Grow Up Already

What’s the difference between a cluster of stylish, chattering women and a shiver of sharks? One travels in fierce, loyal packs that smell blood a mile away. The other lives in the ocean. 

Truth be told, that’s a hurtful stereotype. Ten shabby-chic ladies with San Pellegrino between almond-manicured fingers & beachy waves framing bronzed cheekbones may well open their toned, James Avery ringed arms to this dowdy engineer. I’m sure the fact that I regress to a sad, teenage pariah in their presence & drip jealousy all over their eco-friendly flats makes me the life of the party. What’s the statute of limitations on childhood rejection? Thirty years must be getting close.

After just such an encounter last weekend*, I gave my social distress a day to reach equilibrium and then I tried to put my meltdown into words.

• Me - “I desperately want to fit in with the popular girls. And I really, really don’t.”

• Son being more mature than his mom - “What do you mean by ‘popular girls’?”

• Me reeking of stale insecurity - “Beautiful people having fun & being fun in a big group. That’s just not my scene and I so wish it was. Like so extremely much.”

• Son doing his best to understand - “Okay. What exactly is your scene?”

• Me answering from pure anticipation - “Watching game 7 of the NBA finals with my family of course!”

• Son stating the logical deduction - “So you’d rather be with them than with us?”

• Me suddenly stumped - “Well…no. Of course not. That’s not…I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”

• Son seeking reason where none exists - “I’m really just trying to understand!” 

And that, my friends, is how you know the better parent raised your kids. (Jason also feels the same way in reverse, so it works out.)

Let’s conduct a little post-mortem here. I didn’t get outsmarted by my barely-legal-drinking-aged progeny. Not in the way it looks, anyway. I don’t want to trade one scene for another. I want to have all the scenes! I want to be everything, everywhere, all at once rather than the creature I am with inclinations and limitations. It’s a logical desire but an absurd expectation. To illustrate, here’s how the other half of the Kruppa Troopas processed my meltdown.

• Daughter - “Dad, do you ever feel out of place in social settings?”

• Jason - “Sure.”

• Daughter - “Does it bother you?”

• Jason - “No.”

End of story. God, what I wouldn’t give to be that man. Ack! See? I did it again! Envying something I’m not rather than valuing what I am, wanting everything when I have so much. (For real though, Jason’s tough not to envy.)

It reminds me of the narrative a prophet told King David after David took the wife of his loyal soldier and had the solder quietly killed when pregnancy ensued. The prophet Nathan told David there was a scandal in the community that needed his wise judgment. A rich man had needed to butcher a lamb for some guests but wouldn’t use any of his own. Instead he took the only lamb, a beloved family pet, from a poor man to feed the guests. Nathan asked David what should be done to this “rich man” given the cruel circumstances - 

David burned with anger against the man and said to Nathan, “As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this must die! He must pay for that lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity.” 2 Samuel 12:5-6

Nathan promptly dunked on David with a resounding “You are the man!” (v.7). Then Nathan laid into Israel’s king for a solid two paragraphs of tongue lashing worth three millennia of preservation. Plus such a list of excruciating consequences that you actually start to feel sorry for David by the end. A little.

I’m not suggesting that introversion is like royal riches and extroversion just a solitary lamb, but I do see a similar conviction in Nathan’s story and mine. Not that social sensitivity is a king’s quality and compulsive confidence a poor man’s pet, but holding one while craving the other is patently ungrateful. 

So I’ll take the advice of Kruppa Troopas and biblical prophets alike, the wisdom of the ages and of Gen Z. I’ll apply the takeaways that I can’t help but see - (1) be myself and own it, (2) applaud others doing the same, (3) replace envy with gratitude, & (4) grow up already. I can do that.

* To be clear, the wonderful women last weekend did open their arms to me, and my meltdown was completely my fault. I was the shark not them, my mental comparison the blood in the water. 

(PS The eco-friendly flats in the pic are mine, as are the Crocs. I drink San Pellegrino and wear James Avery myself, but I’ll never understand the meaning of ‘shabby-chic.’ That and bronzer will forever remain a mystery to me.)

Crepe myrtles, herpes, & Psalms

Crepe myrtles are the herpes of Texas - they spring up everywhere and they’re impossible to kill. They are lovely to look at though. So I guess there’s one minor difference.

We have two crepe myrtles at our house - one of which rains its white petals down into goopy mounds in the back yard day after annoying day and the other I usually forget exists. I just discovered it yesterday (for the fifth time) as Jason & I were driving past the house on our way out. In my defense, the tree is tucked in the corner of our front yard abutting the excessive stone entry to our little street. So it barely grows and hardly blooms. It’s a mild case of pretty warts.

But I love this particular virus because of its color! Instead of parading a bland, typical show of white or pink like everybody else, this guy flashes strong magenta. A powerful, bold color on a small, hidden tree just speaks to me. So I commented to Jason as he assessed oncoming traffic and I gazed out my window like the passenger princess I am, “I love our front crepe myrtle. I never see that color anywhere else around here…” [wistfully glance out windshield toward intersection where we turn left or right 4 times a day exactly 200 feet from own front door] “…they’re always a boring white or pink but not ours. Only our yard has one in magenta. Literally nowhere…” [eyes land on the car wash where our street dead ends 250 feet from own front door. Where there are three magenta crepe myrtles blooming directly in front of me.] “… oh.” Jason was snickering.

Okay yes. I’m rather oblivious to my physical surroundings. I admit it. I notice hair cuts a week late (if at all). I might ask coworkers if something is different when they shave their beards or get new face decor. I very well might not. Once I see something, though, I see it everywhere. I’m a poster child for the frequency illusion. 

You know what’s so frequent as to become background noise in the media onslaught of modern times? Death, destruction, cruelty, fear, hate, inadequacy, discontent, desperation, & pain. The proffered solutions of power & pleasure are equally inescapable, and they come in assorted flavors - beauty, competition, violence, sex, alcohol, stuff, & more stuff. All with 2-hour delivery or a 7-day trial. We see them “all the time.” We see them so much we barely see them at all. They are ubiquitous white crepe myrtles whose soggy petals clog drains & mowers. Just plain viral warts.  

Maybe that’s why Psalms 92 tells us to search for magenta blossoms every day, twice a day:

It is good to give thanks to the Lord,  

  to sing praises to the Most High.  

It is good to proclaim your unfailing love in the morning,  

  your faithfulness in the evening, 

Psalms‬ ‭92‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Perhaps giving praise is as much for our benefit as for God’s. His unfailing love and faithfulness are there whether we see them or not. Maybe you drive past them 4 times a day 250 feet from your front door, and you never notice. If you can find them in your front yard, you’ll see them at the car wash, too. Don’t let media saturation convince us fear is the only reality and power its only remedy. That’s a very profitable illusion, and the ones who gain from it are neither you nor me.

This truth is even more important today than it was two days ago when I typed “Crepe myrtles are…” The world is different today. Friday, I read Psalm 92 and found nothing readily applicable. I prayed for an insight to develop over the weekend, and I slowly wrote what came to mind. Today, Sunday, I read my country bombed another to ostensibly prevent nuclear war. Yesterday’s insight now seems both portentous and naive. Fear, pain, and suffering are glaringly real today, far beyond baseline monetization. God’s magenta of unfailing love and faithfulness is real too, and I must seek it, see it, sing it or I’ll miss it. Today no other comfort will suffice. 

Bittersweet Father’s Day

An international leaders’ conference coming to Fort Worth in February led to a complete stranger (seven actually) bringing me to tears as he leaves our home here in June. None of us was part of the conference. The chain of events that links those two circumstances could make a movie:

• Jan - 
• Church plant asks congregation if anyone has spare rooms to offer international conference attendees coming to town in Feb. 
• Kruppas offer guest room and adult daughter’s former room.
• Adult son signs lease on his first apartment. Carrie starts dreading the looming empty nest.
• Carrie’s dread grows daily because she’s a big chicken and a compulsive nurturer. 
• Jason barely notices.
• Feb - 
• Carrie looks forward to brief distraction from impending meaninglessness by interesting guests briefly filling the nest. 
• Church sends notice that all attendees are housed and no more rooms are needed.
• Carrie panics inside.
• Unrelated to conference, pastor announces missionary family will be visiting church while they’re back in US on furlough. 
• Carrie channels panic into inventing a need where none is known. 
• Details of ensuing marital discussion are hazy.
• Kruppas ask family they’ve never met if soon-to-be 3 spare rooms might be useful.
• Family accepts! Family of seven. For the month of March. Read that again.
• Mar -
• Kruppas drop kick adult son out of residence a day early to make room for guests. 
• Son sleeps on air mattress in empty apartment.
• Kruppas lay eyes on new roommates, married couple with 5 daughters, for first time as they arrive with luggage.
• Awkward intros abound.
• 9 strangers silently stare at each other huddled on floor at 2am the first night while tornado warnings blast across DFW. So scary. And still awkward.
• Meals are shared, Legos are built, movies are watched, games are played, messes are made, messes are cleaned, devotions are joined, joys are multiplied, burdens are carried.
• Friends are made.
• Apr - 
• Missionaries leave DFW to travel across US connecting with loved ones.
• Kruppas miss missionary family a lot. A whole lot.
• Family returns for a week while packing to go home on the other side of the world.
• Missionary dad needs to stay in US an extra month after girls head home.
• Carrie seizes chance to forestall empty nest yet again.
• May - 
• Roommate teaches Jason perfectly constructed, optimally melted nachos make ideal bedtime snack. With jalapeños. 
• Jason also learns ice cream tastes better rolled in crushed cereal. Always at bedtime.
• Carrie appreciates Jason gaining partner in crime for late night snacks, random bourbon tasting, bloody meat eating, and pricey tech admiring.
• Life is great.
• June - 
• Missionary dad finishes stateside work. 
• He buys airfare to fly home.
• He squeezes 2 years of supplies into 3 crates weighing exactly 49.5 lbs apiece.
• Carrie realizes empty nest is even worse after gaining/losing 7 more family members.
• Jason pretends to be unfazed, but Carrie knows better.
• Father’s Day arrives starting 24 hour countdown to departure.

And that’s how a conference we didn’t attend brought about 6 months of adventure we didn’t expect. That’s how we came to spend this Father’s Day with a very dear friend who’s giddily anticipating the best gift a dad can ever receive - long overdue hugs from his family.

We will miss you. A whole lot. We’ve learned from you, and we’re blessed by you. After you shower all your stockpiled affection on those sweet girls at the airport tomorrow, give them an extra round of hugs from us. We send you with this prayer. I know God will fulfill it in your home.

The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love me.

  I will protect those who trust in my name.

When they call on me, I will answer;

  I will be with them in trouble.

  I will rescue them and honor them.

I will satisfy them with a long life

  and give them my salvation.” Psalm 91:14-16 (NLT)

Home is where the laundry is

 

Lord, through all the generations you have been our home! Psalm 90:1 (NLT)

Home. What a loaded word. Heavy as a soaked Turkish towel. Casually grab it before the spin cycle finishes and you’ll lose a fingernail.

No one’s home is perfect. Some qualify as bona fide toxic. But what is home supposed to be? Home is where you’re safe, where you rest. Or is it? Since home is where we share space, resources, and responsibilities with the most important people in our lives, it can be anything but restful. The real you comes out at home. The best you, the worst you, and those versions of everyone else live at home. They carry the burdens of life, sometimes lifting sometimes dangling, together as one. Safe? How about vulnerable. Restful? More like exhausting. This towel needs a round or two on extra high.

I asked a few friends, “what does home mean to you?” Their answers had a theme - familiar. For better or worse, you know what to expect at home. Even unpredictable, chaotic homes breed familiarity. They engender fear & self-preservation with relentless consistency. The unknown is uncomfortable if not downright terrifying. What if it doesn’t have to be? Doesn’t have to be terrifying or even all that unknown? I think Psalm 90 holds out just such an invitation. “Come make your home with me. I’m always here, and I’m always God.”

Lord, through all the generations,
  you have been our home!
Before the mountains were created, 

  before you made the earth and the world,
  you are God, without beginning or end. 

Psalm 90:1-2 (NLT)

Talk about consistency - unlike the ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ nature of this physical world.

Our days may come to seventy years,
  or eighty, if our strength endures; 

yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, 

  for they quickly pass, and we fly away. 

Psalm 90:8 (NLT)

We have an eternal home with the author of the universe, the tailor of every soul within it. We are invited to share space, resources, and responsibilities with the Creator, who stays the same from age to age. Jesus made a way for us to move in with the ultimate landlord. My mind cannot comprehend such a gift! My heart can scarcely accept it. I so quickly rush to what’s familiar rather than redefine it. Not today, though. Today I have a choice.

Today I set the cycle on bulky. I wring out the weight and wait for the warmth. God is good. God is home. Today and every day, he welcomes me into his arms through Christ. He welcomes you, too. Come home. 

A rotting lily

That droopy, stringy lily disintegrating below all the beautiful, thriving ones? That’s me. One of its petals literally fell off while I was drafting that sentence. So very me lately.

I went searching for a Psalm to lift my wilted mood, and this is what I found - 

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,

  so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.

Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery!

  Replace the evil years with good. (Psalm 90:14-15, New Living Translation)

To be completely fair, I also found this just a few lines above - 

You sweep people away like dreams that disappear

 or like grass that springs up in the morning.

In the morning it blooms and flourishes,

  but by evening it is dry and withered (Psalm 90:6-7, NLT)

But I’m choosing to dwell on verses 14-15 for no reason in particular. Random selection. Coin toss, really.

I won’t get into why I’m dry and withered (ack! wrong verse). No one wants to read about 4 illnesses in 24 days (10 in 24 if you count immediate family), constant churn at work, 4 straight weekends of travel activity, plus an overdue garage purge. So I won’t mention it.

What I will say is that satisfaction, joy, & gladness are distant lands to me this morning.

But you know what isn’t distant? What surrounds me & presses upon me like the sun’s warmth on my skin here on this patio? God’s unfailing love. U n f a i l i n g. That love made a Way to escape my “former misery” of gratifying myself at others’ expense. I don’t have to be that person anymore. Praise the Lord I am free to be His child! If (and when) I return to that person for a moment, His love rescues me yet again. And again and again without fail. Thank you, good Father. I will sing you joyful thanks to the end of my days for sweeping away my evil years. You replaced them with good. You are replacing them even now amidst sickness, chaos, and mess. I know it. I see it when I look. I believe it because You Are.

I hope this little window into my heart blesses you today, friends & family. God loves you.

(PS An hour later, there’s nothing left of the lily but a few stamens. I won’t read too much into that.)