The light in your eyes

There are times when you really just need a trip down Memory Lane.

For some reason, I feel the need to conjure up a memory from my past, though it might be painful to think about at times. Well, some parts of it, at least. For the most part, though, I suppose you could call this a happy tale.

This is a story about the day I made my sister lie.

Yes, that's right. I caused someone else to sin, and I did it intentionally. I am a horrible person.

I was in ninth grade (so, for those of you keeping score at home, yes I was a Christian by this point), and I had recently broken my hand while playing basketball with a bunch of guys at the local YMCA. So, because I clearly had high aspirations of pursuing my basketball career deep into my life beyond high school and college (yeah, right), I thought it would be wise to go up to the Y and shoot some hoops with my left hand and practice dribbling so that I could stay on top of my game. But I didn't want to go alone—I was a freshman, after all.

My younger sister didn't have much to do, so I asked her to go with me. My mom was busy and couldn't accompany us, so Steph was a little worried about the fact that she was only 13 at the time, and you couldn't be at the Y without parental supervision unless you were 14. I told her not to worry—we would just tell a little fib if that problem arose. But I honestly didn't think it would be a big issue.

As with many other incidents in my life, I was mistaken.

As soon as we walked in the door, without our cards, of course, the lady at the front desk forcefully asked us who we were and how old we were. As a big, bad 15-year-old, I was safe. The little runt, however, stumbled through her words as she claimed to be 14. When the lady asked Steph when her birthday is, she lied on the year, as I told her to do.

Yes, I know I am a horrible sister.

We proceeded on our way and went into the gym so that Steph could rebound for me and pretend to guard me as a ferociously drove to the hoop. (Looking back, she really was so giving to me that day and definitely didn't deserve what was about to happen to her. Foreshadowing.) Things were going just great until the grumpy lady who hated her job burst through the glass doors and onto the hardwood.

"Stephanie!" She then berated my sister for lying and basically made the poor little girl feel like she was the scum of the earth for exaggerating her age by one year. Really, was it that big of a deal? Apparently it was.

The worst part of the whole thing is that I didn't step in and say that I made her do it, like a good big sister would. I would do anything for my sister, and I know I would defend her in any situation. But, as a freshman in high school, I guess I was a little bit more hesitant.

We were then kicked out of the Y.

The walk home was awful. Steph definitely didn't want to have any engaging conversation with me, and I think we were both more than relieved when we saw my mom's big red Suburban pulling up to us as we faced quite the long stretch of pavement until we were home.

Biggest blessing ever: my little sister.

When we got home, my precious little Squirt went straight to her bedroom and began crying on her bed. I felt absolutely horrible. My sister was in tears of guilt, and it was all my fault. I tried to go talk to her, but she wanted nothing to do with me, and I totally deserved it. You know that knot in your stomach you get when you've done something wrong? I had about seven of them at the moment, because I knew that she had only committed her YMCA criminal act because her older sister—someone who should be striving to be a role model for her—had forced her to go on a journey to the Y and encouraged her to get a reputation of a little liar.

I promise that I'm really not the Devil dressed up as a girl.

I thought about it for a little bit, and I decided I needed to win my sister's heart—and her trust—back before she saw me as a failure of an older sister for the rest of our lives.

Enter LeAnn Rimes.

Don't ask me why, but I started listening to "The Light in Your Eyes" and taught myself all of the lyrics. I took the portable CD player (I know, way old school) into Steph's room and cued the music before I serenaded her and belted the lyrics:

"Keep on shining

Keep on smiling

Don't lose faith, and don't lose heart

When you're crying

Just keep trying to remind yourself

You're a shining star, yes you are"

I don't know how it worked, but she actually forgave me. And, for the record, that was seriously probably the last time she told a lie. Thankfully, she is more of a truth-teller than most people.

Every time I think about this memory, I can't help but think about the fact that there are probably so many other times I've caused people to sin and likely not even realized it. Instead, we should be encouraging others to live their lives in honorable ways that bring glory to God. We shouldn't be the ones to bring others down and make them go cry on their beds.

We should remind them not to lose that light in their eyes. The world will be a lot brighter.

Whenever I hear this song, I can't help but smile and think about how much I love my gracious baby sister.

Life is not a highway

I think sometimes we all just really need to slow down.

As a runner, I love a good race. But, I think on occasion I allow that to carry over into too much of my life. I often forget that not every single thing has to be a competition to see who can get there first.

As it turns out, I am not the only one like this.

For instance, today when I was driving I noticed a car with its gas cap dangling on the side, so I pulled up beside the guy and tried to get his attention. But, as soon as I got even with him, he thought it was time to race, so he sped up. Each time I caught up with him, he sped up again. Fine. I hope you enjoy your Check Engine Light, sir.

This was after I got out-kicked this morning on the way to the checkout counter at a boutique store. I guess the woman with the pink feather earrings had somewhere super important to be. The look in her eyes was pretty fierce as she gave me an absolutely authentic smile as she made those last few swift steps that ensured her victory. Congratulations. You just saved yourself about 182 seconds.

Then there was the guy the other day who raced me to the door of Barnes & Noble so that he could hold it open for me. I will accept that defeat, thank you. Chivalry is not completely dead.

I don't know why I feel I have to be in a rush so often. I guess it partially stems from growing up in a household with Skipper, who is freakishly early to everything. I kind of got used to rush, rush, rush. My mom, who is just the opposite, primed my little sister to be more like her: relaxed and a bit more nonchalant when it comes to time urgency. You won't find either of them gunning it to beat someone off the line at a stoplight. It's often a different story with the other three in the family.

Lately I have really been trying to remind myself to slow down in life and not treat it like a race where I have to beat everyone around me. After all, life isn't a sprint; it's a long race that we must run with perseverance. If we're constantly trying to be the first and leave others behind us, how are we to engage with them? How are we to be lights to them?

If you eat a snow cone really, really fast you probably get a brain or heart freeze, finish before all of your friends and have to sit there waiting for them, and you likely didn't get to enjoy the taste that much. But, if you eat it slowly, you get to relish the taste and have fun chatting with your friends while the ice melts, and the flavor sinks in more, making it taste even better.

I am going to try to enjoy every precious moment I have here on this earth. I'm going to try to let my light shine for Jesus every chance I can, and that won't happen if I'm rushing through everything I do. Racing really fast is fine for actual races, but it doesn't have to be the way to live my entire life.

I think Ferris Bueller had some good insight when he said: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Slow down. Have a snow cone. Enjoy it.

The multifaceted "like"

I think we have a new "like" problem.

When I was in middle school, this word was, like, overused in almost, like, every sentence by mostly, like, teenage girls. It was, like, so ridiculous.

I purposely avoided the word—unless I was using it as a simile, of course. "

Then, oh goodness, was the use of the word to describe how you felt about that special crush. Do you "like" him, or do you like "like" him? Clearly there was a HUGE difference. I mean, one is like; one is like like.

Most recently, "like" has taken on an entirely different meaning—it describes our affinity for certain comments or postings in Facebook. The problem is that this can't exactly transfer over into real life.

For instance, the other day a group of people and I were e-mailing back and forth, and someone said something really funny. I was a bit astonished when I went to click "like" only to find out that there was no "like" button. What?! How was I to express my feelings of appreciation for such witty commentary? I mean, clearly I could not come out and just say, "Wow, that was so funny!" No—I needed to "like" that.

It's the same thing with blog entries. I can't like them. I actually have to leave comments. What's up with that?

I sometimes even find myself in situations in society where I need to click like, but I am nowhere near a computer—or anything Facebook related, for that matter. Sale at Target? LIKE. Another Rangers win? LIKE. No line at the snow cone place? LIKE. Compliment from a random stranger? LIKE.

I even saw a picture in a frame sitting on someone's desk, and there was nowhere for me to click "like." Instead, I had to tell the person that it was a great picture. Good grief.

In these situations, we actually have to use our words to communicate our thoughts. We can't just do something as simple as click a "like" button, as convenient as that would seem. I think it's safe to say that certain aspects of Facebook and other social media have truly changed the way we behave—and that's not always a good thing.

I feel that (possibly purposefully avoided use here) the word and concept of "like" has been abused throughout history. Perhaps we just like the word "like" too much.

After all, if there were a "like" button for the word "like," I definitely know a lot of people who would, like, click it.

To quote Lloyd Christmas: "I hate goodbyes!"

I lost a little piece of me yesterday.

Two summers ago, I made myself a necklace during my lunch break of a professional development workshop. It started out as nothing too special—just some stretchy string and little turquoise beads creating a simple choker. However, I loved it, and it immediately became an important part of me. By the end of that summer, I even had a tan line around my neck of where it sat. But, since I never took the necklace off, it didn't really matter.

That necklace and I went through a lot together. I wore it everywhere—to work, to weddings, running, to the pool, in the shower, to sleep, to baseball games, on road trips, in mud races, through airport terminals—you name it. My turquoise treasure NEVER left my neck.

Until yesterday.

I had noticed that the strand was becoming weaker by the day, and I figured it was only a matter of time until it met its demise. But, it was one of those things that I thought would just never happen. I wasn't quite ready for reality just yet. I didn't want my neck to be without that perfect circle.

Scattered pieces of my heart

But I cannot control fate.

I had just taken a shower, and I reached my towel back to dry the back of my neck. There was a weird snap, and I put both of my hands on my neck hoping that the horrific thing that I thought had just occurred was nothing more than an over-exaggerated imagination.

But I knew better than that.

I carefully removed the broken necklace and just stared at its lifeless state in my hands. Some of the beads had even stuck to my neck as if clinging for more time. I looked in the mirror to see a neck that looked completely barren and boring. It was a sad moment.

There are things and people in our lives that come and go. They impact us while they are here, but then they are gone just as quickly as they came. Sometimes we just have to learn to say goodbye and move on with the realities that we face.

Now is one of those times for me.

I have more stretchy string and more beads, but I doubt I will make a replica. There's just no replacing such awesomeness.

Cloth rings last forever, right?

The good news is that I still have one piece of "jewelry" that has outlasted all: a cloth ring that I've been wearing since I was a junior in high school. This one might be a story for a different day, but let's just say that it used to be bright orange, and it's made a permanent indention in my finger. The only way to get this thing off would be to cut it, which I definitely will not do.

I guess I'm sort of hoping it's made of magic cloth that lasts forever, because this is one goodbye I never want to say.