Category: anecdotes

“please stop doing anything that you like”

We were playing calmly (mostly listening to him list off all the things he would build when he gets older – houses, chairs, boats, picture frames, paper, castles, birthdays) when all of a sudden his little four-year-old hands came up like T-rex and he said, “Know what kinda monster I am?”

“Uh..no?” I couldn’t come up with something witty fast enough.

“The TICKLE MONSTER!” He just stood there with the gleamiest gleam in his eyes, both daring me to flee and daring me to stay for the attack (he was prepared either way).

So, I lept up from the ground and encouraged the chase. Over the toys, around the table, circling the stairway, through the front room and looping around the kitchen with a speedy, gleeful tail following me all the way. When I slowed ever-so-slightly he moved in for the attack, but not for long. He backed off quick and asked again, “Know what kinda monster I am?”

“Hm.. banana?”

“No, silly! I’m the TICKLE MONSTER!” The same gleamiest gleam filled his sweet blues and I got full of giggles, because this time I had my T-rex hands ready, too.

He chased and then I chased and he said, “No, IIIIIII’m the Tickle Monster.”

“Oh, but I like to be the Tickle Monster, too,” and I could see the wheels turning – this wasn’t the way the game played out in his head but he couldn’t figure out how to make me realize I was breaking his rules.

We played on – he chased and then I chased and then his little socked feet got slippery and he took a tumble on the wood floor.

That’s when he looked up with solemn, instructive eyes to say,

“Please stop doing anything that you like.”

Little Zachary was making the rules based 100% on what he wanted to do. The only way he could figure out how to respond to my rules (based on what I wanted to do) was to ask nicely for me to not follow my rules.

Hm.

I’m not sure we ever grow up. We just find a bigger vocabulary and adopt a new conversational dance. The bottom line is nearly always the bottom line: I’d like you to stop doing what you like and do what I like instead. At least children still have the innocence and decency to ask nicely.

Oh, the lessons we can learn from little ones.

Maybe a better question is, instead, “what is it that you would like to do?”

Posted on by Caroline 3

tuesday

Every once in a awhile, I’ll have a Tuesday where it seems like Sarah Masen was telling my story when she wrote, “Tuesday.”

tuesday after a reckless and used day
i was running and running without a chance
to stop and chat at the sky

finally i stopped for a breath in the evening 
suddenly. i was caught by the scenery 
painting a picture of You

day set, scatters of clouds in the distance
they whitewash the backdrop of secrets
whispering shadows of blue
in more delicate hues

“Reckless and used” couldn’t better describe yesterday’s pace. Maybe it was more that my running and running felt ineffective and unreliable. I wouldn’t say Excel spreadsheets or organizing registrations give me energy or joy – ever. Though I’m the first to laugh at myself and all my secretarial screw-ups, I don’t enjoy feeling ignorant or getting things wrong (does anyone?). Menial tasks that make perfect sense to a more secretarial sister read like Greek to me and the added stress only multiplies frustration. Several times, a boss stepped inside my office to say I was doing a good job and that this is just a season. Running, running, running. 

I left job one for job two and set my eyes on stealing back my joy from the schemer. Sadness is failure when it comes from self-pity – and that’s exactly what the schemer had convinced me was a worthy adversary to Tuesday’s stress. I stopped to get coffee (every midday resolve needs a little caffeine boost) and the nice young man behind the counter asked, “How’re you doin’ today?” after I ordered the strongest thing that comes in 16 oz. I muttered around a response until I ended with, “Well, I… am doing okay.”

He nodded like he’d heard that before.

I couldn’t let him think that I was like every other caffeine-crazed customer, so I added, “I’m not about to let this day steal my joy.” He smiled. We talked about his tattoo that took 4 1/2 years to finish. I picked up my coffee at the counter, where the owner had upped the size and made it fancy, in support of my joy resolve.

So, I walked into job #2 with a bounce in my step. With some amount of surprise, I responded to, “How is your day?” with “Actually, really great.”

I had turned a corner. Tuesday didn’t seem so terrible anymore. I was even 3 minutes early. Then, as I surveyed the scene, I realized the longest part of Tuesday was only beginning. Between the “priority” print orders and the room full of design students meeting a deadline, I barely stopped moving long enough to go to the restroom.

Then he walked in and I didn’t recognize him at first in his plaid shirt and khaki shorts. When he stopped first at the popcorn machine and looked at me disapprovingly, I knew it was the mailman. He comes in on Saturdays and I always have the popcorn fresh. We banter back and forth once a week but this Tuesday appearance was unexpected. The computers were on the fritz, so I helped him print off the study on Isaiah 49-52.

We zipped around the store like a mini-factory – loading paper, cutting cardstock, replacing toner, gritting teeth – Mike and Derek and me. Those two guys are part of what make the mini-factory on Tuesdays a joy. We laugh… a lot. We fume and joke and tease and laugh… a lot. When one of us throws up our hands in exasperated surrender, another picks it up and carries it through. And there was a lot of exasperation last night and a lot more of that I’m-not-naturally-good-at-this feeling.

An hour and a half after I was supposed to get off, I walked out and the mini-factory was still swirling with activity. Walking out to my car, I tripped over a crack in the pavement and cursed behind my teeth. Really? Even the ground couldn’t resist being a part of my “reckless and used” day?

Before I headed home, I saw a text from Derek, “I just want you to know that I love working with you and Mike. I wasn’t in the best mood when I came in, but you both made it a lot better. I look forward to Tuesday nights every week!”

Hm. As I pulled away towards home, I thought about all the ways God had painted my Tuesday scenery – in the form of co-worker encouragement, laughter, extra coffee with conversation, the mailman, co-workers, laughter, and the way the rain smelled when I left at 11:30 from the printing place.

Sigh. Even reckless and used Tuesdays are canvas for the Lord’s scenery.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Posted on by Caroline 0

to let go

Lately, the songs on my ipod are making me go the distance (in preparation for the Dam to Dam 1/2 marathon). Jars of Clay, Leagues, Mark Scibila, Jenny & Tyler, and (always standard) Josh Garrels are helping me pound out the paths around Ames.

People keep asking me if I like living in Ames and I’m always a little thrown off, “I… I love it here. But, then again, I can’t remember living in a place I didn’t love.” Even for those 6 months of couch hopping, the days were simply too full of blessings to have room for anything else. I’ve realized I need to have some tangible things in response because people expect a tangible take-away in these kind of exchanges.

Here are a few I’ve found:

  • running paths (I take a new path almost every time I go)
  • college campus (I dive into deep conversations because people will just assume I fall into the ‘collegiate and questioning’ category)
  • friends (I know – it’s the whole state of Iowa – but it’s been SO easy to meet new, wonderful people)
  • family (after living in Michigan, Texas, and Honduras, I’m back in the home state and counting my many family blessings)
  • everywhere is close (after the capital city of Honduras and then rural southwest Iowa, Ames seems “just right” for now)

Those are some tangibles, but Josh Garrels was reminding me last night to “let go of all the things I can’t hold onto, for the hope beyond the blue” and man! it was making sense to my soul. With adrenaline pumping, I’m convinced my mind and heart syncopate their rhythms – like my knowledge and emotions merge for those 40 minutes. Sometimes (with earphones in), I sing out loud and pretend no one will hear. Last night, I felt moved to affirm Garrels’ words with emphatic arm gestures in the middle of the forest path. I’m not proposing this is normal or that you should understand, but I am certain your soul will be refreshed at the reminder: 2 Corinthians 4:18, “Fix your eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, what is unseen is eternal.”

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Stand on the shores of a site unseen
The substance of this dwells in me
Cause my natural eyes only go skin deep
But the eye’s of my heart anchor the sea
Plumbing the depths to the place in between
The tangible world and the land of a dreams
Because everything ain’t quite it seems
There’s more beneath the appearance of things
A beggar could be king within the shadows,
Of a wing

And wisdom will honor everyone who will learn
To listen, to love, and to pray and discern
And to do the right thing even when it burns
And to live in the light through treacherous turns
A man is weak, but the spirit yearns
To keep on course from the bow to the stearn
And throw overboard every selfish concern
That tries to work for what can’t be earned
Sometimes the only way to return is to go,
Where the winds will take you

And to let go, of all, you cannot hold onto
For the hope, beyond,the blue

Yellow and gold as the new day dawns
Like a virgin unveiled who waited so long
To dance and rejoice and sing her song
And rest in the arms of a love so strong
No one comes unless they’re drawn
By the voice of desire that leads em’ along
To the redemption of what went wrong
By the blood that coveres the innocent one
No more separation
Between us.

So lift your voice just one more time
If there’s any hope may it be a sign
That everything was made to shine
Despite what you can see
So take this bread and drink this wine
And hide your spirit within the vine
Where all things will work by a good design
For those who will believe

And let go, of all, we cannot hold onto
For the hope, beyond, the blue

Said I let go, of all, I could not hold onto
For the hope, I have, in you

Posted on by Caroline 0

love, recorded

He met me at the front door of the restaurant with the familiar, lopsided smile. He took his hands out of his Wranglers to wrap me in a hug before walking to the booth he’d picked out. I sat down and slid across the bench and he cut me off mid-sentence (because I’d been talking since I spotted him), “Oh, wait… don’t say anything yet.”

Confused, I watched as he pulled out an old Sony recorder and placed it in the center of the table. He motioned for me to wait as he pushed the record button and watched for the red light to appear. “Okay, now you can talk. But, don’t lean in … just talk normal and it’ll pick you up.”

A smile leaped across my face as I realized, “Oh! This is for Grandma!”

“Not so loud, it’ll record just at a normal volume. Now, let’s check and make sure.” His bronzed, carpenter-ruddy hands fumbled with the buttons as he looked down through bifocals with lips turned down in concentration. He rewinded, played and, sure enough, my voice came over the little speaker.

My sister and brother joined us shortly after and our lunch conversation filled with laughter thrown over shoulders (the Nichols children are famously loud laughers) and silent gestures to quiet the noise from utensils. The taste of joy was almost as delicious as the homegrown, Iowan food (have you ever had beef brisket on top of a bed of fresh lettuce, topped with bacon and cheddar?). Every so very often, I would watch my grandpa’s eyes wander back to that little light to make sure it was recording. (Later, my grandma made sure we knew that she would have much preferred our company to the can of soup and a day of church meetings).

My grandparents have always been the same age in my mind. When my grandma recently offered to clarify, I said I’d rather not know exactly. Sometimes, if I focus hard on their wrinkles, I can see they’ve deepened and grown in number. But most times, I am too focused on their eyes to notice how they wear their age in wrinkles.  Most times, we’re usually too caught up my grandpa’s “school bus stories” or my grandma’s detailed description of delivered baked goods and church meetings. I have never looked forward to “retirement” because my grandparents opted instead for a busy work/volunteer schedule that makes “not working” seem so boring.

Grandpa drives a school bus and his days are packed full of stories. He studies those kids in the mirror above the steering wheel and watches the little ones as they scamper up to the front doors of houses in rural Iowa. Every once in a while, he has to stop the bus to face a bully or, like the other day, to tell the little 4th grade girl, “No, we can’t turn around to rescue the little worm you found by the bus stop. You’ll find another one, I promise.”

One story I’ll never tire of telling is the love my grandparents have for each other. Simple, solid love that refuses to be complicated. Over coffee with my grandpa this past week, he told me about Grandma’s shortness of breath and trouble sleeping. I noticed the worry wrinkles as he talked about fluid in her lungs, the tenderness as he cleared his throat and fidgeted with the coffee cup. The next day my grandma was in the hospital and the diagnosis is official: congestive heart disease.

It means a lot of things – no salt, limited water, and heavy monitoring, but it doesn’t mean less joy. I can’t deny the days as they pass; can’t refuse that my grandparents have bodies that age. I can know that every physical breath is dependent on the Lord’s sovereign, steady hold.

We mustn’t fear the body’s weakness because we know the Maker’s strength.
We mustn’t fear what we see because the know the power in what we don’t.
We mustn’t fear age because we know what is timeless.
We mustn’t fear today because we know the Lord governs tomorrow.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Posted on by Caroline 1

where is the floor in the morning?

She was special. All my students were, but she was especially special.

I listened again this past week, via text, to the valleys that seem to stretch too long in her still-young life. I felt the too-familiar cringe curling my insides with the empty question, “Why?”

This child – God’s beloved child – walks every day a lone candle into a dark place. She has seen more messes in this life than I can count, but she is a candle all the same and her light shines on and dispells darkness.

And I remembered.
I wrote,
“Where will you find the floor tomorrow morning?”
She said, “right under my feet, beside my bed… everywhere I place my foot.”

I smiled.

It had come out in the middle of one of our ‘pep talks,’ sitting on furniture that had been rejected from all other offices. I don’t remember the subject exactly, but I remember how it ended. I was asking this very special girl if there was anything to know for certain when the world swirled like crazy around her. I was asking her if she could be sure of anything at all inside the broken mess of her days.

And that’s when I asked,
“When you get out of bed tomorrow morning, where will your feet land?”
“…on the floor?”
“And have you ever gotten out of bed in the morning to find the floor is gone?”
“… Um, no.”
“God is like that. You are His child and He is forever. He will not change with the amount of mess or blessing in your life. He will always, always be what your faith and hope stand on – and He will not move.”

Our whole house can crumble around us, but there is always this ground – this terra firma where we walk out our existence. There is always this ground, a solid foundation for each shaky step.

God is this foundation when the sunlight breaks through the window in the morning to shine on what was dark during the night.
God is this foundation when the shadows scurry under beds and behind doors.
God is this foundation when friendships dissolve and sadness overwhelms.

God is this foundation when we swing our feet out of bed every morning.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
in the refuge of the King

Posted on by Caroline 2

winter with wide eyes

“Wow. You’ve got pretty great balance!”

My cowboy boots had just come to a graceful rest at the end of a good, long slide across the snowy parking lot. Last night was the first real snow in Iowa that feels like winter and sliding with my boots just seemed appropriate.

“It’s really funny that you say that, because I actually fall down all the time,” as I am saying this, I realize I probably enjoy the impressive feeling of staying on my feet a little too much.

“Go ahead and get another good slide in,” my friend said.
I sealed my fate with a confident, “Yeah, okay!”

I think my arms flailed, but I’m not sure. The next thing I knew, my cheek was touching snow. I laughed for awhile, thinking about how I must look to someone passing by. I could see my students in Honduras shaking their heads, “Oh, typico Nichols!”

It’s strange how familiar I am with these types of mishaps, but it doesn’t make me want to slide on a snowy parking lot any less.

After I got the giggles out, I decided I needed to get one more slide in – because what else is there in winter, but chances to shake with shivers and breathe out smoke and run with frozen lungs? What else in winter but a more urgent joy, bundled up in mittens and stuffed into shuffled steps?

I wouldn’t choose winter when I’m standing in August, but every snowy season I rediscover with wonder the urgent stillness; the thrill of goosebumps and every hair standing on end. And something whispers to my deepest place, “Hurry, before it wakes!” Running from frozen car to frozen door at work in the morning, facing near-Narnian winter winds, I can choose to relish the taste of winter.

All this talk of winter is my re-visiting of a book I finished recently by N.D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl. If ever I’m tempted to shake my fist at the cold, unforgiving winter skies, I think back to Chapter 4. I think about all the treasures God has hidden in fast-moving moments today and about how I want to discover each one. If I let myself, I get excited about God’s hidden treasures with the kind of abandon kids don’t know how to cover up.

I want to open my eyes extra wide today, at the chance I could take in more beauty.

Living really does make dying worth it.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

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Posted on by Caroline 0

Occupy Life: copy shop and pancake batter

This is another in a series of posts called Occupy Life. Each day you and I occupy physical time and space and we make our statement big and bold, whether we’ve got picket signs or not. Read here or here or here or here or the original post here for more.

“And this machine – whoa. I gotta take a minute.” Pause to breathe, “This machine is so amazing. It could probably cut through… a whole body (which would never happen because this protective plastic part has to be down). Seriously.”
Ryan stares at me, midway through my “training” at the copy shop, so that the magnificence of this cutting machine sinks in.
“Yeah?”
“It’s just that, well, I think this is my favorite machine in this whole place.” Pause. “Look at this huge stack of cardstock… we’re gonna cut it.” Pause for effect, “Are you ready?” Pause, “Oh, this is so great!”
He pushes green buttons, the guide moves, then the blade, and then … slice.
“Ah! Wasn’t that amazing? Whew! I could like go run laps that was such a rush!”

Meet my new friend and co-worker Ryan. A more delightful first day of training I have never had – his excitment oozed about everything from invoices to the newest printer – the 9000. I was immediately swept up into the banter and decided that we would be friends.

I typed my last email at my first job at about 2:55, rushed to pick up the obligatory black polo shirt for my second job at the copy shop and in between let the dog out for a quick romp, cleaned up the kitchen, and grabbed an apple for the road. Always moving, always learning, and always occupying this space called life.

As I was learning my way around the computer stations and printers, my friendly new co-workers shook off any first day nerves I had. And, I’m going to be honest, Ryan gave my awkward identity a run for its money. I’m not sure how this works, but awkward fits really well for him. I didn’t think his excitement about the cutting machine weird at all – instead, I kept trying to find reasons why he might need to show me again.

At one point, during the the explanation of all the paper types, he stepped up onto a cardboard box. From his perch, he continued without pause until I said, “Um, are you on your own little platform, there?”
“Yeah, I kind of like it.”

And that was that. I didn’t mind.

When Ryan thought I’d had enough training, I left for the night. I didn’t need to turn on the radio on the way home, I was still amused by the copy shop goings-on when I pulled into the driveway.

Then, round 3 of amusement began. My cousin Vince is always ready to hash out philosophy or politics or religion – pretty much all the topics that people are supposed to stay away from we hit head on. And I love it.

Tonight, we tackled the Christian message of “don’t,” country music, and pancake batter, amongst other things. The pancake batter is for tomorrow morning, but he thought we’d pull out Aunt Shirley’s recipe and save some morning rush. Well, turns out our approach to conversation is like our approach to cooking: completely different. Vince is super methodical and I’m a loose canon. I under-melted the butter and only partially measured the baking powder. Every time I turned around he was gesturing wildly and sighing about my lack of precision.
“There are recipes for a reason, Caroline.”
Well, I’m not saying that any of my recipes can ever be replicated, but just to test things out I suggested we make a pancake tonight (chunky butter and mysterious baking powder and all). It worked.
I could be making it up, but I think Vince even said with an approving nod, “It’s good.”

Today happened, every minute of it. I wouldn’t subtract a moment and that’s good because, well, I can’t.

I’m occupying life.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Posted on by Caroline 3

my very gauche life

I have a high tolerance for awkward.

If I could knit some of my awkward stories together, you wouldn’t believe the knotted mess of yarn I’d end up with – some very fantastical adventures, to be sure. My sister (who has a low tolerance for awkward) sometimes interrupts me mid-story because she doesn’t even want to imagine the situations I find myself in.

I finally found a word for it: gauche. It means, “lacking social experience or grace.”

In high school, I once pronounced genre, “jenner.” Yep, I did.

You might think the only way is up from there, but I’ve fought hard to stay gauche. It hasn’t always been intentional, but the results bring laughter and I’m glad to throw in some deep-hearted bellows to the joyful mix.

The other day, I couldn’t even finish my sentence in a conversation with my boss that started out, “Earlier when I was trying to see how high I could high kick–”
(laughter)
“What? Is that weird?”

I have believed for a long time the power such acts possess is unparalleled. Forget about the pressure of memorizing social cues. Trying to “say the right thing” always landed me far from the target, but with more embarrassment and less laughter. If I’m willing to be the most awkward in the room – to rediscover that childlike freedom, there’s a good chance everyone else feels good about who they are and I get to laugh, too.

I remember hanging out with my friend Sarah in Honduras and talking about how God can sanctify our personalities. We were wondering if, as we become more like Christ, our personalities would be less…. well, weird. I was mostly wondering if I would ever have less gaucheries in my days. If I would ever, you know, be less awkward.

I was doing some acrobatics in her kitchen as we thought things through and while she endured my spider webs of words. Then, all of a sudden, I wondered if I could do the splits. Without any explanation, I disappeared behind her countertop. When I came back up, Sarah was full of giggles.
“I just wondered if I could still do the splits,” I said with a blank face.

Through her giggles and gasps, she said, “I think your sanctified personality should have more splits, for sure!”

And I think that’s when I decided my very gauche life is quite alright. I’m thankful for those moments when I can see joy tugging at the corner of someone’s mouth or when I see laughter dancing in the light of someone’s eyes.

I’m thankful for opportunities to throw life’s glitter up in the air and see where it lands. That sounds very shiny and cute, like Lisa Frank stickers. But, I’m serious.

Last night, my family shared around the dinner table, “a hope for this year.”

My hope was to get serious about joy.
I’m ’bout to figure out what makes brown horizons and dark corners and sad eyes shine.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

Posted on by Caroline 7

come awake in 2012

Waking up was hard to do this morning, but smiling at this golden beginning to a new year was pretty easy. Yesterday was an exhibition in overflow. Yesterday splashed like crazy with “my cup runnin’ over.” God keeps pouring more of Himself (Romans 5) out through His Spirit and I can’t help but burst with joy. The more the Spirit pours out into my life, the more overflows everywhere else.

.gelato and coffee and conversations with cousins, with the right overdose of laughter
.folding up into a perfect sized hide-and-seek closet, awaiting the spirited search and discovery
.the other side of sunset – the expanse of sky gathering up all the reflections and hiding them in clouds
.hay bales piled on top of hay bales and warming in the unseasonable sun
.car rides riddled with conversation with my sister, where our friendship is given deeper, livelier roots
.a NYE celebration with new friends who live spur-of-the-moment and believe that laughter can be holy
.neighbors with open doors and friendly greetings and stories to share
.sweet sleep in a warm cocoon and a dawn that brings a fresh start

overflow

The burnt, lifeless leaves sweep up into a circling wind outside the kitchen window and shake away some of the Sunday afternoon reverie. The chorus from this morning’s service seems stuck in my soul,

Christ is risen from the grave
trampling over death by death
Come awake, come awake
Come and rise up from the grave

The bold dawn has cast out the shadows of this day, this year, this sickness, this fear, this life. We are living the already, not yet life where dawn claims victory over the darkness of night in prelude to the Forever song. Today is a post-Easter, pre-Eternity day where we can rise up from the grave of death because in Christ it has no sting!

Today, I’m praying my heart would come awake to God’s heart. I’m praying my mind would come awake to the Word. I’m praying my actions would come awake in obedience and my life would come awake in Truth.

I’m praying I will live 2012 awake, eyes wide open in search of blessings to name and receive and count and respond with a life of gratitude.

May you all be blessed in 2012 with awakened hearts and minds, that you would pursue the Lord with everything in you, knowing that He will be found by you.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
 in 2012!

Posted on by Caroline 0