Life Lately - A saga of sincerity, solidarity, and school :)

One of people's favorite things to ask in passing is "How's life been lately?" Most of the time, however, we just want them to say "Fine, how's your's?" and go on with their day. That leads me to the idea of how sincere do we expect others to be regarding the expression of their feelings, thoughts, worries, triumphs, etc. Because I haven't blogged in an embarrassing number of months I thought the title of today's post was appropriate. My life lately has been quite a journey and lesson in perseverance and finding support in an unlikely place. Since I last blogged, which was waaaay back in November, Ed and I have gone on our first ski trip together, I started a new job, and we celebrated our first Thanksgiving, his birthday, Christmas, New Year's, and Valentine's Day as a married couple. We are day by day outgrowing our little apartment, (mostly because I have a real and true love for seasonal decor :) We were actually able to spend the majority of the last two months with Ed at home, and he has only recently begun travelling again for work. Unfortunately, my poor husband was privy to my insane ramblings and erratic emotional behavior over the past two months as I attempted to tackle the most academically challenging event of my life...the University of South Alabama Department of Speech Language Pathology Comprehensive Exam process. Long name for an equally long and tedious event. The studying began back in December while I was simultaneously studying for the ASHA national licensing examination for all practicing speech language pathologists. Luckily, I was also able to begin working at the Home of Grace for Women just a short mile or so away from where we live. The Haven, as the home is affectionately known, provided me an opportunity to work and get to know some wonderful ladies while also allowing me an office where I spent many, MANY hours preparing for comps. The studying was a test of endurance. Every topic I've ever learned in grad school over the past two years was in need of  reviewing, organizing, memorizing, strategizing, all the  "ings" you can think of. The ladies in the kitchen who knew I was still in my office would bring me dinner at night. They told me they were praying for me and never failed to check on the progress of my studies. These women, along with my family, got me through this marathon. Incidentally, the ladies who provided me so much support and love over the last two months are a part of the Home of Grace for women because they are recovering from addiction at our facility that teaches recovery as it is addressed with the Truth of God's Word. Drug addiction, sex addiction, alcoholism, among other "issues of the heart". It was supposed to be my job to teach them about "healthy" support and love and prayer. What I found was that as I spent time with them, they were teaching me those lessons in unexpected reciprocation. I found myself hoping that one of them would ask me how things were going, especially on days when I felt totally overwhelmed. Funny, they always did. I hope I've done the same for them. It seems selfish, they are the addicts in need of support. They are the clients, and I am staff. I am supposed to be the "helper" not the "helped". But, isn't that just like Our God? I have had the immense pleasure of  praising the God Who Heals through dance and song with these ladies. It got me through the tough days. I also hope that it did the same for them. So, I found myself asking them "How are things lately?" and instead of expecting "fine, how are you?" I truly wanted them to tell me what they were learning and how God was moving in their hearts. It's a funny thing, sincerity. So many people pretend to care about you, especially people who you would expect to feign interest (friends at church, work, your weekly book club, maybe even family members). Often, it's the people you don't expect who are able to give you that encouraging word, hug, chocolate, prayer, or whatever it is that your soul is so desperate for. I never expected that when I started working at the Haven, at the exact time when my life was a tangled web of stress, fear, and exhaustion, that God was putting me EXACTLY where I needed to be. It was supposed to be a temporary part time position. It became my release. Much like the ladies who come to our program, I found respite at the Haven. A place to come when the world around you is too much to handle or when you turn to the wrong things to help you cope. So, I finished my last class of graduate school this past Wednesday. As I prepare to begin my two month externship that is my LAST step before graduation in two months I will remember what I learned from these spectacular ladies: LISTEN, LOVE, and LEAN ON JESUS! So, ask people how their life has been lately, and when you ask remember to really listen because they might be desperate to tell you :)

A testament for my father and the game he loves

Sometimes it's like a virus and sometimes it's like an electric fire. Either way, it spreads and consumes you.  It's this heart-pounding, gut-wrenching, love for something basic and elemental. A need...no, a drive to crawl your way towards a goal, sometimes with a battle cry, sometimes with tears, sometimes with blood, but always with courage. It's a legacy passed down in this country, and especially the south, from father to son. Football. The football field is one of the only remaining places where men can be men, and as a woman, I am glad for it. I grow weary of seeing and hearing from men who are afraid to stand up, push forward, gather themselves in defeat and soldier forth. As spectators, we watch helplessly, praying that "our boys" can make it. Whether you're a man or woman, this sport gets in your veins, it can inspire you, frustrate you, but we need it. For more reasons than one.

It is safe to say that the game of football has the been a backdrop to my life's story from the beginning. Some of my earliest memories revolve around the smell of a field house and running on the wet grass of the field after games. My father began his 29 year coaching career as a junior high coach in Gautier, Mississippi. I vividly remember, going to school with my father because I was sick and neither he nor my mother could stay home with me. He made me a make-shift palate under his desk in his "coaching office" right off of the school's gymnasium. There was a giant gator head painted on the floor. At the end of the day, I walked into the weight room, where those barely-teenage young men were training. They seemed huge to me. They smiled and patted my head. Many of those young men, who now have high schoolers of their own, chase my father down in the mall or in Pizza Hut, to hug him and catch up.Sometimes with tears in their eyes. Why? Because he was like a general for their little army of soldiers. He taught them the principles of football, expected them to act like men instead of little boys, and he showed them how. He loved the game, and more importantly, he loved them. This is my father's 29th season of coaching football. Except for an undefeated season with his young team in 1990, this year has been the most victorious for him. In our house, we have felt the sting of defeat often. My mother, sister, brother, and I have fallen asleep in the living room waiting for Dad to come home on those Friday nights when he reviewed film until the wee hours contemplating every detail that led to the loss. Thankfully, this season we have had just one night of disappointment and the others...well, they have more than made up for it. I am proud for him. I am proud of him. There is a legacy that he is leaving behind...comfortingly wrapped in the smell of a sweaty weight room and buzz of moths around the bright lights of a field. It is a legacy of grit, passion, and hard work. Interestingly, it is also a legacy of love exhibited in a sport defined by violence and hard hits. Football is in my blood, and I really did not discover that had received this inheritance until later in life (unlike my brother, who was christened from birth). I have enjoyed learning the game, acting like a crazy person from my seat in the stands, and learning to love what Dad loves. As it turns out, maybe I am my father's daughter after all.

Check out those coaching shorts!!! Hehe!