surfer table

Sometimes I wonder if I have any business doing what I do.  Being where I am. Living where I live. Etc.

Midway through my college years, I transferred schools.

Northern Arizona University

I went from a state university to a small, private school.  I moved my educational life from the forested mountains of northern Arizona to the beach.  As in San Diego.  As in this:

Point Loma Nazarene University

These are two of the dorms at PLNU.  My senior year, my roommate and I had a view of the ocean.  I am confident I never will again from my living quarters.

One of the things I noticed early on about PLNU was the cafeteria situation.  At my former school, the cafeteria was large and I and my fellow diners ate wherever we chose for the particular day.  There was no real order or method to our choosing.  Well, at PLNU, there were a couple of tables I will refer to as the "surfer tables".  Ironically to me, they were not near the wall of windows affording the ocean view, but nearest to the buffet line's end.

The people that sat at these tables were surfers.  Mind you, when I say surfers, I mean actual surfers.  It didn't take long to realize these folks were different than the rest of us.  They dressed differently, they talked differently, and for the most part, they seemed to stay to themselves.  It was a small school attendance wise, very similar in size to my high school.  Everyone knew who everyone was.  Not necessarily by name, but by association.  I don't know how they came together so quickly, but from day one, the surfers knew to sit together at meals.

No one else sat at their tables.  Sure, there were other kids who knew how to surf, who owned a surf board, who kept one in their dorm room.  Others who occasionally went out on the water for an afternoon.  But these guys, these guys were the serious ones.  We actually had a surf team.  And they were actually quite good.  This clique, so to speak, was mainly males.  But there were a few females who were part of the group.  I'm not really sure how all the girls got in.  I know some of them could truly surf, but I'm not sure about all.

I've always been a bit of a sociology buff.  This type of group intrigues me.  There is very little chance another type of person, no matter how cool, exciting or popular was going to break into their pack.  They weren't necessarily snotty or holier than thou.  Many of them were friendly enough.  They just had this small society thing going on. 

You can join most entourages.  Hang out enough and eventually, you'll most likely become part of the group, provided you have beauty or money or something to offer.  If you can make the group better, they'll let you in.  But eat at the surfer table?  No.  You had to be one of them. 

Despite my niceness, whether or not I taught myself to surf, how many Gidget episodes I watched as a girl, or how much time I put in researching the surfing life, I was not going to be invited to sit at their table.  I was not one of them.

There are days when I feel that way now.  I no longer have a minor obsession with surfers.  I got over that in 1988.  No, this has to do with what I am today. Some days, I feel like I'm trying to fit into something that I have no business in.

Kentucky is a hard place to move into.  Despite having lived here for 9 years [and this is the 3rd time I've lived here, making for a grand total of about 14 years], I often don't feel totally at home.  Strong yet often misinformed opinions, low educational standards and the fact that Kentucky ranks 49th in happiness out of the 50 states doesn't help.

Lately I question whether I am ridiculous for living in my neighborhood.  Do I have a clue?  Am I naive?  Can I possibly make a difference on a street which the police frequent with flashing lights?  Where do I begin?  I'm not here as part of a {missional} trend.  I'm not part of a group of people, except the three I live with.  We're not here to represent a movement or a fad.  We're here because we want to bring hope to a street that could use some.

Do I have to become a different person to bring hope?  Sometimes it seems that way.  Sure, I've changed through the years and grown.  But for the most part, I still like the same things I've always liked and have not developed into some pseudo personality.  

I'm sure most people have doubts and questions.  I realize that's normal.  But lately I wonder.  I really wonder if I am a square peg, so to speak.

Or perhaps, I'm once again over analyzing everything.  I tend to do that. 

here's hoping

Today my daughter went on a field trip to our Kentucky State Capitol.  Apparently high schoolers take field trip just like first graders.  She had a great time, even getting to pretend she was the President of the Senate, complete with gavel.  I think it was a Leslie Knope moment for her [you'll only get that if you're a Parks & Rec fan].

I'm especially proud of daughter Allie today, not because of the senate situation, but because she went off the reservation a bit.  When the bus pulled into a McDonald's for lunch, she and her friends decided to ask if they could eat at the Mexican restaurant next door.  It's a small parental victory for me for a few reasons:
#1  I dislike McDonald's.  Allie and I are vegetarians, and how can a vegetarian be comfortable at McDonald's?  No offense if you are comfortable there, it's just they go through a great deal of feed lot cows, etc.  But that's for another day.  Anyway, Allie loves french fries, and I'm extremely surprised she didn't indulge.  I am happy for her stamina.

#2  I like Mexican food and would choose it over any other 98% of the time.  And Mexican restaurants always have something for a vegetarian.  The simplicity of beans and a tortilla is lovely.  But that's how I was raised [a stone's throw from the border, as I annoyingly like to remind my children].  Nevertheless [I love that word], I'm glad she was willing to do something different.

#3  I had sent Allie on this trip with $7 for lunch.  It's all I had in my wallet and I figured enough for a field trip lunch in Frankfort, Kentucky.  She eats a rather small packed lunch everyday at school, so I believed whole heartedly she'd be fine with this amount.  Well, due to the Mexican lunch, she ended up throwing in a few dollars of her own.  I think she ordered off the dinner menu.  I guess she's not familiar with a Mexican menu's a la carte.  Oh, and she also ordered a milkshake.  So, I'm glad she took along some of her own cash.  I think maybe, just maybe it helped her realize the reality of what things cost and our choices related to them.  [wilted salad from the McDonald's dollar menu or enchilada platter?]

Incidentally, after their lunch, the girls decided to visit a Goodwill store nearby.  Whether their teachers knew about this, I'm not altogether sure.  What brings me joy, is there was a day not long ago, when Allie strongly disliked thrift stores.  She didn't like to frequent them as I do.  I'm a thrift store junkie.  What's not to love?  Allie prefers mall stores and Target and the usual teen girl scene.  But lately, she's changed her tune.

There are things you hope your children pick up from you and things you hope they don't.  I've found that how we handle different situations depends on just that, different situations.  My views on raising teenagers are different today, because I actually have teenagers, than they were when I had toddlers.  While Allie agreeing with me that thrift stores are awesome is not a moral issue, I do realize that her making purchases there will save her money, compared to buying new at the mall.  

Basically, we raise our kids in hopes they'll eventually learn to make the right choices.  Whether it's  where to eat lunch today or where to attend college in the fall.  For years, we make most of the choices for them.  Where they'll live, what they'll wear, what we're willing to pay for.  And we don't always know if our decisions are correct.  I will never have a one hundred percent confirmation that our cross town move was the right thing to do.  Understandably, there are those who would say it was a ridiculous and even dangerous choice.  People can always question other parents' motives and reasoning.  And there are no guarantees.  There are proverbs and suggestions and stories to refer back to.  But nobody can offer you a sure thing.  Because there comes a point, no matter how perfect our parental choices, when the kids start making their own.

I've quoted him before in a blog post, and while he's a fictional tv character, he does offer truth:

"You fake your way through it. And hopefully you

don't raise a serial killer."

That, my friends, was said by Phil Dunphy of the program Modern Family, regarding raising children.

While yes, there are some guidelines in the bible, and there are books out there and child psychologists with sound advice, parenting can be a big, {here's hoping} experience.

Here's hoping.........
they don't get lost
they like at least one green vegetable
they don't become a bully or get bullied
they don't take themselves too seriously
they take you seriously
they don't get emotionally involved with a thug
and on and on

While we haven't "faked our way through it" all, I'll admit there's more faking than I'd prefer.  More than anything, there's a lot of {here's hoping} they learn to make the right choices.  And a lot of prayer.  And more hoping.

selling.the.church

My son Jamie and I traveled down to Danville, Kentucky last Friday evening for a concert.  I was excited to hear the New Century Chamber Orchestra at the Norton Center for the Arts.  Danville is quite possibly my favorite small Kentucky town.  It has a lovely downtown, is home to Centre College [where the VP debates took place] and to an outsider, appears to be a quaint place.

My husband and I visited Danville back in the fall because our kids participated in a marching band competition there.  Having a few hours to pass before our kids' next performance, he and I decided to enjoy some coffee type beverages at The Hub.  If you ever get to Danville, be sure and stop in and have a drink or light meal.

As we headed for our parked car, I noticed a church a ways down the street.  I decided to take some photos of it.

What we soon discovered, is this:  This church was for sale.  If you're interested in purchasing it,  follow this link.  {note the site lists the wrong date, I believe they meant 1789, as opposed to 1879}  Upon passing by last Friday, I found it's still for sale.

After researching on their website, I found the church basement flooded a few years back.  Now they meet down the road a bit.

While I don't know the entire story, and whether or not they could have repaired the basement, whether they'd outgrown their space, whether they simply wanted to move, etc., it did make me sad to see this beautiful, old, historic building for sale.  Imagine the weddings and funerals and potlucks that have taken place in this building through the years.  I'm not saying they should have stayed; again, I don't know the congregation's story.  I'm just forlorn that this space now sits empty.

Nine years ago this month my family moved here, to Lexington.  It was our third move to Central Kentucky, so we were familiar with the city and area.  Our purpose for coming back?  My husband accepted a pastoral position at a local church.  Upon reflecting, I realize that this particular congregation had at one point met downtown, most likely in an old building.  But at some point, in the 1960s, they decided, "Hey, let's sell the church."  And they moved to what at the time was the suburban type outskirts of town.

Sure, I don't know why they moved.  I've made a few educated guesses, but I wasn't present or even alive when the decision was made.

It's interesting to sometimes stop and think about how I got to where I am.  We ended up back in Lexington because we were part of a long string of events, that at some point included a group deciding to sell, and relocate. What if they never had?  Would we still have come back under similar circumstances?  Most likely not.  They would have been another type of congregation, heading a different direction, and ironically, probably a better fit for our family.  We're now "downtown" types, as opposed to suburbanites.

Nine years into this thing, and we're nearly empty nesters and just in case you don't know, no longer at the church we moved here to be part of.  Three more years.  If the Danville church is still for sale then, I might press my husband to buy it and we live in it.  He could be a Centre professor, I could practice the church organ all day and we could enjoy a coffee at The Hub on a daily basis......  He'll never go for that.  Or maybe it will be time to move on.  On to a bigger city [lately Lexington seems small] or downtown to a loft or maybe we'll grow old together sitting on our current front porch.

I just remembered.  The church I grew up attending was sold.  The congregation moved on, to the outskirts of my hometown.  You can work.work.work in a church, sometimes for years, and it might someday go up for sale.  Yes, I realize the CHURCH is more than a building.  But the PLACE, the actual, physical PLACE where we gather to worship, where we gather to sing and pray and eat together, can be sold.  Not made into a {new thing}, not recycled to be relevant, but sold so people can move on and move out and move away.  I find that not just a little odd and sad.