BidaWeNestabon

James Stephen Davis was born on August 2, 1942.

Eleven years older than me, I used to kid him that he didn’t even know I existed until I was about 18. He swears it isn’t true, but I wouldn’t blame him if it was. By the time I arrived on the planet he was off to the teenage races, and I was, well, a baby.

Gregarious, good looking, and the life of the party, he played baseball, was a cheerleader, collected friends that are with him to this day, joined the cool dude fraternity on campus, and crammed four years of college into five because there was so much extracurricular learning to be had.

He could get away with things no one else could. Like calling our very proper, very short, very ample grandmother “Shorty”. He convinced our rather sophisticated, rather neat, rather stylish mom to crawl on her hands and knees across a large muddy field to flush a flock of geese on a cold and rainy family hunting trip. Which she did. Geese that turned out to be decoys. One time in Europe with his buddies he talked his way out of a ticket for jay-walking by speaking in pig latin, and probably took the policeman out for a beer afterwards.

After college he took off for California and built what would become a lifetime career in the insurance business. It was work that made perfect sense for this big hearted brother of mine. His priorities have been, are, and always will be people. He has a heart for others, and helping them take care of and protect themselves, their health, cars, homes, and families was a perfect way to do that.

He starts every day with coffee, Jesus, and prayer. It is his faith that orders his days and directs his steps. Life has thrown more than a few health curve balls his way, and his continued presence on the planet is not only a a miracle, but a gift to all who know and love him. Loyal as the day is long, ready to laugh at a moment’s notice, and a spirit that is as tender as it is tenacious, he simply will not let life get him down, and he raises the rest of us up in the process.

Ours was a family in which he only remembers the good. Any other way simply doesn’t make sense to him. Who has time for what could have been easier, better, or different? He is a glass-half-full kinda guy, and his gratitude for the life he has splashes over onto anyone in his presence.

BidaWeNestabon. For as long as I can remember, he has talked about this imaginary neighborhood where we will all live together.

BidaWeNestAbon. There is something about that crazy word that says it all. Can’t you just feel it?

BidaWeNestabon. We will abide together, our hearts held close in a nest woven of the sticks and twigs and bits of this and that which make up and hold a family together, come what may. It is a place that is right here, right now, and a place that awaits us on the other side.

Steve, our world and my heart are better because of you. Many Happy Returns.

BidaWeNestabon, forever and always. Amen.

James Stephen Davis & Andrew James Davis

My Do It!

She was born on May 29, 1983.

As the story goes, some of her earliest words were “My do it!”. That, in a nutshell, sums up the beautiful heart and life of my niece, Elizabeth Ashby.

Born to parents who had the wisdom early on to let her find her own way, she seemed to know—if not exactly where she was going—exactly how to get there. Quite a discovery for a young human, and one that would equip her for the life that was hers to live.

My do it.

It was this fierce determination that led her to volunteer to teach Italian to high school students because there was a need and no teacher to fill it. Don’t speak Italian? No problem. An Italian soap opera and plenty of good pasta and pizza helped her aspiring students find their Sicilian footing.

It was this same tenacity that emboldened her to take on the use of profanity by tough-guy students twice her size. Swear within her earshot? No problem. You get to perform the children’s song “I’m A Little Teapot” for us, right now, complete with hand motions.

Because she knew she could do it, she taught one final cross-fit class on her way to the hospital to give birth.

My do it.

A seven on the Enneagram, also known as the Enthusiast, she doesn’t just bring something to the party. She IS the party. She can make a picnic in any storm, turn a broken arm into a cause for celebration, transform a snafu into an adventure, and find a way to bring a spark of light into any darkness.

Being the one others can look to and rely on can be both deeply gratifying and quietly lonely. Which is why she needs and treasures those who do the same for her. She has learned first hand that being loved well means being seen, being heard, and being safe in the presence of another. This is the kind of love that she offers to others, because this is the type of love that she needs too.

Some with her strengths could become self-centered. Lizzy has, instead, cultivated the art of living from a centered self. It is her faith in her God that centers her, and like the Carpenter she loves, she offers extravagant welcome, loves without strings, and turns a a handful of loaves and fishes for the few into a feast for the many.

My do it.

Little did she know that those three words would lead that very small girl to a very big stage.Would call a woman who values her privacy and that of her family’s to live the most public of lives.

From those early words until now, hers has been an example of what Eugene Peterson calls “a long obedience in the same direction”. She discerns what is hers to do, and then goes about doing it. With all of her heart, and all of her soul, and all of her mind. And trusts that others will do the same.

Many Happy Returns, Lizzy.

Our world and my heart are better because of you.

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.

To Begin Again

She was born on August 8, 1953.

Compassionate. Creative. Courageous. She arrived on the planet with these innate qualities in tow, and they are the stars by which she steers her ship, come what may. Always has. Always will.

My best friend for almost 50 years, Kristine Patterson wears her heart on her sleeve, while always leaving ample room for yours. There are more creative ideas in that beautiful heart of hers than most of the rest of ours put together. Refusing to let fear have its way with her, she steps out where angels fear to tread, and invites them to come along. And they do.

Like most of us, life didn’t turn out as she expected. More glorious goodness than she ever thought possible, and more pain and loss than she thought she could bear. Time and again she has had to call upon her compassion to keep her heart open, creativity to make beautiful the life that is hers, and the courage to get up every day and choose to begin again. And never more than when the life she had worked so fiercely to build got blown to smithereens. It would have been so easy to give in and give up. To allow her heart to harden over, her creativity to wither away, and her courage to falter and allow fear to bully its way into her soul. But she never did.

One day at a time, she chose to begin again.

Moving into a small bungalow on a quiet street beneath a towering Dutch Elm, she began building a home in her own heart. The home that had been waiting for her all along. Sweeping out any old stories that had held her hostage, she made room for new ones that offered her freedom. Grieving what had been lost, she slowly opened her heart to what was to come. Sifting and sorting through the cupboard of her life, she held on to the goodness and beauty that still held true, and let go of that which no longer did. Or perhaps never had.

Her hands found their way to clay. The clay became works of art. Each work of art became a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Her heart found its way to new love. That new love became a new life. That new life became the next chapter in the story that began 70 years ago on August 8, 1953.

Today marks the beginning of another trip around the sun for this magnificent friend of mine, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate her birthday than to join with her and say, Today, I am choosing to begin again.

Shotgun!

On August 8,1953 my best friend Kristine Lorraine Patterson was born.

So, do you want to have dinner?

It’s a simple enough question, but forty-five years ago it was a lot more complicated than that. The invitation came from the drop-dead-beautiful 6’tall woman with the wild, curly, crazy hair I’d always wanted. Her name was Kristine, and at the time we were both working for the city parks and recreation bureau. For the past several months we’d been like opposing magnets, each of us trying to stay out of the magnetic pull of the other. Tired of wondering if I’d measure up as a friend, and weary from resisting the desire to get to know her, I decided to take the risk.

Sitting out on the lawn in front of my house, our first dinner together lasted for three hours. At the end of the evening, we looked one another in the eye and said, So, we’re best friends for life, right?

And we have been.

Since that night out on the lawn there have been more than enough reasons to leave one another on the side of the road. Too hard. Too painful. Too much work. Too many competing outside needs and expectations. For us, in the end, leaving one another behind has never been an option. No matter what has come our way, and with more still to come, somehow we’ve managed to build a friendship that has stood the test of time, not to mention: marriages and divorces, the births of our children and the aging and passing of parents, the joy of grand babies and grief over the loss of grand dreams, depression and health, money and not so much money, faith and doubt, and at times giving too much of ourselves and asking too little of one another. No matter the odds or how dark the night, somehow we are always able to find our way back and head down the road, ready to face whatever lies around the next bend—together.

This once-in-a-lifetime friend of mine is, in the words of her mother, unique, one-of-a-kind, and special. There is not a heart that is bigger or a mind more curious. An accomplished artist, she brings beauty to everything and everyone she touches. When her heart is broken, she allows herself to be broken open, making even more room for the love, care, and compassion she offers so freely. She champions my work every chance she gets, and calls me on the carpet whenever necessary. She turns grief and loss into grace and laughter, and is fiercely committed to living an authentic and wholehearted life no matter what it takes. She knows the matters that matter, and loves me no matter what.

I can’t imagine life without her.

We can’t know what waits for us down the road, but when it comes to the road trip of friendship there is no one else I’d rather have riding shotgun.

Happy Birthday Kristine Lorraine Patterson.

March 2020

Many Happy Returns

For as long as I can remember, when celebrating a birthday in our family, after grace and before we eat, we speak a blessing to the person who is having a birthday. If we aren’t together, we call on the phone and speak the blessing across the miles.

Many happy returns on the day of thy birth

Many seasons of sunshine be given

May god in his mercy prepare you on earth

For a beautiful birthday in heaven

It just isn’t a birthday without those words. Words that have come to mean the best of home and family, grace and connection. In spite of our differences and many imperfections, it is the perfect blessing to speak into the lives of those we love.

Many happy returns on the day of thy birth

Since the 1700s those words have meant a wish that the recipient of the word lives to experience that day coming again and again and again, and that those years will be filled with happiness. Every trip around the sun is a gift, and to begin a new year with a wish for more to come, sets a new adventure in living off on the right foot.

Many seasons of sunshine be given

There is a rhythm to life that is lived out through the changing seasons. The season of sunshine is the growing season. The time when the fruits of our labors ripen on the branch, and when that which we have sown with our lives grows into fullness and nourishes the world around us.

May god in his (and her) mercy prepare you on earth

We are a small part of a much larger story. One that is far beyond what we can think, dream or imagine. We are always in preparation for what comes next, and everything that happens to us also happens for us. Not done to us by some distant hand to teach us a lesson, but in the company of a loving unseen presence to transform us into the fullness of who we are meant to be.

For a beautiful birthday in heaven

Try as we might, we can’t see beyond the horizon of death. It isn’t ours to know. All we have is now, and what we have to work with is our life . How we live here is meant to be a picture of how we will live there. On earth as it is in heaven.

Today as I start my 67th trip around the sun, this blessing reminds me that I am here to craft a meaningful life. One that will continue to touch the world for good long after I’m gone.

Another Star Is Born

If joy had a face, it would look like Valerie Christine Pierson. Born 34 years ago today, she came into my life when I answered a personals ad written by her dad. From day one she wiggled and giggled her way into my heart, and has never left.

I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more generous human being in my life. If Val has it to give, she will. Whatever it is. Her time. Her talent. Her listening ear and her caring heart. If there is one story that captures the essence of this beautiful woman I get to call one of my daughters it is this one. Heading home from New Jersey after her Granddad’s memorial service, Valerie, Tom, and I were sitting in one of those dark airport restaurants where other weary travelers gather while waiting for their flights home. While I was focused on my burger and glass of wine, Val spotted two women sitting at a nearby table, heads close together, tears streaming down their faces. She didn’t know why they were sad and in pain, only that they were. Val quietly got up from the table, went up to the bar, paid for their lunch, and then as if it were the most natural thing in the world to buy a meal for two strangers, returned to our table. Only as the women were leaving the restaurant did the whole story come out. They were mother and daughter and had just lost their father and grandfather. Val’s kindness was just the balm their two broken hearts needed to remind them that even in the midst of loss and grief there is love and grace to be found, often through the kindness of strangers.

She is a mama bear to her Jonah-bear and I dare you to find a more fiercely loving mom anywhere. They share a love of the Portland Trailblazers, their new family addition, Comet-the-dog, and doing almost anything together.

I’ve never known a happier spirit. Come what may, somehow Val is able to find the silver-lining in almost any situation. Once during a particularly challenging time, when most people would go down with the ship, I suggested she come up with a mantra that she could say when things got tough. She didn’t miss a beat. "Things could be worse.” she said with a smile. At first blush, that didn’t strike me as an especially useful thing to say. But the more I thought about it, that is Val to a T. No matter how hard things are, she knows that others have it far worse and will do her best to make life better for anyone within her reach.

Val has a faith in the God who loves everyone regardless of who they are, what they’ve done, or where they come from. She has the husky voice of a rock-n-roll angel, loves everything glitz and glamour, and is a down-home family girl at heart.

I have no idea where life will take this bright and shining star of mine next, but wherever she goes and whomever she meets, they will be the better for it.

Happy birthday Val.

You are one in a million!

ATG Photography

A Star Is Born

Thirty-seven years ago my eldest daughter Haley was born.

I thought I knew the meaning of love before her arrival, but the vastness and depth of love that a heart can hold expanded beyond what I had ever imagined possible the moment I met her.

She took her sweet time getting here, which showed me that she had her own inner sense of timing that she could trust, and that I could too.  

Her innate sense of wonder and curiosity were evident from her first moments on the planet, as she turned her eyes from my face to look out into the world around her in our hospital room. That curiosity has never left, and has led her to explore the world in her own wild and wonderful ways.

She made the perfect decision when it came to the man with whom she would share life.

I know that I was a really good mom, but watching Haley love and nurture her two little boys, and I am over-the-moon in awe. 

She knows who she is and what she stands for. Her faith is her own, and she is willing to stand her ground for what she believes, and, she will walk shoulder to shoulder with any who want the world to be more loving, peaceful and just for all. 

There are many things that I admire in this first daughter, and chief among them are her compassionate heart, fierce loyalty, and deep intellect. Add to that a wicked sense of humor, love of the written word, pie baking passion, and deep love for mending our broken planet, and my mother-cup runneth over.

Happy Birthday Haley.

Our world and my heart are better because of you.

(And to my other three daughters...be ready when your next birthday rolls around. I can’t wait to write about you, because as you know...you are each, in your own way, my favorite!)