Five Reasons I Can't Be Friends with Skinny People

I’m not a small person. At all. Mama is thick. I have friends of all sizes. Some I can’t get my arms around and some that would blow away if I sneezed too hard. In my 41 years of living, I have realized something. I just don’t get skinny girls. There are words that come out of their mouths that just don’t register in my chunky brain.

1. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Really? Have you had an Adam’s chocolate peanut butter cheesecake from the cheesecake factory? I know how skinny feels. Hungry. Hungry is how skinny feels. There is just too much mac and cheese, fried chicken, and buttered rolls out there for me to care how skinny feels! On one end there is flat abs, toned legs, and string bikinis. On the other, cream cheese, chocolate chip cookies, and donuts. I choose to take the road less taken. Well, as long as Cracker Barrel is on that road.
2. Want to go on a run? Is somebody chasing me? This one I’ve actually tried. All those ladies jogging in Central Park on TV seem like they are having the time of their lives. Wind blowing through their hair, cute workout clothes. Reality is shins that hurt so bad it feels like knives are shooting up from the ground. I have never realized how much I love oxygen. Every tissue in my lungs were begging me to please just stop the madness! Salting sweat was pouring into my eyes, and I think there was smoke coming from my inner thighs! Sound like fun? I prefer sitting on my couch looking at Pinterest for workout ideas.
   
3. What’s your favorite brand of kale chips? Doritos. Doritos are my favorite kind of kale chips. What the heck? Have you seen that section that’s invading the end of the chip aisle? Veggie chips, sweet potato chips, smart popcorn. Get yourself back over there in with the gluten free, yoga mamas food. Leave my snacks alone. For the love.
4. I’ll just have a salad. This is Hardee’s. They don’t have salad. Here, you can have the lettuce from my double cheeseburger. Do skinny girls really like that much salad? Lettuce is basically crunchy water. You’re eating ice for lunch.
   
5. I feel so fat. Poop. Seriously poop out the lettuce and you’ll be fine. Why do skinny girls say this? I have a friend who is literally half my size and says this all the time. I always smile and tell her she’s being silly, but what I really want to do is poke her in the eye with my fat sausage fingers.  

So there you have it. Some of you out there may be whispering that I’m just jealous of these cute skinny girls. No, mam’. I’ve spent my life worrying about my weight. In all truth, my mom had a heart attack partly based on her weight. I know it’s important to be healthy, and I teach my kids about balance. But, let it go people! Have a waffle with whipped cream once in awhile and find a reason to smile.

Blank Page

So, yeah, okay. My mom is dead. There. I said it. She has been dead for almost 18 months. She was alive and posting a new video on Facebook one minute and dead the next.

She died at her house by herself. I could have maybe saved her if I had been there, but I wasn’t. And it’s ok. It really is. Well, most of the time it’s ok. Just not late at night when my mind wanders.

What I’ve learned over these 18 months is nobody has any idea what it feels like. Even my husband. Even my very best friend. It’s a place where I am totally alone and everything stops.

My life story was being written and played out. Fanciful childhood. Rebellious teen. Wandering college student. Wife. Mother. All right in order. We had been through changes, hard times . . . but things were good and moving forward.

Then a page turned, and it was blank. Not like the ink slowly running out with a little warning. One page was full of verbs, adjectives, action and then . . . nothing . . . a perfectly blank page.

That’s the only way to describe it - blank space. Nobody’s hugs, kind words, or casseroles could fill the space. It was a space that was just for my Febreze spraying, scarf wearing, perfect penmanship writing mama. And she was gone. She is gone.

I’ve always thought the best thing about the Twilight series was when Stephanie Myers didn’t write. When Edward left Bella, Meyers just left the pages empty. She must have lost someone important, because she gets it. It’s just empty.

I have a friend who recently lost her son in a tragic accident. I wanted to write her a sweet note to soothe the pain. But when I pulled out paper to write . . . nothing. I could have send her the blank sheet, and I think she would have understood.

So where do I go? I know my mom wouldn’t want my story to end with hers. But the weight of the pen is so heavy. Somedays, it’s just too hard to pick up. Somedays, the story comes pouring out too fast, and I wish I could go back and erase what was written.

Know that when you see me, it still takes a lot of energy to keep writing my story and those blank pages jump out and still surprise me. But I know one day my book will be finished, so I just keep trying to find my story.  

A Wrinkle in Time

Eighty years. . . where have they gone? As I slip on my nylons, I stop to examine my legs. Lines of blue veins, yellowed toe nails, dried and crackled skin. I remember the reckless short skirts of my youth and walking barefoot on the boardwalk. Gossiping and smiling as the Navy boys came in to port. My tailored blouses and the bright red lipstick shared with my girlfriends and kept out of sight from our prudish mothers. Carefree flirting and sharing sodas with my first love. What has happened? Now I cover my worn out body with sweaters, long dull coats, and comfortable shoes. My bold lipstick has been replaced with lip balm for protection from the north winds. I don't even bother putting on foundation or blush. Nothing could cover the wrinkles deeply burrowed in the landscape of my face. As I pin up my hair, I see my long red locks of yesterday. Thick and curling around my shoulders. Today, I work to give some life to the thin brittle silver straw that grows from those same follicles.

I pull up my boots and head out the door. As I walk down the streets of the neighborhood I have spent my whole life, I can feel the changes of the years. Mrs. Shiler's brownstone is now her grandson's. How many evenings did we spend sitting on that stoop watching our children play? Oh, the world problems we solved there while our men were fighting the real enemy in Korea. I can still hear the laughter of my Hannah and her Ally as they ran up and down this very sidewalk. Now, Mrs. Shiler's grandson almost knocks me down as he hurries out the door, earphones blasting music, meetings to rush to - taking no time to even look at those around him.

I pass a couple of the boarded up storefronts that used to house my favorite wares. Old Mr. Palladino's bakery was my favorite place as a child. My mother would take me and Ollie, my brother, there for a treat if we got good marks in school. I spend many nights studying just thinking of one of his black and white cookies. Mr. Palladino died a few years back, and all his family has moved on. With no one to take over his bakery, it is just boarded up, waiting for someone to fill its empty walls with life again.

Finally, my destination is in view. The deli I have come to love. As I walk through the doors, my heart is heavy with memories of yesterday. Then, I see him. His eyes are fixed on mine. I remember why my weak legs can still skip. Why my wrinkled face can still break into a smile. I reach up my age-spotted hand hand and wave out to him - my Sully.

Sully has been my rock for over 60 years. We married young, just before he left for Korea. In his eyes, I see my past. My feet are old and cracked because of the many evening walks we took talking about our future, our children, his job, the country. My face is dry and wrinkled because of all the times I have laughed with him over all the important times in our lives. In his eyes, I see my present. Though our children have moved away, grandchildren are just occasional visitors, and many friends have been called home, we are here . . . together. We still can eat at our favorite deli and laugh at the silly hat on the kid beside us. We can look around at all those young souls and know who and where were are. We are Mia and Sully forever.

But today, I also have realized in his eyes, I see my future. That may seem like a strange thought for someone my age, but in him I see both the pain and joy of returning home to my heavenly Father. As Sully touches my tired cheek with his once strong hand, I rest in the peace of knowing how blessed I am to have my love here with me now.

Walking the Line

Remember when you got in trouble in elementary school and had to sit on the curb during recess? Yeah, me neither. I have heard stories from “friends” though. Any infractions of the rules, and one ended up planted on the curb watching friends spin on the merry-go-round, hang upside down on the monkey bars, or teeter on the totter. This is not the case today. With the rise in childhood obesity, children are no longer allowed to sit during recess. Punishment must contain some type of movement. In my children’s school this movement is known as “walking the line.” My kids attend a school right in the center of town. With no grassy area around the school, the pick-up line area serves as a playground during the day. Because of this, there is a long yellow line that separates the recess area from the car line. Getting the picture yet? If a student needs to be given a behavioral consequence, instead of sitting down watching friends, he must walk back and forth on this line for as long as his teacher deems necessary. My husband really wants to dress in all black and do a Johnny Cash impersonation next time my son gets to Walk the Line.


I have been thinking a lot about walking the line over the past few days. With all that is going on in Washington this week, my Facebook newsfeed has been ablaze with passion. I have many friends who have changed their profile pictures in support of marriage equality. Just has many have posted concerning traditional marriage. I have seen images of those on both sides of the issue holding signs, yelling, anger personified in their eyes. Looking at them, other images flash before my eyes. Protesters against gun control. Protesters for pro-choice. Protesters against the war. What do all these images have in common? A line. A line that divides. A line that puts people against one another.

As a follower of Jesus, what am I supposed to do with this? Don’t tell me what I need to believe and what side I need to be on. I mean what am I to do with this line of division that separates us? I have people I deeply care for on both sides of every issue. If I stand with one side, I am ultimately saying I am against those on the other. I am not saying it is wrong for people to take a stand for what they believe. It’s just that sometimes while standing, we begin to view those on the other side of the line as our enemies. We form an us against them mentality. Instead of seeing the individuals across from us, we view them as a mass which has formed as an opposition to our personal agenda.

So again, I am faced with the question of what to do? If I am to walk in the shoes of Jesus, not to sound like a cheesy 1990’s bracelet, what would Jesus do? He would look at that line of division and walk right down it. He would look into the eyes of those on both sides knowing their hopes and hurts. He would pass out food if people got hungry. (I’m sure he’d have enough for everyone.) He would pass out water if people got thirsty. (Might even make some wine if they really needed it.) He would touch hands and heal hearts. He would wash the feet of gays, homophobes, pro-lifers, abortion doctors, gun toters, gun haters, vegetarians, chili dog eaters, and yes even country music lovers. Would he tell them they were all right? No. Would he tell them they were all wrong? No. He would tell them all to go and sin no more. All of them. Even the ones on your side. Even you. Even me. For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

As I reflect on this Good Friday and all my Jesus did for me, I am most thankful to Him for walking the line. Walking the line that led him up a hill to His death. As he walked, those around Him were on the other side, but He did not protest. In fact, He pleaded to His father to forgive them. With His last breath, He whispered, “It is finished.” I pray that is our focus today. We walk the line loving all those around us. With us, let the line of division be finished.

A Holy Aroma

Usually I hate the smell of cigarette smoke. Especially when it is covered by way too much perfume. But yesterday was different. I had arrived that morning at church expecting nothing much to happen. Because that's what we Christians do. We invite everyone to church telling them how great it is, but we go in ourselves, plop down in a seat and start thinking about what to fix for dinner. So, there I was in Sunday School wondering who would be there and if I would get a chance to pass out all the Christmas play parts to the kids. The door opened and in walked a friend of mine and his guest. This man had been to church last week, but now he was here at Sunday School. A lot of people come visit our church, but if you come to Sunday School, you're serious! We all moved around a little so they would have room, and our guest sat down right next to me. That's when I noticed it - the strong scent of stale smoke covered by a plethora of musky cologne.  As I said earlier, usually this scent would turn my stomach, but for some reason, this time it was such a sweet smell. A smell of a person with some life behind him. A smell of a person different than me. A smell of a person coming to God just as he was. I know it was a holy aroma to God.

That morning, I had taken a nice long shower with my lavender body wash. I'd worn pants so I wouldn't be too dressy, a jacket so I wouldn't complain about how cold our church is, and I even threw on my Uganda beads so I could feel good about helping those poor mamas in need. Finally, I used a little of my new perfume a church member had gotten me for pastor appreciation month. I was looking and smelling pretty good, right? That morning sitting in a Sunday School class filled with the scent of yesterday's cigarettes, He opened my eyes. I was clothed in self-righteousness and sprayed with a little arrogance for good measure.  God didn't smell my new perfume. He smelled my bitterness, my lack of self-control, my pride. I was stinking up the place!


I pray He helps me to remember to be more concerned with His view, His way, and His name. When I come to Him, I cannot hide behind flowery perfume. My scent comes flowing through each pore of my being. Let it be a scent of grace, mercy, love, and thankfulness. A holy aroma to Him.

Blue Lip Confessions

Yesterday, my sweet Grace came into the kitchen ready for supper. As she walked by, I noticed something a little different about her. As she came closer, I noticed her entire lips, teeth, and most of her chin were completely blue. We're not talking she just ate a ring pop blue. More of a she's been sucking on a sharpie all day kind of blue. Of course, my first question was, "Grace, what did you put in your mouth?" She wasn't in trouble, I was just concerned with the nature of the source of the blueness. My youngest has quite the oral fixation. Grace quickly piped up, "Nothing. I didn't have nothing in my mouth!" Here is where the most difficult part of mothering comes. You might think it's changing diapers, nursing continually, or existing on about three hours of sleep a night. Nope. The hardest part of being a mother is the fine line between knowing you need to discipline your children while at the same time trying your hardest not to crack up at their inconceivable cuteness. Trying my hardest to hold in my laughter, I said, "Grace, I know you are lying and it is important for Mommy to know what you put in your mouth." Again through her navy blue stained lips, she pleaded her innocence. Luckily, my husband was there to save me. As I ducked out among bubbling laughter with my oldest who had witnessed the entire hilarious episode, Mark took Grace into the bathroom to look in the mirror. After she realized she had no other course of action left, she admitted to getting a little too friendly with a dry erase marker.

Later that night, my husband and I were laughing about the incident. Sweet Grace there proclaiming to the world nothing had touched her lips while everyone knew she was lying through her little blue teeth. She was completely unaware the consequence of her actions were literally written all over her face. There I was just laughing at how silly the whole scene was. Right about then, God started nudging me and leading me to a memory of I time I was just as silly. I hate it when He does that! Can't I just laugh at my kid without it getting all spiritual and convicting up in here? Obviously not.

I was reminded of a time a while back when I listened to a sermon about placing things before God and holding on to parts of one's life. I remember actually saying to my husband, "I know I am a sinner saved by grace and I know I'm not perfect, but I just can't think of something that is holding me back or that I am really struggling with that I need to turn over to God." Those words just make me shake my head and wonder if my Heavenly Father was also walking that fine line between discipline and just wanting to crack up at me. You see at that time I weighed 250 lbs and wore a size 20W. But I didn't have any issues. Who me? I'm fine. Doesn't everyone hide cookies under a napkin so no one sees how many she eats? Walking into a room and scanning to make sure you are not the fattest person there is perfectly normal right? Having a closet full of clothes I can't wear because they won't stretch enough or fasten just goes along with getting older. At least that's what I told myself for years. If I don't think about it, it will go away. Only I did think about it all the time. Every minute. Every bite. Every pound. But gosh, what in the world in my life should I turn over to God? I just can't think of anything. I can just picture Him up there. Chuckling at me. "No I'm fine. I've got everything under control. I don't need your help with anything." My lips may not of been covered with blue marker, but I'm sure there were a few cookies crumbs clinging on.

Since then, I've lost some weight and come down a few sizes. I've come a long way, and I have a long way to go. Practically speaking, I'm learning how to eat healthy and move more. It's pretty simple. But the true lessons I'm learning go much deeper than my waistline. His knowing smile has penetrated my soul and the innermost part of who I am. Or at least who I though I was. I'm a mess. I filled my spirit and my body with what I wanted with no thought to the consequences. He is teaching me to look at everything I allow enter my world whether it be my body, mind, or soul. I am learning to be intentional about my choices. It's a long road, but one I now know I need to walk. I'm so thankful I found freedom through letting my Daddy lead me to the mirror and lovingly point out my blue lips.

All or Nothing

A while back, our family was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying supper together. Immediately, after my 12 year old daughter, Eve, stretched her arms up, her little brother yelled, "Look at all that hair under your arms!" I've been denying for awhile that Eve is in the full throws of puberty, but this was a wake up call. With a summer full of swimming coming, I knew it was time to teach my little girl how to shave. I took her in my bathroom, gave her a new razor and a quick lesson on proper shaving techniques. I sent her up to her shower with the promise of coming to check on her after I finished cleaning up the supper dishes. A few minutes later, Luke came running down the stairs screaming, "Mom! Eve is bleeding everywhere! She's going to die!" Being the heartfelt mother I am, I told him she was just going to have to wait to die until I finished the dishes. In my defense, Luke can be a little dramatic, and I hadn't even heard Eve's shower turn on, so I didn't think things could be too bad yet. Unfortunately, I was very wrong. The image that came down the stairs took a while to process. It looked like my daughter, but there was something red smeared all over her. "Mama, I tried to shave like you said, but it really hurt!" That's when I realized the red smears were blood. After a sob filled conversation, the facts finally became clear. Eve thought since she was told she could shave her underarms, she might as well go all out. She had tried to shave her entire body. Legs, arms, fingers, toes, face . . . fortunately she skipped the eyebrows! My shaving lesson had not included the importance of using soap and water or maneuvering around bony knees. I never thought to include the dangers razors can bring to elbows and knuckles. Once I got her all cleaned up, she came out with the true source of her agony. "Mama, you said once somebody starts shaving, her hair grows back thicker, right? How am I going to go to middle school looking like a big fuzzy bear?" That was it - I could take it no more. I started laughing so hard I could barely breath. Eve stared at me at first and then joined in. After falling on the couch and wiping away our tears, all I could think about is how much I loved my little girl.

One of the many things I love about my daughter is her exuberance. She always jumps into everything she does with everything she has. One never has to wonder what she is thinking - she'll let you know. If she is happy, she's dancing around the room. If she's mad, she's slamming doors and making plans to move to Turkey. Some would say she needs to tone things down a bit, think things through. But I see her as living out God's plan for her. Reminds me of one of Jesus' close friends. When Peter saw Jesus walking on water, what did he do? Jumped right in. When a Roman guard was trying to hurt Jesus, what did Peter do? Chop off his ear. In harder times, when people recognized Peter as a Christ follower, what did he do? Completely denied knowing him. I'm sure there were those that told Peter to tone it down a bit. Work on his internal filter. But God used him as a powerful force in bringing His kingdom to Earth. Does Pentecost ring a bell?

So even though she might come out nicked up, embarrass me a bit with her lack of filter, and scare me to death with her impulsiveness, I choose to be amazed by the young woman God is turning her into. I choose to sit back and watch the roller coaster of life God is going to take us on. But I might hold on to the razors for awhile.