Judgments

What do you instantly presume based on a look? This cup, for example:

January 7, 2021

Judgments

It starts with this cup:

Judgement – instantly you either love or hate me, but you also immediately assume I spent $3 to $5 on the “coffee” I’m drinking.

Actually, I’ve never bought Starbucks. This cup? Well, I’m love my meal shake “cafe latte” hot and I’m a mom so that means 10x trips to the microwave… this cup’s predecessor two years ago was green and white and was perfect for the serving size and microwavable!! I hate waste. That green and white cup was destined for the trash… I saved it, sanitized it, and used it for almost 14 months. This cup was also someone else’s discarded trash.

Now, knowing that, you are either grossed out that I take trash, wash it, and claim it, saying “better you than me,” or you are applauding my penny-pinching way of getting exactly what I want and saving the landfill at the same time.

Isn’t it crazy how we judge?

Someone in the food bank line driving a really sweet immaculate older model Jaguar wearing a tailored suit jacket, $400 eyeglass frames, and a Rolex. You can choose to judge, “what is he here for?” or “he could sell the car (watch, frames, jacket) for money,” or whatever thought because you feel he shouldn’t be there.

Step in his shoes. Did you know he’s a former businessman whose life savings went into a dream business in fall of 2019 – just a small operation that employed 27 people. His jacket? It’s the same one he wore to his retirement party years ago. He has sold all the others. His eyeglass frames? Those were his late wife’s. He gets his prescription put in them for sentimental reasons. His Rolex look-alike? Inscribed with “to my love; come home safe; Christmas 1969” he received it in the spring of 1970 in Vietnam. His car? He takes care of it and cleans it himself – he’s had it for 22 years. The dealership won’t even give him $500 for it without locking him into a new loan he can’t afford; it is a cheap used car. He chooses to keep his employees at work but is falling deeper and deeper in debt so yes, he stretches his food budget with the weekly box from the food bank.

Have you ever read “To Kill a Mockingbird?” That book is an excellent tool for teaching you how to always treat everyone with kindness and consideration. Atticus teaches his children, and the reader, how not to make hasty judgments. Jem actually judges people and in his thoughts and conversations with Scout, he professes what Scout is thinking; they learn how their quick surface judgments are most often wrong.

Since I’ve read that book as a youngster, I decided to leave the judging to God. I strive to treat everyone with kindness. I strive to kick the judgmental thoughts from my mind before they affect my heart or bleed into my words.

Another great book for that end is “The Shack.”

In both instances I referenced, the book is far more poignant than the film, but the films do a decent job of getting the point across.

Treat others with kindness. Leave the judging to God. He alone knows the heart. Can our sour swift judgments harm? Yes. If we are to be the feet and hands of Jesus, we also need to speak his words to others and in our own hearts. When we allow own hearts to be poisoned by our own sour thoughts we allow ourselves to make hasty judgments, in turn we make poor decisions and usually harm others. We are putting a stumbling block in front of them! This is not how we are supposed to love.

As parents, we also need to avoid making hasty judgments about our children. We may know their hearts, sure. But what good can come of judging without listening? Always ask. Always talk. Always be available for them to speak to you. Your children do know your heart based on what you have shown them during their life – they need you to be a safe place for them to express feelings and emotions and speak troubles. This needs to start from the beginning and continue even when it is hard.

My father was always open where I could talk about anything with him. He guided me through dating and the first few weeks of engagement, he encouraged me to search for character traits, gave me logical wisdom as I relayed scenarios and answers, and offered questions for me to ask that led my fiancé and I into deep discussions where we discovered each other’s hearts. We came to understand our religious, political, family, and deep convictions through soul-baring conversation and intimately know each other.

I am forever thankful for the few months of guidance that led me to understand my future husband. I wanted to be someone my children could come talk to without fear, like my father had. I hope my children always understand that my love for them will never change. I will try to guide them. I will listen. I always try to listen first. I have a fix-it mentality though, which makes it a struggle to just listen when I care about someone and want to help them.

I have to learn, still, that people don’t always want help. They want ears to listen to their heart.

This is treating others with kindness.

Avoiding preconceived judgments (back to my iconic cup).

Listening without judging.

Praying before speaking.

Hearing without repeating (aka no gossiping).

Loving as Christ does.

If I am to be His hands and feet, I need to be his ears and mouth as well. I need to leave judging to God.

(Hope this encourages you as much as writing it encouraged me.)

~Type at you later.

~Nancy Tart

Questions:

September 23, 2019

Questions

I love how children ask questions.  Sometimes their questions make you go search something.  Like “what is a rainbow?” or “why are leaves green?”

Sometimes their questions mirror your own; but those you won’t speak.

You know, questions that your doubting mind asks but your thinking heart understands.

“Why are you crying?” I ask.

My little girl is riding with me to go pick up two of her big sisters, “why did Aunt Mary die?  Why is Mandy’s mom gone?  Jay is a baby; he will never remember his mom.”

Her tears fall as she speaks.  I let her finish talking.  My heart aches.  I ask those questions in my head too. 

“I miss my baby sister too.” I start, I want to connect with her heart. “Our world is broken because of sin.”  She nods, she has heard this too. 

“I know,” she is still slowly crying, “but she loved Jesus since she was little like me.”  (Mary had told them once that she was five when she promised Jesus her heart. I was there.  She was telling everyone about Jesus and was just five years old.)  Jaquline didn’t know how complex her aunt’s life had become so fast.  Because of sinful controlling people in her life that kept her bogged down, in fear of her life or her family’s life, and assaulted her mentally as they tried to keep her quiet and separate her from anyone who truly loved her.  As a young teen, some guy misused her, showed her that from a certain spot he could see her father’s bedroom, and told her one shot through the window would kill the man she loved the most.  He was the first to rip her young heart to shreds with his awful controlling self – then he had the gall to continue to threaten her when she moved 300 miles away!  Others treated her like dirt; lying about those she loved and people who cared about her until she actually believed these lies and isolated herself from those who would have helped her.

I could hate these people.  Instead I pray for them. 

But she’s my baby sister.  There was a part of me that wanted to go “Good Citizen” on their carcasses.  But I know Jesus died for them just like He died for me and I am supposed to love my enemies.

Switch back to my car on the interstate with my nine year old sitting shotgun with silent tears crawling down her fair cheeks.  This all flashes really fast so the same song is still playing.

“Do you ever think about where Aunt Mary is now?” Jaquline says. Newsong’s “My Heart is Already There” was playing in the background.

“Yes.” All the time.  That comforts me. “She’s with Jesus.  Can you imagine?  Being in His presence and seeing his face?”

Jaquline giggles. “Maybe all her puppies will be there.”  (Mary loved animals and was always trying to get a dog, but always the guy she lived with didn’t want one.)

“Remember the pictures of her as a baby chasing Boodle?” I ask (cutest little Maltese my family had twenty years ago) Jaquline laughs.  “I bet she’s petting him instead of chasing him now.”

“I ask Jesus why Aunt Mary is gone.” Her voice is distant. “He doesn’t answer.”

I sighed, “do you know why Jesus made us?”

“To be with Him.” Bingo.

“Yes, He wanted a relationship with us.  He loves each of us.  He didn’t want Mary to die, but now she is with Him all the time.  Only God knows when each person’s time comes to die.  We all will die one day.”

“I always hope to die when I’m old like Boompa,” Jaquline said.  “I’m not so sad for Boompa, but I’m so sad for Aunt Mary.  I’m sad for Grandma.” Yes.  Same for me.  I miss my father immensely.  I miss my sister.  I can’t fathom the depth of grief for my mother. 

“Jesus will comfort Grandma.  We have to help love her too.”  I say.

“We can be Jesus’ arms and hug her!” Jaquline’s tears have dried a bit and she’s now thinking about serving others.  She loves helping; it usually brings her happiness.

“Yes.” I smiled at her as we parked.  “And sometimes Jesus uses her arms to hug you, too.”

Big smiles return. 

Yes.  I totally miss my sister.  I grieve for the harshness she ended up living through for the last few years of her life.  23.  Her life’s clock stopped so short, only 23 years.  I always dreamed of her silly dancing at our Christmas parties for ages, smiling her beaming-happy-smile as she watched nieces and her daughter walk shakily down their aisle to their forever-love, dancing with her sons at their weddings, encouraging my teenagers in their Christian walk toward womanhood, and living her new-found free life focused on her three little angels.  Their plans, maybe not together, but at least working together for the best – the children. So, yes, I asked that question.  “Why, God?  Why is my baby sister dead?”  It seemed so surreal for me.  No body.  No last look.  No nothing.  I keep expecting her to drive up, drop the littles off, and enjoy some of whatever food we have just cooked. 

I know this world is broken by sin.  I know it wasn’t ever in God’s plan for us to have death.  I know my grandmothers, father, and baby sister are in heaven in the presence of God.  I have hope I will see them again.  But yes, I did ask those questions.  Yes, my heart aches for my family who must live without her.  I pray for all of us daily.  I find it hardest to pray for those who have hurt her, but that is my challenge.  I must love them as Jesus did.

My mind drifts back:

“…He has called us too! He has called us too! We are all disciples!  Even me and you!” The little voice yells each stanza of the VBS song.  Jumping with excitement, “did I get them all right?” 

I had been singing along and am raking something for a vegetable bed.  “Yes, Mary, don’t bounce on my tilled dirt.” We laugh and she points at her shoeprints.

“Yippeeeeeee!” She hollers and spins.  “Where’s Easter!  I’m gonna sing it to Easter!”  And she runs off in a singing blur, little bright blue eyes sparkling with life, long wispy blonde hair flying about in the Georgia breeze, she’s going to find that silly yellow hen that actually loves to be captured by Mary and sits contentedly tucked in her arms.  I look up to see my vibrant baby sister swinging on the swingset with Easter in her lap, projecting her beautiful voice with some soul-singer power as she practices the song for tomorrow’s VBS service. (You know, where the kids show off to the adults what they’ve learned in the week) Mary would tell the world that she asked Jesus in her heart about two years later.  She had such a love for life and care for others.  No one is perfect.  We aren’t Jesus.  I love her for her heart.  I will always love my baby sister. No, loss never “gets easy” but I do have hope in Jesus that I will see her again.  And that keeps me out of falling into bitterness. I can’t allow my grief to turn into bitterness.  I can’t be Rose from Overcomer; I have to choose joy.

And just like a soundtrack to my life, as I slide back in the car with the two older girls in tow, For King and Country’s “I Choose Joy” is shouting from the speakers.

Thank you, Jesus.  You know my heart.

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Yummy Harvest

Yummy harvest for us, fried treats for our doggies!

August 4, 2018

Yummy Harvest

Primrose (Christina’s 4-year-old Aussie mix) is waiting by the stove while we walk in and out.  Nothing is cooking there yet, but she knows this is harvest day, and she knows Rebeccah’s special treat is to fry up livers in butter.  Mom likes them, but it started as a treat for the doggies.

Funny how they know.   Sheba (our family’s 11-year-old Aussie mix) pretends she’s too old to move and half-wags her tail from her favorite spot in the house – curled up on top of the air vent in the den.  She strategically puts herself in the room where most people congregate, next to the shoe shelf so as they are leaving she can shoot them with sad eyes to see if she can guilt anyone into talking her outside.  Sheba perks up each time one of the kids comes in the back door, but since no one is carrying the big canning pot yet, she knows it’s still sleeping time.

In I come with the canning pot – Louis has decided to barbecue the chickens, but only three fit on the grill, so the fourth and all the trimmings are in that pot.  Usually, all the chickens are in the pot to be dissected, wrapped, and put away.   The gizzards and hearts are wrapped and frozen (I’ll fry them next time we have fried chicken).  Today’s harvest was tender young chickens and the preferred method of cooking is grilling or baking, whole.  So the fourth is wrapped and frozen.  This leaves the trimmed skins and livers.  The skins are saved for broth (I’ll add the bones and whatever trimmings from the birds being barbecued and simmer with some seasonings, this round should net about 2 to 3 quarts of “concentrated” broth.)

Rebeccah takes control of the livers.  Now Sheba and Prim are sitting by the stove, wagging their tails and almost begging.  They know that stuff is going in their bowl.  Livers don’t freeze well.  They are best fresh.  The only one in the household who likes liver is Mom (me), but I don’t like to eat a ton of them.  So I’ll take a few ounces and leave the rest for the pups.

Finally!  Rebeccah is done (it really only takes about three minutes, but looking at the dogs, you’d think they were waiting for years).  She rinses the pan in just enough water to make sure all the yummy goop is washed into the dog bowls and splits the contents of the pan between the two dogs.  They’ll get all the skins and other meat bits off the bones after I’ve boiled and strained the broth the next day too, but fried livers are their every-two-month treat, and they LOVE it.

Our theory is that Prim realizes the chickens are the liver treat source and therefore protects them jealously from any other animal – but she’s never hurt a chicken because she likes the finished product.

Yummy barbecue for us, yummy treat for our canine protectors.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you later…

~Nancy Tart

 

Amazing Live Music: Evan D Music

(photo from Evan D Music’s Facebook page)

May 29, 2018

Amazing Live Music: Evan D Music

Our weeks are pretty full of stuff.  Between our crossing driver shifts, taxiing children to and from college classes and groups, and just general life – it is awesome to have a mostly-weekly couple getaway afternoon on Mondays.  (THANK YOU! Shout to my amazing sister, Becca, who is brave and possibly just as crazy as me to sometimes text, “Pick them up by 8am tomorrow.”)

That is what we had this week.

The adventure of just Louis and me began with dropping off 7 children at 4pm (Anastasia had “sleptover” Sunday and Christina’s Monday class was canceled because the college was closed) to 6:30am the next day.  Only one cab ride to take someone home before the night was ours.

We had worked in the morning (all 3 cab calls) and ferried Christina to Marine Street for her Civil Air Patrol volunteer time, then spent almost 4 hours playing yard and board games with the girls (I even got to conquer an Age of Empires map with Rebeccah!) so when our time started it was like, “okay, what now?”

I wanted to walk on the beach and surf… wrong tide, and I don’t do baiting-shark surfing (aka night surfing).

Louis said, “I remember hearing some really good music downtown two weeks ago at the Tavern.” (He means the new Taberna del Caballo.)  Oh my! You should go there on Mondays from 4pm to 8pm – trust me, your ears are in for a very special treat!

So down we went.

And there, I was transported backwards to the very skillful, amazing raw guitar sounds that I heard my minstrel-of-the-dawn Daddy playing when I was a child and the awesome worship jams with Louis and his team and I first met.  Clean music, inspiring riffs (…you know, the things where a string musician picks the strings with his fingers so fast the fingers blur all together and you sit in awe with your mouth open…) and timeless songs.

We were listening to the sounds of Evan D Music.  (This guy is about to release a record too… yep, I’m not that old, but projects are records of time and passion, even if they are downloaded on a smart device in snippets.)  He plays around town almost every night but at the Taberna del Caballo Mondays from 4pm to 8pm.

One lady at another table had the best stadium whistle I’d ever heard (right through her fingers, no device!)  I’m sure people at the Oasis on the beach heard it.  You should have seen the two adorable kids dancing along with most of the patrons when one particularly moving song was performed.  (Louis doesn’t dance, so I’m not going to dance without him… but had the girls been there, we would have been dancing around too.)

I love live passionate music.  You can tell when an artist puts their heart and soul into their work – and Evan surely does.  I grew up listening to my Daddy play “story” songs from Phil Collins to Gordon Lightfoot to Jackson Browne, Moody Blues, Beach Boys, and all in between.  (We sat down to hear Evan playing “Kokomo” which was way cooler live with a riff-master on guitar – and he can sing the higher harmonies – I hadn’t heard that since my little brothers’ voices changed!)  My Daddy’s eyes would light up like he had stars in them when he strummed the tunes.  For years, I thought Lightfoot’s “Minstrel of the Dawn” was the story of my Daddy.  I loved just listening to the guys play when Louis and I first met; they’d be crammed in Grandpa’s attic room and wailing away and I’d hide on the stairs or they’d be practicing in the empty auditorium and I would slide off to the dark side entryway and dance.  I still love it when Louis (who claims he’s really rusty) plays guitar or Christina or Becca play piano.

Real music is the love of my heart.  It lifts my soul, engages my mind, heart, memories, and emotions, and spins a relaxing web of tranquility through the air.  This is what I felt listening to the talented Evan D Music; and this wonderful little place on St. George Street will be a regular haunt for us from 4pm to 8pm as long as we have Mondays off and Evan is playing there!

Check Evan D Music out on Facebook and YouTube and come be in his audience before he makes it to the Amphitheatre!

Thanks for reading!

Type at you later…

~Nancy Tart

 

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