Makeup Miracles

by Joanie Butman

When I woke from my prama nightmare that I described in a recent blog, I was hungover with guilt. I felt awful about my behavior in the beauty salon and even worse when I remembered how much I spent in that frenzy. Who knew the cost of insanity was a mere $200 worth of makeup? Not a bad deal until I returned to apologize a week later and found myself another $200 in the hole. This tipped the scale from insanity to dementia. Add to that my current read, 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, and you have a strong case for commitment.

The owner of the beauty salon could not have been more gracious when I arrived to apologize for my obnoxious, demanding attitude of the prior week AND to return much of the $200 worth of makeup I had purchased. She didn’t even remember me. All I had to do was offer two clues: Friday, prom? I saw the light bulb go off; BUT surprisingly, she didn’t kick me out. Instead, she laughed and said, “Oh, I could feel your pain that day!” That’s an understatement, as I was sharing it liberally with everyone in my vicinity. Misery loves company, right? We got to talking, and before I knew it I was having my makeup done again and buying yet another $200 worth of makeup that I will NEVER use. I didn’t have to buy it, but have you ever noticed it is easier to accept someone’s grace and forgiveness if it costs you something? I felt like I owed her.

So it is with God. His grace, mercy and forgiveness are offered freely because Christ has paid our debt in full. Yet, how many of us continue to try and earn it on our own? It doesn’t change the fact that we have it, just that we feel unworthy of it, which brings up my next point. That woman couldn’t have been nicer, and I could have left after having a good laugh over the absurdity of prama. However, out of gratitude, I chose to buy more products. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to show my appreciation for what she gave so freely – her graciousness.

As a Christian, that is the role of good works. We do them not because we have to, not because we need to earn God’s love or a spot in Heaven. We do them because of what we already have: God’s love and forgiveness and a room reservation for eternity. By doing so, we share a bit of Him with others. More importantly, we do them out of gratitude because of what Christ did for us. The best way to show our appreciation for his sacrifice on our behalf is to show the same love, grace and mercy towards others. And I would much rather be doing that than dragging everyone around me into my own suffering. When you are sharing the best God has to offer, people want to be around you and won’t be running for cover when they see you approaching.

The interesting thing about the entire experience was that it created so much angst. Initially, the buyer’s remorse, then the guilt and embarrassment; but even worse, I discovered an interesting side of myself I didn’t know existed – vanity. I am not a worrier. I don’t worry about anything I don’t have control over. Now I found myself worrying constantly about my makeup. Did I apply too much? Was it running? Was there black under my eyes? I was afraid to smile. It was awful. I felt like a phony trying to present something I wasn’t.

I cannot deny that I enjoyed the initial makeover and the result when I looked in the mirror. I stared at my reflection and wondered, “What happened to that old hag that walked in here an hour ago.” This woman was a magician. She made me look and feel beautiful, younger, revived, renewed. I definitely walked out with a skip in my step. Same result as my time with God.

So you might think now that I am the owner of $400 of makeup I’d look like a new woman, which I probably would if I bothered to apply it, but that would take some time and effort on my part and more than a little unwanted angst. Honestly, at 54 there’s only so much you can do without professional training, and I was never able to achieve anything near what that beautician was able to accomplish. Given the choice between marginally better and the $400 deficit, next time I’ll stick with my original What You See Is What You Get approach.

Conversely, even though I won’t bother to take the time to apply makeup, I diligently protect my morning ritual of choosing to take time to spend with God because it has the same effect at no cost. It’s foundation for the soul. I start each day feeling beautiful, renewed, revived, and eager to share the same with others without feeling like I am pretending to be anything other than whom He created me to be. There isn’t a beautician alive who can compete with that.

For me, the most important choice (and probably the wisest) I make each day is to keep my standing morning appointment with God for a divine makeover. By doing so, I start each day with love in my heart and a skip in my step. You can’t find a more effective beauty application.

Dancing Fool

by Joanie Butman

Sitting at my daughter’s recent graduation, I looked around to see many tear-filled eyes in the sea of parents and grandparents.  What is everyone crying about I wondered? I felt like we were sliding into home head first. I had achieved my only goal: to get to graduation without either of us being in the police blotter of our local paper. I believe Hannah fulfilled her expectations as well and then some. In her 8th grade yearbook she answered the question of what she was looking forward to in high school with signature honesty: parties and prom, which explains my goal! Aside from a hiccup or two, we survived them all unscathed for the most part. We had cause to celebrate. Many parents commented to me after the ceremony about the bittersweet quality of the day. Personally, I could not have been more proud or happy as I watched the beautiful young woman that will always remain my little girl accept her diploma, basking in the rite of passage that marked the official end of her high school years. There were no tears though because this was a joyous occasion, the first of many milestones in her adult life.

She had said goodbye to her childhood and, in some ways, to me years ago. Just for the record, I did some of my best mothering when my kids were young - probably because I am still a kid at heart. I relished every moment with them – the invention box, the dress-up closet, the homespun plays, the tree house, lemonade stands, treasure hunts, parades, mystery adventures, endless games of foursquare, thousands of hours of cards. Unfortunately, they claim not to remember much of it, but I have volumes of photos to remind them; and every once in a while they will bring up one of our infamous add-on stories or talk about a long-forgotten adventure that lets me know they remember more than they admit. The beauty of those years was the simplicity of our life. The only expectation was what new adventure we would be embarking on each day whether it be a new playground or a geocache treasure hunt/hike. Our entertainment was free – making up stories, studying clouds, making mud pies, playing games. Sometimes just plotting out our day was more fun than the actual activity. As they aged, we moved on to bigger and better activities like laser tag and paintball, but we were still in it together.

Truth be told, the real bittersweet graduation came somewhere toward the end of middle school when my daughter moved on to her friends and no longer found time with mom exciting or desirable. I can understand that, but becoming an embarrassment was a little hard to swallow. I suppose that’s every parent’s own rite of passage to endure. It was a gradual transition as she tried to ease away gently at first but more forcefully as she grew older. I didn’t let go easily or gracefully but eventually surrendered to her independent nature that I’d managed to keep in check for so long.

The graduation I attended last week was just the culmination of a process that began years ago. I’ve had plenty of time to adjust to my new role as a hokey-pokey parent – one that steps in and out as needed, never again to be in the center of her life. In fact, the dance party the night of graduation was a classic illustration of this new role. My daughter would drag me onto the dance floor, then just as I was getting going (or maybe because I was getting going), she would whisper in my ear that I could leave now. Funny, as an infant she began dancing in my arms, graduated to my feet, then to holding my hands. Now I watch her dancing with her peers in wild abandon but she still ends the night in her father’s arms…just as she did as a child.

As far as the Hokey Pokey goes, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the timing right of exactly when I’m supposed to be in or out or which part of me is required at any specific moment. I’ve never been good at following formal dance steps and always seem to be a beat or two out of sync. Our struggle over who is going to lead probably explains the push/pull nature of our relationship. But that’s parenting – growing with your children, adjusting to new beats and moves, letting go of the lead yet always waiting in the wings, ever ready for the next dance. In reality, the only graduation from parenting is death, and thankfully there’s a lot of living to be done until that last dance.

I will share a few of my more notable parenting dances over the years:

Chicken Dance – frequently feel like a chicken with its head cut off, running around aimlessly.

The Dougie – only moves needed here are feeding and driving to hospital and doctor visits following sports injuries..

The Jerk – started this dance when I ceased to be fun and became an embarrassment.

Limbo –my flexibility continues to be challenged to the max as I’ve found myself stretched in ways I never imagined.

Macarena – similar to the number of hand gestures given to me over the years as a signal to leave or cease talking.

SHOUT – A little bit louder now, a little bit louder now, a little bit louder now - you know you make me want to SHOUT! (In good and bad ways, cheering is just another form of shouting you know)

Sprinkler – discovered I had an uncanny ability to put out fires of all kinds. Who knew?

Children grow up, about that we have no choice. As much as we’d like to slow it down at times or capture moments forever, the only choice I know of is whether or not to grow with them. If you don’t, you’ll become a wallflower waiting to be invited onto the dance floor, which won’t come often. And eventually, the cycle shifts and the line between parent and child blurs as our roles reverse in preparation for that last dance. No, I didn’t cry at graduation, but sitting here at midnight, the tears came flowing out as I finished this essay with Jackson Browne’s For a Dancer. Grab some tissues.

Just do the steps that you've been shown

By everyone you've ever known

Until the dance becomes your very own

No matter how close to yours another's steps have grown

In the end there is one dance you'll do alone

Honor Thy Father

by Joanie Butman

With Father’s Day approaching, I suppose it wasn’t surprising that there would be a plethora of Dad items on display everywhere, though I didn’t expect to see a Hallmark greeting in the garden supply store. While purchasing soil this week, I noticed a display of engraved rocks. One of them struck a chord. It read,

 “My father didn’t tell me how to live;

 he lived, and let me watch him do it.”

I chuckled thinking God was the first to figure that out. He tried for centuries to tell us how to live, which didn’t work any better than when we try it, so He sent Jesus to show us. Good thing His life was recorded so He could continue to be an example to us today, tomorrow and into eternity.

In any event, this sentiment is exactly why we are encouraging people to share their stories. These stories don’t tell others how to live or what to choose, they simply illustrate how they did. Dads (or uncles or grandfathers) won’t always be here for us to observe, which is why leaving their stories behind is so important. How we live our lives is our legacy, but it’s lost to those who aren’t there to witness it. That’s why people love to read biographies, particularly autobiographies – to understand those that went before them, especially those that accomplished great things. Well, we can’t all accomplish great things in the worldly sense, but I maintain that moments of greatness occur every day in the most ordinary of lives in the quietest of ways.

When I asked my Dad for permission to publish last week’s blog, he hesitated. I know for a fact if it was about one of his crazy capers like getting his shorts caught in the conveyor belt at the grocery store or reporting his car stolen because my mom had moved it into the garage, he wouldn’t have thought twice. However, I think it was precisely because it was of a more personal nature that he paused. It brought to mind something my nephew’s wife said when I started this project. She commented, “It’s interesting. I can tell you all the funny stories of Papa’s antics, but I don’t know the important ones.” People want to know the important ones: the struggles, the doubts, the convictions, the failures, the victories and everything in between. The funny stories are entertaining but at some point get old, while the meaningful ones endure for generations. They define you. They introduce you to your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren in ways you may never have the opportunity to. When my nephew learned he and his wife were expecting (the first great grandchild), he began taping interviews with my parents so that his child would have the chance to know their voices and hear their stories from them.

Today of all days, the decree to honor thy father and mother is at the forefront of many people’s minds. It is a universal commandment regardless of your religious background. But how does one do that? Not with a new golf club on Father’s Day, though it certainly doesn’t hurt. The best way I know of is to live out the values they taught us. To live life in a way that reflects the best of themselves back to them.

family

I know we will be sharing many Papa stories today, but I encourage dads, uncles and grandfathers to choose to share something no one knows, a tale that will give your family a glimpse into your soul, a snapshot no camera has ever captured. It will be your Father’s Day gift to them, one that lasts long after the wrapping has been discarded and the golf club retired. And for the rest of us, I encourage you to choose to make time to listen to their stories. It will be a gift to you both.

The following is a poem written last year for Father’s Day. I share it for all the men I’ve been honored to know and love. Thank you for being such wonderful role models for my son and the next generation of men.

Especially You!

by Joanie Butman

My dad was visiting last week and accompanied me on a trip to Costco. What is it with guys and Costco? Every man I know loves that place. My husband’s idea of the perfect date? Costco and Swanky Franks. To him it’s like sex and a cigarette. We’ve even coined a new phrase for our outings: choreplay!

Anyway, with my Dad in tow we headed to Costco to buy food for my mom’s birthday dinner. I don’t know how we got on the subject of God, but it’s one of the safer subjects with him as his next favorite is sex. I’m telling you, men are genetically engineered in a way that undeniably puts a high emphasis on the topics of sports, food and sex - not necessarily in that order. We’d already covered the Mets’ no-hitter from the previous night, the menu we were en route to purchase, and the effects of aging on a man’s virility. And that was at breakfast!!!! 

Truth be told, God is usually foremost in his mind and we’ve shared many a letter and conversation about our shared faith. Our ride to Costco was no exception. We were discussing how hard it must be for people without faith to face the challenges of life - particularly as they age.

He asked, “Did you ever have a dream that was so vivid you’d swear it was real?” I’ve heard some of his dreams, so I hesitated briefly because it wasn’t clear whether we were still talking spiritually, and I wasn’t quite sure where this was going. But before I had a chance to reply, he began to describe a dream he’d had years ago that remains with him today:

I dreamt I met Jesus and He welcomed me in a tender embrace. I stood back in astonishment convinced He had mistaken me for someone else. I looked in His eyes and said in awe, “Who, me?” He pulled me back into His arms and whispered lovingly in my ear, “Especially you.”

My dad went on to emphasize how the dream felt so real, he’d swear it actually happened. However, his next comment is the important part. He explained how on his “good” days it is real to him, but on the days he allows his failings to haunt him, the less of a reality and the more of a dream it becomes.

The conversation is one of those that will remain with me because of its poignancy in the middle of an ordinary errand and as an excellent reminder of God's unconditional love. What’s interesting, though, is that I feel the total opposite of my father. Being born a rule breaker, I don’t have many “good” days though I suppose there have been a few that others might consider good. On those days I delude myself by thinking I somehow earned God’s favor – a dangerous, corrosive mind game called pride. Conversely, the majority of my days are lived painfully aware of just how far short I fall of deservinganything from God, which is exactly where He wants me. Unlike my dad, my “bad” days are when Christ’s whisper of “especially you” seeps into the depths of my soul comforting and restoring me with His grace, mercy and love. Those are the days I eagerly melt into the warmth and safety of His waiting arms knowing I am where I belong. When I let go of the dream of perfection and recognize how undeserving I am and will always be, that is when God’s loving embrace becomes a reality. It’s something that can’t be earned, only accepted, which is what makes it so precious. Trust me, any good I’ve ever done in my life has been because I have God’s love, not because I need to earn it.

I will leave you with a key concept it took me a lifetime to understand because “religion” kept getting in the way:

                           “Nothing you ever do will make God love you less.

                           Nothing you ever do will make God love you more.

                                          He loves you completely right now.”

Even so, it is always our choice whether or not to accept that love, to allow that quiet whisper to permeate our very being, to walk or run into His outstretched arms, to let His “especially you” become our reality.

You may need a card to gain entrance to Costco, but His arms are open to everyone - 24.7!

Sports Illustrated

by Joanie Butman

Every week I wonder what more could I possibly write about. So silly because life offers up a new topic on a daily, if not hourly, basis. The problem is not a lack of material; it is deciding which is most noteworthy. Last week my son broke his collarbone in a lacrosse game. Any mother of a boy knows that a broken bone is not a news breaking event. Boys do the craziest things, and men are just big boys. 

The toys just get bigger, more expensive and more dangerous. If anything, the newsworthy story is probably that so many of them survive to old age.

With the exception of one, my son’s broken bones have all been sports related, which gives them a certain gladiatorial quality. It doesn’t necessarily make them less painful or the recovery easier, but there is definitely a perverse honor being hurt in the arena as opposed to falling on a trampoline or off a ladder. While guys tend to relive every detail of the play which led to the injury, I think the way in which his team and community rallied around him is where the true story lies. To me, it is the most important aspect of team sports. The beauty and value of being part of a team is the way your comrades lift you up in times of pain, stress or discouragement. Each and every time Doug hurt himself, the empathy and encouragement he received from his teammates, coaches, and community was an integral part of his recuperation.

After each of Doug’s injuries, we experienced firsthand the value of fellowship and community. Last week was no exception. We were flooded with emails and phone calls expressing empathy and concern. We discovered that there is an endless array of ways to break your collarbone as we received stories of past accidents. Who knew there were so many bizarre ways to accomplish this unfortunate feat? Two of the best were:

When I was in fifth grade, I was running down the field after practice and my teacher and soccer coach (who was my older brother’s friend and due to babysit me that weekend) challenged me for a ball. I tripped over his foot and broke my collarbone. This was a complete accident and he felt so guilty. He was THE BEST about helping me the next six weeks. Two years ago, I was playing in a pond hockey tourney up north and looked across the breakfast table to see that same teacher. We smiled and hugged. Someone asked, how do you know each other? He replied, "I broke his collarbone when he was my student!"

The night before my prom I fell down a fire escape in the dark at a friend's house on an overnight (thought the door was the bathroom) - a friend of my mother brought over a basket of small gifts. One of the gifts was miniature playing cards. One day I was bored enough to play solitaire in bed. I got bored with that so I started shuffling the cards. To this day, I shuffle cards morning and night to center my thoughts and reach inside for deep thinking, problem solving and genius ideas for my work. My cards will likely be tossed in the casket with me. My point in relaying this bit of personal trivia is to share that no gift is too small or too unimportant to a person who is bedridden with a broken collarbone!

The thing about a broken collarbone is that unless you’ve experienced it, it’s impossible to appreciate how painful it is because you don’t realize how every movement brings on new agony. Add to that the weight of disappointment as summer plans evaporate before your eyes and it’s easy to get disheartened. That’s why hearing stories from people who have endured a similar fate is so encouraging. Whether it be a broken bone or a broken marriage, people like to talk with those who understand their pain, which is why sharing our stories is so important. There is immense healing power in shared suffering. Isn’t that the basis of every support group in existence? The importance of fellowship and community can not be underestimated. We were created for it, and its value is magnified in times of distress.

At early ages most boys share the dream that they are going to become professional athletes. Realistically, that is not going to happen for the majority of them. However, the life lessons they learn from being part of a team will serve them better than any athletic training. As adults, being a team player is a skill they will bring to the family, office, church, or any organization. Few, if any, will continue the actual sport itself into adulthood. The intrinsic value of team sports is to teach the importance and meaning of being part of one body through commitment, hard work, recognition and respect for each member’s abilities and contributions, and respect and obedience for your leader, whether you always agree with him or not. These lessons are the reward I’ve watched my children earn from team sports, not necessarily a trophy for outstanding performance on the field though there have been a few of those as well. These life skills are what will prepare them to become caring, respectful, contributing members of society. As far as I’m concerned, the only trophy that will ever count will never be displayed on any mantel. It will be given for outstanding performance as a person – for recognizing a need and addressing it, for seeing an injustice and correcting it, for doing the right thing simply because you know it’s right, for taking the field when you don’t want to, for getting back in the game after you’ve struck out again, for listening to the coach when you want to do it your way, for finishing the race. Most importantly, regardless of your stats, the rewards that come from patience, perseverance and commitment make you a winner in life. After all, humanity is the most important team any of us will be a part of.

Last week’s injury came during the playoffs so Doug only missed playing the last week of lacrosse. His first broken bone (an elbow) relegated him to the sidelines for an entire summer (two surgeries) and the following football season – not an easy sentence for an 11-yr-old boy. Sometime during the summer, we received an unsolicited offer from his coach to speak to the grand pooh-bahs of football to get permission for Doug to kick for the team because at age 11, they do not tackle the kicker. It’s basically a free play. The thing is, they rarely kick. Because the league has a rule that every player is required to play a minimum of 12 plays per game, Doug would have to be an exception. You have to realize in our town, this was tantamount to requesting special dispensation from the Pope. Furthermore, this offer was extended even though Doug had never kicked a ball before. There were others who could punt stronger and farther than Doug. The coaches knew it, and Doug knew it, which is what made the gesture so meaningful. Not only did the coaches draft Doug despite his obvious handicap, his teammates embraced him as a full member of the team. He was treated no differently than had he been on the field during every play. There is no doubt in my mind, the encouragement Doug received from his coaches and the camaraderie he shared with his fellow players were important ingredients in his recovery.

The lessons learned on the sidelines that year are probably some of the most valuable ones Doug and I will come away with from team sports - lessons of patience, perseverance, commitment, and community. Over all the years of watching Doug play sports, it was the season he didn’t play that I will always remember as his shining moment. I have never felt more love or pride than watching him suit up for every practice and every game with the knowledge that his only role would be to watch and encourage his teammates. As I mentioned, they allowed him to kick for the team; but they rarely kick. Nevertheless, Doug approached every practice and game as if he was an integral part of the team. And I faithfully watched every game with the same attitude. Oddly, I believe he needed my support more not playing than he ever did when he was in the game.

No matter how small our role, it is the way we fulfill it that is our testimony. Regardless of the size or duration of our playing time, we each add value to this game of life. We are all integral parts of the team – even on the sidelines. There is a little-known man named Joseph in the Bible who was given the nickname Barnabas, which means “Son of Encouragement.” Here is an excellent example of a sideliner. Barnabas is known as “one of the most quietly influential people in the early days of Christianity.” That’s the thing about being on the sideline: it is not a limelight position. Your biggest contributions will get little or no attention, but that doesn’t mean they are of no value. One of the most important lessons Doug learned that year was not to get bitter about being relegated to the sideline by injuries. You’d be amazed at what can happen there. Sometimes for growth to occur, it is necessary to be sidelined for a season. It is in the healing that real maturity takes seed. When your only option is to heal your injury so you can get back in the game or quit, you discover what you’re made of and the source of your strength. The choice to get better or bitter is always ours.

In anticipation of her upcoming graduation, my daughter was reminiscing through her 8th grade yearbook this week, and she pointed out something one of Doug's lacrosse captains said in answer to the question, “How would you like to be remembered?” His response was, “As the guy who tried to cheer people up.” I can’t think of a more noble aspiration, and without a doubt he has achieved that goal both on and off the field. He suffered his own share of injuries during his high school athletic career so he understood the pain and disappointment of being sidelined, which probably made him even a better captain. He was awarded All American in lacrosse this week, but I will never remember him for his athletic skill. The way he, his co-captain and the older boys on the team mentored Doug is worth far more in my eyes. “Being the one who cheers people up” has more lasting value and will carry him through life in a way that no athletic award can compete with.

In closing, I wouldn’t want to wish hardship on anyone, but can guarantee you will be afflicted soon or later. We all have weak moments when we need the safety net of community to catch us and keep us in the fold. And when they come, may you be strengthened by the encouragement of others so that you, in turn, can choose to do the same. Broken bones, broken dreams, broken spirits, broken hearts - there is always someone in need of encouragement; you never have to look far.

Choose to be the one who lifts people up!