Dealing with Disappointment and Depression

His eyes look right into my soul.
Naylor Made Photography

I suffered a disappointment today. Not a big thing, just an unfulfilled expectation. No lives were permanently changed, I was just disappointed.

I know all the right phrases to say in these situations: "All things work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose;" "His timing is perfect;" "Give thanks in all things;" I believe all those things are true. I strive to be obedient to the faith and knowledge that I have, but sometimes my heart hurts.
When diagnosing the cause of my heartache or depression, I ask myself three questions: Are you eating nutritiously; have you had enough rest; and, have you exercised? Why question my physical wellbeing when my emotions are out of balance? Because we live within natural laws of this world. My physical state impacts my spiritual and emotional state. If the answer to any of those questions is, "No," I do what I have to rectify the situation.

If the answer is, "Yes," I try to look outward instead of inward. I've indulged in more than a few pity parties. In fact I throw a good one, but I have never found self-absorption to be the solution. The answer for me is to do something for someone else. It doesn't have to be a big thing, just something. 
Tomorrow I will steam-clean my mother's carpets. I will visit my dad at the rehab center where he is recovering from hip replacement surgery. I will thank God all the way home for my working arms and legs. Then I'll probably pay someone to clean my carpets!

A dear friend shared this prayer with me. It is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi. I carry a copy in my purse. It seems to fit every occasion.

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is error, the truth;

Where there is doubt, the faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled, as to console;

To be understood, as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Graham Streusel Cake

My son is not one to eat many sweets. In fact, he asks for pie on his birthday, not cake. He loves this cake because it's nice and light.
This is my go-to recipe when I need a easy coffee cake for a ladies coffee or lunch. Great after a meal, it's even better as a pick-me-up with a cup of coffee in the middle of the afternoon.

Struesel Topping Ingredients (chopped nuts were omitted on this occasion)

Cake ingredients

Melt butter. Mix together with cinnamon, brown sugar, chopped pecans, and graham crackers crumbs for topping.

Mix until crumbly

Mix cake ingredients together as directed on back of the box.

Beat for three minutes on medium speed

Pour half of cake mixture into greased 9x13 pan.

Cover with half of crumb mixture

Continue with remaining cake mixture

Finish with remaining half of crumb mixture. BAKE at 350 for 30-40 minutes.

For glaze combine powdered sugar and water.

Stir until smooth

Remove baked cake from oven when toothpick inserted in the
middle covers out clean

While still warm, drizzle glaze over top.

Graham Streusel Cake

TOPPING:

2 cups graham cracker crumbs

¾ cup chopped nuts

¾ cup brown sugar (packed)

1 ¼ teaspoons cinnamon

¾ cup butter, melted

CAKE:

1 package white cake mix

1 cup water

¼ cup vegetable oil

3 eggs

VANILLA GLAZE:

Mix 2 cup powdered sugar 

1 to 2 tablespoons water until desired consistency.

Enjoy!

Suicide Survivor

I hadn't talked to my older sister in six months to a year, but she called to wish me a happy birthday. She sounded anxious and flustered. I could hear the wind in the phone and the crunch of gravel as she paced.

“Randa, are you okay?” I asked after a minute of pleasantries. 

"No, not really. After I lost my job at Wal-Mart, I got a job helping emotionally challenged kids. I thought I could make a difference. I understand what they go through. The director said I wasn’t the fit they were looking for and let me go. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.

I’ve been clean and sober for two years, but it is so hard to stay that way. I don’t have any support at home. My husband says it’s his house and if he wants a drink, he’s going to have it,” her voice broke.

Alarmed, I asked, “Randa, are you on your medication for bi-polar disorder?”

“No, I can’t afford it without a job or insurance.”

“Honey, you’ve got to get some help. I can’t do anything from Texas. Is there anyone in Kansas I can call for you?”

“I’ll be fine. Talking to you helps,” she continued to pace.

“Lace, do you think God will forgive me for all the things I’ve done?” she asked.

“Don’t you know He only forgives the perfect people?” I responded. She guffawed. I teased her because we’d had this conversation before. I knew she knew the answer, but it worked to break the tension.

“Randa, no one is perfect. If I gave you a beautifully wrapped gift would you open it or would you put it on a shelf and wonder if it was for you?”

“I’d open it, of course,” she said.

“God’s forgiveness is the same. It was yours the first time you asked for it, but you’ve placed it on a shelf. Open the gift, Randa!"

I assured her of God’s unconditional love and begged her to get some help. She assured me she would be fine. I should have called her husband or sons and thrown a fit, but I didn’t want to interfere.

Last family photo, November 2003. Randa is in the middle of the front row.

    Five weeks later on October 2, 2004, my mother called with the news. In good spirits that morning, Randa had fixed a big breakfast for her husband. They sat and chatted before she saw him off to work with a goodbye kiss. He was clueless to her plan. 
     Her 32-year-old son was living in the basement of their home at the time. He had spent the night out and ran home before work to pick-up a few things. Entering the house, he called out for his mom, but got no answer. He ran downstairs to grab a clean shirt and saw Randa’s little Boston Terrier lying at the end of the bed. He called to her as he started up the stairs. She didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed focused on the other side of the bed. He walked back downstairs and around the bed to see his mother’s lifeless body on the floor. She had used his gun to end her life. She was only 52 years-old.

     Today, I’d like to shine some light on the subject of suicide and depression. Every year at this time a spirit of depression descends on our entire family. It affects not just my parents and Randa’s three sons, but my siblings and my children. Two years I was surprised to recognize some of the symptoms listed below in myself. I have a wonderful life and do not consider myself depressed. My doctor however explained it as a chemical imbalance and prescribed a low dosage of an antidepressant. I am amazed how the cloud in my brain has lifted. I no longer wake-up to a barrage of negative, self-defeating thoughts and my energy has returned. My only side-affect seems to be a dry mouth. It is totally worth it for the clarity which has been restored to me. I thank God for giving man the intelligence to create such a little pill.
     The The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, along with other helpful information, lists the following warning signs of suicide:

Observable signs of serious depression:

• Unrelenting low mood
• Pessimism
• Hopelessness
• Desperation
• Anxiety, psychic pain and inner tension
• Withdrawal
• Sleep problems
• Increased alcohol and/or other drug use
• Recent impulsiveness and taking unnecessary risks
• Threatening suicide or expressing a strong wish to die

Making a plan:

• Giving away prized possessions
• Sudden or impulsive purchase of a firearm
• Obtaining other means of killing oneself such as poisons or medications

• Unexpected rage or anger

      The emotional crises that usually precede suicide are often recognizable and treatable. Although most depressed people are not suicidal, most suicidal people are depressed. Serious depression can be manifested in obvious sadness, but often it is rather expressed as a loss of pleasure or withdrawal from activities that had been enjoyable. One can help prevent suicide through early recognition and treatment of depression and other psychiatric illnesses.

      Ken Duckworth, medical director of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, stated in an article in USA Today, “Ninety percent of people who die by suicide have a mental illness, and many are afraid to seek help. Sometimes people fear they will lose their jobs or be viewed differently if they acknowledge these problems."

     If you or someone you love exhibits any of these symptoms, I implore you to get help. There is no shame in seeking treatment. Depression is an illness which can be treated. If your loved one had pneumonia you would cart them off to the hospital whether they liked it or not. Mental illness should be viewed in the same way. You may save their life or your own.
     The National Suicide Prevention Hotline number is 1-800-273-8255.

     Gratefully, that is not the end of the story. Two years to the day of sister's death, my granddaughter, T-Bug, was born. She is the epitome of joy!

God redeemed the day. He gave us the opportunity to celebrate life, rather than mourn a senseless death. 

The Wedding

A DIY wedding makes for a weary bride.

Our road to happily-ever-after suffered twists and turns and more than one bump.On our first date Sweet & Sensitive told me he was recently divorced. I had dated men whose definition of "recently separated" was since breakfast. A little short on trust, Monday morning found me at the County Courthouse checking out his definition. Records confirmed his divorce had been filed the day we met, but separated for over a year.
By December I knew I could get old with S&S. It took a year to convince him of the same. Fear of a rebound romance caused him to second-guess his feelings. I wasn't willing to wait at home while he dated around. Arguments and breakups, albeit short ones ensued. In January of 1984 he decided he'd rather marry me than risk losing me. Not very romantic, but it's worked out for us.We set the wedding for July 14.
We entered into our partnership with loads of debt. He made rent, alimony, car, and child support payments in addition, to credit card debts from the first marriage. I made house and car payments, but received a whopping $125 a month for child support. We each paid our children's health insurance and medical bills. There was little money leftover for a wedding.
Since it was our second wedding we wanted to keep it small and informal. His parents' home was a venue we could afford.

My mother and I made all the flower arrangements and decorated the home.
 I made the cake ahead of time, froze it, and my sister frosted and
 assembled it the morning of the wedding. 

I designed my dress and Mom made it for me.

She made Baby's dress and Baby Boy's ring bearer pillow

Dr.Lavon Brown of First Baptist Church, Norman,
 graciously consented to marry us.

Even a small wedding has it's share of drama. During the wedding vows Ralph seemed distracted and amused. I did not find his inattention humorous.

He seemed to be laughing at something behind Dr. Brown.

After the kiss, he showed me how the cake had slowly
 thawed and fallen over in the July heat.

He righted the cake. We cut it and every morsel was consumed by our guests, along with everything else on the buffet table. 

Randall and Priscella Thetford, the Baptists
Roland and Carol Stussi, the Lutherans
came together for this mixed marriage.

We became a family and added one more the next year.

Lord, Have Mercy

“I’m going to be late,” I said my voice quivering.

“Is traffic bad?” Sweetheart asked.

“No, I got a speeding ticket,” my voice broke.

"What? Are you okay? Are you still driving?” he asked.

“No, I’m parked. I’m shaking so hard I pulled over to call you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you did,” he said.” Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, I’m fine. I can’t believe I got a ticket. I don’t remember the last time I got a speeding ticket. It’s been at least 15 years,” I replied with a hint of righteous indignation.

“What happened?”

 "North of Denton on I-35 the speed limit was 75 mph. It slowed to a crawl south of Denton although I never saw an accident or a broken down vehicle. When traffic finally began to pick up near Lewisville the speed limit was 60 mph. The drivers must have gotten impatient cause I had cars passing me like I was sitting still. A Silverado pickup zipped by me; I got cut-off by an SUV; and then a Ford F-150 blew my doors off." I paused to recall all the details.

"I was at the back of the pack when a police cruiser pulled into traffic behind me. I took my foot off the gas, looked down at my speedometer and relaxed. I was going a little over the speed limit, but not much. I watched him in my rear-view mirror. He turned his lights on. I moved to the right lane so he could catch the speeder, but he was after me! I can’t believe he chose to stop the Toyota hybrid. Reeaallly?”  I said dragging the word out sarcastically. “Hybrids don’t exactly have a reputation for racing speeds.”

“Did you try to talk him out of it?”

“I didn’t flash him, if that’s what you mean. Who wants to see my old lady cleavage?” I huffed.

“That’s not what I meant, Lace,” he chuckled.  “But it would have worked for me.”

“Well, I appreciate that you find me attractive, but it wouldn't have been respectful to you or to God for me to behave like a trollop,” I said mollified by the compliment.

“So what did you do?” he asked.

“I choked back the tears, but my hands were shaking when I gave him my registration, I didn’t want to appear manipulative. I explained how long it’s been since I’ve had a ticket. I told the officer I was on my way home from the funeral of a 21-year-old girl who died in a tragic car accident, so I know I was driving carefully. I told him I thought he stopped the wrong car. I told him about the trucks passing me and the SUV cutting me off. I didn’t make the hybrid remark, but I asked him if he could please give me a warning. He told me he was sorry, but he had to give me a ticket. He said I could explain to the Judge. I put my head on the steering wheel for a couple of seconds and then took the ticket. He even thanked me for being so respectful,” my voice rose in frustration as the tears began to flow.

“Honey, calm down. That is all you could do. We’ll figure it out. Come on home, but drive carefully.”

I set my cruise control on 60 mph and stayed in the right-hand lane for the next hour. Sweetheart met me in the garage. He opened the car door and drew me into his arms. Within the safety of his warm embrace, I began to sob.

“Babe, it’s okay.” He kissed the top of my head. “Come on in. Sit down. I’ll get your bags later.”

He sat beside me on the couch and placed his arm around me. Handing me a tissue, he said, “Okay, let’s look at the ticket.”  I handed him the ticket.

“Huh, this is not from the Texas State Highway Department,” his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s from Hickory Creek Municipal Court. I’m surprised they were patrolling I-35.”

“What is the fine?” I asked, certain the fee would be less in a municipal court.

“’For speeds 10 to 20 miles over the speed limit-$200.00.’ What? $200!” he exclaimed.

“I will admit to being 5 miles over the speed limit but not 15. What is the fine for that?” I asked hopefully.

“’For speeds from 1 to 9 miles over the speed limit it is $190’,” he read.

“Are you kidding me? Just $10 more? That’s ridiculous. This fine is not about justice. It’s about revenue for Christmas bonuses! We can’t afford $200 at Christmas time. I have to fight it.

I’m going to the Courthouse with a turkey and offer it for their Christmas party. Obviously that’s what this is about. Then I’m going to throw myself on the mercy of the court reasoning that thirty years of working for attorneys is punishment enough. A judge will understand that!” Outrage replaced tears.

“No, you are not, Lace,” he admonished. “It’s okay to vent to me, but a judge will cite you for contempt and throw you in jail. You are going to stay home and pay the fine. “He hugged me tighter.

I sat up and pulled away undeterred. "What is the date of the hearing?"

“January 22, 2013. You leave for Hungary on January13^th and won’t be back until February 9^th. You can’t be in court." 

I sank back into the couch. “But it is so unfair. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t going fifteen miles over the speed limit.”

"You admit you were 5 miles over the speed limit. It would cost more than $10 for gas to argue your case.”

“I know, but it makes me so mad. I have such good arguments too!” I said petulantly.

“I don’t want you getting yourself in more trouble, Ms. Sassypants,” he said taking the ticket. “We’ll have to wait a few days for it to be posted, but I’ll go online and pay the fine.”

I didn’t want to submit to his authority, but I did. Not just because I am commanded to do so, but because he protects and cherishes me as he was commanded*. We placed the ticket in a drawer to be dealt with after the first of the year.

Once the Christmas tree came down and decorations were stored, I began to prepare for my trip to Hungary. In addition to packing for the month away, I needed to take care of the ticket.

“Sweetheart, did you pay the ticket?”

“I’ve gone online three times to pay it, but your ticket doesn’t show up. I’m sorry, you are going to have to call the Court Clerk during the week and see if you can pay it over the phone."

I called called the Court Clerk the next day and explained my situation. I gave her my name, address, and read off the citation number. I heard the keys clicking as she entered the information. I explained the circumstances around my ticket.

"Yes, ma’am, I intend to pay the fine, but my citation does not come up when I enter the number,” I said.

“Let me try it,” she replied.
“Huh,” she said. “It doesn’t come up for me either. I can pull up the citation before yours and the citation after, but I can’t get yours to come up.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to worry about it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That kind of scares me because I am leaving the country for a month.  I don’t want to get home and find a warrant has been issued for failure to appear.”

“Let me go talk to the officer who wrote the citation and see what I can find out. Can you hold for a minute?”

“I’d be happy to.” My pulse quickened with anticipation. The longer I was on hold the more excited I grew. Could it be that he changed his mind? But he said it was already entered into the system so he couldn’t just give me a warning.

Was I going to be granted mercy after all? I didn’t deserve it. I did break the law. But isn't that the very definition of mercy:  compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender; lenient or compassionate treatment.

“Ma’am?” she said, coming back on the line. “I talked to the officer. He said he voided the citation. You don’t need to pay it.”

“Really? Did he say why?" 

“He just said he voided it for technical reasons before it went to the judge.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”

Wow! Did the officer change his mind because I was respectful? Because I didn’t try to manipulate him with flashes of flesh or tears?  Did God reward my obedience in submitting to my husband in spite of my rebellious nature? Whatever the reason, I thanked God for this gift of mercy.

In my spirit, He gently reminded me of His merciful gift of salvation. He prompted me to celebrate His mercy by being merciful to those who irritate, use, hurt, or offend me. There is plenty of mercy to go around; use some--for yourself** and for others***. You will need it someday. I know have and always will.

*Wives submit to your own husbands as to the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church...husbands are to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. Ephesians 5:22-28 HCSB

**The merciful are blessed, for they will be shown mercy.” Matthew 5:7

 ***For judgment is without mercy to the one who hasn’t shown mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” James 2:13

FRESH STRAWBERRY PIE

This fresh strawberry pie is a family favorite. It appears on the table for every Easter dinner, (and lunch...and sometimes breakfast. What? It's fruit!) and other special dinners. About eight years ago our dear friend, evangelist Darren Bruce and his wife, Nirmala, brought Dallas Cowboy, Woody Danzler home for dinner. Darren's smile and booming voice filled the house as he raised his hands and announced, "Oh my, my, my!That's smells so good. Let's just thank Jesus now!" We watched in amazement as he and Woody destroyed BBQ ribs, baked beans, Jailhouse rolls, and a huge piece of strawberry pie. Woody raved about the food and backed up his words by demolishing seconds and thirds. I sent him home with a dozen rolls and half a strawberry pie. The next day I received the supreme compliment. Darren told me Woody stopped at Pappas Brothers Steakhouse for a birthday dinner for one of the other players. When harassed for not ordering anything but a glass of water, Woody bragged on the best meal he'd ever eaten. Thanks, Woody.
I received this recipe as a young bride in Beaver, Oklahoma. Our church was having some kind of dinner, probably a Valentine Banquet. Those who volunteered to bring dessert were asked to make this pie. The recipe came from Willie Harvey. Thanks, Willie.

Gather all your ingredients. I usually use butter for the crust but this time I used a
non-dairy buttery spread for my granddaughter who can't eat dairy.
For my gluten -free friends, I use a gluten-free shortbread cookie crust.
It's not easy making everyone happy, but I try.

You can buy a graham cracker crust, but there is nothing better than a
thick fresh crispy homemade crust.
 So easy too. Just combine crumbs, sugar and butter.

Blend together and press into pie pan. I like to bake mine at 375 for 6 min. for a crispy crust.

While the crust is cooking and cooling make your filling. 
Combine the dry ingredients in a 2 qt. saucepan.

Pour boiling water over dry ingredients and stir until smooth.

Cook over medium heat, stirring often.

Cook until thickened.

Set aside the filling and crust to cool.

I have two tools that make slicing large quantities of strawberries a breeze.

The strawberry huller pops the top off with little waste.

The mushroom/egg slicer zips through a quart of strawberries in less than two minutes.

Place your sliced strawberries on top of the cooled pie crust.

Cover the strawberries with cooled filling. I like to toss the strawberries with the filling so they are
covered on top and bottom. Chill until ready to serve. 
Top with whipped cream or non-dairy whipped topping.

FRESH STRAWBERRY PIE

1 C. boiling water

1 C. sugar (I use less, but this is the way the original recipe was written) 

3 T. cornstarch

3 T. pkg. Strawberry Jello (I like the Wild Strawberry, if you can find it). 

          Stir dry ingredients together.  Pour boiling water over dry ingredients.  Cook until thickened.  Cool and pour over 1 pint fresh; cut-up strawberries arranged in a graham cracker pie crust.  Cover with Cool-Whip or serve with whipped cream.  (Double the recipe if you use a quart of strawberries)

Graham Cracker Crust

 Mix:   1 ¼ C graham cracker crumbs

          ¼ C. sugar

          1/3 c. melted butter

Shape:  Using back of large spoon, press crumb mixture firmly on bottom and up sides of an 8 or 9 inch pie plate.

For a crispier texture, bake shaped crust at 375 for 6 – 8 minutes; cool then fill.

You might as well make two. One won't be enough!

Blind Date--A Gift of Grace

In the days before Match.com and eHarmony, blind dates were arranged by friends or family. Mine was envisioned by a recently hired co-worker, Teri. Over lunch our conversation turned to the sad state of the dating pool. I bemoaned the fact that none my last five dates warranted a relationship.  

“I need to date around,” I sighed.

“I could set you up with a couple of guys I worked with before I got laid off. One is real macho and the other is sweet and sensitive,” she proffered.

“I’ve had macho. I’ll take sweet and sensitive.”

“I’ll give him a call. Maybe we can all go to lunch.”

When Sweet and Sensitive called, we chatted with ease. In fact we were so comfortable we decided not to include Teri on our Friday night date.

Friday, October 29, 1982, was a fun day at work. We all dressed in costume. Everyone brought food. We turned the music up and played all afternoon. If Facebook had been around at the time I’m certain some embarrassing photos would have been posted.

 When the clock struck five, I had one hour to turn from a wicked witch into an appealing first date. I raced to retrieve my 2 year-old daughter from the babysitter. Once home, I threw her a cup of apple juice and turned on cartoons. Zipping down the hall I discarded clothes and a long dark wig. I ripped off the false eyelashes and hooked nose as I jumped into a still cold shower. Shampoo flying, I washed my hair, scrubbed green paint off my face, and the remaining spirit gum from my nose. The hairdryer wasn’t the only thing turned on turbo as I dried my hair and quickly reapplied makeup. At exactly 6:00 pm Baby and I were dressed and peeking out the window when Sweet and Sensitive pulled into the driveway.

“He’s cute,” Baby said.

“Yes, he is.” I replied while hauling out my mental checklist: attractive – check; prompt--check; suit (employed) – check; late model car (not a beat-up truck w/empty cans in the flatbed)—check. So far, so good, I thought as I opened the door.

“Come in. I’m Lacene. This is my daughter.”

 He smiled and shook her hand.

 “Thank you for letting me pick you up right after work,” he said. “I work here in Norman, but live in Oklahoma City. I thought it would be more efficient to pick you up before I go home. I'll take a quick shower and we can go on to dinner. I made reservations at a restaurant close to my apartment. I’ll bring you home before you turn into a pumpkin." He finally took a breath.

I had some concerns about a stop at his apartment, but I liked the idea of a restaurant which required reservations. I had a date with one man who thought Furr’s Cafeteria was the perfect place to celebrate a new job. It was also the last date with him.

“That would be fine,” I said. “Would you like to sit and have a drink first?”

“If you don’t mind, why don’t we go on to Oklahoma City. We’ll have a 45-minute drive to visit.”

“Okay, let me grab my purse.”

He opened the car door for me and placed Baby in the back seat. He made sure the tail of my dress wasn’t hanging out before he shut the door. Good manners—check.

Baby screamed, “Oh, Mommy! My fingers!”

I jumped out of the car and grabbed her from the back seat. He was already at my side.

“What happened?” he asked.

He was so distraught I hated to tell him. “You slammed her fingers in the door.”

“Let’s get some ice on them.”

He took the screaming child from me while I dug for my house keys. I opened the door. He raced to the freezer, grabbed an ice cube and placed it on her fingers. She sat in the crook of his arm contemplating him with teary eyes. She had stopped screaming the moment he took her from me.

He knows how to handle children – check.

After a few minutes of ice and soothing words, Baby let us look at her fingers. They were red, but not bruised or broken. Luckily they were caught in the rubber weather-stripping and not the door itself. We breathed a sigh a relief that this date would not take place in the ER. We took her on to the babysitter’s where he insisted on paying.

Whoa, that wasn’t even on my checklist, I thought. I never had a date offer to pay the babysitter, much less insist on it. I may just marry this guy.

As we drove to his apartment I learned he was recently divorced after seven years of marriage. He had a five-year-old son. His visitation on alternate weekends never seemed enough, so he kept his son as much as possible during the week. His business administration degree came from OU. He went on to get his CPA while working for Arthur Young. The hours were long and hard on his marriage. When he and his wife separated he took a job in the private sector. He was now a financial manager at an oil well instrumentation company in Norman. He had been Teri’s boss before she got laid off.

Ahhh, that explains his efficiency and promptness.  I like it.

I gestured with my hands as we talked, and saw a flash of black. I looked down at my hands. To my horror I realized my nails were still painted black. (In 1982 Goth was not a trend, nor was blue, green or black nail polish. It was just weird!)

“Oh my gosh! I am so embarrassed,” I said. “In my rush to get ready, I forgot to take off the black nail polish from my witch costume.”

“It’s okay,” he winked. “I thought you were just kinky.”

I blushed and contemplated crawling under the seat. What kind of checklist is he keeping?

“Don’t worry about it. You look fine. It doesn’t matter," he said and meant it.Our conversation continued until we reached his apartment.

“Come on in,” he said opening my car door. I followed him to his first floor apartment. He unlocked the door and held it for me. I entered tentatively not knowing what to expect. I dated men in the past who decorated their living rooms with weight benches and barbells and smelled of old gym socks.He stripped off his coat and tie. “I promise I won’t be more than 20 minutes. Make yourself comfortable. Here’s the TV remote.”

I took the remote and set down on the couch. From that vantage point, I could see 400 square feet of tastefully decorated space. Ornamental pillows perched atop a crisply-made bed. A scented candle adorned a tidy kitchen counter. A bar set with two place-mats created the dining space. The tiny living room walls were hung with tasteful artwork. I was impressed. Did he do this? Or was the ex-wife still in the picture?

True to his word, he walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later. Dressed in a starched white shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a Houndstooth blazer slung over his shoulder, he was a vision of masculinity. I followed his well-fitting jeans out the front door and tried not to stumble as I enjoyed the view. No well-worn circle from his chewing tobacco--check.

“Do you like Japanese food?” he asked.

“I love all kinds of Asian food. I was raised in the Philippines and Guam.”

“Good, I’ve made reservations at a Japanese restaurant that cooks your food on a Hibachi grill in front of you.”

“Perfect, that will be fun,” I smiled glad that it wasn’t a stuffy formal restaurant.

“We are a little early. Do you want to have a drink in the bar while we wait for our table?”

“I’d love to.” I said eager for a something to calm my nerves.

Over drinks I learned his mother and aunt had decorated his apartment, but the tidiness was all him. I told him: about my nomadic childhood as a preacher’s kid, and a missionary kid; how I married two weeks after my eighteenth birthday to our much older music and youth director; about the dissolution of our nine-year marriage, and the joy I found in my daughter. I shared how I had been laid-off from my well-paying job as a landman with the oil bust of ‘82. Being an unemployed single parent with no health insurance was a scary proposition. I took the first job I could find even though it meant a pay cut. I met Teri when she came to work after being laid off. 

We were deep in conversation when the hostess interrupted to tell us our table was ready. She led us to a long table in front of the grill. He pulled my chair and seated me. After perusing the menus, we placed our order. A few minutes later, I leaned over and whispered, "I think all that liquid has gone straight through me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stood up and pushed my chair with the back of my legs. The chair stuck. I gave it another little nudge. It fell onto the folding screen behind us. The screen crashed to the floor startling everyone in the restaurant. All eyes were on me as I reached down to pick up my chair.

Sweet and Sensitive leaned over and whispered in my ear,

“If you’re not embarrassed, you ought to be.”

“I am. You horse’s behind!” I said angrily.

As I straightened, I caught his teasing eyes. The embarrassment faded and I laughed with him. After all he did slam Baby's fingers in the door. In a way it felt like we were even. This guy definitely had potential.

Did you see the fingers of God’s grace in my life? I found it much more traumatic to be involuntarily unemployed than to go through a divorce. But if I had not been force to take the administrative assistant job, I wouldn’t have met Teri. If I hadn't met Teri, she wouldn’t have introduced me to what I have called for the last thirty-one years God’s gift of grace to me, my Soul Mate.