Reunion

I recently attended my 40th high school reunion. Now, before you start saying, "Wow, she's old!", let me explain that I'm not that old. I didn't graduate in 1970 - I graduated in 1971. But, I should have graduated in 1972. I was a year ahead in school because we lived overseas when I was a child (that's a whole 'nother story). Anyway, our class held a combined reunion with the class of 1970, and I'd estimate there were 250 people there.

I hate those kind of things, but my life-long friend Joyce, class of '70, suggested we attend together, so I went. Here's the thing. I wasn't in the 'in' group in high school. In fact, I always sort of felt like I was in the 'out' group, if you know what I mean. Once, at the end of the tenth grade, I decided to try to catapult myself into the 'in' group by trying out for cheerleader. I made it through two days of excruciating tryout practices only to end up so sore that I couldn't climb the stairs at school or sit down on the potty without fainting. That very summer my mother beat me at tennis, and when I was upset about it, said, "Oh, don't worry. You're just not coordinated." If I'd only had that bit of blessed information a couple of months earlier, I'd have saved myself the humiliation of cheerleader tryout practices.

But I digress. Since the cheerleading idea bombed, I decided to try out for something a little less strenuous but not quite as 'in'. The Downbeats was a nine-girl a capella group that could just as easily have been called the Singing Geeks. I made it! So during my junior and senior years I enjoyed the musical challenge and 'fifteen minutes of fame' we got from singing at civic clubs and at school and church functions. I gained some valuable musical experience and confidence through being a part of Downbeats, but the close comraderie with the other girls was the real blessing. So when I decided to go to my reunion, I hoped I'd see some of them there.

Nope. I saw some familiar faces and even sneaked peeks at nametags to see if I'd have any 'Aha' moments, but it didn't happen. I ended up talking to five people:
1. David Lingerfelt, class of '70 -brother of Alan, a good guy friend of mine (class of '72). David never knew me in high school and didn't know I'd been friends with Alan. End of conversation.
2. Scott Eden - a supernice guy who sat behind me in senior English and, though he was in the 'in' group, always had a smile for me. BTW, he is just as nice and still as cute as he was in high school.
3. Gail Copeland, class of '72 - Her husband, Jimmy, was in my class. He was busy preparing with one of the bands that played later. Jimmy and Gail were good, close friends from my youth group at church.
4. Harriet Moncure - She tripped over the base of a column I was standing near, and when she caught herself and stood up, she was right in front of my face and blurted, "Joy Crawley!" (my maiden name). If she hadn't tripped, we might not have seen each other. She was not a close friend in high school, but it was still fun to talk to her.
5. Kathy Jordan - Kathy was another person in the 'in' group, but I approached her because we went to church together way back when and because her mother and mine were the best of friends. We had a short talk, mostly about deceased family.

Except for these five life-altering conversations, I tagged along with Joyce and spoke to the people she knew. At least we tried to speak. I don't think I've mentioned that the music was way too loud. The longer the evening went on, the more I wished I was back at the hotel with my sister and brother (The three of us had met in Richmond for a family reunion of sorts). As songs of the sixties and seventies blared in my ears, I longed for the quiet and comfort of sharing real, present-day life with those I love. So at ten-thirty I said my goodbyes to Joyce and her friends and to high school for the last time.

Some days I long for the reunion that will take place when I walk through heaven's gates, and these are the people I want to talk to first:
1. Jesus - a very dear friend. He once laid down His life for me. He knew my name before I was born, my maiden and married names. He pursued my heart and became the lover of my soul when I shyly let Him in at seven years of age. Not only has He been by my side all these years, but He has lived within me to guide, comfort, rebuke and cherish me. He is a very dear friend, and when I reach glory, I want to see Him first. I want to bow at His feet and hug His neck and feel His arms pulling me into the 'in' group.
2. Mama - my earliest friend. I want to tell her that I never appreciated her enough and I'm sorry for that. I also want to tell her how much her devoted life influenced mine. And I want to hug her and laugh with her and tell her about my grandchildren who she never got to meet.
3. Daddy - my other earliest friend. I want to hear his laughter and just sit with him for awhile.
4. Daddy's daddy - He died when my daddy was 11 years old, so I never got to meet him. But I've read things he wrote and things people wrote about him, and I know I'm going to love him.
5. My other grandparents and Aunt Pony and Aunt Tamar (two old-maid great aunts who were like extra grandmothers to me).

Of course, there are others I'm going to want to see and talk to, but these will be first. And I think we'll be able to hear each other because I hear the music there is beautiful.

Fingernails and Forgiveness

When I was a child we lived in Hong Kong. My parents were missionaries, and we were not rich, but compared to the average Chinese family there, we were very wealthy. In that culture, wealthy people had servants, so we had a servant, too. Ah-King was our combination cook, housekeeper and nanny.

Ah-King would let me hang around while she squatted to cut vegetables for dinner, did the wash, or whatever. One day, when she and I were the only ones home, I wandered away from her into my parents' bedroom. Bored and looking for something to pass the time, I drifted into their bathroom and came upon the beautiful sight of my mother's red fingernail polish sitting on the counter. Somehow knowing I shouldn't but not being able to resist, I proceeded to paint my fingernails while unintentionally daubing bright red patches all over my fingertips and parts of the bathroom counter and sink as well.

Just about the minute I put the brush back in the bottle for the last time, Ah-King came looking for me. Hearing her calling my name, I closed the door and locked it quickly, smearing red polish on the doorknob. Seconds later her Chinese-accented voice came through the heavy wooden door, "Miss Joy, you in there?"

I frantically turned the faucet on and began washing my hands. "Yes," I answered, voice quavering. "I'm almost finished. I had to go to the bathroom, and I'm washing my hands." The lie hung heavy in the room, feeling like a weight on my back.

Imagine my little-girl horror when the red stuff wouldn't come off!! I scrubbed and scrubbed to no avail, and my dismay quickly turned to dread.

"Miss Joy, what you doing?" Ah-King persisted. "Open this door."

Realizing I was a cooked goose, I turned the lock and slowly peeked out, clasping my hands behind my back (which, by the way, is a sure indication that a child has something to hide). Ah-King leveled her small frame against the large wooden door and pushed into the bathroom.

"Ah-ee-ya!" she cried. "What you been doing in here?"

"I-I was just trying to ma-make my fin-fingernails pretty," I sobbed and stuttered, "but it wo-won't come off. Not e-even when I wash with so-oap."

When she saw my hands, Ah-King shook her head and scolded, "Miss Joy, you know you not suppose to play with your mother's things." Then she took a long look at my tear-stained face still frozen in a horrified expression and said, "You never do this again?"

I quickly shook my head "No," so Ah-King opened a drawer and took out a plastic bottle and some cotton pads. She deftly began applying the magic liquid in the bottle to the cotton pads and then used the cotton pads on my fingers, the counter, the sink, the cabinet, the floor and the door. Where red had been, normalcy surfaced. I can still remember the disbelief, relief and gratitude I felt.

"Are you going to tell on me?" I asked, bottom lip protruding.

"No, but you be good, you hear?"

Ah-King had been given the authority of a parent that day, but she chose to be a servant to me. She put herself in my place and cleaned me up. How relieved I was. I couldn't get the 'sin' off me, but she knew how to do it and had mercy on me. She took responsibility for the dirty cotton pads in the trash can. She acted as if it never happened. I honestly don't remember much of anything else Ah-King ever did, but I remember her mercy and I remember that I loved her dearly.

"This the pow'r of the cross;
Christ became sin for us.
Took the blame, bore the wrath -
We stand forgiven at the cross." - Getty

Inheritance

"We're spending your inheritance!" Mama exclaimed with a chuckle. My parents were off on their second journey to Hawaii, planning to trace the route they had taken to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary.

"Good - you deserve it; have a blast!" I replied.

Less than two years later, Mama fell on her head, and even though early on she seemed to be getting well, after two months she began having seizures. Over the next five months, she slowly lost her abilities and finally went into a coma-like state and died December 31, 2001. For eight and a half more years we enjoyed Daddy but lost him in June of this year.

Sadly, Mama and Daddy didn't have nearly enough time to spend all of our inheritance. So checks from their different investments are beginning to come in. My husband and I are having to make decisions - what to do with the money, how to invest it, how not to lose it! In today's economy there are no "sure things." Interest rates are dismal, even on long-term investments. The government will insure only so much in bank accounts. Stocks are iffy.
Well, I made a decision that many of you will appreciate. I decided to invest some of that inheritance in our house. The house is forty years old and the last time anything was updated was long before we moved in eighteen years ago. Well, actually, we have replaced the upstairs carpet and the kitchen flooring. And we've also painted a room or two, but the kitchen and bathrooms had that '80's look going. I figure the new stuff will increase the value and sellability of our house, should we decide to put it on the market in the next few years. At any rate, the money won't be wasted because I am going to enjoy the new countertops, appliances and beautiful, up-to-date paint techniques being applied by an expert (not moi). Thank you, Mama and Daddy!

I am grateful that Daddy was a smart investor and my parents were wise spenders. Though they worked as missionaries and church workers all their lives, they lived on a budget and saved enough money to support themselves in their old age. I'm thankful that they had enough to enjoy their golden years, living in a very nice retirement community and taking trips for pleasure. And of course, I would be lying if I said I'm not appreciative for their financial legacy, that leftover money they bequeathed to us kids.

But I'll be eternally indebted to Mama and Daddy for the other legacy they left us. You see, whereas they used discretion when spending money, they completely blew the budget when it came to spending their lives on people. They lived Jesus' words in Matthew 16:24-25: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it." I pray that I will be like that, that my children and friends and even people who don't know me well will be able to say they looked at me and saw Jesus. Thank you, Mama and Daddy, for this inheritance. It is precious. It is eternal. It's why I miss you so much.