I went to such a sweet wedding last weekend. A dear friend’s son got married, and a few of us traveled to Tulsa to watch it happen.

Oh, officially, we had a job – to help the mother of the groom with the rehearsal dinner. But mostly? We just wanted to be with her, and each other, to see this story unfold.

So we all drove up to Post Oak Lodge – which is a place where you go and stay, and also has several different venues for events. I was trying to explain this to someone, how nice it was to be all together in that way for the weekend, families and friends hanging out on porches and around the pool. They said, “So, like a destination wedding, right? Only the destination was Tulsa?”

Um. Sort of?

Only that doesn’t quite catch the romance of traveling to a lovely country retreat, where food and friends and beautiful views wait around every turn. I was a little smitten with it all.

What’s not to love about a wedding in a field, with a bride and groom doing a victory dance while the groom’s younger brothers kick back?

And that was just the rehearsal.

And then it was time for dinner. We went from the field to the pole barn in our boots, and let the ice cold drinks, yummy pizza, and strings of lights work their magic.

I do love a good rehearsal dinner. If you’re lucky, you get to see behind the curtain a little. As my friend stood and spoke to all of us gathered there, to her son and his almost bride, I found myself in a swirl of emotions. So glad that I know the story of this family. So amazed at God’s faithfulness, and hers too. So grateful to get to be nearby.

And with it all, the realization that this is where we’ll be headed next, both my family and this band of friends: whether it is graduations or new jobs or moving or marriages – the next phase will be the turning loose, the sending off with grace.

My beautiful friend did it – is doing it – so well. It’s a good thing I have a few years left to practice.

Speaking of practice…

That’s right! What else are you going to do at a pole barn but square dance?

We had a real square dance caller and lots of enthusiastic participants. You notice I said enthusiastic, not talented. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. We danced until dark, made s’mores over a fire, packed up the decor and dipped in the hot tub before we tucked into bed.

The next day was full of sunshine and wind, and as our responsibilities were over with the night before, we sat by the pool and ate chips and burned ourselves to a crisp all afternoon. That’s pretty much perfection for me, personally. Even better when you top it off with a great love story and a party after.

We gathered back at the field, this time with a few more friends. I loved this moment.

And these.

And then when the story was told, and the vows were made – it was time to celebrate.

This is the fourth (and final!) part of a story about what happened on my husband’s birthday in Jamaica. You should really start with the first part here and the second part here and the third part here.

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We woke up early and got ready, picking up the last few things in our room. Knowing we wouldn’t get off until last, we went up to the Lido Deck and ate breakfast. We checked the tracking number and the package was “on truck for delivery by 12:00 pm.”  We agreed that those were possibly the most beautiful words in the English language. As I sipped coffee and looked out at the ocean from the pier, I began to think things like this is going to work out perfectly. If we were going to have to wait on the package, we might as well be waiting right here in these comfy seats, having a relaxing meal. We’re going to walk off the ship, and the port agent is going to turn toward us, FedEx package in hand, and say ‘what timing! This just arrived for you!’

I should know better than to have thoughts like that.

Eventually they called our group and we headed down to the lobby where Naomi was waiting for us. She smiled and said ok are you ready? The port agent is will be waiting for us. I want you to follow me and stay close, because I don’t want anyone else to try to follow us through the way that we will be going. And off we went.

Naomi weaved through and around the crowd (Pardon me! Excuse us!) unclipping all manner of ropes meant to keep people in line as we went (This way!). She had us off the boat and down to customs in a few moments, and as we stood and waited for her to get the port agent, I looked over at the lines of people waiting to go through. Actually, I thought, except for the whole lost licenses thing, this isn’t that bad. In fact, I kind of feel sorry for all those poor saps over there; we are going to end up walking right through.

Again, I should really know better.

The port agent turned to us and said I don’t know what happened. I waited until 7:00 last night but that package never came.

My throat closed up as I said it wasn’t supposed to get here last night; it was supposed to get here today.

Oh, he answered. Well then I won’t get it, because that address was for the office. And I’m not at the office today, I’m here.

Naomi looked at me, bewildered. It wasn’t supposed to get here until today?

Somehow in the midst of the crazy arrangement making, I had only communicated that the package would be overnighted – and not which night that would be happening. Suddenly the possibility of getting home seemed very dim. It was about 11:15.

Just in case you’ve forgotten, our flight home was at 1:45.

Naomi and the gate agent walked us through customs in the room normally reserved for suspected drug dealers, and after much frowning by the customs officer, we were admitted to the country. Then we realized we didn’t have our luggage with us.

We went back through the terminal, wound through the lines of people, retrieved our bags, wound back through, and (yippee!) back through the drug dealer room again. By now Naomi was expected back on the boat, and she turned to us. I hope you can get them back, she said. Thank you for everything you did, I said.

And then we both burst into tears and hugged like long-lost sisters. I’m telling you, I love her.

And so, standing by the gate agent just past customs, we began to try and reach FedEx. My tracking number said the package was still on the truck. No, the representative told me, they could not contact the driver in his truck. No, they could not change the delivery point unless the recipient requested it. About the time I was trying to explain that I was the sender AND the recipient, even though my name was nowhere on the package, customs decided that Bryan and I were loitering and escorted us outside into the mêlée of travelers, bags, taxis, airport vans, and security types yelling obscenities directing traffic.

I was getting really good at being really loud on the phone. Even though I was yelling, the FedEx person was super nice, and told me that one option was to go to the FedEx distribution center, because if the package was undeliverable (because no one was there to sign for it) then it would get back there by about 1:00 and we would simply have to show our photo ID to pick it up!

Yeah. There could be just a couple of problems with that approach…

Bryan and I decided to go for the interception. The port agent’s office was just a few blocks away, not even outside of the port. If we got there before the package, we could just sign for it (our logic here being that perhaps the truck driver would be slightly less stringent about the whole photo ID thing) and we would be on our way. We headed for the taxi line, where there were only about 30 people in line ahead of us. And it was raining.

It was about 11:30.

Twenty minutes later we climbed into a cab and began to explain to our Haitian driver that we just needed to go a few blocks (which of course, THRILLED him) but then! Then we would need to go to the airport! Promise! Bryan was holding the iPad up with a map from where we were to the office. The driver looked at it for a moment, then shook his head and called someone on his cell phone. He began speaking rapidly in another language and began to drive.

Right out of the port.

I kept saying we don’t need to go out of the port, tell him we don’t need to go out of the port, don’t turn here go straight, no no noooo… but apparently I was still a little too quiet because he didn’t stop until we were past the port gate. Then he U-turned back into the port, where we were stopped by the security guard.

Guess what they wanted to see? All together now, A PHOTO ID.

I’m a complete wreck by this point, pulling out our birth certificates and trying to explain our situation from behind the taxi driver. I believe I ended with I TOLD HIM NOT TO DRIVE OUT OF THE PORT! I was not having a problem being quiet at this point. I still can’t believe they let us back in. We headed around the corner to the port agent’s office, where we found the FedEx post-it with the time of attempted delivery. We had missed him by 12 minutes.

It was time for the next option, the one that FedEx had given me on the phone. We had to get to the distribution office, which we managed to find after our driver (still on the phone) followed Bryan’s step-by-step reading of the iPad map after first trying to leave us at the FedEx drop box inside the port. Fortunately, the distribution center was right by the airport, and both of them were very close to the port. We got to the office at 12:10.

On the way over, I had called FedEx again and asked to be connected to someone at that particular location. I thought if they knew we were coming, maybe things would go faster. However, when the woman who answered mostly wanted to know why on EARTH we would go on a cruise without our PASSPORTS every hope I had for a kind soul helping us out began to fly out the window. Then she put me on hold, where I still was when we pulled in. I went inside, hung up, and began to explain myself to another woman behind the counter.

She said I’m sorry. He won’t be back until at least 12:30. You’ll just have to wait.

As I walked outside to tell Bryan, the taxi driver was pulling our bags out of the trunk. Apparently he’d had enough. Bryan even offered him money and he wouldn’t stay.

And so we waited. Me inside, trying to appear to be a decent and sane person, in case that helped us out in any way. Bryan outside, surrounded by 2 huge suitcases, 2 backpacks, and a couple of other bags. At one point a nice older man asked us if we needed a ride somewhere, and we said we did, but we were waiting on a package. It took every bit of self-control I had not to leap at him, lock myself onto his arm, and beg him to please please please just wait on us a few minutes…

At 12:35, a miracle happened. The FedEx lady walked to the counter and handed me a package. Even though my name wasn’t on it as the recipient. Even though I couldn’t show her a photo ID. She. Gave. It. To. Me.

Angels sang. My hands shook. I opened the package. There were our licenses.

Now all that was left was the small matter of getting to the airport. Very quickly.

Bryan and I both started calling cab companies, but no one could send a cab to the FedEx office LIKE, RIGHT NOW because they were all at the port picking up people getting off of cruise ships. We kept calling.

That’s when a Honda pulled up and a maybe 25-year old blonde got out and headed into the building. I looked at Bryan. He hissed you have to do it. If I ask it’ll be creepy!

And that’s how we ended up with Lindsey driving us to the airport. Despite the fact that I began my approach with I know we look crazy she still decided to be a Good Samaritan and take us there. She had to pick up her roommate, however, so Bryan and I got into the back seat. Of a Honda. Oh, and she worked from her car, so her trunk was mostly full. I think we managed to get a backpack and my purse in there, but then Bryan and I wedged ourselves into the back seat (of a Honda!) with the other bags and our 2 giant suitcases. I couldn’t see Lindsey, or Bryan, or her roommate when we picked her up. I could only move my head about 2 inches and I still can’t imagine how Bryan did it at all.

If I was any kind of self-respecting blogger I would have gotten a picture. Bryan says it occurred to him but it also occurred to him that I might stab him if he had tried, given my mental state at that point. And I probably would have, if I could have moved my arms.

And then we were there. As the Southwest baggage lady slapped a neon yellow LATE tag on my suitcase and said you are now voluntarily separating yourself from your bags I just started to laugh. If you only knew how lucky we are to be here…I said.

We made it to the gate with 20 minutes to spare. I had time to run to the bathroom, which was all the permission Bryan needed to break the Twitter embargo, and then we got on our plane to come home.

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I hope I’ve made it clear, in this tale of Carribbean adventure, that I lay the blame for everything negative squarely at our feet (except for, just maybe, the cab ride). Carnival and Couples San Souci and of course, the fabulous Naomi went above and beyond in helping us out, and I would daresay, if you have to lose your only photo identification in another country, I couldn’t recommend any boats or resorts that are better to do it on.

This is the third part of a story about what happened on my husband’s birthday in Jamaica. You should really start with the first part here and the second part here.

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I squinted at him. Why would I have your driver’s license? I asked. Not kindly.

I don’t know. It’s not in here. I don’t have it.

I should point out that by this time my dear husband had misplaced his license and/or ship ID about 50 times. The excitement of vacation combined with the many possibilities for storage in cargo shorts had proved to be a dangerous combination. I was pretty sure at this point that the license was lurking in some as-yet-unsearched pocket.

Seriously, Bryan.

I am serious. I think the guy handed it back to you. Just look.

With an exaggerated sigh (where DO my children get it?), I opened my wallet. My stomach clenched. There, in the clear plastic driver’s license sleeve, was nothing.

In the interest of fairness I should point out that I, too, had by this time misplaced my cards several times. Perhaps not quite as many times as my husband, but still.

Surely they were here somewhere.

We began rooting frantically through our things while the line shuffled forward, and as we did, my mind began replaying our check in to the resort. We were greeted, asked for ID’s, asked for payment, Bryan called over, I turned away, the nice young man said here’s your card…

I could see the credit card laying on the desk at the resort. Where were the licenses? Why didn’t he hand those back, too? Or, was I imagining things?

Bryan said I can run back to the shopping center and get Carleen to take me back.

It was now a few moments after 2:00 pm. Technically, we were supposed to have been back on the boat by 2:00 with the ship leaving at 2:30. The boat obviously wouldn’t leave until the long line of people emptied onto the boat, but who knew how long that would take? All I could imagine was me tearfully pleading with the captain to just wait a few more minutes as we pulled away from the dock. Bryan Jones, stranded in Jamaica on his 40th birthday.

Speaking of imagination, my brain was being not-exactly-helpful at this point. Instead, it was running raggedy out of breath circles between anger, frustration, and abject terror. WHAT IF THEY DON’T LET YOU BACK ON THE BOAT? it kept yelling. I’d like to say that I was calm, cool, and collected, but that would be an outright lie. I was a hot mess.

Fortunately, they let the hot mess and her husband back onto the boat.

We headed straight to Guest Services, where we spent the better part of the next 5 hours trying to fix the mess we’d made. We found out we had, in fact, left the licenses. There were phone calls to FedEx, the resort, and FedEx again. And the resort again. And again. And again. We called Southwest Airlines, the port terminal, and the TSA.

Have you ever made a phone call on a ship’s phone? Here’s how that goes (at least in my experience): Hello, yes, I’m on a cruise ship and I just left my driver’s license in Jamaica…what? I’m sorry could you repeat that? I can’t hear…OH. I SAID I’M ON A CRUISE SHIP AND I JUST LEFT MY DRIVER’S LICENSE IN JAMAICA…

Other things that we said more than once (and quite loudly, because, you know, the SHIP PHONE) during that few hours included:

1. No, actually, we don’t have passports.
2. Yes, we left both of them.
3. No, you can’t call me back because I’m on a boat.
4. No, I can’t email you that because I’m on a boat.
5. That’s right, I said we don’t have passports.

Added to all this was the fact that although everyone we were dealing with spoke English – they didn’t exactly speak my English. Which at this point was quite panicked, and terribly Southern. I had a Russian and a Czechoslovakian helping me at the guest services desk, and 2 Jamaicans on the other end of a very static-y phone. For us to all understand each other was quite an accomplishment.

Also, we had a deadline. You see, at some point we decided to have our licenses FedExed from Ocho Rios to Fort Lauderdale, since we wouldn’t be able to get on a plane to fly home without them. The flight home was Saturday, this was Thursday afternoon, and the pickup time for the driver in Ocho Rios had already passed for that day. Ah, Ocho Rios. Good for the beaches, not so much for the speedy shipping of things. Fortunately, FedEx has both overnight service and Saturday delivery (if you’re willing to pay for them, of course!) and so it was conceivably possible for the licenses to be picked up in Jamaica on Friday and be delivered to Florida on Saturday by noon.

Our flight out was at 1:45.

It could work, but to make that happen all the arrangements had to be done that evening. By 8:00 pm, to be exact, because that’s when the guy at the resort got off work. And although he was exceedingly friendly, he wasn’t volunteering to stay around after hours to help the uneducated-in-foreign-travel couple from Arkansas.

So we made the arrangements. You might think this would be simple. I did. Sadly, we are both wrong. You see, first you have to set up a FedEx account, then call and give the account number to the resort. Then, you have to buy internet access from the boat, so that the resort can email you a form to fill out and send back so that they can charge your credit card to pay the driver. Then, you have to fill out the form again, because you did it wrong the first time. Oh, and since you can’t actually sign the form before you send it back because you don’t have a printer because YOU’RE ON A BOAT (and yes, I may have shouted that last bit) then you have to take a picture of both sides of your credit card and email it back to the resort, so that they have a copy of your signature on file.

Stopping here to note that yes, we actually did send a photo of our credit card by email to Jamaica. Yes, I know. We were desperate.

Then, you have to call, and call again, just to make sure all those emails came through to the resort because the internet service tends to drop unexpectedly (which would be expected ON A BOAT) and we keep logging off so as not to use up all the precious minutes we’ve paid for. I lost track of how many times we sent and called and checked but I do know that at 7:45 I was still on the phone with the resort because it was at that point that the singers and dancers from the on-board show exited the theater to perform a little number in the lobby. About 10 feet away from me. Singing at the top of their lungs. While I am trying to talk on the SHIP PHONE.

I am not making this up.

Despite all that, though, by a few minutes before 8:00, we had done everything we could. The resort had promised to get our package to the driver and it was set to be shipped out of Jamaica the next day. Whether or not it would get to us in Fort Lauderdale was pretty much out of our hands, but we were feeling pretty good about the whole endeavor, largely thanks to Naomi.

Naomi works on the Carnival Freedom in Guest Services. She is a tiny, beautiful Indonesian woman who began helping us somewhere in the middle of the phone call / email extravaganza. I had walked up to the desk to talk to one of the couple of people who had been helping us up to that point and they were both busy. When Naomi turned to me and asked how she could help I brushed her off, because I just didn’t want to explain the whole thing all over again. But with an incredible amount of grace, she looked right at me and said why don’t you tell me what’s going on. I will help you. And from that moment on, she did. She called the port agent in Fort Lauderdale so that we could have FedEx deliver straight to him personally. She helped me figure out what to do and who to call next, every step of the way. She thought ahead. She was tenacious.

I pretty much think Naomi should be running the whole Guest Services side of things on that boat. I love her.

So, at that point we went to dinner and called it a night. The next day was our last boat day and between sessions of watching Cuba pass by, we checked in. Naomi called to update us. We got the tracking number from FedEx. The package was on its way. My anxiety about getting home was at a manageable level. That evening, Naomi arranged for us to have luggage tags so that we would be in the last group of people leaving the boat, so that she could walk us from the boat directly to the port agent. Because you know, there’s that little thing called customs and they like for you to have a photo ID. We packed, tagged, and went to bed, ready to hustle the next morning. All the pieces just needed to fall into place…

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I know, I can’t believe it either. I totally thought this was a three-parter. You can read the next part of the story here…

This is the second part of a story about what happened on my husband’s birthday in Jamaica. You should really start with the first part here.

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So, we walked into the lobby, which was rather unassuming from the outside, and looked around to find the desk to check in.

Before I go any farther with this, I feel the need to share with you what it looked like where we were, because I feel that our surroundings played a role in the events that unfolded next.

The lobby was all tile floors and orchids on the tables and big heavy shutters pulled wide to show off the view. Like a giant, beautiful pavilion.

Oh, and the view? Was of the pool.

Which was above another pool.

And, wait, where were we? Oh yes, in the lobby, checking in. It’s hard to focus on that, isn’t it? I’m just saying.

A very nice young man asked me for a photo ID and credit card. After I handed them over, he said you are not Bryan. I will need Bryan to sign this because it is his name on the card and so I turned around and…?

No Bryan. He had wandered off to take pictures of the orchids.

Of course. Although, I really can’t blame him because as soon as I realized I wasn’t needed, I wandered away to gaze at pool, backed by ocean, covered by blue sky…

And then the nice young man was handing us maps and we were on our way. And this is how the next few hours went. Seriously, one of the most gorgeous places I think I’ve ever seen. Except for the spider. It might be hard to tell but he was 3 inches long.

It was amazing. And peaceful. About the only thing that happened while we were there (besides the spider) was that a woman working there asked Bryan if we were new here, and he said why yes, we are! She then pointed out a special path for him to take.

Good thing for all of us he realized right then that she hadn’t said new here, but NUDERS. I could have been telling you a whole different story!

After our time was up, we headed back to the entrance, where Carleen promptly picked us up. Yeah mon! No problem! She took us back to the shopping area a couple of blocks from the dock, where we got to run the gauntlet of various bead necklace/marijuana sellers (I guess versatility is a plus in the economy of Ocho Rios).

As we got in the gigantic line snaking its way around the craft booths lining the parking lot – come over pretty lady, take a look! It don’t cost nothing to look! – Bryan began to rummage through his pockets, handing me things to hold.

I was annoyed. Gone was the perfect beach; people were yelling, it was 5 minutes til we were supposed to be on the boat, the crowd was enormous, I’m holding my bags and now he’s handing me more? I glared.

And then he turned to me and said sweetie? Do you have my driver’s license?

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I warned you, didn’t I? It’s a long story. You can read the next part here.

Bryan and I went on a wonderful trip last week, a sun-soaked cruise with lots of surf and sand and umbrella drinks. Sushi and dressing up for dinner and blue sky as far as the eye could see.

But before I break out the vacation photos, I have to tell you a story – one that is destined for the Jones Traveling Blunders Hall of Fame.

It’s getting crowded in that place, I’m telling you.

Our story begins in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, which is where we found ourselves last Thursday, April 19th. Bryan’s actual birthday (his 40th, the reason for our trip) coincided with our last port day, the one we were most excited and nervous about.

You see, when you stop at a port, you can wander off on your own, or you can take an excursion. I tend to think of excursions as optional, but a strongly worded email from our travel agent convinced me that we needed to have a plan for Ocho Rios. No wandering. I believe her exact words were that port is sketchy.

So we did some research (where research = Bryan looking through TripAdvisor reviews) and we found a secret deal. Who doesn’t love a secret deal? Apparently, according to the trusty reviewers at TripAdvisor, you could email a resort in Jamaica and buy a day pass. For $50 a person, you could spend your few hours off the boat at their private beach, food and drink included.

One look at their website sealed it for us. I emailed the next day.

Sure, you can do that, came the reply. Sure, you can just pay when you get here.

So that part explains why we were excited. The being nervous part was all about how we would actually get to the place from the port, and how maybe once we got there the deal would not really be what we thought it was (it’s not mentioned anywhere on their site). Multiply that by the number of warnings people gave us about the many ways that us bumpkins could be swindled on the streets of Ocho Rios and we both were feeling fairly anxious about the whole thing by that morning.

And then we pulled up to this:

So gorgeous! What could go wrong in such a beautiful place?

Off we went, down the pier, into the market where buses and taxis were waiting at the curb. A very official looking woman asked us where we were going, and then found the posted rate, which we agreed to. She handed us off to a very friendly woman, who took our money and let us onto a waiting bus. Smallish, but nice and clean. We settled in.

Look at us! We walked right onto a great bus! We are travel PROS!

Once the bus filled up, we were on our way. As we pulled out of the parking lot, the very friendly woman – named Carleen, if you were wondering, announced the beginning of the TOUR.

I looked at Bryan. Did she say tour?

About that time Carleen said oh yes! Some of you are going to San Souci, right? Bryan and I waved at her, relieved. She knew we weren’t like the rest of these chumps on some crazy tour. Whew!

Carleen grinned right back at us and said – we will drop you off last, since you are on the other side of the island. You get the tour for free!

Oh joy.

Actually, it wasn’t as bad as we assumed it would be. The tour went something like this: Here is the grocery store! And over there is the gas station! Gas is 6 dollars US! The nightlife here is fantastic! Also, there was short language lesson: No problem! and an extended discussion about what time we would be picked up. It is 9:30 on the ship? It is 8:30 here. So we will pick you up at 1:00. You need to be on the ship at 1:00? We will pick you up at 12:30. 12:30 Jamaica time. Here is my cell, you call me when you’re ready. Even with all that going on, after about 20 minutes, we found ourselves getting out at Couples San Souci. Victory!

Here’s where I should probably admit that although I like to think of myself as an easygoing traveler, happy to go with the flow, it’s just not always true. When I travel with a group, I’m good. There will always be someone around that is more organized, more stay-on-top-of-things than me – making it easy for me to just show up and follow along. While I may have at times poked fun at my friends who like to have a plan, the truth is I’m grateful for them, because it takes the pressure off of me. Which is the way I like it.

However, on this day, the group was two. Me and my husband. Which, let’s face it, is often a recipe for disaster. As the bus pulled away, I was both super grateful that we’d made it to the resort, and super nervous that we would never be picked up to get back on the boat. Some part of my brain kept randomly squawking Stranded! In! Jamaica! Someone! Should have! A plan!

Our plan? Hope for the best. We picked up our bags and walked in…

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Yes, this story is long. You can read the next part here…

We had a Maundy Thursday observance last night at church, and I thought some of the words might do just as well for Good Friday…

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Tonight we remember Maundy Thursday, and along with it, the time that comes between the triumph of Palm Sunday, and the revelation of Easter. Tonight, the rest of the story is still unknown. The future is uncertain. Joy and doubt, love and anger all hang in the air, and a night that begins in serving and feasting will end in fear, betrayal, and desperate cries for help.

Why remember these things?

John Piper says – God never does only one thing. In everything he does he is doing thousands of things. Of these we know perhaps half a dozen. On that night, as he ate with friends at a traditional meal steeped in symbol and meaning, Jesus was most certainly doing many things. For us, remembering offers the chance to slow and reflect. Tonight, which part will speak to you? The story, the meal, the ceremony? Or maybe something entirely different…

Whatever it is, let us be ready, waiting, prepared.

Let’s look back at the story together. Right before his account of the last supper, Matthew shares a rather unusual event with us.

⁶ While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper, ⁷ a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

⁸ When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. ⁹ “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.”

 ¹⁰ Aware of this, Jesus said to them, “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. ¹¹ The poor you will always have with you,^[a] but you will not always have me. ¹² When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial.

¹³ Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

At the end of the evening, after dinner, Mark tells us how the disciples went with Jesus to pray:

³² They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” ³³ He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ³⁴ “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them. “Stay here and keep watch.”

³⁵ Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. ³⁶ “Abba,^[f] Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

³⁷ Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Simon,” he said to Peter, “are you asleep? Couldn’t you keep watch for one hour? ³⁸ Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

³⁹ Once more he went away and prayed the same thing. ⁴⁰ When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. They did not know what to say to him.

⁴¹ Returning the third time, he said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Enough! The hour has come. Look, the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. ⁴² Rise! Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”

All through this story, these two themes play out. On one side is love, service, preparation. A beautiful thing. It’s there in the perfume, in the disciples finding the upper room, in Jesus washing the feet of his friends.

On the other side is fear, anger, regret. Betrayal. It’s there in Judas’ 30 pieces of silver, in Pilate washing his hands.

And in some places, like it is so often for us, we find all of it at once.

Peter, so many times the stand-in for our own hearts: one moment he declares that his feet won’t be washed, then he asks for a whole bath. One moment he declares his undying loyalty, a few hours pass and he turns away.

In the middle of it all, Jesus stops it all to have a meal, and to give a reminder to us of the only way out of this mess.

We are sometimes the beautiful, sometimes the betrayer, and he has something to say to us all.

Last night I went to bed turning these things over in my mind: the death of a friend’s mother, two more friends who have had to close their business, the myriad ways that our teenage children break our hearts.

I talked with God about them all: I had no plan, no bargain to make, not even an angry diatribe. I simply stood in front of him with my bowl of shards. Things are broken, and I can’t seem to know what to do.

You can’t know what to do, I think I heard him say, with kindness in His voice. These things are too much to bear. They will shatter. They will cut and prick and bleed.

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Only 2 and a half weeks ago we entered Lent. I wanted restoration. I wanted it for friends whose lives are breaking apart. People who once loved each other who are now digging the sharp point in, closing the door, slamming it shut.

How long, Lord?

Today the sun shines warm on my back. The rain is gone, and the window-washed-clean air sharply reveals the mud and wreckage of my yard. Puddles, gumballs, twigs.

I remember how my children prayed last night, not their usual, but how they asked God to be able to understand, to be able to be different. Tentative steps into the unknown.

How can we ever really know what we are asking for?

Isn’t it all we can do to remain turned towards Him? Asking, listening, waiting, hoping?

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Warm sun and mud. Good prayers and shards. These things I cannot seem to separate, but it’s all right.

I will still be here – asking, listening, waiting, hoping.

He will be here too. Maybe part of all this is just to help me notice. So that I will see that it’s more than what I think – this need to be restored. I don’t know. I’m not sure.

I’ve always been better at the questions than the answers.

How long, Lord? Help me wait.

Because I’m already longing for Easter.

Some weddings can make me a little nervous. What to wear, what to buy, did I remember to paint my toenails…

Others simply seem to be meant to be, in the best sense of that phrase. Happening to the two people it should, when it should, where it should.

This one, as the early evening light fell on top of Petit Jean, was lovely. It felt like home, and family.

I loved the simplicity of it all: it’s hard to be too fancy when you are surrounded by the open air, tiny stones crunching under your sandals when you walk.

So very like this couple: a peaceful place, attention paid to the smallest detail.

It was one of those nights when I found myself just grateful to be there. Glad to have the time to soak it all in – the friends and talk and food and wine and light and bubbles and air.

It occurs to me, after several of these posts, that maybe I should have come up with something slightly more inventive than “2011 catchup.” But I guess that someone who is STILL blogging about last year isn’t going to get any extra points for post title creativity.

So. Onward.

Last spring, my kids were finishing up their first year at a new school. They go to eStem PCS, a charter school in downtown Little Rock. There are a lot of things we love about this place, but there are some inherent challenges in having a school in the middle of downtown. Like where to have Field Day.

I did love the solution they came up with.

They themed the day something like Around The World, and all the activities had to do with different countries. Bonus: cute flags!

Every grade wore a different color shirt. At first I was only appreciating them for the colorful pictures, but they ended up being very handy later in the day.

This is Will’s teacher from last year.

Yep. You can see why he really loved 4th grade.

Here’s his class performing their song. Which had to do with some other country. Which, of course, I can’t remember. This is what happens when I don’t blog right away, people.

Here’s what I do remember: those matching shirts also served as their costume for the skit/song. That’s right. No coming up with a costume, just send in the $10 for a shirt. Which, being an official school t-shirt, then turns into allowed uniform clothing. Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Why yes, I am both cheap and lazy. However, I do have a very cute son. That’s him there in the middle. I believe he is playing the instrument commonly known as Empty Oatmeal Container.

He was fabulous. And after all the performances, he got to run around with his friends and play games and get sprayed with water and buy concessions and win prizes.

And I got to use the rest of my day off to shop for my cruise! Which means I had a field day too…

I make two of these calendars featuring pictures of my kids every year, one for my parents, and one for Bryan’s. My mother started the whole thing – she used to take prints down to the Mailboxes, Etc. store and have them scanned in – and her idea of representing the past year on the current year’s calendar has become a tradition in our family. It’s one of the times my somewhat random skill set suddenly seems practical.

This is the 2012 version. I ordered it yesterday.

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A couple of weekends ago, my friend Kyran had a book signing to celebrate the paperback version of her book coming out. Alison and I decided to run over, and as I pulled around a corner close to her house, I realized she was walking down the street.

I pulled over, she got in. She said, I’m going to tweet Kyran so she’ll know we’re on our way. I said, did you see that post she just wrote on sideways brain? And then, simultaneously, I said:

That’s SO ME!

And she said:

I was JUST tweeting that!

Note the time. 1:48 pm. The signing started at 1:00. Alison was walking down the street because she was trying to help us get there faster.

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I don’t mean to be late picking people up. I also don’t mean to order calendars 2 months into the year they’re supposed to be being used. It just happens.

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Adding to all of this is the fact that I live with Bryan, who has a decidedly different brain all on his own. Much of this, we share. I will never forget the two of us sitting in a room full of people, having just taken a personality test. The leader of the group was walking around, casually talking about people’s results, to help us all understand a little better. He asked us if we’d mind sharing our results.

We showed him that out of the 4 modules, we had both come out high on the feeling, impulsive, people oriented side of things. I was a little more follower, a little more introvert. He was a little higher on the leading, extroverted side of things. We both had almost nothing on the other 2 modules – the ones that dealt with details. Tasks. Order.

Wow, he said. Usually married couples come out opposites – you almost never see this. You two are going to have no problem talking to each other, your communication is going to be great. But I don’t know who’s going to pay the bills in that house.

Truer words may have never been spoken about our marriage.

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Last Saturday I found myself once again in the car, this time with Savannah. She was a little flustered: she’d gotten lost in Sherwood with her kids coming to my house, and now we were definitely late to a shower we were helping to host.

I was assuring her that things would be fine. Because, you know, I have no problem with the lateness. I’m quite good at it.

And then she said, I just feel like a failure sometimes. I mean when Jeremy is running the day, everything happens on time. And then when I do it all falls apart. I know he thinks I do things like this on purpose – that I forget to buy something at the store or pay a bill or whatever. I’m always telling him I’m not doing it to make you mad, I just forget.

And suddenly I was on the other side of the coin.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gotten mad at Bryan for one thing or another that he’s forgotten. The times I’ve said don’t tell me that you’re going to do it – tell me when it’s done! The times I’ve said it feels like he’s lying when he says he will but he doesn’t. And much, much worse.

I also can’t tell you the number of things I’ve just forgotten. The way time slips through my hands. The ways in which I’ve tested and frustrated the people around me – so much so that they adjust the way they deal with me, reminding me again and again.

I’m not sure what it all means, only that this is what I’ve been given to work with. And no matter which side of the coin I find myself on, I need to remember what it feels like from the other side.

I need patience, and grace. And maybe a few more reminders.