Pondering Marriage

Getting Married and Other Mistakes by Barbara Slate, this month's selection in my www.fromlefttowrite.com book club, is my first graphic novel. We would have called it a comic book in my generation but now there are complete books illustrated in this manner. If I were talented in the visual arts, I would do a graphic novel of how I met John Lynner Peterson. Alas, I am not, so what follows is the story in narrative. 

The story of how John and I met will give middle aged single women hope that the right person exists for all of us. For most of his career, John worked at the intersection of religion and media.  In 1998, John produced the Fiftieth Anniversary Party for the World Council of Churches in Zimbabwe at which Nelson Mandela spoke. Doug Smith, a young minister, who assisted him on this event said, “John, if you ever move into doing work on the Web, call me.” Within a few years, the Hallmark Channel hired John to start a website called faithandvalues.com. John thought the job required a move from Chicago to the Manhattan headquarters for this job. He then received the news that they had chosen to locate this venture in Lexington, Kentucky because of a random conversation that occurred on an airplane. (Are you getting the picture here about coincidences?) John responded, “You’re moving me where?” Familiar with Manhattan, he felt comfortable there. But Lexington, KY? He had never heard of the place.

  As requested, John called Doug and hired him to assist in development of the website. Lexington didn’t feel as strange to Doug since he had gone to seminary there and served Newtown Christian Church as Student Pastor. As the dominoes rolled, Doug hired Martha Johnston for faithandvalues.com, a young woman who attended his youth group at that congregation and had since graduated from college.

John, Doug and Martha busied themselves with a Web presence when one day a light bulb brightened above Martha’s head. She called me on a Monday at that same Newtown Christian Church where I served as her pastor. “Brenda, you need to meet the Vice President of our company.” Gutsy for a twenty-something to call her fiftyish pastor and suggest a hook-up.

“I’m game,” I replied. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Thursday evening of that week, my cell phone rang while I ate out with my sister. Martha initiated the conversation with, “Brenda, give me a pep talk. I know the timing is right because he’s still here and the work day is over but I’m nervous. I feel like I’m asking him out myself and he’s old enough to be my dad.”

“Martha, get your ass into his office. I’m not getting any younger!” (Ass is a biblically correct term.) So she did.

John emailed me and we made arrangements to meet on Saturday evening. But on Friday evening, as I sat around in day-old makeup, my sermon just finished, (see how exciting life is for single women in ministry) I decided to call the phone number in his email to confirm that I would meet him at the designated time and restaurant. I assumed I would get a voice mail since people with real lives go out on Friday evening. What a surprise when he answered his phone.

“I just wanted to make sure you received my email confirming tomorrow night,” I stammered.

            “Yes. But, hey, I haven’t eaten yet. Want to go get a bite to eat now?” he asked.

“I’ve already eaten but I will have a glass of wine while you eat.”

“Ok, let’s meet at Ramsey’s on High Street.”

I knew he was a Northerner, so I blurted out, “Don’t you Yankees pick your dates up?”

            A bare thirty minutes later, I had thrown on some walking shorts and was letting my dog do his business when John drove up and got out of the car.

            “Oh my god, you’re gorgeous!”

The photo Martha sent me so I could see him in advance!

            How could I not fall in love with a man who delivers that opener? I later learned his expectation could not have been much lower. Fifty-something unmarried minister translated to him as over-weight, hairy legs with a bit of hair on her upper lip, a few wild ones on her chin, no make-up, sensible shoes and a very no-nonsense hairstyle. He later apologized for his unflattering characterization of female clergy.

            After dinner and ice cream, we sat on my deck and sipped tequila until two in the morning. I had never “sipped tequila” in my life. We both knew that first night that this pairing felt ordained, serendipitous, divinely inspired and meant to be--take your choice; color your own dream. When John walked through a hallway of my house where I had hung photos of my life in the arts, he said, “I’ve been looking for you.” Our mutual love of a variety of the arts provides just one of the lenses through which we see each other. John’s genuine recognition of me satisfies an identity hunger at my core.


This post is inspired by Getting Married and Other Mistakes by Barbara Slate. This graphic novel offers a raw, yet humorous look at what happens to Jo after a surprise divorce. Join From Left to Write on Thursday, June 28 as we discuss Getting Married and Other Mistakes by Barbara Slate. I received a review copy of the and all opinions are my own.

Response to "Girl Gone" by Gillian Flynn

This post is inspired by mystery thriller GONE GIRL by Gillian Flynn. They may not have the perfect marriage, but after Amy goes missing, Nick becomes the number one suspect. Can he discover what happened before it's too late? Join From Left to Write on June 12 as we discuss Gone Girl. As a member, I received a copy of the book not for review purposes but rather for blogging inspiration.

“Why do people get married?”

“Passion!???”

“No, because we need a witness to our lives. There are a billion people on the planet, what does one life really mean? But in a marriage you’re promising to care about everything, the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things, all of it, all the time. Every day, you are saying your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness.”
        

Masayuki Suo (from the movie Shall We Dance)

With the chaos of my childhood behind me (or so I thought), I assumed creation of my own family would constitute the best part of adulthood. Nothing prepared me for the reality that the formation of my own family would be like a blind woman buying art. I doubt I am the first and quite sure I won’t be the last person to come out of a dysfunctional family who thinks she will form the perfect family and “do everything right.” In spite of failures and everyday bumps along the road, I cherish marriage and parenthood as pieces of life that helped me survive and thrive.

At first blush, five marriages would indicate I failed at doing “everything right” and that I’m not good at marriage. Au contraire. Ok, Ok, I certainly didn’t do “everything right” as planned. But I have had two great loves and two marriages that satisfied and fulfilled me--one of those ongoing. Another two husbands who should have remained dear friends not husbands. Now don’t let me off the hook of responsibility for my role in constructing the less-than-desirable marriages just because I had no model for how to craft a stable marriage. Marriage number three, a monumental disaster in judgment also taught me valuable lessons. I discovered more about myself from each marriage, perhaps lessons my parents should have taught me. I grasped more about myself in the good marriages but I also digested a few morsels from the bad. With time, therapy and additional self-understanding I have forgiven myself for the mistakes. I now embrace the marriages as part of the journey to find myself, know myself and esteem myself. Understanding as relates to men in general did not come easily for me. I didn’t have what psychologists call a “daddy hole,” the emotional lack of relationship with your father, I had a Daddy Crater and I learned to fill that crater in unhealthy ways.  

Holocaust Remembrance Week

Grate Heat by John Lynner Peterson

I frequently use the above photo in my writing because it says so much and yet doesn't coerce the viewers interpretation. It seems an appropriate art work to engage my readers in the commemoration of Holocaust Remembrance Week.

This week is Holocaust Remembrance Week with Holocaust Remembrance Day --- Yom HaShoah --- from sundown this Wednesday through sunset this Thursday. It is crucial that we remember. That we mourn. That we say, "never again." 

I am indebted to my Facebook friend, Rodney Allen Reeves, pastor in Portland, OR for bringing to my attention the text and choir anthem below.

"I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.

I believe in love even when feeling it not.

I believe in God even when God is silent."

The anthem "Even When God is Silent" composed by Michael Horvit, has a poignant text by an anonymous author. It was discovered written on a wall in a hidden area of a building in Germany in 1988, believed to have been written 50 years earlier during Kristallnacht, the Night of the Crystal Glass, November 9, 1938, when about 90 Jews were killed or seriously injured, plus 1000 Jewish owned shops, 200 Jewish homes and 76 synagogues were completely destroyed and 191 additional synagogues set on fire. 

We remember so that such acts never happen again.

Travel is the Enemy of Bigotry

Photography of John Lynner Peterson

The subject line quote is by Denis Belliveau and Francis O’Donnell retraced Marco Polo’s entire 25,000-mile, land-and-sea route from Venice to China and back. It is a motto my husband John and I have found to be true throughout our lives. John’s exhibit, “Who is My Neighbor” opens at the Lyric Theatre this Friday, April 20^th in connection the Gallery Hop in Lexington. The exhibit will run from April 20 to June 2^nd with the Opening Reception April 20^th from 5-8 pm. John will lecture on the exhibit on May 6^th from 2-4 pm.

The story of John’s travels ranks right up there with Belliveau and O’Donnell’s retracing of Marco Polo’s. The provenance behind the photos brings even more enlightenment to the concept of being a neighbor to all peoples.

Remember the song, “You have to be carefully taught” from South Pacific? The song, sung Lieutenant Cable, was considered controversial when the musical first opened. The dialogue which preceded the song said, racism "not born in you! It happens after you’re born..."

Rodgers and Hammerstein risked the entire success of the show when legislatives challenged its decency or supposed Communist agenda. Georgia lawmakers even introduced a bill that would have outlawed entertainment containing "an underlying philosophy inspired by Moscow." Rodgers and Hammerstein defended their work strongly. James Michener, upon whose stories South Pacific was based, recalled, "The authors replied stubbornly that this number represented why they had wanted to do this play, and that even if it meant the failure of the production, it was going to stay in. (Wikipedia)

Join us for John’s exhibit at The Lyric for an update on “Who is My Neighbor?” You have to be carefully Untaught if you got the message wrong the first time.

Travel is the enemy of bigotry!

The subject line quote is by Denis Belliveau and Francis O’Donnell retraced Marco Polo’s entire 25,000-mile, land-and-sea route from Venice to China and back. PBS recently aired their documentary, "In the Footsteps of Marco Polo" about the trip. It is a motto my husband John and I have found to be true throughout our lives. John’s exhibit, “Who is My Neighbor” opens at the Clark County Public Library on October 1^st and run the entire month. The Opening Reception is October 7 from 5:30 – 7:30 pm and John will lecture on the exhibit on October 18^th at 6:30.

The story of John’s travels ranks right up there with Belliveau and O’Donnell’s retracing of Marco Polo’s. The provenance behind the photos brings even more enlightenment to the concept of being a neighbor to all peoples.

Granddaughter Payden kissing "Bobby," a Sepik River sculpture from Papua New Guinea

Remember the song, “You have to be carefully taught” from South Pacific? (Linked here to a Barbra Streisand rendition.) The song, sung by the character Lieutenant Cable, was considered controversial when the musical first opened. The dialogue which preceded the song said, racism "not born in you! It happens after you’re born..."

Rodgers and Hammerstein risked the entire success of the show when legislators challenged its decency or supposed Communist agenda. Georgia lawmakers even introduced a bill that would have outlawed entertainment containing "an underlying philosophy inspired by Moscow." Rodgers and Hammerstein defended their work strongly. James Michener, upon whose stories South Pacific was based, recalled, "The authors replied stubbornly that this number represented why they had wanted to do this play, and that even if it meant the failure of the production, it was going to stay in. (Wikipedia)

Join us for John’s exhibit in Clark County for an update on “Who is My Neighbor?” You have to be carefully Untaught if you got the message wrong the first time.

Ugliness and Authenticity

Authenticity in the beginning
Photo by John Lynner Peterson

Authenticity has been an interest of mine for some time. I discovered on my own, with age and challenges, that living authentically enriched my life, while constantly creating a polished façade drained me. Now I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to play charades with your life.

A story on the Today Show stirred some thoughts about how we avoid authenticity in the media. A young woman experienced a freak accident at her bridesmaid party that left her paralyzed and in a wheel chair. Her fiancé stuck with her through the long journey of healing and they recently were able to marry. Sponsors of all sorts gave them the wedding of their dreams and a honeymoon to match. The story had a happy ending.

While they asked a few poignant questions about the difficulty of recovery and the drastic change in what they thought their future would be, they really didn’t zero in on the nitty-gritty of what has been required of them to get to the point of having the wedding more than a year later. The anchor didn’t ask, “Were there days when your anger surfaced and you lashed out at your fiancé as well as the friend who pushed you into the pool causing the accident?” The anchor didn’t ask the fiancé, “Did you think about walking away from this marriage on her ugliest of days?” The anchor asked glossed over versions of these two questions but basically, morning television eschews authenticity. Too ugly for breakfast.

So what does it mean to be authentic? It means putting the facts, feelings, thoughts, opinions and your true self out there for public consumption. It means not feeling like you have to white-wash your opinions or emotions before you express them. Yes, there are times and place when you don’t want to hurt others, lose your job or cause a revolution by stating your thoughts or feelings inappropriately, but most of us err on the side of polishing everything to a shine before we tell others.

After I had written about living authentically, I discovered my new guru, Brene` Brown who came to the same conclusions I did. I found my way to authenticity by living life; Brene Brown got there through academic research on shame. Her two books, I Thought it was Just Me (but it wasn’t) and The Gifts of Imperfection are must reads if you want to travel this journey of being yourself.

Have you had an experience of living authentically? Was it negative or positive?   

It's a small world after all---

Husband John and I went to visit the Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville yesterday. John is in conversation with the Center about using his exhibit “Who is My Neighbor?” (It is no accident that our studio is named, Global Village Studio.) The Center’s mission extends far beyond a showcase for the Ali story. It continues the mission of Ali’s life especially as he sought to be a bridge between diverse cultures. As readers of this blog know, John's exhibit also strives to build that bridge.

The visit and the ensuing conversation reminded me once again of the smallness of our world. We touch each other so often and in so many more ways than we ever know about. This affect on each other should be humbling to all of us.

I am reminded of when I picked up the memoir, The Soloist by Steve Lopez. I didn’t know Steve or the soloist who lived on the streets of Los Angeles. But in talking about the book, I learned that my step-daughter did know Steve so he was just one degree of separation from me. Then I read about John Carroll, editor of the Los Angeles Times when Steve was doing this project. Carroll was my neighbor in Lexington, KY. I would not call us friends but when our junior high children sneaked out of the house to drink beer at the park, I called every parent of every child I recognized. John Carroll was the only parent who thanked me. Second personal connection with a book I just picked up off the shelf.

John and I were active in the International Affairs Council in Raleigh when we lived there. We hosted a young woman from Turkmenistan so we went to dinner the other host families. One of the men, wanting his guest to feel at home, put a photo up on his computer screen of a guy in Turkmenistan who had received the host’s micro-loan to start a small business. The guest walked into the room and shouted, “That is my brother!” Small small world.

I frequently attended a writers’ group in Raleigh whose variety of speakers enriched my life. Elaine Neil Orr spoke to us one night about her book, Gods of Noonday, her memoir about growing up as the child of Southern Baptist missionaries in Nigeria. I could hardly wait until the program was over to ask Elaine, “Did you happen to know Dr. Martha Hagood, who was also a Southern Baptist missionary in Nigeria?” She picked up her book and pointed, “Dr. Martha lived right there.” Elaine and I had never met but we had a long line of Southern Baptists missionaries (including my Aunt BJ who named me) who connected us through their global lives.

What is your small world story?

Audience Fatigue, Writer Woes, Publishing Perils

I received an email from a friend this morning. Her succinct message needed no interpretation, “Publish the damn book, Brenda!" I received a similar one last week. Then my very supportive friend who already wants to book my tour of Idaho keeps asking, “When is the publishing date?”

Ok, Ok, I understand that I’ve been working on this memoir for three years now. Some writers spend a decade or more on a book and this writer had oh-so-much to learn. The bad news to these faithful friends---I’m going backwards instead of forward. Having just taken a writing class and a writer’s retreat at the Carnegie Center here in Lexington, KY, I now hold new secrets for how to make the book better.

The writer’s woes? I own up to my fair share of “putting it out there” angst. What happens when the world knows your life stories? Will they be caressed with graceful kindness or batted about as gossip and sensationalism? My goal in writing the memoir remains the same---to shout to all who listen, you can survive--- and not just survive, you can thrive. Life dishes up difficulties large and small to all of us. My story suggests ways of dealing with whatever comes your way.

Publishing perils? I committed myself to learning the publishing industry along side the writing of the book. The publishing world by necessity reinvents itself daily in this technological age. So I must make critical decisions about with whom and how my memoir will be published in an ever-changing environment. All advice welcome.

Hang with me. I’m doing my best to make it worth the wait.

Now what do you think of the name Grit and Grace for a title?

What do you think of this photograph of John Lynner Peterson’s for the cover art?

Opinions welcome.

The Act of Writing my Memoir

Potential Cover Art photo by John Lynner Peterson

I have written a memoir that illustrates the life that was given me, the life that happened to me and the life that I have chosen to create. I see it as a message of hope for those who have difficult lives. It is a foundation for my other work as speaker, writer, trainer, coach and minister.

I alternately think my memoir is 95% or 50% done. It is so difficult to know when to stop editing and revising. I see the finished work as good storytelling that will evoke tears and laughter. The theme most prevalent in the book is “Don’t just survive, thrive!” The image woven through the book is that of a pearl---a beautiful entity created through pain to the oyster.

I do feel a certain love for the manuscript at this time. I suspect I need to feel less attached. I try to say to myself each time I pull it out, “Relax. Breathe. It’s okay if you decide to change a few things.”

The manuscript might say back to me, “This is not the beginning, middle and end of your life. It is an interpretation of your life at a point in time.”

Laraine Herring, in her book, Writing Begins with the Breath, says, “Every writer has a unique relationship to his or her writing, and it is in the dynamics of this relationship that the perils, joys and challenges of a writer’s life breathe.”

Breathe. Relax. Finish the book! 

But I still need a title! Suggestions?

When Oprah asks, you must answer---

The invoice came to renew my subscription to O Magazine. The subscription was in my husband’s name but a gift to me. So the invoice looked like the picture above.

Oh, Oprah, how do I answer this question. I’ve tried to answer this query for nine years now. John Lynner Peterson exploded into my life and my heart on August 17, 2001. I had no idea the wild ride I signed up for by marrying him four months later.

He’s Lutheran, Minnesotan and Norwegian. This combo platter seems alien but interesting to this southern girl. His family reveres this heritage and speaks of lutefisk and Syttende mai and they regularly eat lefse. My Irish roots have never met a potato I don't like, so I get on board with this potato-based tortilla-type bread. Yummy when heated with butter, cinnamon and sugar and rolled into a dripping candlestick treat.

In addition to being a Garrison Keillor clone, John is also a creative talent who produces twenty ideas a minute and still fights ADD in his sixties. We live in this cyclone of artistic thought and ADD chaos. He sees no point in putting an object back in the same place two times in a row. How boring for him! How frustrating for me!

The answer to Oprah's question resides in my favorite children’s book, What Do You Do with A Kangaroo? by Mercer Mayer. It begins:

What do you do with a Kangaroo who jumps in your window and sits on your bed and says, “I never sleep on wrinkled sheets, so change them now and make them smooth, fluff up the pillows if you please.

 

Exotic creatures appear in the little girl’s life and demand accommodation. The end result---she lets them stay. She wallows in the wonder, excitement, strangeness and fun.

I find this the perfect answer to Oprah’s question, “What should we do about John Lynner Peterson?” I celebrate and support his artistic endeavors (www.johnlynnerpeterson.com), I snuggle up to that Viking hug, I revel in sharing movies and music with someone who understands my passions and tastes. This alien creature blesses my life on a daily basis and I give thanks.

     

Tristan, Trains and Transitions

There is no greater bliss than Saturday nights and all day Sunday with Tristan, my five year old grandson (although he is six on the inside and when he turns six in August he will notify us when he becomes seven on the inside). We often plan something special to do on Sunday after church as a not-so-subtle bribe for his attending church with us.

Today we made reservations to ride the antique railroad in Versailles and tour the Bluegrass Railroad Museum. We boarded the train right on time and settled into our seats after marveling that we were on a 90 year old train car. There was a wad of gum on the floor near our feet.

I asked Tristan, “Do you think that gum is 90 years old too?”

“No, Mimi, I think the gum is just 20 years old.”

He could be right.

The ride was a history lesson about Kentucky, railroads and with the window open a scenic Sunday survey of all that’s beautiful about our countryside. Tristan asked questions or just listened to the conductor’s patter or lapsed into a contemplative repose with his face in the wind.

The sounds, sights, smells and having a little one with me stirred poignant memories of my teenage train trips from California to Missouri or Indiana to visit family---especially my mother’s mother, Grandma Whitmer.

We especially liked the Grand Canyon Line because its route through the states that divided us provided excitement and beauty. Putting together the pennies necessary to transport my mother and five kids on the train never got easy. I plead guilty to helping Mom once convince my younger sisters that they had already had lunch when our packed lunches were gone as well as all money. Finally, the conductor walked through yelling, “St. Louis! St. Louis! Everybody off for St. Louis!” we couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about convincing the kids they had been fed and the delay out west that caused the train line to provide one free meal in The Dining Car---a first class experience for a band of ragamuffins.

As we toured the little museum after the ride, I swear the china displayed was exactly like what we used on the Grand Canyon Line.

Since Tristan had informed us when we invited him to the opening reception of Poppa’s photo exhibit, “Mimi, I’m not the kind of boy who goes somewhere just to look at pictures.” So after the ride today, we went by the exhibit so he could just see the gallery and Poppa’s photos without the hoopla of the opening reception.

Poppa couldn’t resist posing the big boy Tristan in front of the two photos of him in the exhibit. In one, he is a round-headed baby in the bath tub and in the other he is a toddler in his stroller and a little African-American girl asks to touch his hair. Poppa caught the moment.

Tristan, trains and transitions---a fulfilling Sunday.  

I Worshipped Today

I worshipped today.

Yes, the morning began at church and, fortunately, today the worship also began at church. It doesn’t always.

I sang in the choir today. The very act of singing is often access to the sacred. Today it was.

Keith Dean offered the most transcendent part of church today. Keith is one of the few young university singers who “beef” up the choir full of us regular singers. Keith is a big African-American man with an even bigger voice. He sang My Tribute by Andrae Crouch. More famously sung by Elvis Presley, this old standard was also sung by little Brenda Sims when I could not even see over the pulpit. At no time and by no one has it been sung more spiritually that Keith sang it today. And I worshipped.

We also experienced a moving sermon by Elizabeth King McLaughlin. Elizabeth’s sermon constituted worship for me because it called me to be a better version of myself and assured me of God’s love for me in my current state.

Relationships are always worship for me because I believe when we move closer to each other we move closer to God. I have experienced this closeness of relationship at church but not always and not only at church. Today this form of prayer and exultation came at a photography exhibit.

Husband John’s exhibit opened today at the Woodford County Library and the turn out of friends who love and support his art and his passion created a moment of worship. Thank you, dear friends, for sharing in our joy.

Art, frequently, brings reverence into my life. Today, as on many occasions, the coming together of John’s phenomenal photographs and the emotion and storytellling they evoke from others played out before my eyes and I called it worship.

Thanks be to God. 

"Who is My Neighbor?" photo exhibit by John Lynner Peterson

The synchronicity of supporting my husband while also promoting something I care deeply about is pure delight. John Lynner Peterson, photographer extraordinaire, will be exhibiting for the first time in Kentucky! His group of photos titled "Who is My Neighbor,"  will be shown at the Woodford County Public Library during the month of July. Opening reception will be July 10th from 2:30 to 5:00 PM. John will also lecture on the exhibit on July 20th at 7:30 PM.

I have written before on this blog about Robert Fuller's book, Somebodies and Nobodies. It addresses the last "ism" in our world---rankism. We, human beings, have all sorts of prejudices about other humans. Racism, sexism, homophobia---to name a few. We have a hard time embracing all people as our neighbors and worthy of our love and care and attention. Fuller's book maintains that putting people on a ladder with some better than me and others less than me is that last prejudice to need to abolish. John's photos poignantly and compellingly show us that all people are our neighbors.

Don't miss it!