First off, I want to post a few photos of my childhood friend Kara and her delightful baby Madeline. Kara (as in “automobile-a”, a memorable way it was described to me years ago) was a close friend of mine in Klamath Falls, Oregon, during my last years of elementary school. My memories of our times together are characterized by adventure, laughter and silliness… I hadn’t seen Kara in over 10 years, so it was really fun to see her last week. Somehow we’ve both made it to adulthood and have married successfully. And now Kara’s the proud mama of a beautiful 8 week old baby. Very very cool.

I haven’t been posting much recently, though there is certainly much to write about. This week life seems to be a whirlwind of activity that, try as I may to pin down and make sense of, confuses and evades me. Being an ESFJ, I’m a natural scheduler. This makes me the perfect person to put together the weekly bulletin for Zion — I like to record dates and activities, to post information in a tangible fashion so folks can duly order their lives. And yet I’m feeling quite unordered, unscripted, unscheduled and, well, swirly. This swirling, ever-changing life… It’s leaving me a little breathless.

We’ve been enjoying wonderful rainshowers the past few nights here in Lincoln. Sunday evening was spent on the porch of The Grand with Charity, sipping a Mike’s and enjoying the thunder and lightening show. Last night the rain was a constant drip and today the world looks eerily green. Considering we planted our garden last Saturday, I’m really grateful for the showers and can’t wait for the sun to shine in full force. Our produce should be something this year… Roma, grape and brandywine tomatoes, cucumbers, four pepper plants and two zucchini mounds — yum! Last year I grew a few sunflowers from seed and ended up with one enormous plant (the others were rabbit food, I do believe). Hopefully the seeds are still good this year and we have beautiful sunflowers in the garden again.

The days are moving along fairly well as far as my arthritis goes. I’ve quickly learned that I can’t do too much, or I’ll pay for it the next day. Unfortunately, “too much” is a relative term and sometimes going to work + doing a load of dishes = too much. But I praise the Lord for each day I wake up feeling good and each night I lay down without pain. For all of you who are praying for me, my hope and prayer is that my meds kick my immune system into gear so that this whole arthritis bit goes into remission for awhile (or forever). Thanks for your love and support — I’ve really appreciated everyone’s concern.

Finally, in this day of extreme makeovers and botox parties, enjoy this article for a good chuckle this morning…

When I was little I would’ve loved to have played young Eponine or Cosette in Les Miserables. Songs completely memorized, I would have sung “Castle in the Clouds” and scrubbed those stage floors with all my heart. In junior high I did fancy myself as Eponine; along with multitudes of other young adolescent females hoping to make a high school choir, I sang “On My Own” for auditions. Good news: I made a choir. Bad news: I successfully turned my family away from that tune for the duration of eternity.

And now I’m all alone again; nowhere to turn, no one to go to…

I played that song over and over. I sang that song over and over. Yikes. Anyhow, Les Mis will always be dear to me. My favorite song is the finale to the first half, “One Day More.” It never fails to lift my spirits and make me sing.

**What’s your favorite Les Mis moment?

The days slow for no man.

The new spring blossoms outdoors don’t wait to open. The graduating high school seniors, newly married couples and twosomes in their first romances can’t pause for me to savor their moments. The world keeps on churning, days keep on passing and life keeps on going.

I’m glad to get a chance to catch up.

I’m coming out of an arthritis-induced fog right now. I’m finally waking from a haze of Alleve and Tylenol Arthritis, tight muscles and swollen joints, waking every other hour of the night and finally rising in the morning because the pain is too much to bear laying down. I’m emerging from a cocoon of helpers — Jeremy, tucking me in at night and moving my pillows in a more comfortable position; Mom, loading and unloading days’ worth of dishes too heavy for my fingers; Dad, potting pansies and mowing the lawn. All praise for the fog-lifting goes to God, Creator of Rebecca, this world and medicine… Much gratitude also goes to a lovely, lovely steroid called prednisone. Ah, prednisone — my miracle drug!

After I was diagnosed with diabetes at age 16, I can remember wishing that I had sampled every single dessert at the Garden Cafe before my pancreas pooped out. I’d walk into the restaurant after my diagnosis and gaze longingly at the creamy chocolate desserts encased in glass domes, realizing how I never fully appreciated them before. I’ve felt similar twinges recently — with a twist, because now I’m feeling so much better than I have in many weeks — but really… How many times are you GRATEFUL for being able to walk to your car, up the stairs, down the street, to your bedroom, etc, etc, without pain? True answer? Hardly ever!! When you get off the toilet, without pain, are you singing hallelujahs? No way!

Today I am literally singing the Hallelujah Chorus every time I get off the porcelain throne. Seriously.

None of us know when our lives will change. None of us have any clue whether we’ll be in good health or bad when we wake tomorrow, whether we’ll have our good friends and loved ones close to us still, whether our houses will still be standing, our cars still running, our hearts still pumping. We have so much to be grateful for… in this moment… today. So take a second and thank the good Lord for the good things He’s given you… like being able to maneuver off the toilet in a pain-free fashion. [Smile]

Primary elections are today in Lincoln — so, local friends, GO VOTE!

I’m supporting Jeff Fortenberry for the House of Representatives, District 1. For a sample ballot, look here.

Polls are open from 8am-8pm. Questions about where you can vote are answered here.

Come on, friends I know and love… Vote. Take a few minutes before work, during lunch or at the end of the workday to earn that “I Voted” sticker. I know it’s just the primaries and it doesn’t seem very important. But trust me, if you care at all about your future you need to vote. Voter turnout is expected to be 28% today… blah. Let’s do better than that.

My mom is not a spotlight mother. She doesn’t do her song and dance for an audience (though perhaps she’ll give you a private jig or two) and she doesn’t perform for accolades. She is the quintessential support-giver. A team player. The kind of person you only hope you have standing behind you in any given moment, good or bad.

I say this because I’ve realized a lot about my mom during the last few tough months of my life.

Claudia Jones Lawton is nurse by trade, but I’m know she’s so well-equipped for this field because God built within her the gifts for a good nurse… Compassion, honesty, integrity, hospitality. Claudia, with gifts in tow, came first into this world — the nursing profession was the perfect fit for her. I can’t distinguish “my mom” from “my mom the nurse” because they are one and the same! When mom rubs my swollen feet with lotion, gives advice on medicines over the phone, or listens to my frustrations with concern, she does so out of love that flows from deep within her being.

She is simply the best mother on earth, the only woman I’d want next to me in all my good and all my bad moments. I hope to be half the woman she is someday, half the mother and caregiver to my children that she has been to me. I love you, mom! Thanks for putting up with us kids for all these years…

xoxo Becca Ruth

Woohoo! Yesterday and today were big days para la familia Lawton de Lincoln, Nebraska… My dad graduated from the University of Nebraska with his doctorate in Educational Administration. His hooding ceremony was held yesterday at Kimball Hall, and the commencement this morning at the Devaney Center.

Dad has been working on this degree for many years, slaving away at his dissertation (on the visions of two Christian college presidents, no less — names to be printed here later because I can’t remember one of the president’s names). It means a lot to me that my dad set such a high academic goal, then completed it. This success encourages me towards similar pursuits in the future. For certain, this accomplishment reflects quite highly on my mother, who waited for the process to come to completion and supported my dad in so many ways throughout the years.

Hip hip hooray for you, Pop! We are all very very proud of you and think you look simply smashing in your doctoral regalia!

*Thanks, Adam, for taking such a nice shot with my camera!

Not so long ago…

Bang! The screen door slammed shut. Bang! Bang! Again and again. Loud drunken voices on the porch next door late at night. Vroom, vroom. The big scary guy on his motorcycle, not moving anywhere just revving the engine for effect. Boom, boom… boom. Boom, boom. The deep bass, determined not to be contained in the basement party escaped up the stairs and out the side door, ten feet south and up into our bedroom window. Through cracked eyelids, 3:00am. Evil thoughts enter the minds of tired Tredways but no scheme seems like decent revenge. Argh. Don’t know how on earth this might happen, but please, God, let them move!!!

Just moments ago…

Charity. Renae. Joie. Brook. Gratitude, joy, friendship, community. Bang! The screen door slams and a voice is heard, pleasantly chatting on the phone with a friend. Bang! Bang! A porch party, glasses of wine, great conversation, lots of laughter. Vroom, vroom. Charity yanks ferociously on the lawn mower, willing the darn thing to start up. Days spent outdoors tending to the gardens, deciding how to maintain Pastor Brad’s rapidly growing perennials, making plans for summer barbecues. Light, spilling out into the dark night, telling me Renae is getting ready for bed. The beams from her room cast into mine, reminding me of a college dorm, but so much better. Comfort. Knowing that sisters live next door, always ready to love us.

And we love them back.

I told myself last week that the only reason I’d skip church again was if I was vomiting.

This morning I didn’t want to go. Well, I wanted to go. I wanted to feel the light and joy on my face, raining down from the voices around me; to hear the words of salvation, given by ministers in front of me. I wanted that. But, I didn’t want to physically be there.

Putting aside all excuses for a few moments, I bathed and stretched out my limbs in a hot tub. Then I convinced myself I could indeed make it to church, an answer to a quick early morning prayer.

Balancing Eggo waffle and leather bible, tripping over the stones in the alley, buoyed by the puffy white clouds and blue sky, I found Zion.

And it didn’t matter that my old lady knees protested at the stand-up-sit-down-again motions of the service, that my legs needed reshifting five times during the sermon, that I bumped my head on the pew in front of me while putting on my coat because I was cold… then promptly got the giggles because of the head bump.

If perfection were needed for church attendance, none of us would have made it this morning.

So, why then do I wrestle so intensely with the desire to look like I “have it all together?” Newsflash: I don’t have it all together, not even remotely. And, I’m sorry if I’ve ever made someone else think so. My current physical trials reveal a mere fraction of the disturbances in my soul, wrinkles I deal with moment-by-moment, day-by-day.

Just like raindrops on a sunny day—like our odd Nebraska weather this Sunday afternoon—I stand as a sinner receiving grace. Doesn’t make much sense. Can’t wrap my mind around it. All I can do it open my mouth and take a drink. Sweet, sweet grace.

On a gloriously warm Saturday a few weeks ago, Jeremy and I joined our neighbors out back in emancipating our yards from winter’s hold. Pulling weeds, pulling annoyingly long perennials (see pic), filling trashcan upon trashcan for Wednesday morning’s waste removal… Good stuff. There is much to be said for living next door to FRIENDS and the wonderful investments of a shared community, especially when your houses are as close as ours are! We’re looking forward to planting our garden soon. This year our houses (affectionally dubbed “the Shire” — will it stick?) will share garden plots and divide up the fruits of our labors come warmer months. Last summer we were swimming in cucumbers and tomatoes, so I think the shared garden is a brilliant idea.