MoJo Forever
Today my friend Melissa turns 30.
We met in 1998, at the tender age of 22, when I worked for the Ohio House of Representatives with a girl who’d gone to Ohio U. Sally and I became quick friends, and she was constantly telling me how much I reminded her of one of her sorority sisters and best friends from school. “You remind me so much of Melissa!” she’d say, almost daily. A few months into the new job, I invited my coworkers to a holiday party my then-roommate and I were hosting. It was mostly Miami kids (so you know those Ohio U alumni felt inadequate already), and Sally brought a date, along with Melissa and her then-boyfriend. Needless to say, it wasn’t friendship at first sight! I think we were both skeptical of the other, after hearing about one another for so long. I did notice that we had similar looks, but I was instantly jealous because I thought Melissa was much prettier. (And thinner, for sure.) Later she told me that she thought I was kind of bitchy that night, and when I pointed out that I was busy being the hostess she came back with, “Well, not with the mostess!”
A few weeks after Christmas, Sally invited us to go out again, to meet this new guy she was dating, and the four of us went to BW3s for wings and beer. For Melissa and I, it was like a first date – we laughed and whispered and got to know each other for hours, and when we walked out of the bar that night, singing Grease 2 songs, I knew we would be friends for life. For one, I dared her to dance down the sidewalk singing “Cool Rider,” and she did it, and for two, I had never met anyone like her.
Much of our friendship has already been chronicled in this journal, which is a good thing, because at this point it would be simply impossible for me to put into words what she means to me or to recount the millions of memories we share. She has stood next to me, behind me and she has led me through the ups and downs of my post-college 20s. She has held my hand through heartbreaks, she has cheered my successes and she watched me drive away from Ohio. And as I left the safety of that place, that city where I met my best friend and began learning what it meant to be an adult, I knew that losing her friendship was something I didn’t need to fear.
A few months after I came to Atlanta, she moved back home to Cincinnati, and we now only see each other once or twice a year, usually when we go to Florida together. But when we are together it’s as if time and distance don’t exist. It’s like we’re still roommates, living on Kossuth Street, watching old New Kids videos and debating the artistic stylings of Justin Timberlake and Jordan Knight. It’s an amazing thing to share a home with the person who knows you better than anyone, and loves you still. It’s the closest thing to marriage I know. It may seem weird, but I will be lucky to one day marry a man who makes me laugh as easily and is as good a friend to me as Melissa.
She called last night and said, “You’re the last person I’m going to talk to in my 20s.” And then she told me to have a good day today, “the best day of the year.” It is the best day, Mo. Happy 30th birthday – I’m so glad you had to go first. I love you!
Mother India
“Mother India” – Caedmon’s Call, Share the Well
Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India
They have fallen to water ancient seeds
That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace
The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom
Now we’re ten to a room or compared with magazines
There’s a land where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
And the doors of the King are thrown wide
Longtime readers may remember that my first cousin Matt and his wife Lynn adopted two children from India in 2000. Sam and Sophia came into our lives and turned them upside down. They are six now, and they are bright, loving, creative children. Sophia loves kitties and art and Sam is both fascinated by and scared to death of sharks. Like most six year olds, they ask a lot of “why” questions and they want to sit on your lap and tell you stories and whisper secrets in your ear.
That day that their parents were winging across the world to get them, I wrote:
I don’t like being the Thomas of my family. The one who just can’t let herself believe. Especially when the others let go so easily. They don’t think about it. It’s plain.
And their faith is being manifested today. Today when Matt and Lynn walk into that poor New Dehli orphanage, crowded with baby girls and sick little boys, and lift two of India’s own out of her despair.
Sam and Sophia are now so utterly American. It’s hard to imagine they were born in poverty, abandoned in a crowded, city hospital before they were even hours old. Do they feel a soul connection to their Mother India? Do they ever wake with the smell of New Dehli seeping over from their dreams?
They now have a younger brother, Abo, whom Matt and Lynn adopted in 2003, and their family is about to get even bigger as they are currently undergoing adoption procedures for a fourth Indian child.
Today’s message at church was about the short-term mission trips that North Point Ministries has planned for 2006. There are more than 30 of them, to places as far off as Southeast Asia and as close as Mississippi. It’s been five years since I first let the thought of going on a mission creep in.
In January 2001 I wrote:
A family friend is going on a mission trip to Romania in June. He’ll be leading a group of Baptist College students as they volunteer in an orphanage. My god, this is what I want to do. But then all the doubts swim into my head: money, my career, rent, bills, everything waiting for me in Ohio. All the adult responsibilities I have now. I can’t just cast it all aside and go move to a depressed nation.
But India calls.
And everyday her voice rings louder in my ear.
And I’m at a loss as to where to look.
So I wait for a door to open. A window to crack.
And all I ask is that when He closes it behind me, He slams it shut.
My life in 2006 is so different from the one that 2001 girl led. I have more reponsibilities, more connections, yet even more bills. But still, India calls. When I look into Sophia’s eyes I wonder at the mysterious life that may have been hers to lead, had it not been for Providence and I know that there are 1,000s of Sophias still cradled by their motherland. Do they know that God loves them? Do they know they have a Savior? Do they know how special they are?
On Sunday mornings I volunteer in the “daycare” portion of church, in the Ones room. So the kids in there are all post-toddling but pre-two years old. They can mostly talk and they are starting to remember me from week to week. The only real lesson plan for the babies to four-year-old environment is to teach them that God loves them and that Jesus wants to be their friend forever. So for an hour every Sunday I play with a bunch of one year olds and their laughter and cuddles make the rest of my week tolerable. These children have every creature comfort they could ever want, but beyond that they have parents who love them enough to teach them that they are loved by God, just because of who they are. But what of those Indian orphans? Who is there to rock them? To save them?
I don’t know when and I don’t know how or why or where, but I know that Mother India waits for me. I just have to be ready when finally her call becomes a command.
Mornin’
I’m getting ready to to go to the gym, but thought I would take a minute to check my e-mail. Montego is tied up out front and she’s already had an exciting morning – my neighbor Howard, who walks the length of our deadend street each a.m., stopped to play with her; and another neighbor, Connie, walked by with her two little Yorkies – Brother and Little Brother. One of those brothers is mean.
Sarah gets married three weeks from today. 21 days. My bridesmaid dress doesn’t fit. That’s right people. (I blame the girls up top.) Which means that the next 21 days will find me in LA Fitness and little place else.
Wish me luck.
Wonderful
(Because I can’t do anything original)
On my iPod:
“Life Is Wonderful” – Jason Mraz
It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I’m saying
It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes a word to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction
La la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Al la la la la
It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to you yawn brother
It takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other
It takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
It takes some fears to make you trust
It takes those tears to make it rust
It takes some dust to make it polished
Ha la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is so full of
Ah la la la la la la life is so rough
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is our love
Ah la la la la la
It takes some silence to make sound
It takes a loss before you found it
It takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to make a mountain
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la love is meaningful
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
—
It’s funny how quickly things can change. 2006 is, from now on out, Whine Free. Feel it, people.
Roller Coaster
It will come as no surprise to regular readers that 2005 was a tough for year for me. A lot of new stresses (mortgage-related, mostly, but relationship-related as well, for sure) were added to my life and I haven’t dealt with everything probably as well as I should have. I have a tendency to hide out and pull away (it’s the Cancer way), and yes, lash out. I don’t like to think that I spent a great deal of the past year sad or unhappy, but when I look back at it, I guess I did.
The guy I recently stopped seeing said to me the other day that it kills him that when I look back on our relationship it’s not with fondness, because he has all these great memories of our time together. Memories he will cherish forever. The weekend after we decided to definitely move from friends to more, he drove me up to Rome, Ga. and showed me around his alma mater and we hung out with some of his friends. Traffic was at a dead stop on I-75 and it took us four hours to make the typically 90-minute drive. But we talked nonstop as we sat there on the interstate, surrounded by cars full of families and college kids who were on their way back to the Midwest after Spring Break in Florida. We finally made it to an exit and took back roads, and stopped for directions at a crazy country gas station that sold hot wings and Rebel Flag paraphernalia, like scrunchies. It was an amazing weekend where we realized we could really fall for each other (and did), but that was also the weekend I met the girl he is currently dating (and, ahem, her then-husband), so no, I don’t look back at the weekend with any great fondness.
It seems like most of last year is like that – bright rays of sunlight surrounded by clouds. I got to do fun things: I went to Savannah twice (once with him, so scratch that from the happy memory list) and Florida three times. I spent a weekend in Texas with my dad and brother. I went to Puerto Rico and hosted Thanksgiving at my house (two weeks after I was spectacularly dumped and my heart was broken the entire time). I made a responsible choice by investing in my financial future (I hope) and I ran a half-marathon in Nashville. But I was also sad a lot. When Melissa and I got back from Florida, and I was alone in my house after spending an entire week with her, I felt gutted. She is one of the people in the world who loves me down to my soul, and it took a few days to shake the emptiness I felt in her absence. I remember just standing there alone in my living room, Montego still with the dog-sitter, and thinking, “Well, what now?”
I want this year to be different. I want to wake every morning and do things that will make the world better, not just my life better. I want to fall asleep each night knowing I acted as honorably and as kindly as I could have. I don’t want to spend even one more minute feeling sorry for myself and bemoaning my current state. But maybe that’s unrealistic. Maybe life this is how life is. It’s meant to go up and down and up and down and you just figure out how to ride out the downturns, knowing that at any moment, the rollercoaster is going to start climbing again. And then all you can do is hang on.
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Compassion
