Vanity turned to better focus

I'm guessing it was 90 degrees at 9:30 AM that August day. Nothing remarkable about that in Dallas, Texas. I was out jogging during boot camp trying earnestly to focus on something besides the heat and my flagging energy. I starting watching my shadow. Shadow watching is still a source of glee and wonder in my world.

I had my hair smushed up into a quasi-Pebbles/I Dream of Jeanne do. It took all of 4 seconds to create. There was enough hair sticking up and around the back of my head that it was flopping in rhythm to my consistent, but slowing pace. I was amused, almost to the point of audible laughter, when I realized I could see the frizzy ends of my hair in my shadow. Although shadows can be deceptive, I made a snap decision that a trim was in my future.

I was staying at my sister's house due to the kitchen remodel. She just happened to be at her hair stylist's salon that day. Kim, Carol's forthright stylist duty bound by an oath for truth to clients was able to work me in that same day. "Just a trim and a bang even-ing job, please." Kim her eyes not and pursed lips communicating the true message said,  "I do free bang trims whenever you want to stop by."

That is Kim's polite way of saying, "Lori, quit hackin' at your own hair with whatever pair of scissors or sharp tool you can locate."

When she dried my hair, she began explaining how to achieve the style she chose for me. I noticed, without concern, that my bangs looked very different. In one mindless, habitual action, I reached for the right part of my bang and pulled towards the back of my head. Snapping to attention, Kim blurted out, "NO!" I must have looked like the wide eyed, confused toddler that I felt like at that second. Backing down from her stance, she pulled my hair further back, revealing more of my scalp and forehead.
K- "What do you see?"

Shoulders frozen. Spine rigid. Holding my breath, I sheepishly asked, "Wrinkles?"

K- With a chuckle and a slight, but fleeting affirmation that yes, there were wrinkles said, "No. This bald spot."

WHAT?

With bionic eye focus I saw it for the very first time. A bald spot. A BALD spot!! My bald spot. I remarked internally, with a taste of scorn, "Well thanks alot, Kim. Now I've got something else to worry about!" Strike the mental part. I'm pretty sure I said it aloud.

I couldn't even focus on the deliciously even ends of my salon styled hair. (My hair looks this way several times a year. That's it.)

A dog with a new bone.

I logged more miles to a mirror in a week, than I have since age 15. She was right. I have a bald spot. Me! I'll admit, I even looked at pictures from childhood to see if that was a lifelong, unnoticed flaw, or yet another unwanted perk of aging.

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who doesn't want bald spots. Even more, I'll bet there are a few people who enjoy blind spots either, especially those of us who are ancestor-ed in shame.

There is a place and time when negative, unpleasant things can and need to be verbalized, I'm sure. Blind spots are tricky business when they are mishandled, I think. I've noticed most people can blurt out a list of flaws; but, the positive sides are more difficult to articulate. More than a little sad to me.

What happens when wonderful and uplifting attributes are highlighted by another person?

When I went into therapy in my early twenties, I expected, in effect, to get the list of flaws on a spreadsheet with solutions listed in the following columns. Gay, without my understanding, turned that paradigm on it's faulty head and started over.

She began pointing out positive truths about Lori Clark. Not smoke. No mirrors. Truth, as she saw it. I discovered quickly that positive blind spots are more difficult to internalize as truth. It's particularly tough when others have used positive affirmations as a form of manipulation for self gain. That said, in time, with trust and health, I began accepting that Gay, a whole and healthy person was speaking truth about me.

So, I've learned to stand on my head, so to speak because of a built relationship with Gay. My foundation is vastly stronger internally because of what she helped me see. Some stones were chipped away slowly while new ones were being shored into place. Others were blown up through various events, welcomed or not. There are charred stones that are part of who I am in my internal foundation, usable and tested. What I trust more than anything or anyone, Gay included, is that The Cornerstone is perfectly dependable, without flaw, and eager to make me more like Him.

Just for today, give thought to another's ever changing world and speak words of character affirmation into her/his life.

Philippians 2

The Message (MSG)

2 ^1-4 If you’ve gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if his love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care— then do me a favor: Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends. Don’t push your way to the front; don’t sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don’t be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand.

^5-8 Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.
^9-11 Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father.

P. S.  Rogaine is as effective as they claim.

What a Difference a Year Makes.....

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who has days where I feel edgy, even to the point of being frantic for no apparent reason. It's an over-arching anxiety that makes even the smallest, most mundane tasks barely manageable.

Today I woke up with that pit in my stomach and generalized dread about simply getting dressed and eating breakfast. It came as a surprise because yesterday was a wonderful day and the day before that was great and the day before that fun filled, etc.  I vaguely remember feeling scared each morning most of my life---like every day of my life before my mid-twenties. I ignored it and masked it with hyper-activity. I pushed it away and tried to smother it. I tried eating it too.

None of those approaches were effective. So I sought help. What I learned over time was that for me, knowing what I'm fearful about helps me tremendously.

Why the dread for today?

Before my feet hit the floor, I determined I had two tasks that must be crossed off the list today:
1. Get Annie Beth ready for her first day of 5th grade.
2. Write and post a blog for Gay.

Both of those events produced some anxiety.
1.  I've always had jitters before new school years, as a student and now as a mother. I can easily talk my way out of the anxious feelings because of truths and experience, though. Annie Beth doesn't want summer to end. However, she loves school and she adores her teacher. She had the same teacher in second grade. For me? I know that the first hour of school days can be rough; but, I'm on my own until 2:50 each day. No anxiety in that for me. Nope school jitters wasn't the problem.

2. Writing a post on Gay's blog? Aside from wondering if I could do justice to articulating what being in a healthy friendship/relationship is like? No worries.

Only because of help from Gay and others.....I've learned that if that free-floating anxiety isn't about this day or an impending day ahead, I best look backwards. I'm a firm believer that our history informs our future.

I've been aware the last month of certain markers of how stressful this period was last year. I've been jarred by pictures on my phone-pictures of me in suits that would be forwarded to a jury consultant for purchase approval. Last week I was driving past the family courthouse en route to another place in Denton. Without thought, I pulled into the parking lot and parked my van. I was sweating and felt nauseous. Realizing my mistake, relief couldn't possibly scratch the surface of my core feeling. I've noticed also that I'm spending far too much time on Pinterest. I credit Pinterest for helping me maintain some moments of sanity during the trial last year.

The trial.

Of course. Today marks the one year anniversary of the beginning of the most stressful week of my life to date. My divorce trial began on Monday a year ago. A jury would be selected to decide the custody of my only child. By the end of the trial, I'd have information that would impact the remainder of many people's lives. Most of that outcome I had very little, if any control over.

I wish I could tell you that once I recognized the significance, the panic and anxiety subsided--washed away with the epiphany. The truth is that I am still filled with dread and fear. I'm writing mostly to remind myself of what I know today that I didn't know last year or at least I know in a more powerful way this year.

I know that the trial was last year and it's over. This is now. I am contentedly divorced and living in a new reality.

Breathing better.

I know that God  loves me. When He promised that He would never leave me or forsake me, He wasn't lying. I've never experienced more of His presence than during that week last year. Many actual moments are a hazy blur and some I don't even remember when reminded. But, I will never forget knowing that I was being loved and upheld by God Almighty. He made Himself evident in so many ways. Some because His people on earth were constantly reminding me that I was not alone and that they were praying for me and with me.

I know that God is faithful. When He promised that He would take care of me and of my child, He wasn't lying. I know also that Annie Beth has a relationship with her father that she did not have prior to my filing for divorce in 2009. I believe God's faithfulness is heavily involved here. Annie Beth has a mother and a father that love her.

I know that I am strong. I did not lie or offer deceit as part of my story. I maintained dignity and did not pander to the lowest common denominator in my marriage or in my divorce process.

I know today that my internal strength can be channeled to my physical body. My physical body is stronger now that it has ever been. I've been working out faithfully for over six months and I am transforming how my body looks and functions. I can have a healthy body and not resort to crazy eating disordered living of the past.

I know that my life has purpose and meaning beyond being a wife and a mother. I am no longer a wife and I have value and worth. Today, I'm more aware of my this than I ever was as a wife. I am still a mother. I know that I can be very sad and miss my child's daily presence in my world, even on Christmas and birthdays. The sun will rise again in the East. Communication is easier and there are methods to fill in lonely gaps for both parent and child. I also am learning early that I cannot possibly control the outcome of her life. I am learning that her choices and many, if not most circumstances will be beyond my control. I know that I can have very good days without her presence. I am delighted that she has many, many wonderful days when I am not there to see or hear about them.

I am blessed beyond measure to have parents that love me unconditionally and friends that I claim as family. I treasure and nurture relationships with those I love because it matters. People live for eternity and I want to invest heavily in this side of that endless time.

I know that God will be faithful to me in my new adventures. He won't saw off the limb and watch me fall for sport. I may feel afraid and doubt; but to mark God's faithfulness by my feelings is a poor measuring method.

Is my anxiety gone now? No. It's there. It is, however, being crowded out by the good things I know.  I'm making a choice, even at day's end to say, Life is far too important to sit frozen by fear. I choose life today. Even though I may not know what tomorrow may bring, I know that I'm loved and that I can offer love fully and freely to others. That is enough. I am enough.

Hubbard's Response

I heard from several of y'all to post the conversation between me and Gay. Here it is below. I wasn't quite sure how she would respond. I knew it would be humble, funny, and grace-filled. How blessed I am to be loved by Gay. 

PS. I have no idea how to reformat this and my hair is covered with #5 natural brown foam color and I'm not gonna take the time to remind myself that I'm old and not as savvy as I wish. Isn't the fact that I'm re-coloring every 4 weeks enough punishment for aging? 

I'm behind on my blog too....Have several ideas churning in my mind. My kitchen remodel has been a source of ideas and LOTS of interruptions. 

Life is good and I'm blessed beyond measure. ~lori

SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 2012

Ah, Schucks

August 12, 2012

Dear friends,

H-m-m. Now what to say?

After reading Lori’s guest blog, I was, as she anticipated, embarrassed. More seriously, in this culture of political bombast and calculated exaggeration, I was concerned that you might view this exchange writing as an obvious bid on my part to elicit kind things from Lori so that I might do an artful “Ah, shucks,” and further burnish my ‘humble’ image.

However, my sense of humor promptly rescued me from any serious worry about the issue. Anyone who knows me personally and has risked relationship with me knows all too well the limitations with which I live. The ashes of my mistakes and failures, to borrow Lori’s fine phrase, have blown all too frequently into everyone’s eyes for anyone to have illusions of anything other than the flawed ordinary humanness that lies at the core of my unspectacular life.

But the way in which Lori reports the good things that have emerged from our years-long relationship raises an important question. How is it that the plain ordinary practice of simple relational skills has yielded such rich dividends?

I never tire of the story of the little boy who brought his lunch to Jesus—five little barley loaves and two small fish. Such an ordinary lunch—barley loaves paired with two ordinary fish.

In “Just a Housewife” the boy’s mother wonders about that lunch:

           I packed five cakes of bread and two small fishes,
           Sent him off, my youngest lad,
          To take his father’s dinner to the field.

          Came back alone he did, all goggle-eyed.

          My fresh-baked bread that varmint gave away
          To some young travelling preacher out of Galilee.

          It fed five thousand people.
          What a tale!

         It can’t be true. . . but if it is,
        What kind of dough did these hands knead
        This morning?

                                         -Cordelia Baker-Pearce

It was, of course, plain ordinary dough, no magic yeast.

But—and this is the point, that, like the boy’s mother, we often confuse—plain dough placed in His hands was more than enough—five thousand fed, and a great amount left over.

I am deeply blessed, friend Lori, to know that our relationship over the years has blessed you. It has, and continues, to bless me deeply as well.

But I am thinking tonight about the quiet miracle we share. We each bring plain bread that is transformed into more than enough by something other than human skill.

See you next week.

Gay

Remind Me Not to Marry Tom Cruise

I wish I could say I wrote this. I did not. I subscribe to this blog about life during and after divorce through Hopeful World Publishing. It's fantastic. Not just because of great information; but, both women are expert writers with hearts that are full and open to change. I'm re-posting one of the meditations from this week that resonated so deeply with me. Even if you're not on this page, you know at least one person, maybe many, many persons who might like to read this. Enjoy.

Whether you're happily nestled in a budding new relationship or disentangling from your marriage, claiming your power and perhaps more importantly your wholeness is a critical element in a hopeful divorce. I bought my first People magazine ever when I saw Katie Holmes' escape from Tom Cruise plastered across the cover. This marriage had always been symbolic to me of that precipice where the fairy tale leaves off and Happily Ever After is a free fall. While I'll never know and am not too concerned about what actually happened between those two people, I found their public trajectory representative of one of the most primary themes (for women) that gets played out in a romantic relationship--moving from enchantment to entrapment to escape. We think a man is going to give us something necessary to complete us or even save us. We don't understand the kind of helplessness and hopelessness this agreement establishes. We don't understand that we actually already have what we're looking to the man to give us. It takes walking in heels for a decade to get over his idea of beauty and our willingness to sacrifice to achieve it. It takes leaving him to find that we had the damn glass slipper in the back of the closet all along. When I learned of Katie's secret plot, her secret phone, her secret little pilot light of a self still flickering deep within her--despite the light that had gone out of her eyes--I felt fierce. For all of us women who literally had to kill ourselves off in our marriages to get ourselves back, wizened, tattered, in divorce. I'm sorry Tom Cruise, but my answer is no. You can jump on Oprah's couch till the cows come home. You can stun the world with your exponential romantic gesture. My cup is full. I've arrived with both feet on the ground at Happily Ever After. I'm not buying what you're selling. Where did you buy into the myth of Happily Ever After? Where can you take back a little part of yourself that you've put in the hands of another? You'll need that glass slipper for your own magnificent dance. No prince charming necessary. Sage Cohen is the author of Writing the Life Poetic and The Productive Writer, both from Writer's Digest Books, and the poetry collection Like the Heart, the World. Awarded first place in the Ghost Road Press poetry contest and nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Sage teaches and lectures at writing conferences throughout the country. She offers information and inspiration about the writing life on her blog www.pathofpossibility.com.

My Newest Friends

This story came as quite a surprise to me. I walked away grinning from ear to ear. My hope is you will smile too. Friends are a treasure.

For lots of reasons, some valid and some not, I don't cook a whole lot anymore. That said, when  the new Chinese restaurant opened right down the street, I was one of their first customers. It's less than a minute from the house. Foodies aren't the customers here. It's more the Panda Express/Taco Bell crowd.  I go at least once a week. I can eat for less there than at Wendy's. On days when I'm feeling particularly bad about being a loser mom who feeds her child fast food too much, we get take out at my new restaurant  Sadly, I cannot even tell you the name. I think it might be The Lucky Panda. Then again it might be Oriental Gardens. It doesn't matter. I know where it is.

I admire the owners so much. They are lovely people and I want their efforts to risk what I'm assuming would be everything plus  to open this place be rewarded. For the life of me, I cannot imagine going to China and thinking, "Hey, let me open an American Diner! I don't really speak Chinese; but, I'm bright, I can cook, and I can smile." I truly admire their tenacity and courage. They know that I appreciate their efforts because I'm a regular who tips generously. I strongly believe in rewarding the under appreciated and the risk takers. If I've got money and time, I always brake for lemonade stands.

Last Thursday, Annie Beth and I stopped by to order take out. Efficiency was the goal. Place order. Go to Wal-Mart Market. Buy two items. Get food. Go home. Eat.

Except the sweet woman who is normally standing alone at the check-out area was joined by two adorable little boys. They were sitting at a Thomas the Train table nestled within the confines of that small space. Children are game changers for me, especially cute little boys with shaved heads of coarse black hair. Their backs were facing me. I noticed that their heads were almost identical. If standing up against the wall, their heads could almost be flush with the drywall. I knew immediately they belonged to the owner because he has the same head.

Whether I started my conversation with the boys first or placed my order, I cannot be sure. I can tell you, for sure, that when they turned their heads I was utterly charmed that the fronts of their adorable faces could also lie flush with a wall  and they could breathe easily. I am continually amazed at God's creativity and how beautifully different human beings are.

I learned quickly that the boys were ages 5 and 6. Both, with the nodding approval of their parents, spoke to me. Before we left, with promise to return within 10 minutes, Annie Beth and I learned that they were practicing Chinese characters, loved trains, especially Thomas, and that the older one's favorite crayon was, "All of them!!"

Upon our return, Annie Beth and I were greeted by the whole family in the diminutive cash register area. The boys' black eyes were hidden inside almond shaped slivers forced into place because of their toothy grins. I praised the boys once again and purposely told the parents what a great job they were doing in raising such fine boys. As I turned to give Annie Beth the bag of food, I noticed the little one getting up from his tiny blue folding chair. I reached over the counter to touch him on the shoulder or head. Before I could do so, he, with great five year old authority, put out his right hand. He shook my hand with great firmness. He looked directly into my eyes. And with rhythmic shaking and perfectly enunciated words he said with all earnest sincerity,

"I am going to be your friend."

I am thrilled beyond belief with my newly formed friendships. I am alone today and felt the need for a lesson in Chinese character writing. Much more, I wanted to experience the unabashed enthusiasm of a two little boys who are delighted to share their world with a lady who talks with a crazy accent and pays money to have watermelons painted on her toes.

Before I left, while looking for approval from their proud, but ever watchful mother, I asked the boys if they would join me at my table the next time I'm their guest at the restaurant. With her approval, they solemnly said, "Yes." As I left I heard giggles from below the counter top.

Chicken and snow peas sounds like a great lunch tomorrow.

An Edgy Example of Sacrificial Love

I have an ever increasing love and appreciation for my dad. I'm so excited that this event happened right before a day when I can honor him by telling others about who he is. This time his actions illuminate his very core.

In the Hudgins' home men did the lawn. Women took care of inside duties. I probably would have carried on that tradition into marriage; but, my spouse was terribly allergic to grass. I'm no stranger to hard work and having helped my brother and Dad from time to time, I willingly took on the role of Lawn Girl. (To be clear, helping Dad and Scott meant money was involved. Besides, driving a lawnmower was fun.)

Lawn Girl discovered the thrill of starting a cold lawnmower engine. It was empowering to change the oil and spark plugs. Had Facebook existed the first time I was able to cut a perfectly straight line with my weed eater, I'd have been incredibly obnoxious and posted multiple pictures. 

And deeply disappointed if people did not pump me full of positive comments and likes.

My neighbors can attest that I have a temper and often spew awful phrases when my machines don't cooperate. I did NOT learn that from my dad. He is steadfast, methodical, and ever the gentleman. 

A few weeks ago I decided that I really needed an old school edger--the one with three wheels. I didn't plan on using it every week. Just a couple of times each season to get a nice, clean edge. I've got Bermuda grass and it just eats up weed eater line when the trench isn't quite deep enough. I was shocked that those edgers are far more expensive than a lawnmower. I decided to buy one off of Craig's List. I wanted to pay 50 bucks. I found one within days. Upon pick up, the man, with one decisive pull started it right up. It worked.

Until I tried to start it a week later. I remembered that at the beginning of each season, Dad would always change the spark plug and the air filter. I also had a can of something to spray in the carburetor if the engine still wouldn't start. I followed his example. I even watched some YouTube videos on starting an old pull-cord edger. Even after what had been hours of time, I still couldn't get that blasted edger started. I was hoping one of my neighbors would hear me grumbling and rescue me. 

Didn't happen.

Mom and Dad were coming over the following Monday. Dad made a special call and said, "Lori, I'll work on your new edger and see if I can get it started for you." I knew also that he'd edge my yard, even if I insisted that I'd do it later. 

That morning he called and said, "Lori, I decided to go ahead and bring my edger so that if I can't get yours started, I can still get a nice edge for your yard." He thinks of everything.

My schedule was a little busy that morning and so I told him to be sure and wait for me to work on my edger. I learned the hard way as a spoiled, entitled teenage girl that there are some skills my Dad was offering to teach me that I would need to know someday. I always ask to watch what he's doing now and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. Even if I was never planning on changing a tire or a battery, or jump starting a car, I would do it more times than I can count since I left home. Most of those times I was being directed via phone by Dad. There was even that time when he was in The Hague and I was in McMinnville, Oregon on a payphone!

Without fanfare or any fuss, Dad, in his work Stetson, belted khaki pants, plaid short sleeved shirt, and work boots, edged my grass. His edger is probably about a year old, if that. It has a brand new blade. It also has one of those easy pull cords. One pull and you're off! He used the weedeater next and then edged one more time for a pristine finish. Did I mention that my yard is about a third of an acre? Big for my area.

He'd worked on my edger before I got home. Once home I helped him sweep up and do the final touches.

As Mom and Dad were leaving, this is what he said, "Lori, I decided to trade edgers with you. I think you'll like mine a lot better. I've got several of this old kind in the barn from ones Scott has given me over the years. (My brother ran a lawn service.) I can use those for spare parts when I need them."

And that's exactly what my sacrificially generous father will do. He'll use my second hand Craftsman edger and the frustrations that may accompany it. Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying the top of the line edger he left in my shed.

Each time I relive that story I think of Christ. It's about as literal a retelling of the Gospel there is in my life. Like Christ, Dad took my junk and gave me the best he had to offer. All I had to do was accept the gift. And why? Because he loves me. How could I respond with anything else but love and gratitude?

How grateful I am for a dad who loves me in tangible ways that point me straight towards my Heavenly Father. 

I continually learn what it means to be generous in spirit and resources from Dad. I also know that Dad will finish every task he is asked to do. His yes means yes. His no means no. As a parent, I now appreciate that the no was for my benefit, not my demise. I also know that when he signed me and Carol up for those auto-mechanic for girls classes at the junior college, we BOTH should have gone. (I won't be so nice to Annie Beth. She'll hate me until she breaks down on the highway. She'll have a cell phone, though...oh, the things these kids don't appreciate. wink) 

Dad has modeled for me what kind of grandparent I want to be. I never imagined that Dad could put together a great Barbie outfit and know what to say when told by another Barbie that his Barbie was "the bomb". He delights in every opportunity to love and be loved by his beloved.

Most of all, I know that my dad loves me and would give up his last breath if it meant mine would continue. It's what Christ did and continues to do through the life message of my dad.

John 15:13

The Message (MSG)

This is my command: Love one another the way I loved you. This is the very best way to love. Put your life on the line for your friends.

What a privilege that I get to call Rex Hudgins, "Dad".

I love you, Dad! Happy Father's Day!!!

Lesson from my Lesser Self

My lesser self is always present. Sometimes her voice is louder than others and most often, the darkest thoughts never get aired to anyone. This time, because there was a valuable lesson I learned midstream (with help of a gut-punch from God), it's worth sharing.

I'd bought box seats for the Kristin Chenoweth concert. She's such a tiny little 'thang that I wanted to make sure someone's head wasn't obscuring our view. Once seated, I was pleased.. I was concerned about how to get Patty quickly down to the stage and took the time to discover a speedy way downstairs. (See previous blog if you don't understand what I just said.) I was more than just excited about a wonderful show. I was nervous about the potential of having a sold out crowd stare directly at me while I sold my star to Kristin at the appropriate moment. (Again. see previous blog.)

It's important to point out that I have three serious peeves during indoor performances:

1. People who smack their gum. To be really honest, that bugs me all the time. A lot.

2. People who talk loudly and often.

3. People that sing along with the soloist or group. I've been known to turn around and with a smile say, "If I'd wanted to hear you sing, I'd have bought tickets to your concert."

The lights were down, the intro video had aired and Kristin was onstage in all her tiny glory. Even with her Dolly sized wig, she couldn't have weighed more than 85 pounds. Darling. I was in awe of the power of the voice blasting out of that body when I heard loud talking. 

#2!

#2 can be forgivable if it happens early and just once. Patty noticed too and we shared concerned frowns. The next few times I gave the "over the shoulder slight grimaced look" to the offender. 

When #3 peeve began, I was only slightly relieved that Patty couldn't hear the voice. It was monotone and consistent.

I did my best to focus so fully on the good things of the concert, that I'd "rise above" the uncivilized person behind me. 

I was more than annoyed before intermission and I told Patty I was ready to "pummel the person behind me." Not kidding.

There were two particularly moving songs that I was focusing on when I heard in my heart, "Lori, consider the other person's story before you open your mouth." Just after, I heard an elderly woman's voice say, "Don't sing so loudly." The voice was loving, yet firm. I had that aha moment. "There is something wrong there, Lori. Stop judging and acting like an idiot."

As we were getting up for intermission, I told Patty my suspicion. I bent down to get my 20 pound purse and glanced over to see a grey haired woman with a worn face and the sweetest eyes smiling at me. My guess was she was in her late 70's or early 80's. Sitting next to her was a young man, probably 20-something. His eyes had the familiar double folds of a person with Down Syndrome. 

The young man was abeam with joy. I heard him say, "Momma, thanks for bringing me to see April." I remembered at once that I'd heard that same voice say during an ovation, "Way to go April." I won't air my thought at the time because it's too snarky and rude, especially in light of my new information.

April is a character that Kristin Chenoweth plays intermittently on Glee. Based on his comment, it's possible that Glee may have been this man's introduction to the talent of Kristin.

I'm sure the mother is no stranger to rude people and their inappropriate behavior to her child--even those who can look at him and recognize by sight that he has limitations. If I'd have been that mother, I'd have flashed a "go to Hades look" my way at intermission. She smiled at me, though.

I'm so grateful that I listened to God's instruction. Not simply because it altered my negative attitude; but, because knowing something of this woman and man's story enhanced the remainder of the show. Instead of feeling angry and annoyed, I was teary eyed with joy and tenderness. 

I listened as he sang with joy and intensity. His volume would be adjusted after I heard a quick "shhh" from his mother. He couldn't contain his excitement. I understood. 

I'd posted numerous times on Facebook about my evening. I'd told everyone who'd listen. I was downright giddy. In addition, before even considering whom I would be seated beside, I fully intended to do whatever was necessary to get Patty on the stage. Would this have been any less annoying to my fellow box seat patrons? Would I have been #2 on someone else's peeve list? I didn't want to contain my excitement about seeing my friend sing with a legend. I wanted to be a part of the story-telling that would get bolder and funnier over the years.

We're all limited. This young man's physical characteristics helped me understand something of his limitations. Yet, what about those who do not have tell-tale signs of a physical or mental issue? My limitations may not be so obvious to those seated around me in a public arena. But in a quiet place in my heart that night, I realized that I'm limited by myopic expectation for others to enhance my life experiences. I'm limited by my poor choices. I'm also limited because of my humanness. We all are. We can never know the full story of others, even those we know intimately. 

My lesser self taught me that grace is always the best response. I give God the credit for pulling me out of a shameful event if I hadn't listened. I'm so very grateful for a God who understand limitations like none other.

Philippians 2

Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB)

5 Make your own attitude that of Christ Jesus,

6 who, existing in the form of God,

did not consider equality with God 

as something to be used for His own advantage.

7 Instead He emptied Himself 

by assuming the form of a slave, 

taking on the likeness of men. 

And when He had come as a man

in His external form,

8 He humbled Himself by becoming obedient

to the point of death—

even to death on a cross.

The part I can never wrap my head around is that He did that for a woman who, without thought, would be willing to pummel an unseen, unknown stranger for potentially ruining her night out at the theater. On top of that He offers me a chance to become more like Him and less like the lesser me. That's astounding. 

With an eye towards lavishing more grace and more love to those around me, scattering dust that will be everlasting. ~lori