a dandelion diary

I had a birthday earlier this month - another year has come and gone already! Seasons change and time passes and life is mostly good. In those good times, or not so good, the journey is much richer having my "forever" friends to walk through it with. I have two of those special friends that I have known for many years now. Together we have celebrated, laughed, mourned, cried, prayed, shared and grown. My world is better for having the two of them in it and so grateful that God brought us together.

We have been trying to get together for lunch once a month to catch up but with lives being full it doesn't always happen that regularly. We may see each other briefly, talk or text but there is nothing like taking an hour or two to catch up in person.

This past gathering the two of them treated me with Birthday gifts. We go for simple rather than extravagant - a little way to honor each other. What you see above is what I received. One friend chose a purse sized coloring book and pencils to take along for those times of waiting for an appointment, in the car etc. She especially chose an outdoor wonder theme "because I know you like that kind of stuff". She also included the yummy treats (which I have been trying to ration out...) because I may have a bit of a sweet tooth.

My other friend hand painted (she is a talented artist) the garden markers because "I wanted to do something special". She stalked my Pinterest pages to see what I had my eye on and the result is beautiful!

These gifts are significant. They are significant because they speak to who I am. These friends have taken the time to listen when I ramble on about my garden, to pay attention when I am craving chocolate, to know that coloring will relax me.

The gifts are special, to be sure, but the real gift here is the gift of being known - something I will treasure long after the paint has worn from the rocks, all the pages have been colored and all the chocolates have been consumed. (And in the case of the chocolates may be sooner rather than later...)

Copyright: <a href='http://www.123rf.com/profile_funlovingvolvo'> / 123RF Stock Photo</a> (for picture collage of flowers)

The sunshine warm upon my shoulders, I gaze out at the yard to survey its ever-changing pallet. I see the most brilliant yellow of the mini daffodils near the office window, the purest white of the snowdrops beneath the maple tree, a warm and glowing pink of a primrose peeking among the yet to be scraped up winter leaves and the wonderful green of the rhubarb springing to life once again. Color. Alive and beautiful color.

But the color that thrilled me this morning was an amazing shade of brown against the white sheets in the bed as I rose from them. My skin.

There is a lot of talk in the news these days about color - skin color in particular. It is conversation that needs to happen and conversation that is far from over. There is talk of judgment because of color and benefit because of color and we know that neither are right. There are uneasy answers given to hard questions and hearts being searched for truths.

Through it all I hear a recurring word: colorblind. I did a bit of reading and one particular description referred to colorblindness as "a color vision deficiency". The phrase immediately pricked at my heart. You see, I spent a long time thinking I was/wanted be colorblind, trying to treat each person I came in contact with as equals by ignoring their skin. On the surface it sounds good but I have found that theory to be flawed. A deficiency even.

Webster's dictionary defines deficiency as this: "a lack of something that is needed : the state of not having enough of something necessary" "a problem in the way something is made or formed". Deficient.

We (that means me and you and all mankind) were created (formed) in God's very image, breathed into life by him and when he was done, "God saw all that he had made, and it was very good."

VERY GOOD.

So no, I don't want to be colorblind. I want to see diversity of skin as beautiful and necessary. I want to see every God-created, God-breathed individual as the unique person they are - including the beautiful skin wrapping they arrived in. I want to celebrate the exotic brown of my half Indonesian cousins, the beautiful tan of my half Native American niece, the gorgeous freckled cream of my friend's daughters, the stunning Ethiopian black of a family friend. The red hair, the black hair, the brown, the blonde, the ash. The curly, the straight, the wavy. The green eyes, the blue eyes, the brown eyes. The short, the medium, the tall, the very tall and the very small. All shapes, all sizes, all makes, all models. All equally yet uniquely created. All beautifully created with promise and purpose inside. None deficient.

Each are precious in His sight.

You are precious in His sight.

Loving the skin we are in, loving the skin other's are in might not change the race dialogue - but it's a start. Color. Alive and beautiful color. Will you celebrate with me today?

Linking up with Kristin for Three Word Wednesday and Jennifer for #TellHisStory and Barbie at the Weekend Brew.

Update: This post is currently featured on Simply Fresh Dinners Tuesday Tidbits.

I am old enough to remember stand alone gas stations. You know, the ones without a mini-mart attached. I am even old enough to remember when an attendant would greet you as soon as you pulled up to the pump. You know, before the days of self serve pumps. I could stay warm and dry inside the car with my daughter safely secured in her carseat in the back and chat with the kind man doing the pumping. He would gently pull back the wiper blades and wash the window with a fresly dipped squeege, wiping it after each stroke with a blue rag pulled from his back pocket. He would ask about my day or inquire about my family after lifting the hood to check the oil. When the pump stopped I would hand him the cash (yes CASH) and he would run inside and return quickly with my change before wishing us a nice afternoon.

My how times have changed. I now pull up to the pump, insert my debit card, type in my pin number, unscrew the gas cap and pump it myself. Just me. No conversation. No how is your day. There are often others at nearby pumps but they too are inserting cards, typing pin numbers, unscrewing caps and pumping their own gas. Just them. No conversation. No how is your day.

Occasionally I do enter the actual mini-mart for an iced tea or soda (or on a particuarly naughty day maybe a bar of chocolate...). The clerks are friendly but most often there is a line before and after so the conversation is usually, "Just the iced tea?" "Yes, just the tea." "Okay, that will be $1.59." "Have a nice day." "Thank you, you too."

Because I am a creature of habit I usually frequent the same business for my gas and occasional in store purchase. The employee turnover is high but some faces are slightly familiar. The last few times I have been in the same young women has waited on me. She has always been efficient, polite and wished me a nice day. Yesterday when I stopped in on my way out of town there was an older lady at the counter with two elementary school aged children; one girl, one boy. The clerk was reminding them that their rooms better be cleaned when she got home. Off they went and I stepped up to the counter smiling and as the store was unusually empty she knew I had heard the exchange.

"My kids just each got their own room for the first time." she explained. "It's hard being a single mom." "Oh, yes, it must be." She scans my item and continues, "I can't stand any kind of mess or clutter." "Yes, I understand that." I smile. "Thank you. Have a nice day." "You too." And then hesitantly I add, "And I hope their rooms are clean when you get home." She smiles and turns back to her work.

I head toward the door when she suddenly turns and continues. "I grew up in a dirty, messy home. My mom was a terrible drug addict." "So there is more to it than just wanting their rooms picked up." I say. "Yes." She nods. Conversation.

We chatted a just a little more before I was on my way and she back to her duties. She may wait on me again. I hope so. There may even be more conversation. I hope for that too. But one thing I do know, she reminded me once again that we are all facing something and that being kind is good. But sometimes you need more. You need conversation too.

Linking today with His Story here.

(photo credit)

I just ran in for some over-the-counter allergy medication. I said I would be quick so my husband rolled down the window in the truck and opted for the radio. Not a store I frequent often, I quickly wandered aisles and read signs before reaching the cold/allergy section.

I scanned the shelves for my choice and saw her from the corner of my eye. She was making good time with her wheeled walker complete with seat. I glanced her way and smiled as I scooted closer to the shelves so she would have plenty of room to pass. On a mission, she asked if I knew if they had any "regular old soap" besides the fancy kind that she could scarcely believe was selling for $4.99 for a three bar pack.

We chatted about soap, the general rise in prices on everything and how busy the neighboring restaurant was. I glanced momentarily at the medication on the shelf as I remembered my husband outside. I turned my attention back to her just as she asked, "Do you like any of what I am telling you?". I grinned a yes, changed my stance from one leg to the other and settled in for her story.

Born one wintery February, on a farm in Iowa, she was the last remaining from a family of 14 (fourteen!). She told me she would be turning 93 this February but, "It's not good to live too far in to the 90's, you know" she laughed. Her capri pants and brightly printed socks stuffed inside sensible shoes echoed her playful and practical sides. She talked bits and pieces of her long-lived life before wistfully offering that she would much rather live on a farm today than where she lives now. Her voice trailed while telling me her memories of growing up, of time spent on the porch with her mother, of working in the garden just beyond.

She talks of two paintings she has done depicting her memories, one of a train and one of a scene of the farm during the snow. She tells me she has tried to paint the old school house, that is still standing, but that she is not able to. She shared that she thinks it is because she always tried to earn a special cape that was awarded at the school and was never able to do that. She says that when she looks at her paintings she can hardly believe she painted them herself. They are a gift I tell her, a way to remember.

Her eyes moisten and she pats her walker. "I asked a lady in Wal Mart where she got her Cadillac" (read: walker) telling the lady she needed one herself. A gentleman nearby overhead and offered one to her, free, the one she was using this very day. A long pause ensued but I didn't move. She looks deep into my eyes, "It was meant to be you know". And I feel it, this meeting today, it was meant to be.

She pats my arm and says, "Thank you for listening and I wanted you to know that". Then, before I can respond, one last bit of advice. "Take care of your teeth" she says. "My sister had to get new ones and they are very expensive!" A final pat to my shoulder and one last, "Thank you for listening to me - and I want you to know."

I find the allergy medication on the shelf but leave it there after seeing the price tag is much greater than what I usually pay elsewhere. I leave the store hands empty but heart full. I am thankful for God-ordained moments like this and most thankful I made the time to listen. I take with me shared memories and shared moments. Moments and story that were meant to be told and, most importantly, meant to be heard.

When I return to my husband he says he wondered if he should have come inside to help me when I took so long. I point to the lady, now leaving the store, and my heart lightens when I see she is getting into a car where her husband is also waiting. "That is what took so long" I offer. He smiles noting my empty hands. He knows it was meant to be too.

Linking with Jennifer Dukes Lee #TellHisStory: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/

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