On Setting the Table

I'm not sure how they got started, but I know cousin Eliza made them famous...THE PLACE CARDS.

At big family events, she made custom name plates for everyone coming to the meal.  The oldest and the newest members alike.  Each year was a different theme.  During our early years we swapped them all around so we could sit by a favorite.  When we were teenagers we teased her badly and rolled our eyes.  She kept up with them anyway.  And actually...we all saved them.

In the spirit of being Real Grown Up, I am hosting Thanksgiving.

And I made the dang place cards.

Looking back, these little placards were one of my first experiences of Grace.  There was always a place at the table just for me.  The chairs were mismatched and a few were wonky.  Two little cousins had to share the piano bench.  And the tallest took the chair that sat low.  There were highchairs.  And wheel chairs.  But there was a place saved.  For me.

No family is a perfect one..even if you have place cards and the chairs all match.  Family is a real, flawed machine made up of a bunch of screwed up humans.  Earthly families can't help but be like that.  They come with boundaries, black sheep, divorce, grudges, addiction, therapy, old wounds, and NOISE.  That is so we get to practice.  Mother Theresa said, "What can you do to promote world peace?  Go home and love your family."  So we gather together.  We keep showing up.  And we practice.

In the Methodist church, everyone in the congregation is welcomed to the communion table.  This is exactly how I believe God holds her banquet in heaven.  She wants us all there.  The ones who haven't called.  The ones who say the wrong thing.  The ones who drink too much.  The ones who are loud.  The ones who have nothing to bring.   She has already saved our spot.  So the place cards help me to remember that for no real good reason except Grace, I get to belong.

Happy holidays and good luck at practice!

Nancy

Crazy Koozie Lady

When you move, the ground feels a little unsteady.  You don't know where anything is...not even toilet paper and it's all very unsettling.  After six moves in eight years, I'm becoming more familiar with this shaky feeling.  And also better about packing toilet paper.  In the passenger seat.  Where I can see it.  And unpack it FIRST. 

A couple of moves ago, I was stumbling around the new commissary trying to find the Charmin. Navigating a new grocery store takes a lot out of me. And the commissary is no ordinary grocery store.  The thing about shopping at the commissary is that everyone in there has some sort of military connection.  When you walk in there, you are among family.  And in that same way, it can be a little disturbing but strangely comfortable.  There are usually a lot of women alone with tons of kids hanging off the buggy.  So even though this was a different store, the people seemed really familiar in that way that the little strands of DNA twist us all together and make us basically the same.

On this day, I happened upon an elderly woman searching for a certain item on aisle three.  I'm not sure what made me think I could help her find it, when I was still looking for basic TP, but I offered to assist.  I found what she needed on a bottom row and went tripping on my way.

Somewhere on aisle five I felt a pull on my elbow.  The little old lady was there.  And she said, "Do you like hot or cold drinks."  

Oh. No.  Not sure how to answer.  Was this a trick question?  Where was the nearest exit?  

So I said, "Yes."

And then she opened her bag.  Oh yikes!  I was really hoping she had a Starbucks coupon in there.  She pulled out what I could only see as a ziplock full of yarn.  And she said, "I knit these koozies for people who do a kindness for me.  And since you helped me, I want to let you pick one."  

So I picked a blue and pink koozie.  And all the little pieces were twisted together into something beautiful.


I wanted to tell this story because I think of her very often...the Crazy Koozie Lady  The woman was a military wife.  She had moved fifteen times and seen her husband leave and raised her babies and waited on letters.  And here she was, still so certain of finding goodness in the world that she was actually prepared to offer goodness right back. 

It reminded me of the Indian legend of the two wolves.  An elderly Indian tells his grandson that there are two wolves battling inside each of us.  One is goodness and mercy and forgiveness and joy.  The other is jealousy and rage and hate and evil.  The grandson asks, "Which one will win."  And the old Indian says, "The one that you feed."  

I don't think that the Crazy Koozie Lady's life was all that different from anyone else's.  I'm sure she had heartache and joy and all the ups and downs that make up all of our days, but she chose to look for goodness and even prepared to be blessed.  In turn, she went out into the broken world and found the light.  Doing my best to turn out like that.  

Nance


PS:  I had a picture of my koozie to add, but after three tries, I couldn't get it to load and then I quit on this story for a week.  Finally decided that I needed to move on and just TELL it before it was perfect or ready.  There will always be reasons NOT to write, so I couldn't let the lack of photo be one of them.