Suzette Brawner Speaks

Black Cars

Blackrav4 I don’t know much about cars. Most of the time when asked what kind of car I drive, I say, “Black”. The thought of looking for a car, comparing all the prices and gas mileage equations, then haggling with the sales force makes me need a nap. I’m really not choosy about what I drive, mostly because of my lack of car knowledge. In my opinion the most important thing about a car is cup holder placement. My car has 10 in strategic locations.

The greatest thing Jim Brawner has ever done for me was buy a car and ask me to meet him at the dealership. The salesman handed me the keys, I got in, adjusted the seat and mirrors and drove away. Is that romantic or what?

The other day, after a mind numbing stroll through TJ MAXX, I opened the door to get into my car, but it wasn’t my car. It was black, it was an SUV type of vehicle, but the silver 5 inch heels in the floor of the passenger seat weren’t mine. I jumped back and shut the door, then looked around to see if anyone was watching. It was like stumbling and acting like it was on purpose.

I quickly found my car two spots further down the row and wondered if I should go back and wipe off my finger prints. I called Jill. “You will never believe what I just did,” I said, watching the other black car.

Silence. “OK, well maybe you will.”

She laughed, “What did you do this time.”

My pride a bit wounded, I replayed the last few minutes.

“What kind of car was it, Mom.”

I quickly got out and looked. “Oh brother! Mercedes,” I sighed, as I got back in my car. “But, they look so much alike.”

“Mom, there is a big difference in a Toyota and a Mercedes Benz! A Mercedes has a whole lot more fancy going on.”

I hung up promising to be more careful in parking lots. On the way home I stopped at a light behind a white SUV with fish and hog decals on either side of the Mercedes emblem. The driver must be a fancy, Christian, Razorback fan, I thought. At least I recognized a Mercedes this time.

I’m reading a book, Mud And The Masterpiece, my friend Amy Stillings gave me. It’s one of those perspective shifters full of challenges about how we look at people. The author, John Burke, points out that we humans are quick to slap labels on each other, especially those who don’t look, talk, think or smell like we do. It makes me squirm a little.

Reading that reminded me how quickly I made assumptions about the woman at the traffic light . I didn’t know her at all, but I labeled her. She may not have it all together even though she has a fish on her fancy car. She might be dealing with a lot of hurt and mud in her life. And, just maybe she was driving her sister-in-law’s car and it wasn’t even hers.

John Burke also asks if the reader has ever considered how Jesus looked at people and if that’s how we see and treat others. Jesus chose compassion and grace as opposed to arrogance and being a jerk. After I read that part I had to put the book down for a while.

I’ve been reminded of a couple of things. First: I’m not called to judge and label people, I’m supposed to love and encourage. I’m really working on that. I made a comment the other day about a man who was a bit scary looking and instantly reminded myself; I don’t even know him.

Second: All black cars, especially the SUV type, look the same to me. Maybe I should start looking at people the same way.

One Moment Please…

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operator_(1) The next time I call customer service, especially for utility companies, I’m going to take a couple of laps up and down the street then pause for deep breathing and stretching before I pick up the phone. I might roll with the call a little calmer if I warm up before. What I always think will be quick, turns into 20 minutes of navigating the circuit maze. Simple is nowhere in the equation. You’d think by now I’d learn. I guess I still hold on to hope that I might here a real voice say, “One moment please.”

This was my one sided conversation the other day:

“Thank you for calling ____________. Please listen carefully as our menu options have changed.”

Has every company in the country changed menu options?

“Our customer satisfaction is of utmost importance. Please hold while your call is being transferred.”

During the long silence I caught myself saying “Hello? Hello?” followed by a blast of 80′s music.

“Due to the heavy call volume you may want to refer to our website’s frequently asked questions.”

“No I called to speak to a person. I don’t think the answer to why I’m being charged a city tax when I live in the county will be on the list”, I said back to the recording.

“In order to better direct you, please choose one of the following: billing, service connect, service disconnect, agent.”

“Agent.”

“Did you say billing?”

I tried to sound out agent to make it sound like billing to see how it was mistaken. This only confused the machine.

“Let’s try that again”, the computer said in its most caring voice.

“A g e n t!” I repeated it with all the clarity I could find.

“Did you say connecting new service?”

“No! I clearly said AGENT!!,” I yelled, as if volume increases understanding.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. Goodbye.”

Unbelievable! I just wanted to speak to a breathing human. So once again I handed my composure over to a computer.

Last month’s word was peace, but this month’s word is perseverance. Now if only I could persevere in peace I’d have it made.

Image credit: kbslenglishg.wickispaces.com

Peace, Love, And All That

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peace in pink sand Pat’s name came up in a discussion the other day. She’s a friend I don’t see very often, but when I do, I always wish I could spend more time with her. She makes me smile.

Several years ago I was all wound up about who knows what when we met for lunch. After listening to me vent for 10 minutes straight, she laughed and smiled and said, “Oh well”.

“Oh well? Are you kidding me? This is not good,” I whined.

“Honestly, Suzette, what can you do about it?”

After a pause to get up from that knock down, I grinned. “Absolutely nothing.”

I just finished a book by Debbie Macomber, One Perfect Word. The premise is to take a word to study and focus on for a whole year. She evidently has done this for 20 some odd years. I decided to take a word a month. A year might wear me out.

So the word this month has been peace. It’s been a bit painful which really doesn’t sound right. But just like Pat asking me what I could do about my seemingly hopeless situation, I have been reminded what snatches my peace is mostly junk I can do nothing about.

I’ve discovered I hand my peace over to people I don’t even know at the Walmart Supercenter, at the license bureau, and the post office. I hand my peace over to a computer or a long hold on the phone with an insurance company. I hand my peace over to tourists from Iowa who drive 30 in a 45mph zone. How dare I do that? It’s my own stinking fault.

I’ve learned why it’s called peace of mind … because that’s really the only place peace exists. Our perspective about a situation, not the situation itself, is where peace begins. It’s simply a decision to let it go and one I have to make several times hourly. For me it will likely be a lifetime of giving it away and taking it back. I’m a slow learner.

Maybe when I’m really old peace will just be a part of who I am. Maybe.

Now to decide what the next word of the month should be.

“A heart at peace gives life to the body…” ~Proverbs 14:30

photo credit: stockfreeeimages.com

Dive Under Or Ride It In

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ocean-wave Photo credit:ahisgett (creative comons)

When I was growing up, January was decision making time for our week long summer family vacation. Mom, Dad, my brother, Russ, and I didn’t like change much so we usually unanimously voted to go to the beach in Florida or south Alabama. One year Mom and Dad thought it sounded educational to go though Williamsburg on the way to Virginia beach. They lost eight year old Russ for a couple of hours at one of the historical sites. He was in a theater watching a 20 minute Colonial history movie over and over and over. The next year we went back to Alabama.

Every day the vacation schedule was about the same. Breakfast in the hotel dining room, the morning split between the beach and pool, then lunch and repeat for the afternoon. We always saved one day for deep sea fishing. The Virginia Beach summer Russ ate too many blueberry pancakes before boarding the fishing boat. That disaster needs no description.

On the beach Russ and I would spend hours right at the edge of the surf where the waves broke. One afternoon we watched a beautiful lady with extra long legs wade out to pose for a picture. We tried to warn her about the huge wave coming but she just smiled at us. It knocked her down and pushed her upon the shore like a beached manatee. She got up with her swim suit top around her waist saying words I’d never heard before. She wasn’t from Alabama. Cussing sounds a little less crass in French.

I learned a very important lesson from the beach. When a wave is coming, you really only have 2 good choices … dive under it or ride it in. I ate a lot of sand figuring out that concept. Trying to solve a problem the other day I remembered Russ and the waves and how many times we spit out sand before learning to either dive under or ride it in.

I suppose as adults, when waves of challenge are headed toward us, the choices are about the same as they are when we’re kids at the beach; dive under, ride it in, or eat sand and cuss in French.

“Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you.” ~Proverbs 2:11

The Trap

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There’s just something about glue and glitter that brings creative out in even the most linear thinkers. In first grade one of my proudest moments was presenting Mom the Christmas tree I’d designed at school. It was the second draft. I thought the first one was signature worthy until I looked around the table. At six I learned about the danger of comparison. Just catching a glance of Anne and Wesley’s trees sent the first draft under my desk.

Then I grew up, sort of. I caught myself comparing all kinds of Christmas everything the other day. And I wonder why I clench my teeth. It’s such a trap. Comparing my shoes or my hair is like stepping on a mouse trap, maybe even bare footed if it’s really good hair on one of my bad hair days. But Christmas traps …. those are like the ones in old Tarzan movies where holes are covered with tree branches hiding the trap for an unsuspecting bad guy or tiger. You’re minding your own business and BOOM you’re at the bottom of the pit declaring your cookies with never be good enough.

How can we get so off course? I suppose it’s because there’s so much to compare this time of year. I’d imagine it makes Jesus sad watching all the silliness. Take a minute today to remember why we decorate and bake anyway.

The 30 Day Challenge

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In the last few years there have been plenty of 30 day challenges, things like losing weight, random acts of kindness, and P90X killer workouts. I usually don’t jump in because I’m prone to not make the 30 days because of what I think are valid excuses. And nothing beats me up more than starting something and not finishing.

The craziest challenge I took on and completed was 365 days posting on the blog in 2010. I thought that one up all by myself and two years I’m still wondering why. OK, that was a little overboard, but now I fully understand the meaning of burn out. Certainly that’s why my posts have been sketchy at best. I’m finally ready to write again.

It’s the last official day for the 30 day November grateful journey. I, of course, didn’t take the challenge. However this morning when I heard Jim Brawner get out of bed, I was overwhelmed with gratefulness: grateful he’s the father of my three kids and Big to my gaggle of grandkids, grateful he is such a man of integrity and loyalty, and grateful he loves me in spite of me.

I suppose when I married him while we were both still in college, I did take on a challenge of sorts, kind of a lifetime challenge. Anyone who says marriage isn’t challenging is lying or taking too much Valium. But, I suppose all of our trials and highs and lows have only made us stronger. Mistakes yes, regrets none, because trial and error have made us who we are.

Grateful I took that challenge a long time ago … you bet. There’s no one I’d rather do life with than Jim Brawner.

Leftovers

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One of my favorite things about Thanksgiving is leftovers. For some reason everything tastes even better the next day. Maybe 24 hours gives the sage in the dressing and all spice in the pumpkin pie time to really do its work. When I was a kid Mom would bone the turkey into bite-sized pieces and hide them in the freezer. Every brown sack school lunch the next week would have white bread, mayonnaise, and almost-thawed-turkey sandwich. Fabulous!

By now most of the leftover turkey has been finished off or frozen, we’ve tackled Black Friday with Excel spread sheets and the relatives have gone back home. Peace on earth has returned, maybe.

Thanksgiving can set the stage for wonderful memories or a nightmarish 4 week dread of Christmas. And it’s all based on leftovers … not the food kind.

There’s a gloom that can creep in and stick like tree sap if we let it. The sheer adrenaline crash after the long weekend is enough to exhaust most of us. And dealing with a cracky, rude uncle, or a mother whose expectations will never be met, or entitled kids home from college will wear down the strongest. Those people may all be gone, but the snide, sarcastic comments and lack of consideration have left many just wanting to sleep until January 2.

My pastor friend Jim Fryer posted today, “There are over seven billion people on this earth. Are you going to let one person ruin your day?” I think that’s one way of asking if you’re going to let Aunt Martha’s comment about your tough pie crust or your dad’s joking about your lack of football skills hang around like spoiled leftovers.

So, toss all that in the trash and take it out. According to the music piped in at the mall “It’s the most wonderful time of the year”. The exciting thing is we get to choose; recount our blessings and enjoy the holidays or nibble on emotional leftovers for the next month. What will you do?

Have You Ever Noticed?

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Recently I discovered my two year old granddaughter intently watching masses of ladybugs crawling on a tree trunk outside a restaurant. When I asked what she was doing she said, “Sue Sue, look at this! I found millions of ladybugs! Millions! They’re crawling everywhere!”

She was wowed.

What struck me was likely scores of people had walked by the same tree and I wondered how many had noticed the ladybugs. If any, I guarantee they were under the age of five. That’s when I began to understand why life speeds up, out of control. We become so unaware. We just don’t know. We miss so much.

I want to slow down and become a noticer! How about you?

The Roundabout

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Traffic tops the list of things I really don’t like. That green plastic Easter grass now available in assorted pastels, roaches, mice, and losing Jim Brawner in Walmart finish out the top five. Cell phones have lowered the losing Jim Brawner in Walmart to #5. The only reason it’s still on the list is he sometimes doesn’t answer, which makes it even more frustrating.

Close to creeping onto The List is roundabouts. We now have three in our town. Maybe it’s not the roundabout itself that irritates me, but the out-of-towners who have never driven on one. I will admit when the first round intersection opened a few years ago I was concerned I might get stuck in the middle lane circling like Chevy Chase in European Vacation. It took a few times to figure it out

There are a couple of roundabout rules that obviously need to be followed. The entering traffic must yield to the traffic already in the circle and the flow runs counter clockwise. If you live in a country that drives on the right side of the road, the flow runs clockwise. To avoid disaster, you have to play by the rules.

Last week I approached the largest roundabout in town with my guard down to lost tourists since it was late at night. To my amazement a woman rolled up to the intersection on my right, looked both ways and turned left driving right past me to the next exit point. Really? Well, maybe she was from London. Probably not.

I thought about the lost woman as I drove home and realized we had something in common. The past month or so has been a bit off kilter and out of sync. Everything normally easy has been challenging, routine has not been routine, and change has sprung up everywhere. I feel like I’ve been driving the wrong way on a roundabout.

Like wearing a wool sweater without an undershirt, it’s been aggravating. But after considering everything, I realized I can’t change or control anything but my attitude. That bit.

I suppose we all get off track every now and again and again and again, like turning left on the roundabout. It’s good to remember to get back in the flow of traffic it only takes few minor adjustments that normally begin with attitude.

Don’t Stop

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Sitting at a grade school talent show, inspired by a rousing piano rendition of Ode To Joy, skits written by fourth graders, and a boy bouncing on a pogo stick the whole four minutes and three seconds of Van Halen’s song Jump, I had a flashback. Not like a Van Halen type flashback, but a nostalgic one. As the emcee announced the ensemble of two, third grade girls on the violin and saxophone and Jackson Brawner on the trumpet, the same butterflies started flapping that always surfaced when Jason Brawner’s name was ever announced.

For Jackson, this was serious business and he didn’t miss a note of Bugler’s Dream, better known as the Olympics song. I was amazed and instantly felt that sting behind my nose signaling tears are next. Honestly, keeping it together at an elementary school program should not be a struggle. Why is it things connected to childhood stir emotions in even the most stoic adult? Something about the setting took me on a memory trip to high school. Where did all this come from?

That I was stronger than some of the guys on the real football team and could even out-run a few of them wasn’t glamorous, but it did get me the fullback position on the powderpuff team. My friend Ginny who, on the other hand, was petite, beautiful and defined femininity, shocked everyone with her throwing arm so she was named quarterback. What impressed me more than her arm was she cut off her perfectly manicured nails to get a better grip on the football. For Ginny, like Jackson, this was serious business.

Because the big game was a fundraiser, parents, teachers and the student body came out to see how much the cheerleaders actually knew about football. Trailing by a few points with just a few seconds left on the clock, Ginny called one of the secret plays we had only run in practice. Surely this was the magic. Ginny would hand me the ball as I went opposite of the flow of players and hopefully they would be fooled.

Then it happened, our semi reverse worked! I took off like never before. Now it had become serious business for me.

When I was about five feet from the goal line, the referee’s whistle blew. Confused, I stopped because no one had my flag. No one was near me so why was the whistle blown? Then a girl from the other team flew past me like The Roadrunner snatching the flag off my belt. The sidelines roared and I was still confused.

As I headed to the sidelines, John, the coach who was one of the real football players, pointed to his watch. The whistle I heard was to only signal time had expired off the clock. I stared at him in disbelief as tears leaked. I had stopped 5 feet short of victory for my team. How could the girls ever forgive me? How could I ever forgive myself?

My friend John, in all of his 17-year-old wisdom, hugged me and said what I have always remembered, “It’s OK Suzette. Just remember this: Next time don’t stop until you get to where you’re going, even if you hear a whistle.”

How many times do we stop five feet short of the goal because we are worn out, or distracted, or confused? We give up on projects, we give up on dreams, and we give up on people. What’s really sad is, if we give up, we’ll never know how good it feels to do the victory dance in the end zone, even if it’s only in our minds.

The applause, cheering and whistling brought my attention back to the school auditorium. Jackson had the victory dance going on in his smile; satisfaction of a job well done. Oh, the things you can be reminded of watching a grade school talent show.

Don’t stop until you get to where you’re going.