Love Ya, See Ya, Bye.

Bob Henderson was born on April 13, 1944.

He was born to parents who had come through the depression and knew how to work hard and live frugally. Like many in their generation, parenting was probably mostly about keeping young Bob safe, fed, and well behaved, leaving little time or inclination to understand the inner workings of a young boy. An early report card suggested that perhaps he didn’t play well with others, which made total sense. An only child, he didn’t have siblings to play with, fight with, or get into mischief with, and his parents were busy putting food on the table. All of which meant that, from an early age, he learned to depend on and be responsible for himself.

And despite that beginning, my brother-in-law, Bob, has cultivated a life lived in service to others, a heart overflowing with generosity, and a spirit that is as tender as it is strong. His is the first hand to be raised with an offer to help, no matter the task. Often called Big Bucks Bob, although his stash of bucks isn’t limitless, you’d never know it by the way he shares the financial fruits of his labor with those he loves. While he may have a deep conviction to a particular view of an issue, when it comes to the human being in front of him, love wins out every time. Period.

A One on the Enneagram—known as the Improver or the Perfectionist—he looks for ways to better the world around him, starting with himself. As such, he is his own harshest critic, which is why he is daily amazed by the grace he receives from the God that he loves. It is that overwhelming grace that moves him to be the first to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and allow whatever just transpired to help him move forward with more compassion and greater self-awareness. He is an old dog forever committed to learning new tricks.

His love for his family is second only to his love for God. His faith is the bedrock of his life, the light on his path, and the compass by which he steers his trusty ship. At 80 years old, death doesn’t scare him because he knows to whom he belongs. All of that can be summed up in his signature sign off from every phone call: Love ya, see ya, bye.

With those words, when it comes to Bob Henderson, you can rest assured that you are loved, you are seen, and it’s only goodbye for now.

Happy Birthday Bob. Our world and my heart are better because of you.

Love ya, see ya, bye.

My Sister's Hands

Yesterday my sister got a new knee. But I just can’t stop thinking about her hands.

I’d know her hands anywhere, and could probably pick her out of a lineup from them.

With those hands she unloads my dishwasher whenever she visits, makes caramel icing for every family birthday cake, sets the table for a party the day before, and lights all the candles before company arrives. Those hands make sure that the decks are cleared and all ducks in a row, so that when people walk in they feel welcomed, loved, safe, seen, and heard. It’s those hands of hers that deftly arrange guests at wedding tables in a way that no one’s feelings get hurt, everyone feels included, and all the people that drive all the other people crazy sit together. With her hands she holds grandkids close, carries on with important traditions, and lets go of the ones that have seen better days. She prefers to keep her hands out of messy food, but loves digging in the dirt. She always wears rubber gloves to keep her hands out of hot water, but fearlessly sticks them into places of the heart where angels fear to tread. Hers are hands that pray without ceasing, love with abandon, and welcome without judgment.

Yesterday, my brother-in-law sent me a photo of her just before they wheeled her into surgery. Looking at that picture I found myself filled with gratitude. Not just for that brand new knee, but for her beautiful 75 year-old hands that are simply an extension of her heart.

Young Love

If I loved Christmas when I was a youngster, I loved Christmas night most of all. That was when the house grew quiet, the fire got another log, and a new world opened up with the turn of the first page of my new book. Every year that new book was the present I looked forward to more than any other. It fed an early love of the written word, which grew into the love of penning my own. It was then, and is now, a love that asks to be fed, and in feeding it, I am the one who is nourished.

What we come to love in life often shows up in our earliest years. Whatever your is, it is a love that deserves to be fed. Feed it well, and you will be the one who is nourished.

A stack of food for thought-Christmas 2019

Where’s My Towel?

This morning at my sister’s house, I stuck my head into the guest bathroom where I thought my husband Tom had already taken his shower, grabbed the unused bath towel on the rack, and headed to the other bathroom to take my own shower.  

I needed a towel.  

The towel was there.

Problem solved.

An hour later as we were packing up our things to load into the car Tom said So I was pretty resourceful this morning, don’t you think? From the quizzical look on my face he must have realized I wasn’t tracking with him. I got out of the shower only to find out that my towel was gone and had to make do with the hand towel. All I could do was laugh and think ‘that’s my girl’. 

Sometimes love just smacks you up side the head. 

Tough Love

“What if love is the mightiest word?”

Praise Song for the Day by Elizabeth Alexander

(A poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration)

(Watch Elizabeth Alexander Video here)

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Love. A word so frequently and casually tossed around, it is in danger of losing its meaning.

In her book, Becoming Wise, Krista Tippet refers to love as something muscular. What if, as Elizabeth Alexander wonders in her poem, love is the mightiest word? And what would it mean if it is not only the mightiest word, but is also muscular and robust, tenacious and tough? It would mean that love isn’t just something we experience, but something we actively do. Something we work at, and like our muscles, the more we love, the stronger our love becomes.

For muscles to be strong and healthy we have to actively work them on a regular basis. We stretch them so that they remain supple and resilient. We strengthen them, adding more repetitions, weight, and resistance. We increase stamina by working them for longer periods of time, and at higher levels of intensity.

What if we approached love like that?

When we only love in ways that are easy and familiar, love that could be supple and resilient grows tight and constricted.

When we only hold affection for those who are easy to love, and for those who are like us, love that could be sturdy becomes soft.

When we only love when it doesn’t push us, love that could persevere over the long haul runs out of breath.

What if love is the mightiest word?

What would that mean for me? For you? For all of us?