Posts Tagged "Family"

Count Down to Christmas

Posted by Caroline on Oct 18, 2009 in The Backpack | 0 comments

Chapter 11.

Christmas only comes once a year, but as I’ve advocated in the past, I am confident we would all be happier people if we celebrated throughout the year.

Lest anyone miss out on the opportunity to thoroughly enjoy this holiday, my apartment now has garland wrapped around the banister, stockings hung from the tv, and a 2-foot tree standing crookedly but ever so tall.  This is Christmas college style.  As part of Fall Break, I decorated Christmas cookies (though the red icing was more pink), sipped apple cider, and watched my favorite movie of all time:  Elf.  Of course, I did all of this wearing my Santa hat.  Oh, you mustn’t forget the Christmas music.

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling
Ring-ting-tingling too
Come on it’s lovely weather
For a sleigh ride together with you

Whether or not a sleigh ride is feasible or if I’m actually still wearing shorts is a non-issue.  Christmas is warming.   It’s a warming of the heart, and if Texans are still skeptical about more heat, I’m sure Missourians will cherish the warmth.

One thing I miss right now is my precious little brother Robert.  Call him Mr. Festive.  He decorates our house with such spirit that even if the icicle lighting on the mantle makes your eyes hurt or if the outdoor lighted deer loses its head, you don’t dare change a thing.  His heart is evident, his joy radiant, and it’s contagious.

We need more Roberts.

I cannot wait for him to pull the boxes from the attic and watch my mom encourage what she knows she’s going to have to put away in January.  He’ll be too depressed to help.  Until then, he’ll be all smiles.

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Recognizing our Role Models

Posted by Caroline on Oct 4, 2009 in Amazing Grace, Family | 0 comments

While I did lose count of the chapters in this story, I don’t want to lose sight that each part of my story is traced back to the King who narrates my being.   Sure, I am the fingers typing away, but remember I retell a story that is the heavenly Author’s.  Call me His scribe.

I just recounted.  This is chapter 8.  So welcome back.

Chapter 8

You must be caught up on some trivial plot development in this story. Tonight I had a pizza party with the people I call my family here in Texas.  Friday I spray-painted my hair black and danced like crazy at a party where they prayed at the beginning, middle, and end.  I love Baylor, but now my shower is stained black from my hair dye.  I think the reason is just to remind me of my sillyness.   Today I bashfully (with a tinge of respect for his lack of inhibition) watched Clayton test every pillow in Kohl’s to ensure he brought the perfect one.  I ate a blueberry pancake at ihop at midnight last night.  It rained all day, and now my TOMS are soaked for a week.  And, of course, I’ve had many a cups of coffee.

Plot development: Check.

Now a bit of character development. Shaping. Molding. Sifting. Disciplining. Eye-Opening.  Heart Renewing.

Setting:  I’m going to zoom into a circle of three chairs from tonight.  Warning:  There’s no climax.  No surprise.  It’s merely a small group of college students with a sheet to facilitate discussion.  We have one older adult leader in the Leadership Community and we invited him to our group (Note: there are now four chairs).

The man marked with humility sat down in our group, and by the end of the 40 minutes, he calmly had reminded us of the faithfulness of Jesus Christ and the genuine, lasting satisfaction of knowing this Redeemer.  He shared of tragedy.  Of unexpected losses.  Of life-changes.  He flipped through the worn pages of his Bible as if he’d spent hours upon each page of what I am again reminded to look freshly upon as THE Word of God.

He spoke of doing anything in our own strength as pride with a sobering reality.

He spoke of living a life full of gentleness and patience and showed it by merely being present.

He spoke of praying what you desire to desire.

And now I have a new glimpse of what I desire:  Humility.  Tonight the word humility has been stuck in my mind.  What does it look like?

I found an answer pretty quickly:  Dr. Robert Bernard Beach, Sr.—my Granddaddy.  He lives just across town from the house I’ll always call home in Springfield.  This man is not only well-read enough to help my sister write papers over books she hasn’t read, he can rattle off Cardinal’s baseball statistics to keep up with the fanatic fan I am proud to call a brother of mine.

Granddaddy and I would go to McDonald’s every Wednesday when I was in pre-school, and some of my earliest memories are swinging my legs in these concave, orange Missouri State chairs outside of his office.

He gives with unwavering selflessness:  Time, Piano Lessons, Rides, my beloved Baylor University, Wisdom, an Example.  He worries a bit, I’ll admit, but it’s always about someone else.

That’s humility.

I grant Granddaddy bragging rights for himself all day long.  However, I know he won’t use them.  Grandmother will have to brag for him (though I think she already does).

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Underneath the Cup (and I Don’t Mean the Saucer)

Posted by Caroline on Aug 10, 2009 in The Backpack | 0 comments

I first came to my love through misuse.

Yes, though I hate to admit it, I came with a wrong motive, seeking something for myself, and essentially selfishness led me to abuse this gift to the world.  My initial curiosity led me to walk across that room.  Everyone had talked about it, but I didn’t really didn’t want to get involved.  I mean, there were stereotypes.

In high school, those were the people who bragged about their indulgences.  This group didn’t binge with alcohol so they had to binge with something—or at least pretend to have an addiction, a crutch, a hang-up.  “Man, I was up all night!”  Oh, Please.

The stressed out seemed to gravitate towards it; the tired and weak seemed to always have it nearby.  And spills and dribbles and grinds—what a hassle!

Plus the adult world— a world I certainly wasn’t ready to enter— seemed to have a dependence that made me cringe.  This sheer attachment somehow had the power to make bad days good and good days bad.  Survival depended on it.

And the smell! Despicable.  Once people were users, their smellers seemed to falter.

Yet, I had a need and just like sin, it had an enticing offer and I quickly rationalized it.   Hence, for very shallow reasons, I gave coffee a chance.

My studying was power-charged that night for my dreaded economics test.  And soon after I found myself with a cup in my hand the night before every test.  The hang-overs, however, were horrendous because I was misusing and abusing coffee.

I’ve matured since my freshman year of college (all two years later) and have repented of my abuse.  I no longer call on the Name of Coffee just because I need a few more hours in my day or because I was irresponsible the night before.

I’ve developed an authentic appreciation for coffee but not because of what it brings me.  My taste buds have transitioned to savor what was originally a bitter disgust and my nose now perks with the smell of coffee brewing.

Today this idea plagued me.  Why the change?  In all my years I’ve never been appalled by something and then become its #1 fan, though I wish the same would happen with running.

Thus, I’ve come to this conclusion:

The setting of coffee is what draws me—there’s a calmness that seeps through the atmosphere and orchestrates my ideal moments.  Most of the time when I crave coffee, I realize I am really craving the situations, the people, and the stillness that I’ve come to treasure in its rarity.

When I think of coffee, I think of close friends circled around a table and discussion for the mere sake of discussing.  I think of books and theology and rainy afternoons.  And, of course, desserts.

I think about my grandparents going to McDonald’s each morning, sharing one newspaper and sipping their coffees.  Then, every morning they are startled by how much time has passed.

I think of Christmas when my mom bought me a French Press and how one night we made cup after cup trying to perfect the perfect taste.  We couldn’t help but laugh at some of the not-so-tasty attempts.

I think of those rare mornings when I actually have time to brew a cup of coffee and slowly transition into the day.  I think of coffee shops and how if I’m there, my schedule has allowed it.  I think of God’s Word on a slow afternoon and those whom I love nearby.  I think of being content with nothing more than conversation.

I crave not what coffee can bring for me, but what brings coffee. And so, I’ve decided I’m going to put my coffee maker on a timer and not miss all that the tiny bean has to offer.

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