Friends for a Lifetime

Why are we resistant to intimate friendship?

Our resistance to intimate friendship may have a variety of sources.  Many claim that they have not time for such frivolous / extraneous connections as friends.  Their lives are quite full with work, family, volunteer opportunities, household tasks.  Others find the entanglements of friendship to be a risk not worth taking.  One may be quite social while not maintaining a few intimate connections with peers.

I hear people (myself included) bemoaning the fact that they are bad a relationships in much the same way one might say they are bad at math.  Blaming self for relational failure, they avoid the risk of failing yet again.  There are also many who feel they have been burned repeatedly in the past and do not want to open themselves to the risk of such pain again.

I have recently read treatments of the great challenges in having any permanence in friendship while building and maintaining a family and/or a career.  Both career and family appear to be the higher priorities to the exclusion of a deeply committed / permanent friendship.  Yes, of course, there are work friends and church friends.  There are the friends who are parents of your children’s friends.  There are the old friends from college or high school.  People readily say there are “friends for a season” as if permanence is neither possible nor desirable.  Families with young children curtail their social lives and circle the wagons exclusively around family, their children’s routines, and possibly other families in their same stage of life.  Friendship is luxurious and there isn’t time for such frivolity.

Married couples are heard to complain of not being able to find couple friends with whom both are compatible.  Singles are in the midst of the dating scene or, as they age, can become socially isolated due to a failure to participate in a perceived societal norm of marriage and children.  They are out of step and alone.

While many may complain of the challenges in developing friendships during the teen and young adult years, those times in life bring great availability and ease of bonding.  Adulthood finds individuals with increasingly complex and competing priorities and the baggage of failed relationships.  There is a lack of time, and, frequently, a seeming lack of desire to choose intimate non-sexual companions for the road.

Psychologists claim the benefits of alonetime on marriage.  But, what of the benefits to married folks for friendship (not simply extended family)?  Family is predestined.  Friends are freely chosen.  The mate was chosen initially but marriage brings a commitment of legality and permanence (despite the availability of divorce).  Friends are free to come and go from one another’s lives.  There can be great beauty, health, benefit, and value in choosing to commit to one’s friend(s) for a lifetime.

How do we treat the individual or the involvement (work, hobby, belief) to which we intend to keep for a lifetime verses that which we believe is “only for a season”?  Our investment is more serious; our maintenance more diligent; our care more tender.  So should it be with covenant friendship.

Sing to the Lord a New Song!

My 2014 Advent Devotional for University Baptist Church

Psalm 96 - December 18, 2014

The picture I snapped of Raley Chapel the very first time
I stepped foot on OBU's campus for
Dean Woodward's annual Choir Festival.
March 1976.  I was 11 years old and in the 4th grade.

I love to sing!  I love music!  I have since as young as I remember.  At age three I regularly gathered up my mother’s pots, pans, and utensils to create my own orchestra in the living room.  I marched about the house with a wooden spoon as my baton.  In fact, music is the reason I live in Shawnee.  It has both drawn and kept me here.  Each year from fourth to twelfth grade, I made the trek to Shawnee to participate in Dean Woodward’s annual choir festival.    In fact, I thought college was a huge church where great music always occurred!  Despite this, I’ve never been confident in my ability to sing.  Yet, I stepped out of my comfort zone recently to take private voice lessons from one of my students.  I discovered I could reach notes I thought impossible and I can do more than simply match pitch with the radio or congregation.  While you will likely not find me suddenly singing solos, I am singing with greater joy and confidence than I have ever experienced.

The psalmist calls his readers to sing a NEW song to the Lord.  We humans can be particularly adverse to change; routine provides comfort and confidence.  Singing a new song requires us to try something we previously have not or to do that of which we have considered ourselves incapable.  It calls us to step out in faith; to reconsider our limits; to be vulnerable.The Advent Season is rife with tradition and for good reason.  However, is it time for you to sing to the Lord a new song?  Celebrate His coming into the world and your heart in a fresh way.  Disturb your routine; sing of His strength and beauty in the sanctuary in a way that causes you to tremble before Him for He is coming!

Psalm 96

New Revised Standard Version

Praise to God Who Comes in Judgement

O sing to the Lord a new song;
sing to the Lord, all the earth.

Sing to the Lord, bless his name;
tell of his salvation from day to day.

Declare his glory among the nations,
his marvellous works among all the peoples.

For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised;
he is to be revered above all gods.

For all the gods of the peoples are idols,
but the Lord made the heavens.

Honour and majesty are before him;
strength and beauty are in his sanctuary.

Ascribe to the Lord, O families of the peoples,
ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.

Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name;
bring an offering, and come into his courts.

Worship the Lord in holy splendour;
tremble before him, all the earth.

Say among the nations, ‘The Lord is king!
The world is firmly established; it shall never be moved.
He will judge the peoples with equity.’

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;
let the sea roar, and all that fills it;

let the field exult, and everything in it.
Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy
before the Lord; for he is coming,
for he is coming to judge the earth.
He will judge the world with righteousness,
and the peoples with his truth.

How Do You Measure a Year in the Life...

I have so many conflicting emotions swirling in my brain today.

Four years ago.

TODAY.

I lived.

Undeservedly. Remarkably. Miraculously. Painfully. Changed. Not without fear, anger, and frustration. But, most importantly, with gratitude. 

However, today, I continue to grieve the deaths of those who didn't.

• My father who I lost 32 years ago.

• My grandparents.  Especially the recent loss of my father's mother, Velma Mullins, on July 26th.

• And...in the most raw and recent of days, the death of a friend and colleague.  I grieve my own loss of Kristen yet more so I ache for the loss experienced by her daughters, her best friend, her husband, her students. That I mourn all the more. 

I lived.  Undeserved. But true. For now. For this moment.

In these four years, I have experienced deep pain both emotional and physical; unexpected disappointment in myself, in God, in others; uncomfortable anticipation and fear for what the days and years ahead might hold.

Yet...there has been undeserved JOY!

How do I measure these four years?  In all of its context, its history, its joy, and in PEOPLE!  In LIFE undeserved and yet given by God with unmerited favor and grace.

In these four years, I have lost cherished friends to death, misunderstanding, abandonment, and apathy yet I have gained the very friends most needed for these days.  I have encountered an entire four year cohort of remarkable students who have walked the hill we call Bison.  I have been absolutely transformed by the deep and unconditional love that three children have innocently bestowed on me.  I have loosened my death grip on cycling and embraced running.  I have walked the streets and dirt paths of Uganda and gained friends from around the globe.

Yet, every day...even in the most mundane of moments...God has simply shown up and added to the life I LIVE and LOVE.  That's more than can ever be measured. 

What the days ahead hold for me, I do not know.  I simply know that God holds each moment. That, my friends, must be enough for me.

Perhaps, one of the most challenging truths I struggle to embrace is that God gives.  AND God takes away.  I completely get that the sun shines on the righteous and the evil as does the rain fall on us all.  I can accept that.  It's the loss I find so difficult to survive.  I would rather be hit by a truck. And, yet, TODAY provides me with a beautiful reminder that even in the loss, there is LIFE.

There are pains...and, it's not that I don't consider them.  It's simply that I woke today knowing that I am alive.

My friend, Kristen, is gone from the lives of so many to whom she was a vital presence.  She left behind beautifully brilliant daughters, devoted friends, a Beloved spouse, nurturing parents, a faithful sister, and many confused and grieving students both past and present.  So, today, in her honor, I thank God for LIFE.  For breath.  For one more day.  For my students and friends and family.  May I live in such a way that my gratitude is effervesent.

Rearview Mirrors

Those closest to us have the greatest power to inflict pain.  We remove the armor with them.  Our guard is down and we are open to attack.  They have earned the privilege of our vulnerability.  That is ultimately the risk of intimacy.  With their smallest and most careless of words, actions, or glances, they can draw blood.  And, so frequently, that wound is unintentional and or can even be designed for benefit and growth.  Yet, "[t]he friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away" (Barbara Kingsolver).

Jennifer is always right.  She will gladly tell you so.  She says things to me that hurt.  But never with the intent to hurt.  She is a speaker of the truth.  The cliché comes with a reason; "the truth hurts".  And, it does.  We are often resistant to say to those we love what they most need to hear.  Yet we withhold the greatest benefits of friendship when we do.  I once asked Jennifer if her mother had not instructed her "not to say anything if she has nothing nice to say".  Her response:  "She tried.  It didn't stick!"  And, as her friend, I am grateful.  I benefit from the fact that she is honest with me.  In response to my insecurity, she once said, "You're not going anywhere.  I will always love you and be honest with you."  Her commitment to both love me and be honest with me is the greatest benefit I gain from risking vulnerability in friendship.  Those rewards far outweigh the risks and any previous loss I have experienced.

I value the past.  History matters to me.  The answers lie there.  I expend a great deal of energy and thought examining my own past and that of others. Oh, don't worry...I also anticipate what's to come (as I shared in a previous post:  http://thevegetariancyclist.blogspot.com/2013/12/anticipation.html). I'm hardwired to explore the patterns and events of the past.  Dates are important.  I consider how many years it has been since significant occurrences in mine and others lives.  Much of my analysis of the past is beneficial to me in so many ways...in my relationships, my work, my faith, my personal well-being, my fitness. However, it can, as all good things do, trip me up at times.  A few years ago, in a seemingly innocuous Facebook post, Jennifer commented that "rear view mirrors are only good on cars".  I was cut to the core.  I was so wounded that I couldn't responded lightheartedly on Facebook.  In addition to my life long fascination with the past, I actually have an obsession with rear view mirrors.  Four years ago I was hit from behind by a truck while riding my bike.  I have long ridden with rear view mirrors installed on my bike's bar ends.  They didn't prevent me from being hit that day.  And, I became fixated with watching them when I returned to the bike.  I'm sure, at times, that I am actually at greater risk because of them.  The road ahead isn't near as terrifying to me as what might hit me from behind.  I realized that I live with that fear and focus both on and off the road.  

Jennifer forced me to consider the manner in which my focus on the past could be damaging, even life threatening, to me.  I didn't like it, but she didn't retract it.  She didn't say it to hurt me, yet she knew what she was saying and to whom.  We often resist relationships with those who speak the truth even when they do so in love.  Yet, true growth can only occur when we are honest with ourselves and others.  And, true love desires our best even when it's painful.

I posted this on Facebook after my exchange with Jennifer
in an effort to acknowledge the truth in her words and the value in my perspective.

Eulogy for my Grandmother Mullins

My Grandmother & I at my Aunt Joy's funeral (Jan. 9, 2013)

Today (July 31, 2014), I had the honor of representing my family and standing in for my father at my Grandmother Mullins' funeral. 

I shared this eulogy to remember her life and carry forward her legacy.








My name is Monica Mullins and, if you can’t tell by simply looking at me, I am Velma Mullins’ granddaughter. It is my privilege to pay tribute to her on behalf of our family. Today we honor a woman who was defined by love, laughter, her kitchen table, a porch swing, and good conversation.

My Grandmother, Velma Mullins, was a strikingly beautiful woman, elegant, tall, and quick to laugh. The eldest of Homer and Ruby Stewart’s five children, Velma Louise Stewart was born in Dustin, Oklahoma on November 16, 1924. The same year that her youngest sister, Joy Nell, was born, Velma met a handsome young man named Jasper Bethel Mullins. Velma and J.B. dated the remainder of the year until he enlisted in the army and eventually entered World War II. Velma graduated high school and, along with seven of her classmates, attempted to get on with Macdonald Douglas to work on airplanes in Tulsa. When the girls were unsuccessful, most expressed a desire to return home. However, Velma said, “If we return home, we’ll never go anywhere.” Thus she and her friend, Lucille, went to Oklahoma City and were hired by the US Department of Defense! They trained in New Orleans and Velma found herself living and working in Washington, D.C. When J.B. returned home following the War in October 1945, Velma was enjoying her new life in D.C. and was actually seeing another young man. J.B. arrived back in Oklahoma and immediately traveled to Washington to retrieve Velma. They were married on November 6th of that same year (what must have been less than a month following his return home).

They quickly began their family with their son (my father), Larry, being born 68 years ago today. Velma and J.B. lived in Henryetta, Ponca City, and Nowata during the early years of their marriage. Their second son, Kirby, was born in Nowata and the family shortly thereafter moved to Chouteau and purchased the home in which they would build and nurture their family for three generations.

And, it is in that home, 415 Howey, that so many fond memories flood our hearts and minds. Velma was the consummate housewife and the queen of her beautiful castle. It was her domain and the home overflowed with conversation and laughter. Her laughter (and as a result the laughter of both of her sons) was distinctive and contagious. Her home was lovely; the family’s schedule precise; the atmosphere welcoming; and, the food plentiful.

She raised two boys in that home and, while barely 41 years of age, she welcomed her first grandchild. Velma hosted family gatherings that included not only her children but also both she and J.B.’s siblings and their families. And…the place to be between meals around the packed dining table was her kitchen table over a cup of coffee. I, along with my brother, cousins and her nieces and nephew, wanted so badly to drink coffee and sit at that table! And, even as she aged and her health declined, her table was still the place to be in the house.

First Baptist Church was a place of devotion and service in her life. She taught Sunday School and GAs. She chaperoned children on trips and to camp. I was so proud to accompany her and the children of this church to camp, to the movies, and to the Passion Play in Eureka Springs.

My recollection of my childhood visits here look much like the advertisements on the pages of Life Magazine. My grandmother, the quintessential 1950s domestic goddess! I actually picture her in heels, with her makeup perfect, her hair stylish, her clothing beautifully coordinated as she effortlessly whips up dinner and vacuums the house. I’m not sure that’s exactly how it was, but is the image I fondly recall.

And, along with that image, is the smell of Pepsi fizzing in a thermal cup; freshly made peanut butter cookies coming from the oven; and chicken and dumplings cooking on the stove. Such are the smells that bring her kitchen to life in my mind. And…of course…that ever brewing pot of coffee.

In the end, we all knew a slightly different version of Velma Mullins. Oh, she was true to herself and consistent…we see that in so many of our shared memories. But, we also were able to know the unique version of her that connected specifically in love to each of our individual hearts and lives. To Homer and Ruby, she was their first born daughter. To Betty, Francis, Joy, and Jeryl, she was always their oldest sister and the glue that held the family together both to face difficulty as well as to celebrate throughout the years. To her sons she was a rock, a constant, and source of great love and laughter. To me and my brother…she was the one we could count on to spoil us, cheer us, and see only our best. And, most importantly, when she lost her first born son, she was my deepest connection to him. To Becky and Brandy, she was not only a grandmother but also a mother, a guiding force, and a disciplinarian! To her nieces and nephew, Angie, Cheryl, Bruce, Susan, and Carrie Beth…she was THE COOL AUNT. And…while she played different roles in each of our lives…all of our memories are filled with love, conversation, and laughter. Such is what defined her and is the powerful legacy she passed on to each of us. May our kitchen tables always echo with her presence.

"I've got your back"

The truck struck me from behind. The points of impact were my lower back and left side. As I lie awake in bed tonight some three and a half years later still nursing some of the aches and pains that continue to reverberate in my body, I unexpectedly hear your words in my head:  "I've got your back."  You posted it in response to my blog entry (For once and for ALL) but you've said it before both directly and indirectly. And, in the end, it isn't the words that matter. It's that you actually do it in a hundred little and really big ways. 

Interestingly, these words come from the same person that told me that rearview mirrors are only good on cars. I remember the sting when I read them even as I knew the truth and the intent for good and not harm. As one of my favorite authors, Barbara Kingsolver, says:  "The friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away."  Ironically, those "wrong" things are often precisely what I need to hear. I'm sure that you will protest that they are wrong at all since you are, nearly without fail, always right. 

The most challenging, life altering, and debilitating occurrences in my life, including my accident, have unexpectedly struck me from behind. They have taken my feet out from under me and brought me to my knees. To say that you have my back, while ultimately not something any person can ever fully do for another, is a the greatest act of friendship you could offer me. I sometimes find myself living with one eye cast over my shoulder and the other obsessively glued to those rearview mirrors (both literally and figuratively). Your effort to stand in that place of protection helps me maintain my focus on the road ahead; to relax in a way that helps me thrive; and to trust God with my future knowing he is redeeming my past. 

While I might expect that your having my back is primarily about protecting me from those outside forces which might do me harm, I'm grateful that you know that I'm quite capable of inflicting that harm upon myself. That you have the sensitivity, insight, and honesty to protect me from my own overly self-analytical mind is perhaps the greatest act of courage you take on my behalf. 

So. Have my back. I'll concentrate on the road ahead. 

"You like me! You really like me!"

The frequently misquoted words of Sally Field upon winning the Oscar in 1984 for Places in the Heart are suddenly ringing true for me.

It's impossible for me to innumerate the times I have said "I don't need you to tell me that I did a good job; I just need you to ask me to do something."  I have told supervisors that I don't need their words of praise or thanks.  In fact, I'm extremely uncomfortable when anyone compliments me professionally or personally; privately or publicly.  I have had to work hard not to deflect words of affirmation when they come.  Imagine my response when the person who knows me best recently said that she thought my "love language" was "words of affirmation"!  However, I now think that all of this may be a case of "the lady doth protest too much".

I'm a doer.  I have an inner drive to be productive; to achieve.  I have struggled with guilt over taking vacation days.  If my friends, colleagues, or students are hurting, I NEED to DO something.  I value hard work, long hours, and to do lists.  Rest is a challenge for me in my profession, my fitness, my life.  I get tremendous personal satisfaction when I'm asked to do something.  When I was asked if I would allow my name to be on the deacon ballot at my church, I had to deal with this challenge.  I receive affirmation by being asked to serve and, in this circumstance, that was not the right reason to serve.  I needed to know that God was calling me to this role.  I wrestled with myself and prayed to God and talked to a dear friend.  In the end, I was ordained and am humbled to serve my church in this fashion.  Nevertheless, ask me to speak at your event, serve on your committee, meet with your friend, help your student, teach you something...THIS is my love language.  As a result, I convinced myself that I did not need to be verbally affirmed.

My mother has always been extremely frugal with praise.  I have said this is why I'm so generous with it.  I love to encourage my students in even the smallest of victories.  Due to the death of my father when I was young, I find it incredibly important to tell the people for whom I care most what they mean to me and tell them frequently.  I never considered that I was so liberal with my praise of others because I was craving it so much myself.  I know that my mother is proud of me, but it has always been difficult not to hear it directly from her.  Now that she is consciously trying to offer it, I don't know how to respond.  I never learned to do so.

Words matter!  And, to me they matter more than almost anything.  I just didn't realize the particular words that I needed in the depths of my soul.  I thought I knew myself really well.  I'm introspective and self-analytical to a fault.  I've taken tons of personality inventories both serious and comical.  I'm the campus "StengthsQuest Guru" for goodness sake.  How could I have missed something so significant in my own psychological make up?  I've spent my entire adult life denying myself the expression of love that I actually need in order to breath, experience joy, and find affirmation.  I'm seeing it everywhere now.  I'm still a doer, but it's in the asking that I find the affirmation more than in the actual doing.  May I now learn to receive and cherish all of those words in grace and humility.

My ever changing Imago Dei

What if that decision you just made was the lynch pin that changes everything? If you were cognizant of that fact, would you still make it? Depends, right? Change is a daunting experience. I anticipate change being painful. Yet, in the end, it is often a blessing.

"Stay the same. Never change." - How many high school yearbooks have been signed with those words? And, yet growth is a form of change. It has been said by many an inspirational speaker, "if you aren't growing; then you are dying." My experience has taught me that many people in our lives would prefer it if we remained static, predictable, the same. However, life demands growth.

What if that small decision that you make today impacts your life in profoundly unexpected ways? Nine years ago today I made a decision. My health was good in that I wasn't sick. I'm one of those people who is just "healthy as a horse". Nevertheless, I was obese and had been for over half of my life. I decided to change my mindset towards food. I weighed myself (something I had rarely dared to do) and tipped the scales at 249 pounds. The decision I made that day was to bring my eating habits to a conscious level. I would simply begin thinking about what I was eating and would choose to eat more fruits and vegetables and less sugar and fast food. That's it. I know goals help. So...I decided that a reasonable goal was to attempt to be under 200 pounds by my 40th birthday which was basically 11 months from that date.

In the end, I radically transformed every aspect of my life.

I look different.

I feel different.

I spend my time in different ways.

I think differently.

I have different relationships with different types of people.

I work differently.

I believe differently.

But, am I different? Have I changed? I am still an image bearer of God. I was before; I always will be. We are all the Imago Dei. Am I more in God's image today than I was nine years ago? If God is unchanging, is his image reflected in me immutable? My image has changed. Some would argue that it has improved. And yet, being the Imago Dei indicates that I have value apart from my usefulness or function. I am an image bearer regardless of the image that I see in the mirror.

Nevertheless, I know that as the Imago Dei I am also the temple of the God most High. The temple can flourish and it can crumble. It is tangible, corruptible, and temporal. Yet, it is also the holy of holies. I believe that I must care for it as a place of worship and a reflection of the one I worship. We are instructed to glorify God in all things and scripture actually uses what we eat and drink as examples.

I am committed to growth. I am committed to the One whose image I bear. I am committed to being His temple. I love that part of me which reveals Him and worships Him. While I know God loves me in my fallen state and accepts me "Just as I am", I believe that I please and honor Him when I pursue holiness and strive in my infinite weakness to glorify Him in my body. Yes, as the Imago Dei I have value. However, as N.T. Wright says, “You become like what you worship.” May my image become more like His.