God’s Presence in the Pumpkin Patch

 

I wasn’t able to join Mack and Will at the pumpkin patch today. As you can imagine my mom guilt was through the roof and I was broken-hearted.  However, as usual, God knew what He was doing. Mack can be a bit shy and timid. While I am constantly tempted to push him forward, testing his comfort zone, Will is patient, gently guiding him through his emotions.  Mack needs both of us, but today he needed Will. Mack’s precious teacher sent me this photo and it brought tears to my eyes. Obviously I love this image of Will supporting and encouraging Mack. Even more than that, though, I love the image it presents of our Heavenly Father. Sometimes he asks us to walk boldly forward out of our comfort zone (like I tend to do with Mack), but sometimes, he patiently kneels to our level, puts his hand gently on our back, and steadies us. He doesn’t let us run from what we’re facing, but He doesn’t run either. He assures us with his touch that He is present with us regardless of our circumstances. Will is not a perfect father, and I’m not a perfect mother. Yet I’m thankful for this sanctifying journey of parenting and these little thinly veiled moments where God reminds us of His love for us and His presence and strength in our weakness. 

“Here’s my heart, Lord...”

The hymn we chose to sing over Hardy’s life is “Come Thou Fount” because of the line about raising an Ebenezer as a reminder of God’s faithfulness in bringing us Hardy. However, as I sing this hymn to him each night, I’ve lately been touched by the final line “Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it. Seal it for Thy courts above.” My entire life I’ve sung this line, as I’m sure most people have, as an offering of myself to God. But as I sing this while rocking my baby, I realize that what I am singing about in that moment is Hardy. I’ve heard it said that being a mother is like watching your heart walk around outside of your body. I couldn’t agree more. So, now as a mother as I offer my “heart” to the Lord in that final line, I am really offering Hardy (and Mack). My two little hearts walking around outside of my body. “Take them, Lord! Take them and seal them for your courts above!” It’s an offering and a plea all at once. Happy 9 months, Hardy, 1/2 of my heart! We love you and look forward to the day when you will join us as we sing! 

C.S. Lewis and My Newborn Son

Hardy has been with us a little over 2 months now.  And, since I am his primary source of food, we have spent countless moments together learning about one another.  Admittedly, during our middle of the night feedings I am often mindlessly scrolling social media or just trying to push through to my next interval of sleep.  However, a few days ago, around 3 am, I had a revelation of sorts. 

Often times when I am trying to feed Hardy, I can't get him to take what I am offering at first because he'd prefer to just suck on his hands when he's hungry.  I try and try to move his hands and offer him actual milk but he immediately puts his hands back in his mouth.  

On this particular day, as I swatted his hands away for the fifteenth time, the Lord brought to mind a C.S. Lewis quote that I have loved for years.  When speaking about our desires, Lewis notes that 

"It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak.  We are half hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.  We are far too easily pleased."

I was moved to tears.  Even as infants, our sinful selves are prone to choose the easy over the good.  The temporary fix over the long term work that produces real fruit.  Hardy's hands can pacify him for a moment, but they will never provide him actual fulfillment or nourishment.  

I pray that the Lord would reveal to me the “mud pies” I cling to as I refuse the better things He offers. And I pray, as I gently hold Hardy’s hands to keep them from blocking his mouth to what he actually needs, that God would do that to me: gently remove the obstacles that are in my life keeping me from Him. Amen. 

Hugh Hardage "Hardy" Sanford

Today we are exactly two months from the due date of our second child.  We once again do not know the gender, but we DO know the names!  If this baby is a boy, his name will be Hugh Hardage Sanford.  He will be called "Hardy."

Alton Hugh Long (aka "Paw Paw") was my maternal grandfather.  He passed away just over two years ago.  I am fortunate to have had a grandfather well into my 30's and one who was able to meet my first child! More than that, I am fortunate to have had Paw Paw as my grandfather for any amount of time.  It has been said by some in my family that I remind them of him.  To be fair this is sometimes meant as a compliment and sometimes as a warning.  Paw Paw wasn't a perfect person.  None of us are.  But let me tell you, he WAS the perfect grandfather.  Paw Paw loved to have fun.  He was always willing to play with us, spoil us, or just chat with us.  Oh man did he love a good chat.  He loved sports of all kinds and was quite the athlete in his day. He told jokes and could charm anyone into just about anything.  What made Paw Paw unique, though, (and what I hope I take from him) is that his charm was met with genuine care and concern for others.  He loved Jesus and knew Jesus loved him.  This overflowed into his actions.  The man loved to help, to give, and to encourage.  He wrote hand-written notes, was faithful to his church, and made a donation to any random charity that solicited him. He had an appetite for life that was filled by time with people he loved, service to those around him, and on Saturday nights, a nice big steak.  I hope my son takes after him in these ways.  I hope my son is charming, yes, but more than that I hope he cares.  I hope he examines how he can better his community and those around him.  I also hope he lives life to the fullest.   I hope he takes it all in, makes a few (minor) mistakes along the way, and keeps moving forward with the Joy that only the Lord can give.  I think that would make Paw Paw smile!

Will's mom's maiden name is Hardage.  She, like me, left her hometown when she married.  She moved to and immersed herself in the hometown of her husband.  From what I can see, she's done so with joy and grace.  Will and I wanted to honor her side of the family with this name.  Growing up, Will never knew his father's parents.  They passed away before he was born.  He did, however, get the chance to know his grandparents on the Hardage side.   Luckily, Will’s mom has provided us with some wonderful insight on Grandaddy Hardage.

Joseph Clinton Hardage, Sr. (aka J.C. or Granddaddy) was Will’s maternal grandfather.  He passed away when Will was almost 10, so his memories include not only what he remembers but what he has been told by his parents.  His grandfather had to take over the family farm at a young age when his father died.  Perhaps that is where he developed his love of the land and a strong work ethic.  Even though

his business led him to be a city dweller, he always maintained a “farm” where he could plant a garden. Not only did he enjoy the produce, but his real joy was giving the surplus to charitable organizations such as a homeless shelter and to friends and people in need. 

The other loves of his life were God, family,  country, and Atlanta Braves baseball.  He was actively involved in his church where he probably served on every committee there was.  He particularly enjoyed serving the young people of all ages in the church.  He religiously took his turn doing nursery duty, provided meals for the youth fellowships on Sunday evening, chaperoned youth choir tours, and provided hay rides for the young people at “The Farm.”

Even with a busy work schedule of running a business, often 6 days a week, he never neglected spending

time with his family and especially his four grandchildren.  The highlight of his visit with them was getting to take them to the playground at the park and afterwards for an Icee.  

He was particularly proud of having served his country on the battlefield in World War II.  His business often took him onto the army base, Fort Benning, and he really enjoyed visiting withand admired the young men who were there training to serve their country also.

 We are so honored for our son to carry on the names of these wonderful men and their families!

Virginia, Auburn, and "the Now but Not Yet"

Two and a half years ago, when I was pregnant with our first child, I wrote an explanation of why we would name our daughter "Virginia." You can read that essay here. We ended up having a boy and you can read his name explanation here. He is awesome!

Two and a half years later I am pregnant once again. Our girl's name hasn't changed.  However, the situation around her name certainly has. Anyone reading this already knows what I'm referencing, but for posterity's sake, I'll spell it out.  ONE YEAR AGO TODAY, in what can only be described as bizarre, Auburn met Virginia in the national semifinal game of the men's basketball Final Four.  It was a close, back-and-forth game, with Virginia ending up victorious in the end following a controversial no-call on a double dribble, a foul call on a missed 3 point shot, and 3 clutch free throws by UVA's sharpshooter, Kyle Guy.   Since that game, I've been meaning to reflect upon my emotions from that day.  Being pregnant again with the possibility of a girl was just the impetus I needed to finally jot down what that day and game meant to me. 

As I noted in my previous post, the name Virginia holds many layers and much meaning for me.  It encapsulates not just that school or that state, but everything and everyone surrounding them up to this point in my life.  The added element of the basketball game is just another layer.  Here's what I'd want to tell my daughter:

"Sweet girl, this world you are being born into is beautiful.  Everywhere you look you can see God's hand and His purpose.  In fact, He tells us in His word that "the Heavens declare the glory of God, the sky above proclaims His handiwork."* If you have eyes to see and ears to hear, you will not be able to miss Him in the people, places, and events surrounding you.  

However, this world you are entering is also broken.  It is rotting with pain and death.  The curse of sin permeates anything and everything this side of Heaven.  Every bit of joy you feel will be coupled with at least a tinge of pain.  There will be no true satisfaction for you on this Earth. 

But take heart! Should you (and I believe and hope that you will) one day decide to answer the call of Jesus, the One who has come to rescue not only you but all of creation, you will be able to see past the destruction.  He will give His Spirit to you to yearn for and catch glimpses of the new Heaven and the new Earth which He is preparing for us, even now! 

A microcosm of these Truths is what I saw played out during a basketball game in early April of 2019.  Can you imagine the joy of not only one, but BOTH of your alma maters making it to the final four? One for the first time in decades and one for the first time EVER! Can you then also imagine that joy quickly turned to anxiety as you realized this meant they would now play one another in a national semi-final game?!  The tension I felt that night was indescribable to anyone not also experiencing it. 

Virginia, you will have your own tensions like this.  Times where the "now but not yet" of the human condition hit you square in the face.  Where you experience the word bittersweet in all of its meaning. Press into these times. Don't run from them. Sit in the discomfort and allow yourself to fully feel the effects of being a citizen of both Earth and Heaven. You'll also find that you have days that mimic all of the characters in the story above.  Some days you'll feel like the Auburn player who committed that last minute foul.  Like all of Heaven and Earth have come crashing down on you.  Other days you'll feel the elation of that UVA guard as his third free throw went in and won the game.  You'll feel on top of the world.  At times, you'll even resemble the UVA player whose double dribble wasn't called. You'll find yourself a recipient of mercy--escaping a punishment or negative consequences you deserve.  Just remember in all of these circumstances, you're the same person.  A year before hitting those clutch free throws that UVA player led a team that was knocked out of the tournament in the first round...the first EVER 1-seed to do so. And a year later, that Auburn player is the starting guard on his team.  He's a team leader. That one foul from last season doesn't define him. Similarly, your days, good or bad, won't define you. As your grandmother has always told me, "just remember who and Whose you are" and press forward.  

I love you already, and I have full faith in the One who created you that you will come to know Him and live fully into the many meanings behind your name.  

Love,
Mom"

Unconditional Love

One of my favorite parts of being a mom to a young child is that I still have autonomy in what he wears.  While I know my days are numbered in regard to this privilege, I’m making them count while I can! So, you’ll often find my son in Auburn gear on game day. 

As we’re all aware, the Corona Virus has caused every sporting event imaginable to be canceled or postponed.  Yesterday was supposed to be “Selection Sunday,” a day where the dreams of many college basketball players are realized as their teams are chosen to participate in the NCAA basketball tournament.  However, with the tournament being canceled, no brackets were released, and no teams gathered to celebrate. 

And yet, I dressed my son in his Auburn gear.  At first, this felt silly to me, and I couldn’t justify to myself why I was still doing this.  Then it hit me.  I dress Mack in Auburn gear, not because of what a team may or may not do in March Madness, or the College World Series, or the College Football Playoff (Lord help us if we can ever make it there).  I dress him in Auburn gear win or lose, games or no games because I want to teach him that we love our school (and its respective teams) unconditionally.  We love Auburn because it is our school and our team. Period. The end.

One might find this a strange type of love to have until we realize that we are wired for this type of unconditional love as image-bearers of God.  You see, the truest form of unconditional love is the type of love we find in Christ, who lives in us as Christians.  He loves us not because of what we’ve achieved or proven.  He loves us because we are His.  Period. The end.  He demonstrated this love for us by giving up his life for us on the cross and rising again three days later.  This is what we reflect upon during Lent then celebrate on Easter. 

So, while sporting events are canceled, dress your children (or yourselves!) in your favorite team’s gear.  Teach them about unconditional love, then point them to the ultimate love—that which we find in Jesus.  Let’s celebrate that and rejoice in the peace and joy that love brings us during these trying and uncertain times.

In Memory of David

Five years ago today, on January 20, 2014, I met my husband. We went on a blind double date and stayed up til 3 am talking in my friend's living room. That night I learned a lot about Will. He told me all about his work as a cotton farmer and about his co-workers. One co-worker and friend I heard about that very first night we met was David Jones.

David was a childhood friend of my father in law and had managed the farm for years.  He drove a truck and on any given day you could spot him in his truck "driving the loop" or on the farm. Let it also be noted that the man enjoyed a Budweiser, even if it had been sitting in a truck bed for 8 hours in the Alabama heat.

When Will returned to the farm after finishing college at Auburn, he and David began working together and David quickly became a colleague, mentor, and friend to Will.   He was a one of a kind man.

Not too long after my first date with Will, I had the privilege of meeting David for myself. Will and I had been dating for a few months and he was back in planting season so I finally got to go visit the farm.  Though he never told me directly, I can imagine David had some doubts about Will bringing some city-girl from Birmingham (Mountain Brook, at that!) down to the farm.  Nonetheless, he invited me to hop in the tractor with him and take a ride. So I did! That's right, the first time I climbed into one of those giant machines was not with my future husband but with David. We rode for a little while...down and back down and back...talking about politics, history (Will had mentioned that I was a history major so David was sure to quiz me on my Civil War facts.), religion, and a little bit of farming. By the end of our ride I like to think I'd started to grow on David a little bit.

On my next visit to Prattville, David invited Will and me to his cabin to visit. Once we got there he proudly displayed his newest jar of moonshine and like the good Southern gentleman he was, offered some to us. I was pretty sure this was some sort of test. During our tractor ride we had covered the fact that I enjoyed a nice bourbon every now and then. I think he found my brown water preference a bit "hoity toity" so he figured he'd see what I did with this offer. Still trying to prove that I could hang with these farm guys, I accepted and thanked him generously as my throat burned and the taste of grain alcohol lingered on my tongue. As I looked up, David was grinning. I couldn't tell if he was taking more joy in the face I was making or that I'd just accepted his challenge. From that point on, I knew David and I were friends.

As Will and I dated, I got to know David a little better with each visit to the farm.  I came to love his kindness, loyalty, and the confidence he had in being himself.  Since we've been married, I have watched his relationship with Will change from one of caution and supervision to one of respect, trust, and love. When my parents came to visit the farm, David came out and met them. He walked my mom around one of the fields and helped her pick cotton by hand as she told him stories about her mom who had grown up doing the same.  Both times I've brought our son to the farm David made an effort to spend time with us.  He only met Mack twice, but I'm pretty sure they took a liking to one another.  David always spoke highly of me to Will and of Will to me.  That meant to world to both of us.

David passed away yesterday morning after being sick for awhile. It broke my heart. I know it broke Will's.  But I have no doubt that David is with Jesus. In fact, I told some of his family this morning that Will and I had smiled as we pictured David cruising around "the loop" in Heaven in his dirty pick up truck on streets paved with gold.  We're also pretty sure he declined his mansion in favor of a cabin, and I for one can't wait to stop in for a visit when I get there!

Ode to the Forgotten Coast

There is something in the human spirit that causes us to, when disaster strikes, long to link ourselves to those impacted.  It seems we are searching for a connection.

"My dad has a business partner whose brother was on flight 93." 
"My best friend from college went to high school at [insert name of countless locations of school shootings.]"
"The tornadoes in Tuscaloosa ravaged my college town."

After Hurricane Michael I have, unwillingly and with a broken heart, joined in the chorus:

"My in-laws have a beach house in Port St. Joe, Florida."

The first time I visited this house was in the summer of 2014. I can't claim a life-long love for the "Forgotten Coast," as it is affectionately called by those who know it well. However, it's a place that grows quickly on a person. 

That first visit, back in the summer of '14, was when I realized I could (and would very much like to) not only marry my (then) boyfriend, but marry into his family. Spend a week at a house in a sleepy beach town with people and you'll figure out pretty fast how you feel about them. 

Since then there have been multiple trips. Long weekends spent with friends. Our first New Year's as a married couple. Family beach weeks with both of our parents. And, most recently, last January, a trip with our 3 week old son.  We were new parents and had no clue what we were doing so the three of us hunkered down among the locals and snowbirds and enjoyed the quiet of a beach town in the winter. We took him to many of our favorite places that week. And I'm glad we did, because some of those are now damaged or gone.

There's the local spot, Killer Seafood, in Mexico beach where we sadly pinned a dollar to the (already crowded) wall in honor of our pug, Presley, who had died the day before we arrived. Killer Seafood is gone now and that dollar is floating somewhere in the gulf. I wish it would wash ashore and find someone who needs it.

There's Oyster City Brewing Company in Apalachicola where we have shared local beer and stories with friends and strangers. They experienced damage but are  up and running as of today, providing a place for people to gather and, as they put it, try to "resume life as normal."

And there is, of course, Indian Pass Raw Bar. It's a place of legend that, if one place can, embodies the spirit of the entire Forgotten Coast. They lost their doors, their sign, and took on several feet of water within their restaurant. Their team, mostly family, has already begun a clean up effort and is donating all of their t-shirts to those who lost even more than they did.

These are only a few of the local establishments that make this place what it is, and I am only one of many who could write this post. Each person who has spent time down there could pen an ode, and I hope each one will.

As stories of hurt and loss continue to surface in the wake of this disaster, so do stories of heroism, sacrifice, and perseverance. So we will continue to pray. We will continue to give* and go to those who are hurting. Because, in the end, we do in fact have that connection for which we are searching: we are made in the image of God and God is present in tragedies.  He is embedded in the lives of the hurting. He is "near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."** As his image bearers, we will try to do the same.

*There are many places you can give to support the Forgotten Coast, but two I can recommend and know to be sincere are:

https://www.namb.net/southern-baptist-disaster-relief/

https://www.volunteerflorida.org/

**Psalm 34:18

Grief and Celebration

We had Mack dedicated at church a couple of weeks ago. Right in the middle of Lent. We're Baptist (well, technically, I'm a "Baplican," but that's another story for another time), but were we of a more "high church" denomination, we would have been asked to wait until after the Lenten season to perform such a celebratory act. We also would have been asked to sprinkle him. Yet another story for another time.

It has been noted on this blog before that despite being a Baptist I am a huge fan of the Liturgical tradition. I revel in the anticipation of Advent and the solemnity of Lent. However, as I contemplated this joyful occasion we were imposing on such a sacred time of year I felt a peace.

I have come to realize that one of the bittersweet tensions we hold this side of Heaven is that grief and joy are not mutually exclusive. They are not confined to their own separate corners only coming forth when asked. They ebb and flow and mix and mingle and cannot truly be separated.

I have seen this in my own life as I feel I am constantly grieving the end of one stage of life while celebrating the beginning of another. I remember as our wedding approached I felt a surprising amount of grief for the end of my single days. The same was true as my due date approached last year. I grieved the end of the "just the two of us" newlywed stage Will and I were preparing to exit. And in a brief three months of parenthood I have already grieved many stages of Mack's life even as I rejoice to see him growing and progressing into a healthy little boy. I have no doubt that will continue.

This tension between grief and celebration became clearest to me last summer when my grandmother passed away while I was almost nine months pregnant. I stood in front of a crowded chapel and gave her eulogy while inside me I could feel my son kicking--a sign of life. The significance was not lost on me and I remember in the moment taking a minute to soak in the beauty of God's mercy that as He had called my grandmother home He was simultaneously gifting my family and me with new life. It left me breathless.

We also see this tension in the life of Jesus, especially the end of his life that we celebrate during the Lenten season. The Bible tells us that "for the JOY set before him, Jesus endured the cross."* There must have been some bittersweet thoughts in his last few days. Knowing the agony that was to come but the joy and peace that would follow--I often wonder what He was thinking. I think the human side of Jesus held this tension in the same way we do today. After all, on his last night on Earth he did not retreat to solitude to mourn his impending death. No, he gathered together his closest friends and had a meal. We don't know every detail of that night, but I have to believe Jesus rejoiced, even if only inwardly, over the work they had done and would do in the name of the Father.

This Lent has been perhaps my least devoted. I can't tell you what I'm giving up or what I've added to my life except that I have a bit less sleep and personal time and a little more laundry. However, as I stood in front of our church dedicating my son back to the Lord on the second Sunday of Lent, I felt a tinge of that bittersweet tension washing over me and knew that in this particular season I was exactly where I needed to be.


*Hebrews 12:2

Womack Hopson

This baby could come any day now. Its due date is 10 days away. If it's a boy, his name will be Womack Hopson Sanford.  He will be called "Mack." 

His name will be all family--my maiden name coupled with Will and his father's middle name. I love that the name is a perfect merger of Will and me. That Mack will have a name from both his mother and father.  I love that Womack will be kept alive with him, because it would have otherwise died with my getting married. I love that he would be the third consistent generation of Sanford men with "Hopson" as a middle name. 

Mostly, though, I love the men for whom he will be named.

William Gregory Womack will be an awesome grandfather--but oh to see him with a little boy! Although he'll tell you he had "the best of both worlds" with two girls who were tomboys, he also says that if "God himself" had guaranteed his third child would be a boy, he would have gone for it! Bless him, he would have spent more time playing with GI Joe action figures than gluing the heads back on my Barbie and Ken dolls. I'd love for him to have a grandson. I'm told Dad was an energetic child who got into things...a typical boy. I'm also told that through high school and college, though never jumping too far over the line, he pushed the limits on what was kosher and acceptable.  Some of that hasn't changed. Dad still has a lot of energy he has to get out of his system, hence his regimented daily workout routine. He also, at least in the 32 years I've known him, hasn't always stuck to what is "kosher and acceptable."  I'm not sure that it's kosher to turn down promotions at work in order to be able to spend more time with your wife and coach your kids' rec league teams. I'm not sure that it's "socially acceptable" to spend more time making sure your family is spiritually and practically secure rather than trying to keep up with the rest of the community. And frankly, I don't know who in the WORLD pledges SAE at Auburn and never takes a drop of alcohol. Greg Womack is not like every other man, and thank God for that. I think he's the greatest man in the world (over the age of 32) and hope his grandson takes on his "differences."

James Hopson Sanford will tell you with complete sincerity that he's "just a cotton farmer from Prattville, Alabama." This is about as accurate as Peyton Manning describing himself as a "just a guy who likes to throw the football now and then."  Before I met Jimmy Sanford, I wasn't sure "renaissance men" still existed. Trust me, they do. At least one does. With interests and expertise ranging from agriculture to business to higher education to real estate to sports, there's not a whole lot Jimmy cannot do or hasn't done.  And while I swell with pride each time one of his accomplishments is pointed out to me, it's not those accomplishments that would make me proud for my son to bear his name.  Jimmy Sanford the resume is impressive.  However, I can assure you that Jimmy Sanford the father, father in law, and grandfather is even better.  I'm coming up on four years of knowing Jimmy.  That's not very long, but it's long enough to know I won the father in law jackpot.  It's long enough to have seen the trust, confidence, and pride Jimmy takes in Will as he runs the farm.  It's long enough to have seen (on multiple occasions) Jimmy drive over to our house in the freezing cold or pouring rain to deliver us a "to go plate" from a family meal we missed. It's long enough to have learned that although he'll never push anything on me, he is always there as a listening ear and a second dad when I want to process something. And it's long enough to know that if his grandson is half the man he is, I'll be a proud mother!

William Hopson Sanford is the love of my life. He is the man God created perfectly for me and there truly is not a day that goes by that I do not stand in amazement at God's sovereignty in bringing us together.   Will is the calm to my frenzy.  He is the patience to my hurry. He is the detail oriented to my "let's rush through and just get it done."  He is the laid back to my planner.  He is the quiet to my loud and he is the happy being back stage to my "performer" personality.  I hope our son would inherit all of this from his dad (with just a TOUCH of my planner side so we aren't always late). I also hope that our son would inherit his dad's gentle spirit, sacrificial work ethic, tender heart, servant leadership, and ability to see others with the eyes of Christ.  On the surface level, I wouldn't hate it if Mack had his dad's curly hair, long eye lashes, and tan skin tone either.  His dance moves, sense of humor, and ability to rock a bow tie would be even greater added bonuses! Will is going to be an amazing father--I get more and more excited each day to have a front row seat to this.  And if this baby is a boy, I hope he grows up to be just like his dad!

Womack Hopson Sanford will have a lot to live up to, but he'll also have these three men to look up to as well.  If he ends up a nice blend of all 3 of his namesakes, he'll be doing just fine.

Virginia

If Will and I have a baby girl, her name will be Virginia. I've been wanting for sometime to articulate why, and like so many things in my life, writing is the easiest way to do this.

Oddly, using the name Virginia comes from another name...one from the Bible.  Many of us have grown up singing the second verse of the popular hymn "Come Thou Fount" without ever knowing what in the world an "Ebenezer" is. In 1 Samuel 7:12  we are told that after God had delivered his people from the Philistines, "Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, 'Till now the Lord has helped us'" (ESV). Samuel was drawing a line in the sand. Creating an altar. Reminding himself and his people of God's faithfulness to that point and thus pointing them to the fact that they could trust His faithfulness moving forward.  Once I learned the meaning behind this word, it changed the way I sang the hymn and caused me to ponder what the "Ebenezers" in my life might be.

I've said for years that (until Will) the greatest proof and reminder to me of God's faithfulness and sovereignty in my life is my journey to and through Virginia--both the state and the school. When I was 15 I decided that I would attend the University of Virginia for college. This became my goal--it's what motivated me to study, to participate in extra-curriculars, to attempt to play volleyball well. I didn't get in...twice. Early Admission: deferred. Regular Admission: Wait Listed. I never came off that wait list. It was the first time in my life I'd been truly disappointed. That I'd wanted something so badly and had failed. And it humbled me at a time in my life when I very much needed to be humbled.

So, this child will be named for humility.

That failure to get into UVA led me to Auburn where I had the best four years of college anyone has ever had. Ever. Come at me if you'd like to argue.  I majored in History--specializing in American History which, in case you've forgotten, involved studying a good bit about Virginia. I met amazing people, had incredible experiences, and made best friends that will be with me for the rest of my life. It provided me an opportunity to share an experience with my parents and sister that has become something treasured we share together.

So, this child will be named, although indirectly, for my undergraduate alma mater and my family--for those life-changing friendships and experiences at Auburn and the gift the is a shared experience among family members.

After college I moved to Falls Church, Virginia to participate in a Fellows Program. While I was craving the content of the program, I was pretty sure that I was full to the brim on friends and needed no more. I was wrong. I met more amazing people, specifically six women who have enriched my life in ways I cannot fully express. In addition the program itself, as well as the subsequent two years I spent in Northern Virginia, opened my eyes and shaped me significantly. My time there allowed a part of myself to grow and blossom that, I firmly believe, could not have done so in another setting.

So, this child will be named for more life-changing friendships and the time I spend learning to know and experience God in ways I'd never imagined.

Once I left Northern Virginia, the Lord completely redeemed my experience at the University of Virginia where I applied, was accepted, attended, and graduated with a Masters of Education in Higher Education. It was only a year, but at age 26 I was finally able to realize a dream I'd dreamed for 11 years. During that year my "relationship" with Virginia was put into such a new, eternal perspective. UVA, like any other place this side of Heaven, has warts and imperfections. However, it is also so much of what I'd imagined it would be as a leader in higher education. Charlottesville is a picturesque town with incredible people, beautiful mountains, and a vibrant local culture.  It is home to one of America's greatest founding fathers and presidents and my history-loving self relished in all it had to offer.  I realized that at age 18 I might not have appreciated it the way I did at 25 and 26. And once again, I met wonderful people who helped me learn, think, and grow and who God used to continue to shape and mold me into who He has created me to be.

So, yes, this child will be named, in part, for the University of Virginia and what it and its people have meant to me as a 15 year old, a 26 year old, and now a 32 year old.

Upon graduating from the University of Virginia I stayed 14 more months in the Commonwealth. I took a job at an all-male, small liberal arts college in the extremely rural town of Farmville, Virginia: Hampden-Sydney College. I knew no one when I took the job. I had no place to live. I ended up renting a duplex off a dirt road where the only television was satellite and there was no garbage pick up service. As a 26 year old single girl I went to work at a place where there were no other females my age. My friends became a group of Hampden-Sydney alums who were all vastly different from one another and from me. We did things like play Settlers of Catan until our eyes bled, hang out at the swimming pool outside the guest cottage one of them was renting, watch DIII basketball and pray for the home team to score more than 100 points so we could get free Bojangles, and listen to a lot of music. These guys took me in as family. They welcomed me with open arms and loved me well. I didn't invite any generic "guy friends" to my wedding, but I invited them. Although they were different than me and some of them hold different beliefs from me, they were the hands and feet of Jesus to me for those 14 months. They loved me without asking (m)any questions. They also allowed me a lot of time to myself (I can't hang out with dudes ALL the time). I had plenty of afternoons and nights to work on myself, to spend time delving into things that interested me, to read and pray and study God's word. It was the most alone time I'd ever had and the most I will probably ever have.

So, this child will be named for boldness. For going into unknown situations and new adventures trusting the Lord will provide what you need. For learning about yourself and about God and about who He made you to be.

Since moving back to Alabama from Virginia in 2012, I've had incredible professional and personal experiences--the greatest of which was of course meeting and marrying Will.  I can now say he is the greatest proof I have of God's faithfulness and sovereignty in my life.  And as I reflect on my life thus far, I can say with confidence that "till this point, the Lord has helped me."  So now when I sing "here I lay my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I come," I am reminded of my journey from age 15-26 to and through Virginia. I am also reminded of the man God made to be my husband, to fulfill such a great desire of my heart. And when I look at our daughter, I will rejoice and give thanks for God's faithfulness and provision to this point and claim it for all three of us in the days and years to come.

Cleaning the Shower

Last weekend I cleaned our bathroom. It wasn't just the usual spit shine, once-over. This was the scrubbing on my hands and knees clean that was much overdue. As I was doing this, I came to an odd realization: I would MUCH rather clean the toilet bowl than the shower. I started to ask myself why. I discovered that it came down to expectations and distance. With the toilet, well, we all know what happens there. I'm prepared for any nasty I may encounter. It's a toilet. It's supposed to be gross. I can handle that. It's also convenient that to clean the toilet (at least the bowl) there is a brush with a large handle that allows me to keep my distance from the messy stuff.

The shower is an entirely different story. Shouldn't a shower be self-cleaning? I mean we dump who knows how much soap and shampoo in there on a weekly basis. It ought to take care of the messy parts for us! A shower isn't supposed to be gross. It's supposed to be a place of relaxation and cleansing. Wrong. Also, there is (to my knowledge) no toilet bowl brush equivalent for the shower. I was head down on the floor scrubbing with my nose in the grime. There was no keeping my distance. Once I decided to clean it, I was all in.

At some point as I was scrubbing the shower, I realized that I tend to take this same approach to my sin. My "toilet sins," the ones that are easy to acknowledge and out there for everyone to see are often so much easier for me to deal with than the ones I keep mostly inside me, the ones that fester primarily in my heart--my "shower sins." If I don't acknowledge my "toilet sins," other people will notice. They will be repulsed by me, just as they would if they came to my house and saw a dirty toilet. So I clean them up faily quickly with a long handled brush and move on. I look clean and shiny because I've handled my obvious shortcomings for now.  However, the "shower sins" are easier to hide. They get in the crevices of my heart and my soul and they stay there and they mildew and rot until I finally have the courage to go before the Lord and ask Him to scrub my heart clean. Sometimes I don't even realize the "shower sins" exist and many times I choose to just ignore them in hopes they'll go away on their own. But, they don't. I have to go inside my heart and face the dirt and grime, just like I do in the shower.

This could seem discouraging, but the beautiful thing here is that when I bring ALL of my sins before the Lord, it is like bathing in a freshly scrubbed shower.  God's mercy and grace pour down over me and wash me clean.

Here's to praying my literal shower and the one in my heart and soul get a good scrubbing more often!

Sports and Womanhood

This post is a response to a recent Sports Illustrated article detailing how female sports reporters are still bullied and abused online by a minority of men that just can't handle women in the sports world. I do not agree with every point the author makes, but I agree with enough to write this post. One of my favorite quotes from the article is below. You can read the whole thing here (caution: awful language due to the tweets/comments the author has received). 

"Those of us [women] who dare invade this mostly male space [sports] are generally accepted, but there remains a vocal minority committed to forcing women out and rolling things back to the good ol' days, when women talked about recipes and PTA meetings and shoes. (Is that what they talked about? I’m guessing here.)

Unfortunately for these “meninists,” an entire generation grew up as the daughters of Title IX, with progressive fathers and kick-ass mothers who took us to football games, played one-on-one with us in the driveway, and taught us how to throw a fastball. With more and more women brought up to believe that sports can be their space, too, it’s natural for them to expect a seat at the table when sports come up in conversation."

I am by no means a radical feminist, but this article is heart-breaking and important. I wouldn't call my dad "progressive," but he, along w/ my "kick-ass mom" took me to football games, played one-on-one with me in our driveway, and taught me how to slide into second (I wasn't a pitcher so there was no need for fastball lessons). 

I love sports. I love everything about them. I also believe men and women were created by God with unique gifts and strengths. I don't agree that women can do everything men can do. I don't think men can do everything women can do. Men and women are different. That's why I think it's important to have men and women represented in sports and sports media. They bring different, yet equally valuable, perspectives to the arena. 

I was reminded this weekend of how women are made to appreciate beauty. This is absolutely true, and a role I relish as a woman. However, I don't think beauty is limited to a perfectly decorated home or chic new fashion trend. It certainly involves those things, but there are other types of beauty. A Tom Rinaldi College Gameday piece highlighting walk-on athletes who receive scholarship offers from their coaches is beautiful. Pat Summitt coaching a championship game in the prime of her career was beautiful. A pitcher throwing a perfect game is beautiful. Watching Jordan Spieth play golf this year was beautiful. And of course, watching a young man from Woodlawn High School in Birmingham, Alabama return a missed field goal 109 yards to complete the upset of his in-state rival is absolutely gorgeous.

Those who know me well know I often use the refrain "sports tell good stories."  They do.  These stories range from the events happening on the field to the human interest backstories of the athletes and coaches involved. They display redemption and disappointment, victory and defeat, heroes and villains. They remind us that we are simultaneously the image-bearers of God and sinful humans who have a hard time getting out of our own way. Sports offer us a lens into the state of the human condition.

That is why I am thankful for a father who, after having two daughters, did not retreat to a nightly cigar and whiskey while watching old football films and wishing he had a son. Rather, he coached those two daughters in rec-league softball and basketball. He turned down promotions at work so he could be there to watch our games. I am thankful for a mother who cheered in high school and also played flag football in college.  She was Miss Auburn and is also a state-champion tennis player. She taught me how to throw a spiral then would make me come in and help set the table for dinner. My mom showed me that loving sports and being a woman are nowhere near mutually exclusive.

Most recently, I am thankful for a husband who is not threatened by my love for sports, but instead finds it attractive.  He doesn't care if I beat him in H-O-R-S-E every now and then. He always welcomes me to tag along with him to the driving range even if I whiff 50% of my swings, get frustrated, and interrupt what would have been his relaxing afternoon. I am beyond thankful that his confidence in himself allows him to encourage me to be myself. Last night "myself" looked like cooking us our first homemade chili of the season then eating it with him as we watched Monday Night Football and discussed our fantasy rosters. On commercial breaks, he washed the dishes so that I could switch out the laundry. By the end of the night we had full bellies, a clean kitchen, 4 fresh loads of clean clothes, and a celebration over Aaron Rodgers' 5 touchdown passes.          

I don't know the author of this article or the men who made those atrocious comments towards her. I don't know how they spend Monday nights or how they treat their daughters. However, I do know that being a woman has shaped the way I view sports, and sports have shaped the way I view womanhood. I know that one day I want my children to understand that "sports tell good stories," and I look forward to attending the PTA meeting at their school then coming home to play catch with them in the front yard.

Four/For

Will and I have been married four months today. The word "four" has rolled around in my head all day. But it isn't the number 4 that keeps coming back to me. It is its homonym. 

I attended the wedding of a dear friend a few years ago who had a unique set of vows that were spoken between she and her husband.  I remember liking the vows as a whole, but there was one phrase that really stuck out to me.  At one point in his vows, the groom said to her: "I am FOR (insert bride's name here)." As a single person at the time that hit me harder than anything I experienced at her wedding. He was vowing to be FOR her. On her team. Her cheerleader. Encourager. To pray for her. To root for her. To act with her good in mind.  I remember thinking to myself, "that's it. that's really what I want some day."

Fast forward to our first week of marriage and Will came home from work one day with a container full of leftovers his mom had sent us (Praise Jesus!). She had the container sitting on the counter with a sticky note on it that simply said "for Anne and Will" so he would know what to grab. No big deal. 

Except, as soon as I saw that note, my friend's wedding and vows came pouring back into my head. I remembered how I had felt that day and how fully God had answered my prayer in Will. He's not perfect, people, but if Will Sanford is anything, he is FOR me! I've not doubted it since day one. So, I displayed the note on our fridge and it has been there ever since. I hope it's always there. 

I hope that each day as we see it we remember to be intentionally FOR one another. I hope that we remember that we're best served if I'm looking out for Will and he's looking out for me--that we're on the same team. I don't take team allegiances lightly. So, I hope I remember the gravity I felt upon taking his name and officially joining his team FOUR months ago. I hope he remembers the joy he felt in finally finding his partner, his best friend, and his wife. 

I also hope we remember the source of that note--family. I hope that we remember that wedding day FOUR months ago. I hope that we remember the hundreds of family and friends who celebrated with us, and the hundreds more who have encouraged us and prayed for us along the way--essentially showing us that they are FOR us. I hope we remember that we have a team full of people rooting for us and that we are not alone in this sometimes scary new journey. 

My favorite number has always been 11, which is conveniently the day we got married. However, the month we got married is 4, and I hope it becomes my second favorite. I hope that whenever I see that number, its homonym comes to mind. I hope that little preposition sneaks into my brain and triggers me to pray for the grace to live outside myself and FOR Will every day for the rest of my life. 

Great is Thy Faithfulness

"Thou changest not, Thy Compassions they fail not..."

I've never had a go-to favorite hymn. Several have circulated as seasonal favorites over the years, but there's never been one to consistently take the cake. I don't know that I'm ready to give "Great is Thy Faithfulness" the coveted "favorite hymn" trophy, but it has certainly had a consistent presence in my life, and yesterday I realized it certainly belongs on my list of favorites.
Somewhere around high school or college I learned that in faith, as in life, you cannot always trust your feelings or your heart.  After all, we are told that our "flesh and our heart may fail.*"  And they do. There are times we must lean on Truth--the knowledge we have which may contradict current circumstances, feelings, or emotions.  This seems like an easy concept; one I figured I would grasp, apply, and quickly master. However, I've found the opposite to be true.  This is something I have had to continue to practice and have finally accepted will be a choice I must make for the rest of my life.
So there have been times when I have sung "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with great gusto and joy from the top of my lungs, rejoicing at God's obvious displays of His faithfulness and goodness in my life. Yet, just as frequently, there have been times where I have sung this hymn through clenched teeth or clinched fists. With a somber tone or teary eyes.  There have been days when it was all I could do to utter the words and say to God "I know this is true, I but I do not feel it at all."  And yet each time I choose to sing it, choose to say that Truth out loud, even in my deepest despair, something flickers inside me, a little glimmer of hope. It doesn't make me instantly feel better. It doesn't solve my problems, it usually doesn't even stop me from crying, but it keeps me singing and believing, even if just a little bit at a time.

-Rejected from dream college: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" through tears
-New friends and a new ministry home Freshman year of college: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with rejoicing!
-First heartbreak: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with hurt, questions, and confusion
-Opportunities and honors at Auburn I'd always heard of, but never thought I'd have: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with thanksgiving!
-College graduation "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with fear, sadness, and also optimism
-The Fellows Program "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with exhaustion, joy, and community
-Several more heartbreaks: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with questions, doubts, anger, and pain
-Accepted to dream school for grad school: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with perspective on past rejection, rejoicing in God's providence, and amazement at His goodness
-13 months at an all men's college in rural Virginia: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with many days of "what am I doing here" but also friendships from guys who saved my sanity and made life fun
-Dream job offer in hometown: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with excitement and nervousness
-Blind date with a farmer from a small town 80 miles away: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with a feeling of "why not? what can it hurt?"
-Falling in love with and realizing I wanted to marry said farmer: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with thanksgiving, excitement, but still fear things going awry
-Getting engaged to the farmer: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with more joy than I'd ever known
-Resigning from dream job, leaving hometown to pursue new opportunities with soon to be husband: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with the oddest mix of joy and sadness I've ever felt
-Marrying the farmer: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" sung at the top of my lungs accompanied by a congregation of our closest family and friends as we became one on April 11th, 2015.
-Starting a new job in a new town: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" with amazement seeing the path God had laid before me, yet still fearful of the unknown
-Yesterday, officially joining the first church family we'll have as our own new little family: "Great is Thy Faithfulness" sung by another congregation, this one without so many people I know so well, but full of people ready to welcome me and love me as their own, with Will and me standing in front of them, nervous, scared, but thankful to this place we have been led.

I don't know when I'll be singing "Great is Thy Faithfulness" next, but I know I will, and when I do, no matter the circumstances, its words will still be True.



*Psalm 73:26

The Last Shall Experience Firsts

Will and I have been married now for almost two months, and last weekend was our first full weekend apart.  To put it bluntly, I was embarrassed at how much I disliked it.  I mean yes, he's my husband, marriage is super fun, getting to live with my best friend is awesome, but we've only been married TWO MONTHS. I lived alone for 3 years before this!  Three nights without him really should not have been such a big deal--so I thought. 

I am the last of my college friends to get married, and had a solid eight-year run as a single adult before marrying Will.  As I watched all 12 of them (yes, twelve) get married and start their new lives I watched them experience firsts. Some of these firsts made sense to me, but others seemed ridiculous.  Whether it was due to being in a different stage of life or just not letting myself go there emotionally, I couldn't grasp the emotions surrounding these experiences.  However, just two months in, I'm starting to identify. 

One of these girls is married to an accountant.  The kind that travels and studies for work. A lot. In a humorous mingling of timing, this weekend was her husband's last test and she was rejoicing. And as I sat in my humiliation at how much I was noticing and disliking the absence of my husband, I thought about her. This woman is strong.  She is independent, intelligent, and personable.  And yet, yesterday as she described her excitement of her husband finishing his test some her words were "I'm just so glad to not have to go to social events alone anymore!"  It's not that she couldn't go to social events alone. She can.  And she has. But they're more fun with her husband. Her buddy. Her date for life.  And I'm finally grasping that. It's not like I can't stay "home alone" for three nights. I can. And I have. But cooking dinner, binge-watching Netflix or the NBA Finals, and even getting ready for bed are all more fun with my best friend, my roommate, my husband. 

So this got me thinking about all the other firsts I've not yet experienced in my marriage that may come my way. Through these incredible girls I've been able to see and learn from the following firsts:

-first pregnancy

-first failed pregnancy

-first time to move to the other side of the world

-first time to as Tim Keller puts it, "wake up one morning and not know the person in the bed next to you"

-first time to experience a death in the family

-first financial issues

-first husband job crisis

-first wife job crisis

-first breakdown as a new mother 

-first hard conversation with in-laws

-first child

-first anniversary

-first "dream job"

-first mended relationship

-first dream vacation

-first "us against the world" moment

-first home

I often tell people that yes, being the "last" in that group of friends was incredibly difficult at times. But somewhere around the time of the weddings of friends number 11 and 12, the Lord gave me a sweet peace by reminding me that He was giving me a gift.  The gift was wisdom, knowledge, and experience. As I'm learning, you never truly know what something is like until you experience it for yourself.  However, I believe I've been given one of the greatest cheat sheets to marriage from these girls. Anyone else had a front seat to (to quote Lebron) "not 1, not 2, not 3..." but TWELVE real, dynamic, Godly, messy, redemptive marriages before your own?? Anyone? Didn't think so. 

Certainly all marriages and all people are unique and we will all have various experiences.  However, as I continue to experience firsts (and eat my words) in my own marriage, I will continue to count these 12 girls and their husbands as my trailblazers and undeserved gifts from God.

"Do You Want to Resume Your Unfinished Solo Game?"

There is a game on our phones that Will and I enjoy playing called "Ticket to Ride," or "TTR," as it will be referenced for the rest of this post.  (Quick shout out to Erin Frizzell for introducing me to the game.)  This game is ideal for times when we're both home watching TV or doing chores or getting in bed right before we fall asleep.  It's a long-distance dating dream!  What's the thing I hate most about long-distance? Not being able to just "be" with the other person.  I love catching up with Will on the phone, but sometimes I wish we could just sit in the same room together and read. Or, play a game. TTR kind of allows us to simulate that. When we've already talked on the phone and caught up, or aren't in a place where we can talk at the moment, or just want to connect and play a fun game, TTR is there.  It has been a faithful friend to our relationship for about 9 months now.

Sometimes, when we are playing TTR, I get impatient waiting on Will to complete his turn (shocking, I know).  So, I'll exit our game and start my own game against the computer.  When Will plays his turn I get an alert that he has played and it asks me if I want to play on that game or "resume [my] unfinished solo game."  I always opt into playing on the game with Will without much thought, but the other night when I received this message it gave me pause.

The closer we get to this wedding the more I realize the intensity of my own selfishness, independent streak, and ego.  These traits show up in trivial things such as insisting upon carrying my own luggage, opening the car door myself, even not letting Will help me put on the new rain boots he got me for my birthday when they were a bit tricky to get on and off the first wear.  Unfortunately, these traits also show up in more meaningful areas like insisting upon my view of how we should look for a place to live or a timeline of getting something done or critiquing (okay fine, criticizing) Will when he does something just slightly different than I might have done it.  This weekend I even had a breakdown about losing my last name and the "brand" (yeah, squirm, I used that word) I had built for myself with that name while living on my own.  I confessed my fear of the anonymity I am going to have coming into a new town known only as "Will's wife" with no one knowing who in the world I am or what I did before I showed up in Prattville married to (in my humble opinion) the (former) most eligible bachelor in town.

All of this is part of me struggling to let go of my "unfinished solo game." Because I have learned that one's "solo game" is never completely finished before a future spouse steps into the picture.  One day, that person is just there and your "solo game" is cut short and your life is completely changed, albeit for the better.  Will and I are currently watching "How I Met Your Mother" from the beginning, and (spoiler alert) Season 1 ends with Lily and Marshall (the show's steady couple) breaking off their engagement because Lily leaves New York for San Francisco in pursuit of her dream of becoming an artist that she never realized because she met Marshall early in college and had melded her life with his ever since.  I assured Will, and I will assure the reader that my "unfinished solo game" is nothing of this sort.  I have no white whale that I was chasing and failed to achieve before meeting Will. Nothing like that. It's just that, no matter how much I yearned for a husband (and I did) or once realized Will would be that husband yearned to be engaged (and I did) or even now yearn to be married (and I do), there was and is a part of me that's just used to playing my "solo game."  As Will and I read books, go to our pre-marital counseling, and talk with married couples, I realize that this is the great challenge of marriage--to let go of one's "solo game" and enter into a "doubles match" with your partner.  In every aspect of life.  I'm not married yet, but I suspect this will be something I continue to lay at the foot of the cross and surrender throughout out marriage.

Speaking of the cross, yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and I had a(nother) major breakdown to Will (If you're still reading, are you surprised he hasn't left me by this point? I am. Everyday I'm surprised and thankful to find out he's still excited to marry me.) about how every aspect of my life feels like it's caving in on me and transition is all around and there are too many balls in the air, etc. etc.  And then I went to the Ash Wednesday service at church last night.  The theme, as it so often is on that day, was decluttering our lives to make space for contemplation and reflection which gives room to repentance and confession.  The service even began with a time just of silent prayer and reflection, the congregation being encouraged to "center ourselves" around the cross and set aside the busyness of the day to just "be."  I immediately almost burst into tears.  In fact, I fought tears the entire service. Not just at the reminder and reflection at my own sin and selfishness (see above), but from thanksgiving for an opportunity to come before the Lord and just "be."  I hadn't done that in quite some time and oh how my soul needed it!  I realized, in that service, that I not only had God been asking me if I wanted to "resume [my] unfinished solo game" in terms of my relationship with Will, but He had been asking me the same question in terms of my relationship with Him as well.  Did I want to continue to run around like a mad person try to check things off my list or did I want to take time to breathe and give my worries to him before going about my day?  Did I want to lower my shoulder and try to bulldoze through these last few weeks before marriage, or did I want to pause, look around, and realize the enormous gift He has given me and Will?  I realized I had been opting for the former but that my spirit needed the later.  I cannot play my "solo game" with God any better than I can play it with Will.  In both relationships it ends in frustration, exhaustion, and often times for me, tears.

So, no, TTR, I do not want to "resume [my] unfinished solo game."  As much as I am tempted sometimes to do so in order to prove my independence or worthiness or boast in my achievements, no. Instead, I'd like to learn to better play doubles.  I'd like to continue to grow as a partner, a friend, and (soon) a wife to the person I love most in this world.  And even more than that I'd like to continue to submit my desires to play my "solo game" with God at the foot of the cross where Jesus, who had every right to play solo, denied Himself, took on the sins of the world, and died for the sake of others.

Last night as I received the imposition of the ashes, my pastor said to me: "Jesus said, 'deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me.'"  That's what I'd really like to do.

The Song That Brought Me Back to Guitar

I took guitar for a  little over a year.   I'm so pleased that I did.  I was single here in Birmingham and had plenty to do at work and socially, but guitar, once a week for 30 minutes gave me a little respite from the real world.  It gave me a space and a time to think about things that were purely pleasure for me.  Music.  Lyrics. Artists.  And then as life got busier, relationships blossomed, I gave it up.  There wasn't time or money for it.  And I've been fine with that.  My guitar time has been replaced with time on the phone with a certain farmer from Prattville (similar to how his golf game has been replaced with time with me).  Until tonight.  I heard the song yet again and had to try to play it.

I've never been to Talladega.  I had some guy friends in high school who went frequently, but if I'm honest, I've never been.  What kind of Alabamian does that make me?  I've been to numerous Iron Bowls so I'm happy to chat with anyone who would like to question my credentials.

Regardless, when Eric Church's "Talladega" came out last year on his "Outsiders" album, I was obsessed.  I was thrilled that this bastion of songwriting sanity remaining in country music had honored a hallowed place and tradition in my home state.  And at first, that's all it was.  An ode to my state.  Church is a proud North Carolinian and his previous hit "Carolina" bears testimony to that.  He is particular about the subjects for which he sings and so I felt honored.  He is one of my favorites.

But, as the months have gone by and I have continued to listen to the lyrics to "Talladega," I have realized this is not simply a song about a phenomenon in Alabama.  No, this is a song for everyone.  It is, once again, a country hymn to nostalgia.  Everyone has a "Talladega." What's yours?

The opening line: "It was the summer before the real world started..."  For me that was 2007.  My "Talledega" could be named "Youth Intern" or "Atlanta," as those were the key phases and places for me that summer.

Or the line later in that verse: "five best friends on four bald tires."  We weren't five best friends on four bald tires, we were multiples friends on so many metaphorical "bald tires," having no CLUE where we were going.  And yet, like "Billy" in Church's lyrics, I can still see the smiles on so many faces as one by one we "made it."  We got married.  We moved.  We got jobs.  We settled into adult life.

Because, as Church reminds us "like a storm, time rolls on..." and despite the fact that, as he and his friends, there were times we would have "liked to stay in Talladega"we rolled on. With time.  We followed the paths set before us.  To Atlanta.  To Birmingham.  To DC. To New York. To Nashville. To Dallas.  And hey, even to small towns in Alabama that, though not named "Talladega," would prove to be vitally important down the road.

And as I'm barely two months away from making one of those small towns in Alabama my home, there is something about that last verse of Church's ode to youth that makes my eyes a bit misty.  "When the winds go cold and it blows October, I think about us shoulder to shoulder, Like those cars my thoughts roll over and over and over, In my mind...I'm in Talladega..."   But in my mind I'm not in Talladega.  I'm in Auburn.  When "the winds go cold and it blows October" I'm in Jordan-Hare. I'm in Graves Hall.  I'm in Arlington, Virginia--fresh faced and not a clue as to what to do with the world.  And that feeling that Church puts forth so well of youth and innocence and naivety and ignorance floods over me and I realize I'll never have it again.

I'm too old.  I've seen too much. In 30 short years I've learned that I'll never be "Billy." I'll never do things the way I did at 18. Or 22. Or 25.  Or even 28.  But that's okay.  Now that I'm 30, I'll be 30.  I'll marry my best friend.  I'll leave my dream job and my hometown (again) and I'll start a new life where my children will form memories of their own "Talladega."  There will be new Octobers where I stand "shoulder to shoulder" with this new best friend and though we may not be youthful, we will still possess a bit of naivety and ignorance.  We will still brace the cold breezes we face together.  And in 10, 15 years, I'll look back with nostalgia on this "Talladega" and wonder what will be the next to come.

Perhaps that's why Church's song brought me back to guitar.  Perhaps that's why it conjures the emotions it does within me.  Because I know that there will always be that feeling.  That nostalgia.  That the past will always fondly remind me of where I've been, but that the present and the future will constantly be bringing me back, good or bad, happy or sad, to whatever is my current and next..."Talladega."