we need to allow some margin for making sure we don’t hit our limits.

In addition to being an incredible wife and mom, Missy is just a downright great person. She’s thoughtful and encouraging and funny. She is very intuitive, picking up on things before most people would, and she remembers to ask how that thing is going that you mentioned to her three weeks ago.

When I looked back over my Facebook feed that highlights our friendship, I couldn’t help but smile. It is literally a back-and-forth string of encouragement and love. So many instances of us thanking each other for our friendship, for uplifting words, for remembering such-and-such.

Sometimes, my heart and mind get cloudy and anxious and downright dark. She understands and doesn’t leave me there. She comes right after me, never bothering to ask if I need her to. Because she sees me there, in a poor state, and knows I need a friend to pull me out. She doesn’t avoid my mess because it makes her uncomfortable to talk about. She doesn’t pretend like it’s not there. She dives right into it with me. She’s not afraid to get her hands dirty, because she cares more about me than she cares about her own comfort.

I write this part through tears, because Missy has jumped right into that mess with me more times than I can count over the past year or so. I have told her many times that I don’t think I could have made it through this year without her. Her prayers and encouragement are still helping to lift me up, without her even realizing it.

When you find a friend who will share the best AND worst moments of your life, she is positively Your People. If she tells you what you know is the truth even when it’s not what you want to hear, or if she prays for you right over the phone when you’re having one of those days, if she listens as you say things you’re discovering about yourself that even YOU don’t like, by all means, keep that friend. She is Your People in the very best way, and you have no idea how valuable that truly is until you’ve walked a stretch of life with her.

Missy, you are the real deal, girl. I love you so much and I could never express how thankful I am to have you in my life. So very grateful that you are My People.

We all need a redhead as one of Our People. I happen to have a couple of them in my life, and Tonya is one of them. Before I tell you all about why she’s incredible, I want you to know that today is her birthday! (So leave her a birthday wish in the comments if you have a minute to spare, which you do or obviously you would not be reading this post)

My first memory of interacting with Tonya was several years ago (she says it was in 2007 and I trust her because I’m way too lame with dates to remember exactly.) We were both attending a women’s retreat hosted by our church. I would be leading the women in a morning devotion, which was my first speaking gig of sorts, and I was nervous. I had studied and prayed and prepared for this little 15-minute talk like I was about to preach to a packed stadium. I needed to be at the top of my game in order to share with the ladies the next morning.

So naturally, What did I do? I stayed up into the wee hours of the night talking and laughing and playing games with a bunch of incredible ladies. Score one for being responsible! Oh, wait…

But as I’ve said before, the thing is not the thing. This situation was no different. The devotion I was leading was exactly that…one devotion in the grand scheme of this women’s weekend. Just a handful of moments. I wanted to do well, but the real thing was to spend time building relationships with the ladies. Getting to know these women I worshiped and served alongside each week.

And that’s where Tonya came in. I remember praying for her and her friend Tammy at some point during that weekend. I don’t recall anything whatsoever about what the prayer really was, but I do recall that we connected and I knew that wouldn’t be the last I’d see of these women.

Fast-forward several more years, when my husband and I were transitioning into leading a different home group. The group was mostly established and had a group of core families, so we were excited to get to know them.

From this group have come many of the most important relationships in my whole life. And my friendship with Tonya is one of them.

She’s one of those folks that everyone just loves. She’s so friendly and genuine that you can’t help but fall in love with her after a short time getting to know her.

Her sweetness has a spicy side too though. Don’t get her wrong. She’s got the traditional fiery redhead personality at times. She wears her heart on her sleeve so you usually know what she’s feeling. I think that might be one of my very favorite things about her. She’s not afraid to let herself FEEL her feelings. She just doesn’t DO fake.

Another thing I love is that Tonya’s not afraid to be wrong. I know that seems like an odd thing to say about a friend. But how many times have you held a conversation with someone, and when the topic takes a turn into something serious, they act like they have it all together and speak only in absolutes. Always. Never. Definitely. This kind of thing doesn’t allow room to wonder and breathe and grow together. I’m more interested in spending time with folks who can wrestle with a topic and ultimately say: here’s what I think that’s about, because X and Y and Z. I’m not entirely sure if that’s right. But I’m trusting God to show me the right thing.

That’s Tonya. She leaves room for the unknown. She leaves room for God to change her mind about something or someone along the way if need be.  In the meantime, she stays busy loving the people He puts in front of her.

She’s open to what others think because she’s not naïve enough to believe she knows all the answers about everything. That is so refreshing to me, because none of us really do.

Another thing I love about Tonya is her sleep talking. Now this one is actually not something I’ve witnessed first-hand yet, because every time we go on an overnight trip, I always end up bunking with our friend Missy, and Tonya usually bunks up with our friend Mandy. But Mandy’s multiple experiences tell us that Tonya’s sleep talk can get very interesting. Let’s just say that this is a slight exception to Tonya’s “feel her feelings” trait. What seems to happen is, if she’s had a frustrating day, she apparently keeps all the frustrated feelings inside all day long, but then promptly (and loudly) lets them out at night by saying Whatevertheheckshewants in her sleep. The stories are beyond hilarious and I can’t wait to hear it all in person. I’ve already called dibs on bunking with her the next time we go on a trip.

So many of my most memorable trips and events include Tonya. Along with our group of girl friends, affectionately called The Divas, we’ve perused Amish country more than once. We’ve descended on a winery that offers cheap flights, and proved what lightweights we can be. We’ve participated in a city-wide scavenger hunt that surely left scars on Lancaster (sorry, small-town peeps.) We’ve spent the 4th of July together in the 44444. We’ve prayed together at many gatherings. We’ve survived situations where epic acts of TMI were committed against us. And I mean LEGENDARY. Oh, the stories.

She looks more adorable in a hoodie than any girl I’ve ever known. When she wears something teal, just watch out because pairing that together with her red hair is the ultimate awesomeness. She thinks skunks are super adorable. We share a love for pumpkin everything, essential oils, and Ed Sheeran. We also share similar opinions on some controversial topics.

Tonya is a great friend, but she’s an even better human being. She has a big-hearted husband and a beautiful daughter (another feisty redhead!) She’s takes her momma job very seriously, and she’s doing her best to make sure she sends a well-rounded, kind citizen out into the world when it’s time. And I for one think she’s doing a fabulous job.

If Your People includes someone who is thoughtful, fun-loving, humble, hilarious, and real, (even if they aren’t a redhead) then I’m happy to say…you’ve found your Tonya. You are so very lucky.

Here she is kicking a total stranger. Watch out, people. (no humans were actually harmed in the making of this photo)

Together on a windy, gorgeous day in Amish country.

I love you, Tonya! Here’s to pumpkin everything and Wessssside forever!!!!

Earlier this week I wrote about My Kiddos. As a teacher, they are of course the biggest part of our jobs. They take a ton of mental, physical, and emotional energy to serve. But no matter how much of ourselves we spend on them and how tired we are at the end of the day, they are the reason we keep coming back every day and every fall.

The students—even the difficult ones—are what we live for.

It’s pretty much everything else about our jobs that is utterly, completely, horrifically exhausting and life-draining. Meetings. Committees. Paperwork. More paperwork. More meetings. State mandates. Federal mandates. New curriculum. Supplementing the new curriculum because it is essentially crap-in-a-binder. Recess duty. Lunch duty. Bus duty. All-day-meetings (aka professional development.) Conferences. TBTs. RtI. PTO. CBAs. PLCs. LPDC. IPDPs. IEPs. RIMPs. SLOs. CEUs. Professional Growth Plans. Benchmarking. Data Analysis. Returning phone calls. Returning emails. Writing notes. Documenting phone calls and emails and notes. Copying. Laminating. Filing. Book orders. Newsletters. More meetings. And still. More. Meetings.

For all these reasons and many, many more, it is obvious to me that all teachers need a Work BFF to make their days as pleasant as possible. Even this article outlines 8 reasons we all need a Teacher Bestie. I am totally convinced.

That’s why I am so lucky to have Emily. She’s my Teacher BFF. All the way.

I work in the largest K-3 building in my state (last I checked) so there are a LOT of teachers in my building. There are 11 just in 2nd grade alone (!!!)  There are many wonderful people who work in our building. So out of all of them, how do I know that Emily is my Teacher BFF?

When I walk past her in the hallway, we only need to exchange glances to understand exactly how each other’s day is going.

When I need help with something, she’s the one I go to. I could run it by a million people, but if Emily hasn’t looked it over and given her opinion, it’s not 100% to me.

When there’s something I need to vent about, I know I can go to her and it will stay right there. There’s no worry if something is going to come back around like a game of telephone, with one shred of the truth wrapped up in 17 new rumors.

When I have to attend [yet another] meeting without her, it is completely impossible difficult to get through. When she’s not at school for a whole day for some reason, it’s downright unbearable. Nobody to share all the silly and random things with and have complete appreciation.

This is my ninth year teaching. When I first started, Emily was assigned to me as my mentor for our district’s entry-year program. I can’t even begin to imagine how much work I must have caused her. She helped teach me how to really plan, make assessments, and create content to go along with our curriculum. She helped me navigate all the behind-the-scenes stuff that you have to know to be a good teacher. Everything I do well, it’s because she either showed me how to do it or we came up with ideas together.

The funny thing about having someone you love being around at work. You start to realize you want to be around them more than just a few passing moments in the hallway.

So every once in awhile when our schedules allowed, we would extend our day. We’d hit up a restaurant for an early dinner/late lunch or a coffee. Then we could just hang out, talk about work and life and whatever. It soon became apparent we had more in common than just things related to the classroom.

Getting to know her has been awesome. She’s hard-working. A think-ahead-er. Funny. Smart. Endearing. Humble.

She’s gorgeous (we tell her to freakin’ stop, but she just goes on being gorgeous all the time. It’s really getting annoying, Em. Please.) She has this high-pitched squealy kind of voice that only comes out when she’s either super (super) excited or when she’s basically using it to say What the heck are you talking about!? It’s adorable and uniquely her. Plus you’ll never lose her at a crowded party. She sends me the BEST EVER memes to make me laugh, usually about work craziness. They get me through the week.

Between our occasional dinner dates, hangouts, and constant texting, we’ve had many important conversations about work, family, God, and wine. Not necessarily in that order. I’m thinking we could both wear this t-shirt pretty accurately.

Yeah… about that.

She’s a busy momma. She has a blended family that includes a hubs, three boys, and a little feisty girl. I got to have her son Jonas in my class last year, and I love him to pieces. He’s brilliant like his mom. Creative. Ornery. All Boy. Pretty sure he’s My People too.

Several years back, Emily lost her mom. Little did I know that nearly four years ago when I lost my mom, Emily would be teaching me things all over again. She’s one of the only people in my world who totally gets it when I talk about how much I miss my momma. How I think about calling her at least a few times a month, then remember I can’t. She’s the only one who has ever told me the truth when I ask if that will ever go away.

We’ve helped each other out through some tough life junk. Not just carrying the extra weight at school when one of us had something going on, but with the day-to-day encouragement to handle whatever we’ve got going on. My friends, that is a telltale sign of Your People.

She’s a picky eater who will barely touch a vegetable, and I’m 90% vegetarian. She’s port and bordeaux and I’m fruity moscato. She’s more reserved and I’m the loud one in the room. But these things are just details when it comes to who Your People are. Emily is not only my Teacher BFF, she’s My People for life.

She says that she feels that in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve had a huge influence on her life. What I hope she realizes is that I feel the same way. My work days wouldn’t be the same without her, and neither would my life.

At our Fall Festival last year.

Word.

One Percent, Em!

You’re the very best of the best, Em! Here’s to the One Percent! I don’t know what I would do without you!

Did you ever meet someone and just instantly know they were something special? There’s just something about them, isn’t there? They have a captivating tone to their voice. They have a sparkle about them in some way. They are generous and kind and you just want to be around them and hear everything they have to say.

Jean is one of those people. I’ve been trying to think of the perfect way to describe her and I think I’ve come up with the right word: Darling.

She is simply darling. You just love everything about her when you see her. Her big ol’ smile, her twinkly eyes. Her adorable outfits. And that’s before she ever says a word.

Jean is a CATCH Court mentor and has been since 2013. This was right around the time that I’d started learning about human trafficking and its prevalence in my beloved city. I had joined the fight, and started a small line of handmade jewelry called Fancy Freedom Designs. I sold my jewelry and donated a portion back to an organization called Freedom a la Cart (Doma at the time), which supports the women of CATCH.

At this point in time, Jean and I hadn’t even crossed paths yet.

Then one day at CATCH Court, someone was wearing one of my necklaces. She complimented its owner, who told her about Fancy Freedom. And that, as she puts it, was the beginning of a long love affair!

She’s not kidding! Jean is easily my #1 customer. She’s ordered more things from me, from in-stock items to custom gifts, than anyone else since I started. She tells everyone about Fancy Freedom Designs. I think she sits at home all hours of the day and just emails and texts and calls people all day long to tell them about my jewelry. (Except on Thursdays when she’s at CATCH, obviously.) But seriously, I’ve had a lot of people say they found out about me through Jean. At some point I may have to compensate her for basically being my entire marketing department. She’s been such a wonderful cheerleader, and I couldn’t be more thankful to have such a kindhearted, caring person in my corner. I just love her to pieces.

So imagine how excited I was when she asked me if I’d be interested in coming with her to a nearby city to do an artistic afternoon with the women of Safe Harbor House, a residential program for women who are coming out of traumatic experiences such as sex trafficking and domestic violence, among other things. They offer a holistic approach to healing, and as part of that, host regular workshops and such to give the women creative outlets to express themselves and learn new skills.

Spend an afternoon with Jean? And teach some amazingly strong women a new creative expression? And enable them to create one-of-a-kind, beautiful things that inspire them to keep going in their journeys? Yes please!

We set out on our road trip, and little did I know, some of the best parts of the day were about to happen in the car, while I was listening to Jean’s story.

That day on the highway, I listened intently and learned that Jean is every bit as tough as she is darling.

She told me that day (and has since emailed me details again to refresh my memory) about some medical issues she’d experienced.

And by “some medical issues” I mean life-threatening situations she’s been in. More than once.

Jean has PKD (polycystic kidney disease) and she found out when she was 23 and was trying to become a donor for her own father. She went on for years with no symptoms, but eventually had to go on dialysis.

In 2001, she married an incredible (and cute!) man named Bob. They make a fantastic couple, and he is as big-hearted as she is. The following year she was blessed to receive a kidney from her friend Laurie, volunteering to be a living donor. Jean had both of her diseased kidneys removed, and the transplant went great for both ladies. All seemed well. Shortly after, she suddenly crashed and the medical staff had to work to stabilize her. By the time this happened, the blood in the new kidney had clotted. Her team tried over the next several days to get that new kidney (affectionately nicknamed “Laurean”) for Laurie+Jean!) working correctly, but within a week it had to be removed. Back to square one and the dialysis.

I cannot even imagine how painful this must have been, both physically and emotionally. Not only did Jean have to go through all this herself, but she was a newlywed and her beloved Bob was enduring it alongside her.

For months she actually had no kidneys. And you’d think that would just be the end of this story. But Jean sure knows how to pick some good peeps. Later that year, another friend offered to be a living donor! This time it was Donna, (donating her kidney, “Dean,” of course, for Donna +Jean) and all things went well with this transplant. (YAY!) Jean says that she proudly carts around the workhorse, “Dean” and I know she couldn’t be more thankful.

Perhaps it is all this struggle that makes Jean the delightful lady she is. She simply says there are many people who have had it worse than she has, and she considers herself and Bob to be some of the most blessed people she knows.

I would agree. I mean, she and Bob have each other as Their People. And Jean’s People are everywhere. We share some mutual People through our anti-trafficking efforts. But when I asked Jean to tell me a little about Her People, she had no hesitation.

Obviously her Bob is incredible. He’s her rock. Standing beside her through all of that difficult time during the kidney transplants. He’s her best friend and the love of her life. She also mentioned a childhood friend, Jenny, who goes as far back as when they were kids and they were sneaking out of their windows after bedtime. Her friend Laurie, who gave her a kidney and cried with her when things went South, now lives in AZ, but they are as close as ever. Jean says they “specialize in capers,” a phrase which really only makes me love her all the more. Of course she would have enjoyed elaborating on such shenanigans, but that would put my life in danger. So… there’s that.

Even if I had never taken that road trip with Jean and found out all the additional awesomeness about her, I would still absolutely already know that she was My People. We share a love of freedom and reaching out to others to help them understand that they are valuable and loved and created with purpose. And that right there is enough. Everything else is just a bonus.

Best Customer Ever Selfie!

Jean is the kind of People we all need more of in our lives. She’s sweet and kind and giving and tender-hearted and tough all at once. And all that rolled into one beautiful person sure is inspiring.

Who is the Jean in your life? Is there someone who you already knew was awesome but then just blew you away with the rest of their story? Leave a comment to tell us about him or her.

We are now in the second week of 31 Days of My People, and I have never been more excited about a writing project! If you missed any part of the series, check it out here.

I have an important file in my classroom filing cabinet. The words in bold, black Sharpie label its contents: WHY I DO THIS

This file is SO very necessary. Because some days as a teacher, the paperwork and the meetings and the mandates and the people in offices somewhere who try to tell you how to do your job… It’s all just too much. And you feel like quitting. And you wonder if you can really make any difference at all.

Those are the days I open that file. I leaf through photographs of previous years’ classes. I laugh at silly drawings that students have created for me. I read and re-read notes from parents thanking me for making a difference in their child’s world: He loves to read now! She’s never been more confident. He comes home every day excited to tell me about school. Thank you for caring not only about my child, but about our whole family.

This is the stuff. THIS is why I became a teacher. Because I’m a bleeding-heart true believer. I think it’s the most important job in the universe. No matter what else goes wrong, these reminders tell me that I really am making a difference. These children matter. And I matter to them. These are My People. My kiddos.

The directions were: Write a sentence for the word “I’ll”

In case you’re not able to decipher 7-year old writing, this little guy just wrote a sentence, using his best encoding abilities, stating “I’ll be moving to the family shelter on the next month.”

Just let that sit there with you for a second.

This was written one week ago, on the last day of September. So “on the next month” means right now.

Right now, a little boy in my classroom is living in a shelter with his family.

Another kiddo is being raised by her grandparents because both of her parents are in prison. She knows. She talks about her “real mom” (grandma) and her “other mom” like it’s a typical family unit. She’s bright and cheerful and ready to take on the world every day. So is my little guy who is living in the shelter right now.

This is my ninth year teaching, and although I’m sure I haven’t seen it all, I sure have seen plenty when it comes to the lives of my students. For the most part, they’ve experienced far too much for the small amount of years they’ve been on this planet.

But my kiddos are nothing if not resilient. Every day I see why Jesus said we need to become like little children. They are loving, pure, generous, and full of wonder.

It’s just the very best thing in the whole world.

My kiddos come from every single situation you can imagine. Some are well fed and some eat free lunch and breakfast at school as their only meals. Some have beautiful new school clothes each fall and some exclusively wear ill-fitting hand-me-downs. Fashion isn’t a concern when you just need clothing on your body.

Some of my kiddos sleep in warm cozy beds in meticulously decorated rooms, just for them. Others pile up on the floor or on a single mattress at night with several other members of their family. Some live with their parents. Most live just with mom or grandma.

My kiddos’ faces are little pink seashells, and smooth roasted coffee and All the Colors of the Earth in between. Those faces hold huge missing-tooth smiles, wide-with-wonder eyes, and sometimes sniffles of disappointment.

They are chubby hands, and hungry stomachs. They are sticky cheeks and sweaty hair after recess. They are high-strung and zoned out. They are kind and aware as well as self-centered and tunnel-visioned.

They say my name at least 3,792 times a day. Each. They interrupt. They don’t wait their turn. They fumble. They cry. They freak out over a paper cut. They are all up in each other’s business. They tattle. Oh, do they tattle on each other.

But they also dream. And give a billion hugs out of nowhere. They write notes that say “I love you” nearly every day. They ask amazing questions, and come up with incredible connections between what we’ve learned and other things they know. They put up with my ridiculous dancing and singing every day. They look out for each other. They let me know when someone is feeling left out. They giggle. And it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

I spend huge chunks of time with other people’s children. And there are days when I feel like giving up on it. But there’s just too much I would miss about these kiddos.

I love My People. All of them. But there’s a special place in my heart for the ones who are under 4 feet tall. My kiddos. Because they aren’t just MY people. They’re the future’s People. They won’t be my kiddos forever. They will be citizens of the world very soon.

So right now my job is to love them. To show them kindness and to show them that one person can make a difference. In doing so, I get to play a part in making our future better by building up my kiddos today.

My daily reminder

In 6th grade, he told Natalie Porreca that I French-kissed him, which was SO not true.

You’d think that one would be unforgivable. But apparently, I am a gentle and charitable soul.

He had the blond flip hair that reminded me of Zach from Saved by the Bell. He was a prankster, so I should have known what I was getting myself into. I had my first perm-gone-wrong, and that boy never let me forget it. How did we become friends again?

James and I have one of those…what do you call it? Evergreen. We have an evergreen type of friendship. No matter where we’ve gone, what we’ve endeavored to do, our relationship remains year after year.

His given name is James Russell Carter. Rusty to his family. But always James to me.

In high school we were mostly going about our separate ways. Not intentionally. It’s just that we had different classes and interests and such. He was a dedicated band nerd and I was all about my art classes and my boyfriend.

As most high-schoolers did back then, we had jobs at the mall. I worked at the one-hour photo lab. James worked at a men’s clothing store. And Jamie, our other amigo, worked at a place where they sell a bunch of glass and metal things you can engrave. Very serious work, you know.

Clearly I was the one with the best job out of all three of us, so at some point I convinced both of them to jump ship and start working at the photo lab with me.

That’s when the fun really started.

You know how the experiences you have with some friends pretty much ensure you’ll never be able to run for Congress? Yeah, that’s pretty much how it is with us. James, Jamie, and I had so much fun at that photo lab, it’s borderline inaccurate to call it “work.”

We spent our clock hours cracking up over everyone-in-the-universe’s pictures. Their life’s memories, people. Just hilarious. And the grown-ups in the mall, the ones who had worked there far too long, simply weren’t having it when it came to our loud, obnoxious horseplay. I am sure we doled out some measure of torment to them on a regular basis.  And I’m pretty sure we developed as much of our own film as we did our customers’. Oh, and also, said photo lab (their entire company, actually) is no longer in business. Go figure. Total coincidence, I’m sure.

It wasn’t all fun and games with us. We also survived some awful moments together, such as the time an elderly woman brought in about 15 rolls of film she had taken while on her trip to Ireland. She had just returned from her trip where she had gone to visit her relatives and the site of her ancestors’ homestead. A once-in-a-lifetime trip that could never be replaced. And then, our film processing machine malfunctioned. All her film was ruined. RUINED. I mean, almost every single frame on every single roll.  It was nobody’s fault, just simply a mechanical error that had happened at the absolute worst possible time. We salvaged what we could, but that wasn’t much. And the poor woman stood in front of us, quietly crying, while we offered her free-everything-for-life, which was completely useless in the face losing images of memories she could never, ever replace. That was a bad day to say the least.

We had a love-hate relationship with that photo lab, to be sure. But being together all the time at that job helped keep our friendship going when our separate high school pursuits might have otherwise caused us to drift apart. For that I will forever be thankful.

One night when we were sweeping the floor and counting the cash drawer, James said to me very soberly: I need to talk to you. I could tell this constant jokester was not joking this time. His face had never been more serious. We finished up our duties, and we sat in the small, poorly lit office in the back. I already knew what this 17 year old boy was about to say, but I prepared myself anyway.

I wish I could remember the exact words, how he started, and every little detail of what he said. Perhaps he does. But there in the back room of the photo lab, surrounded by boxes and the thick stench of chemicals, my friend opened up his lips and his heart, and said the hardest words he’d ever said aloud:

I’m gay.

I would have liked to have responded with some profound, loving words. But all I recall saying was: I know.

I asked James this week what was one thing he’d want people to know about our friendship. He responded: “You were the very first person that I ever actually told I was gay.” He said, “I’m crying as I type this because I don’t know that you really know how much I trusted you and you never betrayed it. Ever.”

He was right. At the time, I had no idea how profound that moment was for either of us. After all the years of trying to understand his own feelings, and feeling as if he had to keep it all inside, he was coming to a place where he had to open up to be fully honest with himself and the people around him.

Can you imagine years of trying to mentally and emotionally prepare for something of this magnitude? Having no idea whether what you were about to say would walk you right into unconditional love or a backlash of rejection? Not about your job choice, or your style of clothing, but YOU. They might love YOU or reject YOU. I cannot fathom the lump I would have had in my throat.

James has said before that my reaction helped set the stage for the trajectory of the rest of his life. For my friend to entrust his biggest moment to me is humbling to say the least. That’s when he knew I was His People. He said after he’d told me, and then never once worried that he had, he knew we’d be for life.

James isn’t my gay friend. He’s my friend. He also happens to be gay. And brilliant. And hard-working. And stubborn. And sarcastic. And nostalgic. And tender-hearted. And the best uncle you’ve ever seen on the face of this planet. Those are just a few of the things that make him who he is. All the things together make him into the person that I love and cherish as one of My People.

We are now approximately a billion light years past high school and that little back office of the photo lab in the mall. But James and I are still close, and we always will be. We don’t see each other every single day. We don’t agree on every single thing. We have to make breakfast dates in advance to be able to catch up on each other’s lives.

He’s now a professor of social work at Wright State. His research and ideas have been published more times than I could count. He’s won awards for his work and advocacy. I’ve never seen anyone work harder to realize their dreams. I’m so thankful I’ve been along for the ride the whole time so I could see the beautiful, confident person he’s become. And he’s always been so supportive of my endeavors. He champions me as a teacher like nobody’s business. He’s encouraged me in my creative pursuits. He’s just there for me. Like a friend always is.

Friends, you just never know when Your People are about to let you into a profound moment of their lives. We all have something about us that requires a sacred trust to let out. When Your People give you the gifts of their thoughts and feelings, return the gesture with lots of love. It doesn’t matter if you understand everything they are going through. Just be there to show them that you’re going to love them no matter what. It may completely change the course of their life, and yours.

When we live through hard things together, and come out on the other side of them holding on to love and trust, we are sure to be each other’s People for life.

Together after James came to support Fancy Freedom’s Liberator Award Nomination

Getting spiffy at Jamie’s wedding

I love you, James. You are forever My People no matter what. And I thank you for trusting me to be part of such an important moment of your life. We are both very different people now than we were back in high school, I know. But my favorite part of us is that we love and respect each other for who we are. And that will never change.

Whew! I am tired already!

I am loving writing these posts in this 31 Days of My People series. There’s nothing I enjoy more than sharing our quirks, our fun and somewhat alarming stories (sorry, Sally!) and the history I have and am still making with My People. I told you… They’re just the best.

Like I mentioned in my Intro to this 31 Days, throughout this series I will not only be highlighting stories of My People and sharing them with all of you to love, but I’ll be offering tips to start, build, and grow your relationships with Your People.

So each Tuesday this month, you’ll see a post entitled Tuesday People Tips, and you’ll get some ideas to seek out and strengthen relationships so you can best love Your People and enjoy many memories together.

Here’s your first installment of Tuesday People Tips:

It’s not lost on me that not everyone has wonderful people in their life. Some folks are simply born into difficult families or aren’t surrounded by very many positive influences. I get that we don’t get to choose every single person we have to be around. But Our People are entirely up to us. We get choose who we spend the moments of our lives with.

But what if the space of life you’re in has you still looking around for Your People? Maybe you’re feeling downright lonely and wondering if you’ll ever have People. Well then, friend…first you’ve got to believe that there’s always someone out there who is Your People. Then you’ve got to do something to start building community. Here are some suggestions:

Start Somewhere

Can you make a hamburger? How about a pot of chili? Take a couple of minutes to watch this video by Jen Hatmaker. She says it better than I ever could.

You can see that what Jen is getting at here is that it doesn’t have to be a big deal to start with. Maybe you take some leftover chili a coworker sometime. Then the next time you make it, invite them over to share it with you. Or maybe you and your spouse can talk to the neighbors over the fence while you’re sprucing up the lawn, then throw some extra burgers (or in my case, zucchini) on the grill and invite them over to help you eat them.

Keep it simple. A table or a front porch are often fantastic, easy places to start. Food isn’t always necessary, but let’s be real…a big jar of sweet tea can cover a multitude of weirdness. So can a pot of coffee. Or some Yuengling. Whatever. It helps to have something to bond over and frankly, something to do with your hands while you navigate the new conversation.

No big pressure. Just get started. I am betting the first few conversations won’t wade too far into deep waters, but that’s okay. You’re just starting out. And if this person is meant to be Your People, you’ll be able to connect on a deeper level soon enough. But you’ve gotta start somewhere.

What’s Your Deal, Man?

When you’re having these get-to-know-you conversations over dinner or drinks or the fence, a great way to foster open conversation is by simply asking about your new friend. Sure, you’ll be sharing about yourself too, but ask some questions that will help them open up, then zip it and genuinely listen to their answers. These conversations will help you know if this person could potentially be Your People.

Do you know how I start off with people I’m just getting to know? I say, “So, what’s your story?” and then I sit back and listen. I love hearing people’s stories. I love knowing how a couple met and fell in love. I love listening to why someone moved across country (or to a new country altogether.) I love hearing what makes them tick, and why they are into poetry/Zimbabwe/literature/running/Indian food/boating/horseback riding/sustainable stuff. Whatever their deal is, I want to know about it. Whatever their story, asking and listening will get the ball rolling, and you’ll both be able to open up and start connecting.

Pray for Your People

God cares about every single thing in your life. Literally ALL THE THINGS. You don’t think He would care enough to send some People your way? Just ask Him, then get ready. I have a feeling they’ve always been there, around you. Pray for Him to help open your eyes to the People that might already be in your life and how you can connect with them.

Reach out. Open up. Offer your table or porch. You may be surprised at how you connect with Your People.

Do you have some other tips that will help folks get started on their journey to finding Their People? I’d love to hear them! Leave a comment with how you started a conversations that led to a great relationship with Your People.

See you tomorrow for more of 31 Days of My People!

He had these pants. They were red. Borderline maroon, but leaning toward red for sure.  Imagine those red pants on a tall, lanky runner’s build. Somewhere around 6’3”ish. I thought, who wears red pants like that? Brave.

That was my first memory of him. We joked about those red pants and other things any chance we got. Working in a cubicle farm that served an online retailer was far from exciting, but our little team of coworkers-turned-friends made it as fun as it could possibly be. We were all college-ish age, most of us taking classes and working that job. We worked second shift, and all the rest of the world wasn’t available when we were. So we spent a lot of time with this group of folks. But I spent most of my time with Jeff, the red pants guy.

Jeff quickly became My People. I am not even really sure how. We both liked to talk and debate and wonder. He was all engineering-y and outdoorsy, and I was all artsy and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

Our little coworker-friend group got into all kinds of shenanigans. Once we persuaded our boss (who called us her Dream Team) to let us take a day off for “team-building” and she actually went for it. We spent hours canoeing in the middle of a work day, laughing our heads off, and nearly drowning about 478,082,374,001 times. It was purely awesome.

We would drink Disaronno amaretto on the rocks. Once in awhile, he and his roommate Chesley would force me to watch Monty Python movies, which aren’t even the slightest bit funny to me even after the whole liter of amaretto was empty. British accents + dumb humor. Kill me now.

We’ve gone tubing in the winter, where I nearly got a concussion. We’ve lived it up as tourists in Vegas. We’ve driven to the top of Pike’s Peak and speechlessly walked through Garden of the Gods in Colorado. We’ve been to a tiny place called Filthy Wilmas. True story, people.

At Pike’s Peak in Colorado

Returning home from 105 degrees in Las Vegas to low 30s in Ohio

Since we were both young, fun people who went everywhere and did everything together, folks who didn’t know us naturally assumed we were a couple. This presented a pretty significant problem for us since, like most young, fun single people, we were in the trenches when it came for the search for a significant other. Most folks would have just done the obvious and started dating their friend by default, since they were always together anyway. But that just wasn’t us. We both knew we were each other’s Fill-in.

fill-in

noun: a person or thing acting or serving in place of another; a substitute

At some point we even started calling each other Fill-in, because regardless of how everyone else looked at us, we knew that’s exactly what we were. We were placeholders, and that wasn’t a bad thing.

Although we were fulfilling an important role as friends, we were really filling in for someone else in the future. Our friendship was instructive, in an unspoken way. When we laughed at each other’s jokes, we were teaching one other how important humor really was for a lifetime. When we had long conversations (with or without Disaronno) we were training each other to be good listeners for the one whom we would listen to forever. When we gave truthful (and sometimes hard) advice, we were practicing honesty with our future partners. It’s nothing I could have articulated back then, but looking back now it seems so obvious. Thanks for the training, Fill-in. It’s coming in handy big-time.

One September day, after Jeff had already moved cross-country to take a job with Intel, I called him with some bad news. I found myself at a difficult crossroad, completely the result of my own poor choices. I had already made up my mind about what I was going to do, but I needed him to know what was going on. Of the handful of close friends who had any idea what kind of life-changing moment I was standing in, he was the only one who told me he thought I was about to make a mistake. He was the only one who was brave enough to tell me he thought I could do better than what I was about to do.

I didn’t take his advice, and that is something I’ll always regret. But if I’d learned nothing else, I had at least learned that I had one person in my life who wouldn’t just tell me what I wanted to hear.

There was something else about this guy. He was a believer. He talked about God and I knew he believed in Jesus. Like, the whole shebang about Jesus. He knew that any talk of God was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear, but when he spoke about it I never felt as if he was being pushy or judgmental. He was just sharing what truth was to him. This whole thing didn’t compute for me. How could someone be all about God and still drink cool beers and enjoy snowboarding? I mean, was it even possible to be normal and fun and all about Jesus? I wouldn’t have believed it was, except for Jeff.

About a year after my poor decision-making skills left a big scar on my life, I was in a very funky place. We were running up our phone bills again with a long conversation that spanned East coast to West. Something had been building in me that I’d been trying to shove down for a long time, but I was finally starting to talk about it. I was pushing questions onto Jeff like I never had before, and I could tell it was making him uncomfortable. I was asking him things about heaven and hell and God and being a good person that had him backed into a corner. I am certain he knew where all this was headed, and I was starting to get kind of belligerent about this whole God thing with him, which I’d never done before.

He was standing on the edge of hurting a friend’s feelings with the truth. But lovely people, when a person you care about is asking you for the truth, you give it to them. What he said that night told me that the thing I was missing in my life was Jesus, and that there were simply no other answers to my questions.

When our conversation ended, I wasn’t sure if Jeff and I would ever talk again. Truly. (He said the exact same thing.) But I knew he had been completely, totally honest with me. And that was refreshing, even if it stung momentarily.

I set out on a journey to figure this business out. I always thought anything to do with Christianity was backward, sketchy, and boring. And I discovered that for some people (usually the loud ones) that is the case. But none of those things were associated with this Jesus that Jeff followed. None.

Jeff had opened the door and let me discover for myself that Jesus was the answer to all these dang questions. Every single one of them. And He still is.

Jeff gave me my first bible over a decade ago. I still carry that one…now wrinkly, torn, and tattered. Missing the maps and half the concordance. But I don’t care. I don’t think I will ever get rid of it. Because it reminds me of my friend Jeff and my very ragged search for truth. And how he was an integral part of it. Of who I am today.

When Jeff came to visit for the first time after I was married, he took my husband aside and had a conversation with him. He made a point to tell him, man to man, that we’d been friends—and only friends—for a long time, but he was glad I’d found the one whom he’d been filling in for all that time. Mad respect for that moment.

Now my lady-reader-friends, before you go asking me for Jeff’s number because he sounds like such a great guy… simmer down. He’s all settled down now. He is married to an incredible little redhead who couldn’t be more perfect for him. Her name is Mckayla and I don’t think I could have handpicked a better gal for him myself. She’s brilliant, beautiful, funny, and outdoorsy(!!!) They still live on the West coast and have now gifted the universe with the most gorgeous, chubby little baby boy that you’ve ever seen. Aunty Krysten is madly in love from afar. I’m so happy for their little family and the way they are following after God together. I secretly obviously want them to move straight to Ohio tomorrow so I can hang out with them both and drink pumpkin beer and pretend Ohio winters are as fun as the ones in Oregon.

Jeff’s text to me upon opening gifts for his baby boy, Alexander. Priceless.

Young ladies, if you find yourself in a situation where you have a close friend of the other gender, and he makes you laugh and respects you and encourages you and all that, just pump your brakes. Don’t get all girl-stupid and jump to conclusions. You might just ruin everything. Ask God for a wider lens and zoom out all the way. Just chill for a minute and realize that maybe, just maybe, this person is your Fill-in. You probably have a lot to learn from him. And you–and your future–will be better for it.

Thanks again, Fill-in. I think you did an awesome job.

Middle school is just the WORST. I mean, seriously… there are funky growth spurts and ill-fitting fashion trends. Insecurity and hormones start to come into play. There are mean girls and nerds and jocks starting to emerge. And the lunch room. Good Lord… where does one sit on the first day? How do you walk your shaky, insecure-trying-not-to-seem-insecure self up to a table and dare to sit down? That deal could be a life-changer in and of itself.

Seventh grade was coming to an end at Finland Middle School, and I had just started to become friends with a girl named Jamie. She was funny and nice, which was very rare in the arena of thirteen-year-old girls. On the last day of school, I gave her my phone number so we could hang out over the summer.

She never called. Not once the whole summer.

That was a bummer but when you’re that age, people pledge friendship all the time without coming through, so I chalked it up to being another situation like that.

So there I was on the first day of 8th grade, now worrying about who I would sit with at lunch. Then out of nowhere, there she was. Somehow we found each other in the lunchroom and sat together. I can’t recall who else was sitting at our table, but I can tell you it was an unlikely mix of people. The fringe folk who didn’t really fit exactly into any specific clique. But we were there, together. And just like that, Jamie was My People.

We were literally inseparable from then all the way through high school. We had some other friends as well that became our little band of amigos, but it was always me and Jamie no matter what.

The summer between 8th grade and freshman year we thought we were really awesome. We bought a box of hair dye and shoplifted another (sorry, moms) and locked ourselves in the bathroom of my house. My mom came to inspect the situation, and when she banged on the door and asked what the heck we were doing in there, we told her we were doing facials. Apparently that was a good enough explanation.

Now when I came outta that bathroom with black hair, my mom gave me a twisty-eyed look and some rant about not being old enough to mess around with hair dye or something. But Jamie’s hair?? Oh it was a tragedy. You see, Jamie had the most gorgeous, thick, all-the-colors-of-blonde-and-light-brown hair. The kind that women pay hundreds of dollars to attempt to have. It was beautiful. So when she dyed it black…let’s just say her mom was none too happy about that. She dragged Jamie off to the hairdresser, and after what was probably a few hundred bucks later, Jamie had to endure stripped out, grey hair for a couple of days before it was colored back to a normal shade of light brown. I can’t believe her mom even let us hang out anymore after that.

Nearly every day that summer, we walked several miles to a dollar store, or to Taco Bell, or to each other’s houses. Sometimes we would walk to the COTA bus stop, and ride the bus downtown or to campus (without our parents’ permission, of course.) We would walk around all the weird campus shops that sold tie-dye and “tobacco” pipes and such. We would talk to strange people and once in awhile ride around in their cars. How are we not dead?? 

We thought for sure we looked just like those deep, angsty college girls. After all, one of us had black hair and we both listened to The Doors on occasion. Now I see little teenage gals walking around in the mall or on a campus and they stand out to me like a sore thumb. SO OBVIOUS, kids! You don’t look like a college girl at all. You look like the awkward, insecure child that you are. And PS: Get some damn clothes on. Don’t you know the world is dangerous? 

Yeah, Jamie and I never would have listened to that either.

Throughout high school she had to put up with my boyfriend situation. (Sorry about that, girl!) She was definitely more mature than me. Probably still is. She stuck by me through my flannel shirt phase, my cowboy boots phase, and my red leather jacket phase. Jesus, please help Jamie forget all those times when I was wearing things that clearly must have embarrassed her. Thank you and Amen. 

SO many memories. Our senior spring break trip with another friend included all of the following: jumping on the bed, wet bologna, a stay in a hotel that was apparently known as a crack house and place of prostitution, and hitching a ride with a trucker from Tennessee back to Ohio when our car ultimately broke down for good.

Seriously, how are we even alive?? 

I desperately want to tell you all the details of these memories, but word count simply won’t allow it. Plus, all our stories are much better told with silly voices and exaggerated hand gestures. Come over for dinner sometime and I will gift you with the whole presentation.

As much as all these goofy things stand out, there’s something to be said for growing up with someone. That’s really what Jamie and I did. For over 25 years we have been growing up together, a little at a time. We’ve seen each other through so much stuff of life. Death of loved ones, car accidents, moving all over the country, weddings, good and bad life choices, family drama, and missing each other dearly at certain times.

After high school, Jamie joined the army and went off to boot camp and all kinds of army training schools. I missed her so much back then, and the letters we wrote back and forth were the best thing ever during that time. I was so proud of her but a little lost without my BFF for a while. I would never trade that time apart though, because she was on a cool journey to really find herself and become who she is today. I’m so thankful for that because she’s awesome.

Now Jamie is close to retiring from the Army Reserve, and she just accepted a brand-new job as an RN with Grant Medical Center’s Emergency department (WOOOHOO! You go girl!) I always knew she’d end up in a career where she was helping people, because that’s just what she does.

She’s married now to a great guy, and I had the pleasure of standing beside her in her wedding a couple of years ago. She was a stunning bride, full of happiness and solid in who she was. It was a lovely moment to witness.

Jamie & her husband Dave

When I asked her what she’d like people to know about our friendship, she said: “I don’t ever have to filter anything with you. I can show you the ugly sides of myself and it’s ok and time or distance doesn’t change that AND we always seem to laugh so hard, sometimes I forget that I haven’t laughed that hard until we are together again.” I agree wholeheartedly.

Jamie and I don’t see each other very often nowadays. We have to plan dates in advance and put them on the calendar to make them happen. That’s just part of life. But there’s never a day where we can’t call or text and pick up right where we left off. Because that’s what you do with Your People, friends. That’s one way you know they’re Your People to begin with.

On the day we almost got kicked out of Bob Evans

I love you, Jamie! You are “Vonderfully Perfect and SOOO COOL!

Belcher’s Market, Columbus, Ohio, circa 1983:

Butcher: Here you go, here’s your bologna and your cheeses.

Customer, with toddler on her hip: Thank you, ma’am.

Butcher: Now you go on home now and clean that baby up, you hear me? He is filthy! His feet are black as tar! You go home and put him in the bath and don’t you EVER  bring that baby out of the house looking like that again!

Customer: Yes ma’am. I will. I mean…uh… I won’t…. Thank you, ma’am.

Butcher’s Daughter: Who was that lady, mom?

Butcher: Hell if I know, I ain’t never seen her before in my life. *goes about business at the meat counter*

Butcher’s Daughter: *blink blink*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just after a funeral, in a Kentucky holler, circa 1985:

Husband of Deceased: Thanks for coming, Betty Jo. It’s been a real long day. Boy, I sure am gonna miss her.

Betty Jo: Well… you know she wasn’t nothin’ but an old whore.

Husband of Deceased: Yeah, I know, but I loved her. Sure will miss her. Good to seeya, Jo. Thanks again for coming.

Betty Jo’s Daughter, not sure what “whore” means, but sure it’s a bad thing: *blink blink*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was life with my momma, Betty Jo. One minute you were going about your normal business just being a kid, and the next minute you were thrust into an awkward moment that you didn’t quite understand (but you totally knew was awkward.)

But the weird thing about her was this: no matter what she said to anyone, they just agreed with her. It was freaky. Whatever it was, good or bad, no one seemed to be able to argue with what she said. Maybe it was because she just stated the obvious. Or maybe it was because she was plumb crazy. I guess I’ll never know since there was no one around to compare with.

Betty Jo was born in Turkey Creek, KY. Her parents were poor, like everyone else in their universe. She had to quit school after 8th grade because the books were too expensive and so were the clothes to wear. And besides, she needed to go to work to help support the family. She was a real-life coal miner’s daughter, and my Papaw had the black lungs to prove it. She and my dad married young, had 7 kids over a span of 23 years, and I was lucky number seven.

In front of her home in Turkey Creek, KY

Betty Jo, 8th Grade Graduation

She gave birth to me when she was 42 years old. You just didn’t do that back in the 70’s. The way my mom told it, the doctor warned her that either the baby would die or she would die during childbirth. Didn’t faze her a bit. Betty Jo told him that if God saw fit to give her a baby when she was 42 years old there must be a good reason. And here I am, 38 years later, doing just fine.

Well, fine is a relative term, I guess. My momma’s life ended on December 22, 2011. It was a Thursday. It was her 76th birthday. I was in Target picking up last-minute items for my trip to India that was happening in just a few days. Right after that I was headed to Ari’s Diner to pick up gyros and baklava to surprise her with a birthday lunch. Before I was halfway to her, she was already gone.

Nothing has been the same in my life since that day.

I always knew that losing my momma would be hard, but I never imagined the extent to which I would miss her. I never imagined I could miss anyone or anything this much. This missing is by far the heaviest thing I’ve ever carried.

Mostly it catches me in the small moments. When I make a batch of her iron-skillet cornbread. When I see an Avon catalog, which is where she always purchased her perfume. When I see something pretty she would have enjoyed, like a beaded table runner or some flowery stationery. She said you should always be prepared to send a nice card if you need to.

My momma was a butcher at that little grocery store for about 15 years. It was kind of a strange job for a mom to have. But then again, it had its perks. I got to take a cow brain in for show-and-tell once. (Wonder why I didn’t have  a lot of friends??) Sometimes my mom would cut off a thin slice of Colby cheese and give it to me as an after-school snack, and I would walk around the store holding up that big, floppy circle of cheese above my head and taking bites off the bottom. What a little weirdo.

She thanked the Good Lord and cussed like a sailor. She smoked three packs of Salem Lights 100s a day until she had to be on oxygen full-time. She looked through all the sale papers every Sunday. She loved Conway Twitty so much that she sobbed like she’d lost one of her own children the day he died. She was so ironic it was just silly sometimes.

I put that lady through a lot. Can you imagine how tired she must have been after raising 7 kids, with a good part of the final stretch completely on her own? Dang. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But I had a great childhood. My dad passed away when I was barely five years old, but I don’t feel like I missed out on a thing. She must have been a miracle worker, because we never had much money but I always had great memories. I never lacked a thing.

I picked up a lot of things from being around my mom.  Some bad habits, but mostly good things. I still worry that I wasn’t a good enough daughter. I pray that something in my life made her proud of me. And I wish in a thousand ways that I could have just a few more minutes with her to listen to her gripe about the loud neighbors.  I’d be more than happy to go get 10 for $10 of something I doubt she’d ever need from Kroger. I would give anything to sit with her and listen as she yelled at the TV screen as if the football players on either team were taking her advice.

Your family is your family no matter what. But as for Your People…blood is no prerequisite. But my momma…She was My People. Always will be. I know there’s someone just like her in the ones you call Your People.

Blood or not, you’ve got someone who mothers you and has your heart as fully as Betty Jo had mine. If she’s still with you, take a moment to tell her how awesome she is. Thank her for the ways she made you into the person you are today. Spend some time just doing whatever she’d like to do. Because right now is the only chance you have to show her how important she is to you. This Butcher’s Daughter knows that all too well.