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.

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

The Icing On The Cake

Somewhere in a kitchen a long, long time ago a family tradition was born. That tradition is known as the caramel icing cake. A white cake, made from scratch, went into the oven. Meanwhile, on what was likely a wood burning stove, the icing simmered along. As the cakes cooled on a rack in that long ago kitchen, a watchful eye was necessary, as the icing could quickly turn from what candy makers call the soft-ball stage to hard-ball stage in the blink of a weary eye. Once the mixture reached the perfect consistency, a cube of butter was beaten into the icing with a wooden spoon, and it was time to ice the cake. This was no small task as our paternal grandmother dipped a knife into cool water in between every spoonful of icing dropped on the cake, and then spread it quickly yet gently so as not to tear the cake. It would have been easier with two sets of hands, and sometimes that extra set belonged to our dad.

The caramel icing cake made it into our family kitchen, and onto the table for birthdays. Dad made the icing and Mom baked the cake, but try as she might, according to him, her cake never measured up to “Mother’s”, which is of course, what every woman longs for her husband to say after she has stayed up late in the kitchen,  after everyone else is in bed, to make the family cake. Again. Truth be told, the cake, his mom’s recipe of course, wasn’t very good. In fact it was downright dry. So……….. One year, our mom secretly bought a box of cake mix, the kind with pudding in it, baked the cake, and threw out the box before he was any the wiser. He probably complimented her on finally getting “Mother’s” recipe right. She probably just smiled. As they say, ignorance is bliss. So is caramel icing. It contains more sugar that you can imagine, and is so rich and sweet it actually hurts your teeth. But in a good way.

If it had been left up to me, the tradition would have passed into family history when the baker and the caramel icing maker passed away. Thankfully, my sister Margie picked up the baton, or in this case, the wooden spoon used to beat the butter into the icing. She learned how to make it along side our dad, and now she is passing it on to the next generation. As they make it alongside her, there is more passed on than just a recipe. Dumping the cake mix from the box, they remember that finding your own way instead of trying to measure up to someone else’s is a delicious way to live. Keeping a mindful eye on the frosting, never rushing it, checking it regularly, and recognizing when it is ready reminds them that patience and persistence pay off. Icing the cake together, they discover that many hands make light work. Of a cake, or almost anything else for that matter.

When it comes to the caramel icing cake, a few things will never change.

Always, always, always use a cake mix with pudding in it, and hold your head up high when you do.

Secure the layers together with tooth picks so they don’t slide apart when icing the cake.

Make a batch and a half of icing, because, well, just because. The family cake isn’t the place to skimp.

Hide it before the party, unless you want to find half of the frosting gone before ever lighting the candles.

The icing tastes as good on your finger as it does on the cake. Especially with your first cup of coffee in the morning the day after the birthday party.

One thing has changed.

Because the cake is simply the vehicle for the frosting, a cupcake will do just as well. Probably better. Less cake, more frosting.

This year, my niece Katie, Margie’s youngest daughter, made her first batch of caramel icing cupcakes all on her own for two-year old Harper Joy’s birthday party.

When it comes to the sweetness of family, a savored tradition is the icing on the cake.

Sisters

There’s just something about a sister.

My one and only sister Margie turns 73 today, and it’s safe to say that I can’t imagine walking the planet without her. She’s been in my corner from day one. Literally. When I was born prematurely, and it was uncertain that I would survive, she got on her little 8 year-old knees and prayed that I would stick around, and she’s stuck with me ever since.

We couldn’t be more different - her style is fancy, mine is simple; I tend to swear, she tries not to; I love to push myself when I exercise, she has to push herself to exercise in the first place; she’s a republican, ummmm...I’m not.

Different though we may be, we couldn’t be closer, more committed or connected, and her influence has profoundly shaped my life in so many ways.

Because of her, my faith is central to who I am and what I stand for. 

Because of her, I’ve learned to make friends with the truth, no matter how inconvenient. 

Because of her, I understand the importance of creating margins in my life.

Because of her, I am (slowly) learning to laugh at myself and my many foibles.

Because of her, I set the table the day before the party. 

Because of her, my daughters have a place other than me to go to for wisdom and insight.

Because of her, I know what it is to have a safe place to tell the truth.

Because of her, I know that laughter is some of the best good medicine. 

And, because of her, I know what it is like to have someone walk by my side, come what may.

Happy Birthday M. 

Our world and my heart are better because of you.