Candidly Speaking: The Pay Family

My friend Sarah has many talents. For starters, she is the graphic designer who put together our new business cards. My husband and I are very excited (and a little proud) to  hand these out to interested parties.

I for one have never had any reason to try to communicate myself visually on a 3.5″x 2″ piece of card stock, and I felt a bit intimidated by the prospect.  There is something very special about requesting such a service by someone so skilled but who also knows you well, and I feel like she really captured me.

Another one of her gifts, though she may not readily recognize it, is that she is a VERY good teacher. She is forgiving and patient and kind. When discussing her family’s photography session, she said that she wanted mostly candid shots. Ironically, the week before this conversation I had set out to read and study up on a more journalistic approach to photography.

I have always loved pictures that tell a story, but I am one who is more skilled in portraying those types of moments in written verse and not with an image. This was exactly what I needed. A family that only wanted what I longed to dive into. My excitement grew and my uncertainty lessened.

During our session though, when little boys were running around in bubbles, making swords out of masking tape and an uprooted branch, or racing each other on their scooter’s, I became doubtful.

That was when Sarah encouraged me by saying that these where the things that she truly wanted captured.   So I prayed, paid close attention to the action, snapped my shutter a ton, and I had lots of fun doing it.

I loved learning about the Pay boys. I met Joe and Sarah after they were newly married but have not had ample time to spend with their children. I saw that all three of them stick their tongues out when they are heavily concentrating. I can now tell you which one enjoys art, which one likes to line up his toys while playing, and FINALLY I can now point out someone else whose favorite Superhero is Batman. We are so far and few between.

I learned SO much that evening, but what I will take away is the fact that my friend believed in and trusted me when I did not believe or trust in myself. I find that very valuable in a person.

Here is a sneak peek into the life of the Pay Family, where they value play, action, creativity, laughter, discovery(hello very strange and cool moth), togetherness, and fellowship. It was a delight and blessing to witness their love and commitment to one another.

The Men in Her Life

I confess that I always pictured myself as a boys mom before having daughters. I grew up a professional grade tom-boy and just assumed that my home would be filled with  lots of testosterone, sports equipment, and skinned up knees. Instead, the Lord saw fit to line my walls with books and fill my halls with violin music.

I adore having daughters, and I would not trade my girls for anything. But in the spring, my desire for a son tends to wake up. Incidentally, right around the same time as Major League Baseball’s opening day.

When my lovely friend told me that for Mother’s Day she wanted some photos of the men in her life, I was very happy to oblige.

I had not spent a lot of time with her husband or sons before this shoot though I have known her for years. She is one of the most delightful women of my acquaintance, who is tack sharp in intellect and humor. I enjoy being around her, because I know that she will make me laugh but will also be very genuine in her care of me.

Happy Mother’s Day, friend!

A Love Note From Above.

This morning, my youngest found this note tucked into a book that I received at my last birthday party. It has been on the shelf for 13 months, until she decided to read it yesterday.

Lovely, in light of yesterday’s post.

I’m overwhelmed right now with how the Lord uses people to speak truth into our dark places. Even if they are no longer with us.

 

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses….let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, despising its shame. Now, he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne.” Heb. 12 NLT

The Birthday Girl

(*photo by Eugenia Grow)

It had everything one might expect to find at a birthday party. A string of colorful balloons and streamers lined the front porch. Two young girls in fancy dresses pranced in and out of the front door like wild ponies full of excitement as the guests began to arrive. There was a “do it yourself” Mojito station, a lovely catered dinner with all of the fixings, and the infamous “Carmel Cake” was displayed in the dining room.

It was a perfect setting that lacked only one thing. The Birthday Girl. And we were all missing her.

It has been almost 8 months since Sydney passed away, and her husband Todd had graciously opened up his home for an evening of celebration and remembrance. He has been amazing through this entire journey. As a confessed introvert, and contrary to that nature, he has unselfishly time and again, invited people into his grief and loss with his amazing writing and blog.

Now, he opened up his home( and Syd’s closet:) which provided everyone with an opportunity to stop, to feel, to laugh, and to cry. We were celebrating her birth, but more importantly we were there to commemorate the life that touched us all so much.

After dinner, the sharing began. Todd started the round with a hilarious story about his wife, Sydney. You can read about it here.

As the stories progressed and more people began to speak, my husband leaned over  and asked if I was going to share. I shook my head and whispered, “No. I just don’t have any words right now.”

This was true concerning that particular moment, but it was also the case for my life over the past 6 months.

At the realization of my long season of silence, I got uncomfortable and very wiggly. I am known to lots of people by my words and by my laughter.  Both of which could be induced by my quiet relationship with Sydney.  So I decided to try to find her.

I quietly slipped out of the living room and went to visit Sydney’s closet. It was just a small window preserved so that we can still get a glimpse of the whimsical, intrepid dynamo that she was because so much of that was displayed in what she wore.

I stepped into this portal and immediately teared up,  but I also felt very happy. How can you only be sad standing amongst Sydney’s wardrobe and jewelry? All of the colors, the boldness, the patterns, and the style encapsulated her free spirit. It was like walking through a field of wild flowers.

I looked at some of her favorite books and necklaces. I ran my hand across her shirts and giggled at all of her silly, printed t-shirts and four pairs of the same running shoe. And then I saw them, the very large, but simple turquoise earrings. I moved in for a closer look.

Last spring, Sydney walked into my birthday party at Cantina. That may read as rather uninteresting. But, it was a miracle that she was there and that she was walking. She had been in a wheel chair for months, and we all doubted that she would ever regain her footing.

When I opened her gift, I found myself an enviable recipient of a “Sydney Original.” She had made me some earrings, and I was very touched by how well she captured me. They were small, subtle, and very delicate turquoise earrings.

Standing there in her closet, I realized that she had the same pair, only her’s were larger and more dynamic. She had made me something of herself, but had adjusted it to fit me.

I had found some words.

I quietly walked back into the living room and rejoined the group. I still did not know if I would share, but at least I felt more connected to the evening, to Sydney, and to myself.

***This is what I wound up sharing. I am writing it out as requested to be placed in a book for Todd and Sydney’s children:

“How I Met Your Mother.”

I knew of your mom through church. I say that only to communicate that is where I recognized her from the day we actually met in an Old Navy.

You have to know that your mother was a special kind of “lovely crazy.” I do not mean that she was unbalanced, for she was most certainly of a sound mind. But, she would get SO excited about something, throw caution to the wind, and then chase after it with both hands. That day, she was excited about me.

As I was walked around the store, I noticed that every where I turned, your mom was right there. Finally, she popped around the corner and said(declared:), “Hi. I’m Sydney Gaylord. I heard you speak at church a few months ago, and I really want to get to know you. I really want to be your friend.”

I was startled, but mostly I was just deeply touched. Your mom had no idea of the kind of day that I was having or the darkness that I was being called into for redemption’s sake. But God did and here was your mom, a sun burst of beauty and light declaring me worthy of pursuit.

I smiled at her and said that I would very much like to be her friend.

A few months later, she invited herself over to my house for lunch. Again, I was very startled but in this context, I was also intimidated. I knew that your mother had refined tastes and lots of experience with dining. I don’t cook and my home is very small and humble. But, my insecurities were outweighed by my desire to be with your mother.

She brought you two girls,(this was before your brother was born) and you played with my daughters. You were SO engrossed with Maggie and Emma because they were “big” girls. You played dress up and played with the ‘misfits.’

I fixed your mother a grilled cheese sandwich, which I scorched,  to go with our tomato soup. She sat in my kitchen and raved about the meal as if she were being served at the White House.

After we finished eating and had shared some of our stories, your mother got up and began “snooping” around.

You will hear this often pertaining to your mom. She had an unquenchable thirst when it came to finding out about something or someone. But it never felt obtrusive to me, only loving.

Well, maybe it felt a little obtrusive when she opened up my freezer and pulled out my 5 lb bag of M&M’s. But, after she turned to me and said, “Now, I love you even more for having this kind of stash,” I realized that she was a safe, kindred spirit.

When it was time to go, she gave me a hug. That was when she saw a few photographs on top of my bookshelf. She picked them up and began rifling through them. (read *snooping) She stopped at one and said, “What is this?”

I looked at it and responded, “That is a photo I took of a hydrangea bush just beginning to bloom.”

“It’s amazing,” she said.

I looked at it again.

“Really?” I doubted.

At that point my husband had come home from work and had joined us.

“Really?” he echoed. “I’ve never thought much of it.”

I looked at my new friend and smiled. “Sometimes,” I said, “We have to outsource our encouragement.”

She threw her head back and laughed deeply and unabashedly.

She asked me why I took the picture.

“I liked it because Hydrangea’s can grow on dead wood. In this moment, it still looked pretty lifeless to me against the pine straw with only a few little green leaves poking out. It is a picture of where winter and spring meet. It is a picture of hope.”

She was quite. Then she hugged me again and told me that I take great pictures.

About a week later, I got a call from your mom asking if she could have that photograph. She said she needed something for a class that represented “hope” to her and wanted to use it. I felt touched and was happy to give it to her. I scribbled a verse on the back and wrote “to my new friend, Sydney.”

A few months later, she gave me this.

 

She found it at a flea market and said it reminded her of me and the “hydrangea of hope.”

Now it sits in my kitchen window as a daily reminder that no matter how long or barren the winter, spring always follows. Your mother staked her life on that truth and now needs no daily reminder. She is living in the proof.

This was one of the many things that I loved about your mom. She believed by faith that in Jesus, hope can always be found if one only took the time to look.

That was what she did with me one day in a store, and with countless other people over the years. This was one of her special gifts to a hurting world, and it will never quite be the same without her.

(*taken at your mother’s grave the day of her funeral)

A Couple of Cuties: The Ganson Children Part 1

About 8 years ago, I met a woman at a church function. She was a single gal who had just spent several weeks if not a few months hiking the Appalachian Trail. That in and of itself would have fostered an interesting conversation with a stranger during a house-warming party. But, as I listened closer, I realized that she hiked it all alone.

Though I am an introvert and enjoy hiking, I could NEVER envision having the courage to do something like this. Simply because I live in too much fear for my own safety. Intrigued, I peppered her with questions about this trip and how she managed it. We became so engrossed that the time slipped away, as did the room and everyone else in it.

One of my friends came over, saddled up beside us and said, “You two are having way too much fun over here by yourselves.” When she learned that Michelle and I had just met, she was incredulous. So began a very fun and heartwarming friendship.

The two things I remember most about Michelle were her piercing eyes and her boisterous laugh. The latter being something we shared, which was why we would always draw attention to ourselves at the subsequent gatherings we both found ourselves at.

A few years later, she got married and settled into a new life. We lost touch with each other due to nothing other than crazy schedules and life changes. I had toddlers and she was working at the bank. So, imagine my sheer DELIGHT when she contacted me a few months ago to take some photos of her children.

I spent the evening with them a few weeks ago, and LOVED getting to know her two oldest, both of whom have piercing eyes like their mother and father. And of course, since usually apples do not fall far from the tree, their giggles reminded me of their mom and all of the fun conversations we shared years ago. Incidentally, when my children were about the same age as her older two are now.

Time is such a funny thing. It moves by so quickly even when it feels like a day is an eternity, which is why I like taking pictures.

Because there are just some moments and faces you do not ever want to forget.

To be continued…

The Spear Gang: A Beautiful Bounty

Last weekend, I got to spend the evening with our friends, the Spear’s. They are more affectionately known to most as “The Spear Gang,” and this is why….

I have known the oldest Spear for a few years now through our violin studio and have watched her grow into a beautiful young woman whose playing always leaves my husband and myself completely dumbfounded. But, when we have large recitals, they are always busy times, so I’ve never really gotten a chance to engage with the rest of the “gang.” Aside from, of course, watching the boys play pick up football or ride their ripsticks in a parking lot. (Speaking of being dumbfounded, how in the WORLD do kids ride those maniacal contraptions?)

What a pleasure it was for me to spend a little time with them individually. Besides listening to the cello, violin, AND the guitar, I got to hear who loved to do art, who enjoyed reading, who was beginning to take up golf with their father, and who liked to “monkey” around in the trees.

In this family, it is very easy to see their similarities. You need to look no further than their playful eyes and smiles. But, what I drove away thinking that night was how delightful and yet very different they all were in their own way. It became an AMAZING opportunity for me to view God’s handiwork in the unique and the small.

 

 

“Better Late Than Never”

*Here is Maggie’s article that won a “Silver Key” in the 2012 Scholastic Writing Contest. I have been wrestling with WordPress for 30mins trying to get it correctly formated, so forgive me for its present state as I no longer have the time to fiddle with paragraphs and proper indention.

This was an AMAZING opportunity suggested by my daughter’s writing teacher in early October. I never dreamed of all that we would gain by her taking on this project which consisted of interviewing a passenger on the 31st floor of the Duke Energy building, countless drafts and revisions, and visiting the Charlotte Aviation Museum to see the plane.

The article was due December 15, 2011 and Maggie found out last week that she received a “Silver Key” for her work. She was SO excited but not nearly enough to make her want to read her article again. By the time she submitted it, she did not care if she ever saw it again due to having to go through it so many different times welcoming her to the true writing process.

One day in her writing class, she turned in the article thinking she was finally finished. Her teacher looked at her, praised her effort, and told her to go through it again. Maggie, fully believing she had reached the finish line felt dejected. Her teacher wisely said, “Maggie this is like running a marathon, and you are around mile marker 20.” And when all else failed to encourage my daughter, her teacher looked at her with all sincerity and said, “Maggie, you is kind, You is smart, and you is important.”(a line taken from the book The Help)

Several friends and family asked to read the article, so I am putting here for ease sake. Again, I apologize if it reads disjointedly due to having to copy and paste it.

“Better Late Than Never” by Maggie Luke 13 years old.

A massive commercial airliner has just arrived at the Charlotte Aviation Museum.

From one angle, the plane looks as though it shouldn’t be lying motionless in a

museum. It should still be soaring, gliding, and maneuvering through the skies. Then

suddenly, its battered appearance is revealed.

From one point of view, the airliner seems tall and proud, altogether triumphant at its

survival. But at the same time it looks sad and dejected, a shadow of its distinguished

former self. Whether it looks sorrowful or dignified is a decision that the thousands of

people visiting it must make.

At the very back of the aircraft, the tail is raised high, but below it is complete chaos.

The covering of the body is ripped off, and the inside is rusted. It seems as if the

underside of the aircraft had to bear an extremely violent collision. Instinctively, anyone

who sees it realizes that there has to be a story behind this plane. Even now it stands

there, silently telling a tale to inspire the world.

In January 2009, Flight 1549 set out on an ordinary routine flight, set for an hour and

a half. Most of the people on that flight expected to be home in time for dinner. Two

and a half years later, it arrived at its destination.

Forced to make an unplanned ditching in the Hudson River, the unfortunate aircraft

had been stored inside a hanger in New Jersey for the past two years. Finally, it felt the

wind again as the plane was hauled along to its original destination. This endeavor was

estimated to cost 2.8 million dollars. But whatever the expense, the receiving city was

determined to have the plane home. Flight 1549 was bound for Charlotte, N.C.

On June 10th, a special ceremony was held for all the passengers of the flight

which so many called the Miracle on the Hudson. A large part of the miracle was that

no fatalities occurred. Only two people were seriously injured.

It so happened that one passenger was not present at the ceremony due to a

previous family engagement. His name is John Howell, and this is the person I had the

privilege of talking to about his experience that day.

As John Howell stepped aboard Flight 1549, he wasn’t contemplating anything out

of the ordinary. He was thinking of his meeting, and the dinner that was waiting for him

at home. But about ninety seconds into the flight, he was definitely thinking about the

plane, and his thoughts were not carefree.

“I was in the second row, and we could hear the geese crashing into us,” he said.

Either from the perspective of the geese or the perspective of the plane and its

passengers, this was definitely not a good thing. Since the beginning of flight, birds

have been a serious complication. Even one of the Wright brothers collided with a

songbird. Unfortunately, these weren’t songbirds that fate collided with Flight 1549.

Huge Canadian Geese flew in a V shape formation towards the plane, and somehow

managed to strike both engines. John remembers the engines revving up very hard,

and then breaking down. All was deathly quiet aboard the plane. “Then you could hear

the clicking noise of the engines trying to turn back on,” recalled John.

It cannot be said that the plane was doing anything dramatic. The pilot was in

control, and the flight glided up and down, heading for the George Washington Bridge.

“I could see that we were headed for the river,” John said, “I stared at the flight

attendant, trying to confirm the situation. She gestured to me, saying that everything

would be fine. At that point, I realized that she had no idea where we were headed.

Probably, she thought that we were on our way back to the airport.”

John knew that this was not the case. “I couldn’t believe I was doing this to my

family. They had already lost my brother, a first responder, on September 11, 2001. I

didn’t know how they were going to survive this.”

When the plane landed in the Hudson River a minute or so later, there was a severe

jolt. One passenger remembers hearing the airbus groan, as if complaining about

the collision. Looking out the window, all anyone could see was murky water. Suddenly,

the plane bobbed up, and people could perceive sunlight. John remembered how he

had slowly unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. Already, the aisle was jammed with

people on their way out.

“I travel to New York frequently, and all the safety instructions that they give out, I

know by heart,” he said, “But I went out onto the wing without even retrieving my life

jacket.”  “When I stepped outside and saw the ferry boats, I wasn’t worried anymore,”

John said. After a while of holding ropes for other passengers, John finally clambered

onto a boat himself.

Every passenger that day was brought safely off the plane. Captain Sullenberger

walked the interior of Flight 1549 three times, making sure that no one was trapped

inside.

The full count of people saved that day was 155, and everyone was accounted for.

This was extraordinary, for never before had a plane crashed in water with no fatalities.

At that time, the mood in New York was not good. The people needed a miracle. On

January 15, 2009, they received one, with the Miracle on the Hudson.

Now, two and a half years later, this plane was on its painstaking journey to

Charlotte. It took a whole week to get it there, but now it sits inside the Charlotte

Aviation Museum, which is near the Charlotte/Douglas Airport. Flight 1549 was not

repaired, and visitors can view it almost exactly as it had been when the plane was

submerged in the Hudson River.

It seemed fitting to John that the aircraft should be moved to Charlotte and left

untouched. Many of the passengers live in Charlotte, and now their families can see

the plane. No one can fully appreciate the devastation done until they witness it.

When I asked John Howell if there was anything he wanted to see in the plane, his

reply was immediate, “My seat,” he smiled, “Originally, I thought that they would be

auctioning off pieces of the plane, and I wanted to find a way to get my seat. I thought

it would look great in my living room.”

Not many days go by when John doesn’t think about the Hudson and what

happened there. “For me, the story is tied very closely to my brother who died on 9/11.

Finding myself in New York, such a short distance away from where my brother died,

and all of us getting to walk away from the plane, I think that must mean something,” he

said. “Do I have some higher calling, or something that I’m supposed to be doing? Or

does it just give me more opportunities to tell people what my brother did?”

For John Howell, the Miracle on the Hudson was a series of miracles. Everything that

happened that day aligned to make January 15th end the way it did. The pilot was

prepared for the job, the water was smooth, there was no wind, no ice, and no rain. So

many things could have gone wrong with the rescue, and none did. In short, this is why

Flight 1549 is a miraculous plane. This is also the reason why the Charlotte Aviation

Museum is honored to be its final landing place.

Maggie and John Howell