Archive for September, 2010

The Pause Button

By Kathy NickersonSeptember 21st, 2010happy endings2 Comments

Excuse me, but does anyone know where the pause button is for life? There should be one. Sort of a TiVo option for daily existence. I would use it to keep the grandchildren from growing two feet while I’m buried under insurance papers at work. That way I could help tend the sick and still make it to the field before Number One Grandson throws his first-ever touch down pass.

I would also use it to keep the laundry, bills, dishes, and dust from piling up while I write the Great American Novel. I wouldn’t want to push pause during the sticky days of August. But here in late September, I’d gladly freeze-frame the occassional day. Then I’d just breathe, and think, and be for a while.

My mother always warned me not to wish my life away. (This conversation happened frequently during the era of high school angst.) And I suppose wanting the world to stop for a moment is equally dangerous. The only time it ever happened, nobody got a Selah. Thousands of years ago, one of Israel’s leaders asked God to make the sun stand still so he could have a little more time to kill off the bad guys. God complied with that request.

I wouldn’t want the hard parts of life to stretch out, though.  So, I guess I’ll just try to change my perspective. I’ll be grateful for video from Great Moments in Football History. I will embrace September, even when it feels like August. And I’ll write the novel with my back turned to the laundry. Then, every so often, I will stand still and breathe and let the world (and the insurance papers) keep swirling around me without feeling like I’m going to swirl away with them.

And, following my mother’s advice, I’ll enjoy ever season.

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Becoming a Lady

By Kathy NickersonSeptember 9th, 2010Uncategorized4 Comments

A Lady-in-Training

Years ago, I had an Aunt Anice. She wore a silver fur stole, carried Chicklet gum in her bag, and arrived in our tiny town once a month from Kansas City… by bus! She wasn’t actually a blood relative. In those days, we children referred to all the older members of our church as uncles and aunts. I’m sorry we dropped that habit, because some of the best parts of me come from trying to emulate people like Aunt Anice, Aunt Nola, and Uncle Clyde.

The trait I wish I’d inherited from Aunt Anice is refinement. I have this whole other picture of myself in my mind. I’m a country gentlewoman, living in a pristine white cottage among eternally golden trees. (It’s always fall in this game). I write books, speak at conferences, host grandchildren, eat fresh baked bread with my handsome husband, and revel in Kingdom of God conversations with all my good friends, while simultaneoulsy feeding the poor and serving the widows and orphans.

The reality of this picture is this: I like to wear tennis shoes. And I spend way more time filing insurance claims and answering phones than I do writing books. I tend to blurt out what I’m thinking instead of speaking with eloquence, and I don’t even know how to bake bread. (I do have the handsome husband, thank you, Lord!)

Yet, I keep the picture in my mind. It exemplifies a quietness of soul which I long for, and which I occasionally touch. Even in my tennis shoes and hectic life. This refined lady is someone I carry inside, always aiming to be more like her, always hoping to attain to her stature someday. Always trying to touch other people with the graciousness and mercy such women have contributed to my life.

So, I’m thinking of Aunt Anice today. And I’m wondering if she would be surprised what an impact her life had on a little girl who only knew her through occasional visits and rare conversations. I can’t remember anything she ever said to me. I don’t really know a thing about her life. But I remember how the air changed when she entered the room. And I remember the aroma was pleasant.

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