Roots

If you've known me more than a few months, you know there is a passage of Scripture I quote often.  In Jeremiah 29, Jeremiah sends a letter to the people in exile.  They were in bondage and found themselves in a land not their own.  They were hurting and alone, and Jeremiah had a message of hope for them.  He said, "God is going to show up.  He has a purpose and a plan for your life so great you can't imagine it."  That's the verse we all like to quote.  Jer. 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  But the verses before and after that one are often overlooked.  They are the ones so dear to me, though, because they read somewhat like a biography of my life. 

Jeremiah tells the people that yes, God has a plan.  Yes, He would save them.  BUT…it wouldn’t happen for 70 years. Talk about someone poking your balloon with a pin!  God knew their question would be the same as mine, “What am I supposed to do while I wait?” so He made it clear.  He told them to put down roots.  He told them to embrace the place where He had allowed them to go.  He said, “Build houses.  Plant gardens because you’ll be there long enough to eat what they produce.  Marry and have sons and daughters and grandchildren.  Pray and work hard so the land prospers.”  But after those 70 years, God promised to show up.  He promised that if they really wanted to know Him – if they would seek Him with all their hearts – He would bring them out of what was holding them captive and do amazing things in their lives.  And He did.  Not just for the Israelites but also for me.

Thankfully, God was gracious and didn’t make me wait 70 years.  But He did wait until I learned the lesson of putting down roots.  I have said before how much I fought our initial move to Texas.  But once I put down roots, embraced the place where God had sent me and really, truly began to seek Him with all my heart, things changed.  I found a joy and freedom I hadn’t known before. 

And now, I find myself in another new place God has sent me.  This time not a place of exile but one where He has sent me to proclaim that same freedom to other captives. But to do that, I have to put down roots.  The DC metro area has to be my home, not Texas or Oklahoma.  And this time, I’m not wasting any time.  Not because it’s easier, but because I know the joy that follows.  It’s not easy to start over.  It hurts that my friends aren’t available for a lunch date and Brynna can’t go to the park with her play-cousins.  (You can ask me later if you don’t know what a play-cousin is.)  It’s sad that with each new way I settle in here, I feel further away from the people I love.  But I have sought Him and I have found Him.  I know He promised He has a plan greater than I can imagine.  And I know that God keeps His promises.

So…

I have a Virginia driver’s license

I have Virginia plates on my car

I have a great babysitter named Victoria (God bless her!)

I have a Fairfax County library card

I have a new House – DC Metro (www.dcmetrochurch.org)

I have made new friends – not to replace but to add (yay for Esther and Kristin!)

I know the difference between the groceries at Giant and Harris Teeter

I know the shortcut to get to the mall

I have a side entrance that means I can park at Nordstrom and feel like an adult even though I’m actually at the mall to go to the play area

I am planting…I have put down roots.

An Open Letter about Public Restroom Standards and Practices

External Memo

RE: Public Restrooms

To Whom It May Concern:

There has been some recent misunderstanding about the standards of public restrooms.  In order to clear up any confusion, this memo outlines the necessary protocol.  The following is the result of diligent research done by public bathroom expert, Brynna Grace Johnston (age 21 months).  Miss Johnston is so dedicated to providing a thorough analysis that she has spent the past weeks visiting almost every bathroom in Northern Virginia.  (This fieldwork is combined with her previous research into the bathrooms of Texas and Oklahoma.)

1. General accessibility – All restrooms should be clearly marked.  In the event of an emergency, requiring one to ask (or heaven-forbid unlock!) the restroom only adds stress and unavailable time.
2. Internal accessibility – Stalls should provide enough room for two people to do a short dance if necessary.  Dances may be the result of good work or something resembling musical chairs while the patron determines if she will, in fact, ‘go’ or rather wait to find another locale.  Restrooms should never double as storage, as that inhibits workspace as well as tempts guests to touch available items.
3. Position of in-stall materials – It is suggested that toilet paper holders be within reach but in some way contained as opposed to an open roll.  This does away with the temptation for spinning the roll while cheering, “wipe, wipe!”  Trashcans should be inconspicuous and, if at possible, camouflaged so as to appropriately hide it from the view of curious customers.
4. Flushing device – Manual flushing toilets are preferred.  Automatic flushers often cause patrons to get distracted from the task at hand.  Manual flushes ensure that the guest finishes and eliminate the opportunity to stop midway through ‘going’ to cheer for the toilet.
5. Hand-washing areas – Sinks, soap dispensers and faucets should be within appropriate reach.  Manual options are, again, preferable but not necessary.  If automatic dispensers are in place, it is of utmost priority that they are in working order.  Non-working soap dispensers force patrons to move to a different area and after picking the perfect sink, this may result in momentary bursts of tears. Automatic faucets should never be set to a temperature too warm for overly discerning guests. 
6. Hand-drying areas – Paper towels must be an option!  Under no circumstance should the only option be an air-dry machine.  These devices are loud and terrifying.  When heard, they can cause outbursts of epic proportions, including but not limited to screaming, screeching, crying and at times, even the gnashing of teeth.  Paper towels are not only silent, but also offer the necessary fun of carrying one’s trash to a receptacle as well as the trash of other patrons in the restroom at the same time.

Please note that general cleanliness is not addressed as it required at all times for any restroom (public or private) and the lack thereof will cause guests to open the door, yell "NO!" and quickly flee the scene.  Note also that this list is not exhaustive and may be updated at any time at the discretion or change of opinion of expert researchers. 

girl goggles

It's not a secret that girls and guys see the world differently.  Millions of dollars a year are made and spent on books analyzing how and why we think, act and feel as we do.  I hope that men everywhere have just accepted the fact that we (girls in general) are never going to make sense to them.  We barely make sense to ourselves some days.  I explain the following not to unlock an ancient secret but to say simply, "Boys, you're not crazy.  No, you didn't actually say anything wrong.  She just had girl goggles..."

About 9 years ago, I sat in Hope's living room convinced that this man I had married was insane.  I don't even remember the issue in question now, but I know the problem was this - David had something to say and I didn't like it.  I was sure he was trying to tell me what to do, and I wasn't going to stand for it.  My one-woman protest had resulted in a very uncomfortable Johnston household, and David called in reinforcements.  In a very real sense, he recognized his need for a translator.  As we sat and talked, Hope articulated the exact things David was saying and to David's amazement, I AGREED.  Why could I agree with Hope but not him?  Girl goggles.

David has been out of town on business the past week.  After having just moved to a new state, away from all I know and love, I've had some very lonely days.  Not only do I not yet have friends to talk to or spend time with, but I have no one to help relieve any of the stress of caring for my high-spirited, rambunctious, mind-of-her-own toddler.  Tuesday night, around the time I was hitting my daily breaking point, David sent me a text to let me know he'd call later in the evening.  Now, I fully know in the light of day that this was a good move on his part.  He was checking in, touching base, giving me a heads up - all the things we ask boys to do but is often hard for them to remember.  He should get points.  Through my girl goggles, though, that's not what I heard.  What I heard was, "I'll call you later because I've had a productive day with adult accomplishments and interactions and now I'm going to eat a hot meal, served to me by a waiter in a quiet restaurant while I have more adult conversation.  I won't get up 12 times to visit the bathroom and there won't be coloring or singing involved.  Once I get back to my hotel room where the maid cleaned and made the bed today, I’ll give you a call.”

Girl goggles don’t mean you (boys) have done something wrong.  They don’t mean we (girls) don’t love you or that we are crazy.  Girl goggles are similar to beer goggles.  There’s just something in the way, blocking the true thoughts, so all we hear are crazy things.  What’s in the way isn’t alcohol, though; it’s emotions.  Hormones, to be exact.

During another long-distance call this week, David asked what I had been doing at the house.  When he left you couldn’t walk down the hall or close our bedroom door for the piles of stuff.  He (as I do) loves our new house and was excited to hear what I’d been doing to make it home.  What I heard, though, was not excitement about our home, gratitude for my labors or sadness to be missing out on the settling in process.  What I heard was, “I can’t wait to get home after all the work is done so I can enjoy a serene and peaceful retreat.  It will be a great surprise to me because I’m not there, leaving you to unpack, organize and arrange our house while simultaneously teaching, training and caring for our child.  It will be such fun to come home to a place that feels warm and inviting instead of living in chaos.”  Girl goggles.

Now, here’s the light at the end of the tunnel.  You hear (or read) me preach constantly about the importance of good, Christian therapy.  It’s these girl goggle moments that all those dollars spent come back to you in gold.  They say therapy is cheaper than divorce and that’s true.  Five years ago, we would be in the throws of an all-out meltdown.  David would be looking for the nearest exit, feeling overwhelmed and responsible to fix it all while I would be contemplating just how much I could take with me on a road trip back to the Midwest.  He would feel like he could do nothing right and I would agree. Instead, we are here, together, holding hands even when it’s hard because we have learned to acknowledge and accept that girl goggles are a part of life.  Like stepping in mud in your fabulous new heels, it happens. 

So girls, next time you catch yourself going down the crazy path, take a minute, give yourself some grace and then extend it to the other person.  Give the feelings some room so they don’t overtake you, but focus on what’s real.  Choose to let the Truth soak in instead of the junk.

And guys…next time you say you like the blue dress only to hear in response, “What’s wrong with this red dress!?”... love her anyway.  Keep saying the right thing even when she hears it wrong.  Know she’s having a hard time but doing her best and give her some grace.  (And maybe a new pair of shoes.  That always helps.)

Random Thoughts at 1am

It's after 1:00 am and I can't sleep.  Anytime I say I can't sleep David's immediate question is, "Why?  What are you thinking about?"  He should know by now that at times I am just not ready to be done when the rest of the world is.  But here's the answer to the question none-the-less...

I opened my blog today to find a note about my background.  Apparently the code has to change because they are switching to a new server.  I barely know what those words mean.  I hope I got it changed correctly.  Good thing Hope is going to give me a makeover blog-style.  When am I going to find time to give her my thoughts on a new layout?  Maybe tomorrow at 1:00 am.

I really want a third euro pillow on my bed.  Pillows are expensive.

I am so excited about finding the dining room table tonight!  It feels so nice for at least one room to look like a normal home that I may hang out in there all day tomorrow.  Actually, scratch that.  I don't want BG to spend too much time near the glass hurricanes on the console table.

NCC seems to be the church God is leading us to.  I wonder what He's got in store...

Does VA do sno cones?

Why do I hear so many more sounds when David isn't here?  What are my ears doing when I'm not the only adult in the house?  It's worse today because of the wind.  I wonder how fast the wind is technically blowing?  The poor garbage men are going to have an awful time in the morning.  Pretty sure I hear trashcans blowing from one end of the street to the other.

The Strong-Willed Child says you should shape a kid's will without breaking her spirit.  What if my spirit is being broken in the process of trying not to break hers?  I mean, who throws a 30-minute fit because she doesn't want a bath?!  Seriously.  Rachel Ray could have cooked an entire dinner in that amount of time.

Tiring or not, I'm so glad Brynna is who she is.  I'm grateful she has that spunk and determination.  I like that she can't sit still for story time.  I love that she will stay outside in the snow with purple lips and tell you she's cold but refuse to get off the swing.  While I may get more rest and accomplish more in a day, I wouldn't trade her personality.  I may request that it be molded without quite so much of a fight...but I wouldn't trade it.

Ok.  I'm finally sleepy.  Goodnight.

Moving Across the Country: Day 11

I generally have a strict 3-5 day policy.  When moving into a new home, I give myself 3-5 days of really hard work and long hours so that at the end of that time, my house is a home.  We can go about the business of life.  No stepping around boxes or digging to find what you need.  You may have to relearn which cabinet holds the forks, but rest assured, the fork is in one of the drawers.  Today, I am outside the 3-5 day sweet spot.  Around Day 7 I almost broke out in hives.  You can imagine how I'm fairing at Day 11.  I did not account for a few differences in this move as compared to others.

1.  I underestimated the lack of progress that can be made when one is attempting to organize a bathroom with the "help" of a 2 year old.  I take the item out of the box, set it on the counter and reach for the next item.  I turn around to find the first item (a container of baby wipes) opened and approximately 715 wipes being used to clean the step stool and toilet because apparently they were "yucky".  I halt all progress to clean up previously described mess and distract adorable but mischievous toddler.  I walk back by the bathroom 2 hours later, trip over the books stacked along the wall and wonder aloud, "Whose house is this?"

2.  I didn't add time for organizing and reorganizing just to get the closet door to close.  I have downsized before but I had a storage unit that time.  When we sold our first house to move to a high-rise apartment, we cut our living space in half.  We also rented a storage unit so things that wouldn't fit found a nice, new climate-controlled home.  There's no storage unit.  In fact, there's barely a storage closet.  And it's not climate-controlled.  There's a garage, but we are not the fill-up-the-garage-so-a-car-won't-fit people.  That leaves me with the large task of fitting furniture, fixtures, appliances and accessories from a 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom 3,400 sq. ft. house into a 2,000 sq. ft. townhouse.  My sofa was so big they had to take the hinges off the door to get it in the basement!  I need a new name for what I'm doing here.  This is not downsizing.  When I get a kitchen organized so that it fits the contents that once spread into 3 rooms, I'm working magic, people!

3.  I may have slightly denied reality  We aren't new to moving - in our 8 years in Dallas, we lived in 4 different places.  Each time we had two aces in our corner - we have amazing friends who, for the payment of pizza and a returned favor would carry just about anything we asked, and our families lived within driving distance.  When we moved into the high-rise, my dad loaded all David's lawn mowing equipment in the back of his truck and stored it until we were ready for it again.  When we moved into a house sporting the worst shades of hunter green and burnt orange you can imagine, we barely had to ask and dozens of people came to help.  This is different.  There are no painting parties.  No one is helping to line shelves or wipe down cabinets before towels are stacked there.  Mom and Dad left with only their luggage.  David helps when he's not at work, but for most of the week, I'm a one-woman wrecking crew (with a very short, very blonde sidekick, of course).

All that said, you'd think I would have adjusted my expectations, right?  You would think that instead of allowing 3-5 days, I'd give myself a month or at minimum a few weeks.  Those would be the decisions of someone far less obsessive than I.  No, there was no modified time table.  There's just a girl who at Day 11 is annoyed because those books are still in the hall.  But she has a killer plan for where to put them...tomorrow.

Runnin' and Gunnin'

Ok, sports fans.  No more tears.  Buckle your seatbelts and get ready to laugh.  Do I have a story for you…

It all started at 3:00 am.  Alarms buzzed and bags started flying into the back of my dad’s truck.  We were able to condense the clothes, shoes, toys, Christmas presents, sippy cups, and other STUFF into 6 checked and 6 carry-on bags.  (In addition to the Fed-Ex freight shipment that will arrive at our new home tomorrow.)  We woke Brynna at the last minute and pulled away from the house at 4:15am.  At 4:30, I realized we forgot the stroller, so we made an illegal U-Turn on the turnpike.  By the time we got the stroller and to the airport, it was 5:00 am – exactly one hour before our flight.  We got through checking the baggage and car seat with only minor injuries and then…we got to Security.  Apparently half of Oklahoma and a quarter of Kansas was headed to football bowl games, so we joined a line of approximately 7,000 people.  I would be happy to give my critiques to the TSA employees at Tulsa International Airport about how to better expedite customers flying with children – namely, don’t use that line for airport employees – but I’ll draft those thoughts in a separate memo.  After 45 minutes in the security line, we heard them give the final boarding call for our flight.  Our sense of urgency did not make the precious TSA folks move any faster and when one woman got an attitude with me, I thought we might be bailing David out of jail.  David and Brynna were the first through Security so he threw her in the stroller and they took off running. BG was convinced this was all a fun ride.  As David ran down the concourse, she waved to passers-by and yelled “WHEEE!”  David rounded the corner to the gate just in time to find out that our seats had been given away.  While he had a conversation (that almost resulted in another arrest), I continued to struggle with the TSA Lovelies.  I appreciate safety and security immensely, but the thoroughness with which my friend checked out Brynna’s applesauce and pudding containers was overkill and slightly concerning.  I finally broke free and Yaya, Papa and I set off for the gate.  When David called to give us the update, we all took out running and barely made the flight as they pulled off the passengers to whom they had given our seats. 

Once aboard, the first short flight was fairly uneventful.  (As uneventful as a plane flight with a toddler can be.)  We deplaned in Dallas, grabbed some breakfast and boarded the second – and final – flight.  Brynna napped a bit and the rest of us tried not to pass out from the exhaustion of our morning.  By the last 45 minutes, I was on my last emotional string, at which point, I felt water dripping on me from the overhead air spout.  Because of all things, that’s what I needed…rain!  On a plane!  And all this before noon…

Once in DC, David went to get the rental car while Yaya, Papa, BG and I gathered the luggage.  We stepped out to meet David, expecting to see him with the SUV we rented.  Instead, we found David with a station wagon masquerading as an SUV.  For future reference: if you need space for 4 adults, 1 child in a car seat and 12 bags, the Nissan Rogue is not the best pick.  By the time we got it all to fit, my mom and I were sitting in the backseat hugging our knees while my dad pushed from the outside to get the door to close.  We figured we only had to get to the hotel and then the discomfort would be over.  We figured wrong.

We arrived at the Marriott Residence Inn around 1:00 pm (EST – it was only noon by all our clocks).  David went to check us in and was told the room wasn’t ready, as check-in wasn’t until 3:00.  We understood, asked if they could be ready by 2:30 and went off to find lunch. David and I had an appointment at our new house for the final walk-thru, so around 2:30 we went back to the hotel to drop off Yaya, Papa and BG only to learn the room still wasn’t ready.  They informed us the previous patrons had just left and the room would be cleaned and ready by 4:30pm.  In the meantime, we were given a studio room so we could attempt getting Brynna down for a nap.  The mass of luggage came out of the Rogue so we could easily get it to our room once ready, and David and Papa ran to the grocery store.  At 5:00 pm, I called, was again given the story about the previous patrons and told the room would be ready in 30 minutes.  Just after 5:30 pm, I called back.  The room still wasn’t ready!

I must pause in the story to remind you…I have a 21-month-old baby girl who, on a good day, has more energy and spunk than her little body can hold.  After 3 weeks of living out of suitcases in various hotels and a whole day of traveling, she was DONE.  To say we were having a meltdown is a huge understatement.

I called the Marriott, told them to cancel our reservation and then dialed Embassy Suites down the road.  When David and Papa returned, we loaded the Rogue once again and headed to yet another hotel.  This time, in addition to the luggage, we had 4 bags of groceries!  My dad and David both pushed to get the back hatch to close and my mom and I prayed the short trip to the new hotel that we wouldn’t spend the rest of the night cleaning our clothes off Route 7. 

We are finally settled for the night.  We have a room far nicer than we would have and BG has an actual crib instead of a poor excuse for a pack ‘n’ play.  Yaya and Papa have their own room (adjoined but with the ability to close the door), so hopefully they get a very well-deserved good night’s rest.

Tomorrow’s agenda is the house closing and Day One of unloading all our belongings.  We know we can make it through anything at this point, so we’re looking forward to an exciting day!

Top Ten Things I'll Miss the Most: The End

#2 and #1 – My Cot Carriers and My Girls

I have struggled to write the last two of my Top Ten, so I’m just putting them together.  They bleed into each other.  They are so close to my heart it hurts less to try the denial tactic when thinking of saying goodbye.

Several years ago, I sat across the table from Cheri (whom I call my spiritual mother) and cried.  I had faced hurts before, but the road in front of me at that time was more than I could bear.  Cheri assured me that, yes, it was more than I could bear alone, but God never said I had to walk alone.  She read me the story in Mark 2 of the man who lay paralyzed on a mat.  Jesus assured the man that his own faith had healed him but when he was incapable of doing so on his own, it was his friends who carried him to Jesus.  Cheri promised to carry my cot at the times I was incapable of getting through on my own.  She kept that promise ten fold.  But one person alone can’t carry your cot, so others came alongside me and poured out their love, care, affection, kindness and grace.  God used Mike, Mikele, Deb, Dr. Jim, Janay and so many others to carry David and I as He strengthened our faith and healed us. 

Each of those people holds a piece of my heart.  They saw me at my worst and carried me anyway.  They knew the cost and still chose to love me.  That is a rare gift.  Everyone needs to know that feeling.  My feelings for the friends who carried my cot are deeper than words can express.  How do you say goodbye to the ones who carried you to Jesus?  I can’t.  All I can do is trust and know that the Jesus in me has seen the Jesus in each of you and that makes every mile between us Holy Ground.  And Holy Ground makes us family.

Sometimes your family carries your cot and sometimes carrying your cot transforms friends to family.  Hope and Brandy will always be my sister-friends.  I have the rare privilege of calling their girls my goddaughters, and I hold that responsibility with the utmost honor.  It makes me sad to think I’ll be farther away from gymnastics meets and first steps and birthdays, but I know we will remain connected as we have for almost 20 years because our hearts are linked. 

But now I have more than just two to miss.  When I moved to Dallas I thought I’d never again know the type of friendship forged over time.  I assumed that only someone who has known you since you were 12 can feel as close as family. I’m so grateful God proved me wrong.  I am sad with a hole in my heart but because there will be a void in the absence of my girls.  I will miss being there the day Kelly, Kelli and Tania bring home their first babies.  I won’t be there when Lisa finds her wings and really learns to fly.  I will miss comparing shoes with Kris and dancing with Cassandra, Brittney and Kemi.  I will miss laughing about life’s messes with Stephanie, Jami, Kim and Yanci.

And then there’s Janay.  We laugh that on the outside we couldn’t look more different but somehow people continue to mix up our names.  We just chalked it up to the fact that we’re so alike on the inside it spills out and confuses people.  When I inspect myself through a raw and honest lens, I know that my life would look completely different without my sister-friend.  God used Janay to open my ears to Him.  I couldn’t have learned many of the lessons I have in the past several years or grown and matured as I have without her friendship.  We have sharpened each other as iron but more importantly, she was the laughter I needed in the midst of hurt.  She understood my jokes and my life experiences.  When I felt alone, she was the one with whom I could be my real, authentic self.  She understood the color of my heart.  That safety and security softened me to hear God’s voice. 

I can’t begin to understand what life is going to feel like without my girls.  It doesn’t seem possible that I’ll wake up tomorrow and they won’t be down the street.  I keep hearing in my mind a poem by E. E. Cummings.  It ends with…

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)