Trying Our Best

My husband and I decided that power couples, more than anything, are two people doing their best. With how many different monkeys we have spinning on plates, I'd say that for us, we aren't doing our best, but we're sure trying. 

This semester I have felt like I was falling to pieces, dissolving into a human puddle person. Between family medical emergencies, computers that crash when you've just finished an 8 page research paper due that day, huge cracks in your windowshield that you could have prevented but didn't quite make it in time, deceased dogs, fat jeans that don't even fit anymore, 50 students, the work to grade of 50 students, 300 pages of required reading a week for my grad classes, and my never-just-40 hour work weeks, I have been barely holding it together. 

Meanwhile, the hubs stopped working full time in order to work full time for no pay at the same place he had been working full time for full pay. Hooray internships!!!! He also took 12 hours of classes on top of that. 

Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo you could say that we're a little stretched thin. 

Moments of this semester, I have felt truly thankful and blessed. I love my students. I love them. And I love seeing the students I helped get here around campus, making friends, growing up. 

I have been thankful for the continued life of my grandmother, after she scared us pretty good at Thanksgiving. 

I have been thankful for classmates that I have enjoyed very much in my grad classes this semester. 

I have been thankful for time spent with my brother's family from Atlanta last month. Only seeing them once a year makes me feel like they grow 6 inches and 6 years of maturity each time I see them. I can't believe how much they've grown. 

I've been thankful for time spent in Arizona for my cousin's wedding and the good memories made climbing mountains and laughing with my family. 

and I've been thankful for having my husband as the light at the end of the tunnel of this semester. He makes sure I eat food and take care of myself. And he gives me all the snuggles. Marriage is so hard sometimes with all the stressors of life, but having a human there to love you and bring you shoes when you forget them and bring you snacks to work when you get a meeting scheduled--again--over your lunch break and squeeze you when you're panicking and squeeze you when you have a migraine and try really hard to make you laugh when you're grumpy is the best. He's the best. 

So, at the close of a really hard semester, when I feel like I am dragging my empty body across the finish line by one bloody arm, I can really only be thankful. Anything else might feel justified, but it wouldn't be true. I am loved, I love others, and I am loved by God. At the end of a difficult season, that's the part that's most important. 

Money Matters

We're currently in the most grueling portion of my job: financial aid season.

This is, essentially, the moment of truth.

It consistently shocks me how little I understand of human nature.

Some awards I look at and think, "Oh. Crap. This is a terrible award letter. They were so close to receiving the Pell grant, their parent loan is way too high for their EFC (expected family contribution), etc. They're not going to be able to swing this."

Then it's those same families that call me back so grateful for our department's generosity, determined to make this work, and talk to me about values, about call, and about the feeling of belonging.

I leave those conversations feeling hopeful about what it is I do. I can see a full map of their financial situation, I know the truth. They feel that this is where the Lord is leading them, though, and I can't argue. Granted, I get a little irked when they call me up and tell me that "God told me to go to another college", but I remember very clearly how called I felt to come to this university. It felt right. It felt like home.

Other families, however, make me feel less inspired about human nature.

Sir, I can see how many hundreds of thousands you make a year, how you have a million in investments, and how you have 50-90k in cash savings alone. And only one child. Do not for one second try to make me believe you can only afford 1k a year for your child's education.

And, while those conversations truly annoy me, they say something about a families values.

"It's not God's will for Billy to take any kind of student loan, so we're going to have to find other options through your school." [Read: We're too busy to look for outside scholarships and we don't want loans, so it's your responsibility to pay for his education]. No, ma'am. Budgeting and finances can be really rough and looking for outside scholarships can be tiring, but it is not our responsibility.

"We want to build a house soon, so we won't be helping Suzy with college finances. What other scholarships can you offer her?" [Read: We want a pool more than Suzy's education]

"I know I could save money by living with my parents, but it's just a real burden to have to commute that far, so I need to find other financing options through the university" [Read: Even though I could save 9k a year by living at home, I don't want to drive half an hour. Find me more money somewhere else]

I could go on. I see a lot of goodness in people, but I also see a lot of ugliness. I also see a lot of fear. Some parents I speak with are willing to risk everything because their child loves my school, but they are afraid. Sometimes, it's just close enough to work. Sometimes I have to guide them through the process of redesigning their dreams, deferring them, or awaken a different dream. It's hard.

It truly isn't that I'm coldblooded about financial aid. Believe me, I well remember the agonizing worry that I wouldn't be able to afford this school. But my parents knew and I knew that this was it for me, this was home. They sacrificed and saved and we made it work.

Because at the end of the day, money isn't about money.
Money is about values and about the heart.

And nobody wants a 24 year old girl trying to cast $100,000 vision for their child.

Into the Fold

I cried at work today.

We were doing our morning devotions, and today, we decided to do a devotional thought over "O Come O Come Emmanuel", which happens to be my favorite Christmas song.

It also happens to correlate with my favorite Bible verse, which had been weighing on me heavily for the past week or so. This is what I shared and what brought me to big tears of remembrance and of thankfulness and humility.

It re-appeared in my heart last Thursday. I was sitting there beside my boyfriend, our mothers, and our fathers, in the Candlelight service at my university.

As I sat there, I marveled at how far removed and redeemed both our families (and us) had been in the past two years. In the past two years, both our parents had been at places where they thought they had lost their children to darkness forever.

We had thought the same about ourselves.

And in the past two years, we have been restored to joy, to God, and to our families. Granted, more work is yet to be done, but God is so good.

My heart felt full to burst, and the words of Psalm 126 pushed their way into my thoughts:

When the people returned to Jerusalem from captivity in Babylon, they became as those who dreamed. Their hearts were filled with laughter; their tongues with shouts of praise. The people of Earth said to them, "The Lord has done great things for you." Indeed, the Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.

That's the verse I shared this morning after we sang.

I reflected on my own "return from Babylon" two years ago tomorrow.

I was broken. I was ugly. I was beyond all reckoning.

And my parents opened their arms up and loved me. My aunt, my uncle, my cousin, my grandmother. They loved me and took me as I was: broken. ugly. lost.

And yet, and yet!! the Lord has done great things for me. 
Though Decembers cause me to get way too deep in my head and heart and ache with the past woundedness, I know too of the deep joy of restoration to hope and light and life.

The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.

Duties and Doodies

Babies poop.

It's a thing.

Also, when does talking about your child's bodily functions stop being an acceptable people to discuss in public places?

Some would argue, "ALWAYS! No one NO ONE wants to know about that!"
Others, not so much.

The other week in a staff meeting, we talked about all the different things that are acceptable to comment on and discuss about babies that is ABSOLUTELY NOT ACCEPTABLE to comment on and discuss later in their little lives.

Things such as, but not limited to: bodily functions, weight fluctuation, everything related to nursing ("latching"), chubby thighs, etc.

Personally, I think all babies look like trolls.
They can be absolutely adorable trolls that I will love unconditionally (i.e. each and every one of my nieces and nephews), but trolls nonetheless. Just for a few months until they start to grow into their person.

Yesterday, I traveled on over to the ole O-K-L-A-HOMA to attend the baptism of my cousin Kristina's daughter.
Krissy and I, much like our mothers, are near exact replicas of one another, give or take a few years. She's my family go-to, my saving grace at holidays get-togethers, and an endless source of sass and side comments.

She is 10 years older than me and had her first child, Fiona Marie, just a couple months ago.
We're all pretty floored about it. Jeff (her husband) and Kristina are absolutely adorable with one another and that, matched with our thankfulness and wonder at them finding one another to begin with, makes Fiona one very special little human.

Jury is still out on who her name is dedicated to (Daisy Marie-->Joyce Marie-->Kristina Marie-->Fiona Marie), but it's safe to say all three of her predecessors love her pretty fiercely.

And now, after a question and a yes, that little bundle of love is my goddaughter.
I'm so honored to get to be Fiona's "person".
Don't worry, kid. I've got your back. (and your neck, just until you gain a little muscle mass)

How I Casse-Roll

Thanksgiving food reminds me of Belfast.

Historically, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
The morning is spent watching the Macy's day parade (this year with cuddles from two of my nieces and nephews), then time to clean up before family members start to appear.

My auntie Joyce gets there first.
Every year, that evokes, "Oh gosh, they're here already?!" from my mama Jansie.

Then, as she panics and I kind of putz about the house, everyone else shows up.

Trout, veggies, and other random hors d'oeuvres are consumed and then my family crams themselves around the dining room table (at their assigned seat).

At this point, we grab hands, sing "Father, We Thank Thee" and then my father tries to pray. Tries, because he always ends up choked up, which is very precious.
It doesn't matter if Daddy prays of if one of the boys prays, the Odom men cry when they pray. I like that.

Then we sit and enjoy one another and eat all the random, delicious dishes that we have all contributed. "Oh my gosh! This ______ casserole is so scrumptious! Who made this?!"

And then the rest of the day kind of twiddles about, but all in all, the entire thing is all the fun of Christmas without the presents, which I love.

Why then, with all these warm and bright memories, would Belfast the Cold be my mental trigger?

Last year, right before the fall semester team left, we had a Thanksgiving feast.

There were enough leftovers to make up an entire feast. Like, whole casseroles.



Then they left me.

The woman I lived with was passionate about not having leftovers. Passionate to the point of...extremism. Like, digging thrown-out food out of the trashcans.
She had good intentions.
However, she also experienced a lot of allergy-type reactions to most foods.

Thus, it was up to me to eat everything the team left. It was character building and waistline widening both.

I'm sure you remember post after post after post of things I baked with my 11 pounds of apples (just one example of my mass food eateries). I also had to eat Thanksgiving.

Meal after meal.

It was exciting the first week.

But, like all casseroles, it's day 9 that things start getting rough.

After that, I had to make meal baggies, a heft spoonful of each dish into a ziplock.

Then I'd pull one out, rip off the bag, and microwave it.

Rough times, friends.
Good thing I really like Thanksgiving food.

When I came back from my sojourn to Oklahoma, though, guess what had been thrown out of the freezer.
I can't even remember if I was more sad or more amused by the irony.

When the Bottom Falls Out

When I was somewhere in the region of age 7, my family went on holiday to Florida.

On one of those days, my mom and I went on a walk and came across a true clothing entrepreneur. He was amongst the first of his kind, strutting down the street with his trousers down by his knees, held up only by a hand on the belt buckle.

We could not stop laughing, imagining what his predicament would be were he to need the use of his hands. BYE  BYE PANTS! He was bringing booty back, for sure.

Last night, I unpacked my rolley basket with my promotional materials from the trunk of my car and began to make my merry way into a college fair in Temple, Texas (in the rain, mind you), suddenly, the basket I had so much faith in pulled open, leaving all of my set-up magazines, pamphlets, pens, etc on the asphalt.

My day had been pretty absurd, so at this point, I wasn't even upset, I just burst out laughing. Luckily the rep from Abilene Christian gave me a hand and I loaded as much as I could into my tablecloth and carried it like a knapsack into the fair. I can't claim that it was my classiest moment, but I did feel very hick Arkansan. Another load and Abilene and I got it all inside.

I put a lot of faith in that basket. I put a lot of weight in that basket. I had to. There wasn't a way for me to carry all of it, not even with a tablecloth knapsack. But, fair after fair, I was able to rough-it, really only struggling when I had to lift it in and out of the car or up stairs.

When my basket failed me, though, in the least convenient time, my puny muscles and lack of a zillion arms failed me as well, and I couldn't act in excellence. I needed help. I needed my "competitor's" help.

Sometimes, in life, the bottom of our baskets fall out, and all our crap that we've been "successfully" lugging around with us spurts all over the parking lot in the rain and we've got to either accept help or accept that parts of our crap are going to get ruined.

More than that, even when we accept help, the reality is, the process of getting ourselves set back up is going to be messy and a bunch of "put together" people are going to see us struggle. Some may laugh, some may look at us pitifully, and some (those gems) will tell us, "Oh dude. The same thing happened to me a couple months ago...[insert totally humiliating story here that makes you forget that you've got mud on your ankles]."

All of that is better than having a meltdown in the parking lot and never making it inside at all. And yet, so many of us choose the rain.

What a Networked Web We Weave

Never underestimate the power of storing minute details about your friends and family.

Some may call it hoarding, some call it having an internal encyclopedia, but ultimately, it works as a really great networking device: "How weird that you know that one really bizarre café from that really small town that my second cousin twice removed lives in! We're practically related!"

You know, except that you say it in a way that seamlessly convinces them that the world is the size of a bean and that, apparently, the gods ordained this moment. Which God probably did, but that's not the point right now.

My dad is the bomb at this.

For instance, we were once in Arizona in the desert.
Not like, how all Arizona is the desert.
The actual desert.

And my family and I were riding four-wheelers around and ran into this family with their trailer who offered us some of their homemade beef jerky and tabasco sauce because, you know, when in Arizona, eat questionable food from strangers.

My dad got his chat on with them and he and the guy realized that they had played against one another in fifth grade football.

...what.

This is like an on the reg situation. My father could find a connection in Timbuktu.
And people love him for it.

I also do not see this as a manipulation device but rather, using your assets to ease/speed up connection. They're going to like you (what's not to like?) they just need a little catalyst.

First business trip was last week.
12 Dallas schools in 2 days (read: exhaustion)

Did I mention that my predecessor in this job is unreasonably good at what she does? (read: intimidation)
I needed to make a good impression, in my own way.
Because I'm not like my predecessor. I'm like me.

You'd be surprised by what kinds of things you'll find in common with people if you ask the right questions.

For instance, on my trip, I ran into the old basketball coach from my high school alma mater (what??) and we reminisced about his favorite game coaching, at which I was a viewer. Bonded over our mutual fascination at one of the players from our opposition.

At another school, the dean heard that I'd just moved home from the UK, mentioned that his daughter has been living there, and where her husband (or friend) had just started a coffee shop. I happen to really like that small town and know for a fact that they have some salted caramel truffle that is to die for.

It was all just really fun. And a good reminder to never take any interaction or experience for granted. You really never know when you might be talking to your father's primary school football rival.

Snapshots Sans Snapshots

Family Christmas: 

Joey, Cristin, and their two not-so-wee ones Harrison and Gianna finally, finally made it back to Tulsa from their new home in Georgia to spend a few days. 

Therefore, family Christmas!! That means, tons of children (and Jacob) running about crazy, just so excited to have some cousin time. We ex-kid table-ers were pretty excited about it, too. :) 

I've never been a huge fan of children. They're loud, they have altogether too much energy, they're easy to step on, and they're sticky. HOWEVER, nieces and nephews seem to slip right on past that rule. 

There are few sounds more precious than hearing my nieces or nephew (Sam can't talk yet) yell "Aunt Jamie!", or any form of that. 

And I get the great honor and privilege of filling their heads with complete nonsense. I love them. Even if I don't necessarily spend tons of time with them in town, just knowing that they are near is comforting. When I leave, I always hurt to know that there are whole tracts of their lives I will miss. Shoot, Harrison and Gianna are giants compared to when I saw them last. 

But then we're all back together, and all is well. 

Trifecta Christmas:  

I guess we're officially adults now because no selfies were taken whatsoever.

On the other hand, we did put together a puzzle made from one of our particularly favorite selfies thanks to Hayhay.

The evening was spent as it darn well should. Food, friendship, and ice cream on the kitchen floor. 

We're rather simple in our fun-having with one another, but I think that's how it should be. We don't require diversion to be totally satisfied in the presence of each other. We may require Rocky Road and the occasional cocktail, but those are just perks. 

I'm always pleasantly surprised and thankful at the way our friendship has flexed, adjusted, and grown over the past five years. We've made it through breakdowns, boyfriends, cross-country and cross-cultural moves, and all sorts of in-betweens. 

None of us really understand how or why we work together, but we appreciate the fact that we do. We make for a good team, the three of us (and occasionally the lovely Kira).  

"I'm Just a Girl Who Can't SayNo": 

I personally struggle with boundaries. I say yes to just about everything, so long as it isn't destructive or dangerous. Or a practical joke, because those suckers just escalate, and ain't no way I want to be in that cross-fire. You're on your own. 

If I don't have a really, really good reason (or a superior good reason to their good reason) I can't help but say yes because I know if I were in the other person's position, I would want them to say yes to me. 

That's how I ended up judging a high school debate tournament yesterday, yet again. 

Don't get me wrong at all! I love debate. It’s like fencing: calculated, classy, and intelligent.

I've judged tournaments every year since I graduated, upon request. It's interesting, I learn things, and it gives me an opportunity to provide constructive feedback. 

However, with only a few days left in the country, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be asked. 

Nevertheless, I came. 

THIS TIME, though, I set boundaries! I said I'd stay till 8. I did. Then, when they handed me new judging ballots (for a round to which I had not agreed), I said no politely and went on my merry way to watch Snow White with my niece and nephew. 

Then, (I was on a roll, I tell ya), I said no to suggested Saturday social plans. I didn't have alternative plans, I just didn't want to go. And that is what I said, nicely.

The Christmas that Could

I love my family.

Anyone that knows me knows that one fact. That, and my deep love for the three best friends, but that's a given. :)

My family, no matter how uncommunicative or overcommunicative or awkward or spazzy, is where I intrinsically sense to go when I feel unsure or so sure. They're the ones I want to share my most happy moments with and the ones my heart immediately needs when it gets broken.

They're the base line. Even when I lose sight of my identity and everything else in my life, I know who I am with them. I am a little sister to three big brothers, a sister-in-law to three as well, a niece, a cousin, an aunt of five, a daughter. I am my family. And what a wonderful one to be known by.

I needed them. And by the grace of God I got them.

Christmas Eve went as expected. Jansie and Daisy Ree whirlwind cleaned, and I putsed about, wandering, disappearing, holding the dog so it looked like I was actually doing something. Useless creature, me. I think it's my learned defensive behavior. My ma gets frenzied near holidays (or any event of any kind at our home. Though, admittedly, she has gotten so much better) and cleans/throws away everything in sight. It ain't pretty. You'd hide, too. I've never gotten as good as Chon, though. He was a master at getting out of things without anyone noticing that he was doing nothing.

The evening was at First Methodist Church, a lovely carol service. Our wee group was comprised of my parents and me, my aunt Joycer, uncle ed, Krissy, her husband Jeff, and my cousins Crista and Noah.

I'm not going to lie. I almost didn't make it. Christmas Eve, I didn't pull it together. I tried. The heaviness took me. I felt like the grinch, and I could see how my darkness was hurting my parents and grandma. I just wanted to be alone and cry. Throw it in my face: "But you so wanted to come home!" Yeah, I know. But not yet. You've got to understand. I so wanted to come home because nobody else wanted me, and the idea of sitting 4,000 miles away from familiar, soaking in minute by minute that knowledge on top of the horrors of the past four months? Acid to my soul. I could not do it.

Yes, I want to be home. I am so terribly thankful to be home, but being home and having to reconcile my brokenness with the expectations of behaving like a normal creature and contributing to a positive atmosphere is hard. And it's hard on my family. I'm hard for my family.

That's who I went into that Christmas Eve service as. Amazing how a guy snoring behind you, really great black singing, and family that can make you laugh and forget can change your inner atmosphere. (nerd moment: laughter really does chemically alter your mood.) I came out better. So much better.

I'd like to give a shout-out of thanks to serotonin for carrying over until today. Despite bad, exhausting dreams (usually a signal for an awful day ahead), it was a truly wonderful Christmas.

A skype with my brother joey, his wife Cristin, and their two kiddos: harrison and gianna.

Later, we were joined by my other two siblings, the kids opened a few presents (the siblings decided to skip Christmas with one another) [side note: thank you to whoever invented gift bags. Honestly, if you ever receive a present from me which is wrapped in something other than a gift bag or a sweat shirt, I probably love you more than any other person in my acquaintance arsenal], and we snacked while watching home movies. It's kind of a tradition of ours. One of my absolute favorites. In a way, it makes it feel as though we're all a part. With them, my Jesus-resting Papa can be with us (now who was in the manger? mary and joseph and the baby.) and my uncle johnnie, aunt lynne, cousins, ruthie and charlie, jojo, all of us.

It's funny how our personalities really haven't changed either. Chon trying to steal the camera, incessantly talking, and being goofy always, Jacob the ultimate caretaker (I dare you to find a single scene in any picture or video from my childhood which features me without him), and Joey...well...Joey actually has changed. He didn't really know he was alive back then. He was sweet boy. He became a great man.
And my niecer Ella actually looks a ton like what I did at her age. Hadn't noticed before.

The rest of the day, we ate, drank, made merry, and were rejoined by joycie, ed, kris and jeff, and daisy marie. We were all relaxed, played some games, doted on the darling kiddos, and were just your basic, garden variety happy. It was very nice.

Merry Christmas from the Odoms.
We probably love you.
Or we will learn to.
Or we will relearn to.
Or we've never met you, but we're sure you're very nice.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Highlights Reel

There needs to be some temperance here. I'm not all doom and gloom.

Lovely moments since I've been home (old pictures):

*the reunion between Jamie and Kraft Mac and Cheese (one of those odd cultural cravings)
*My best friend coming over the evening I got home. She was very kind about the fact that I was practically asleep in front of her.

*Coffee with my friend Anna. We have the most consistent friendship of all my acquaintances. Once a month, without fail, we spend time together.

*Drinks with Maddie Stewart. I don't know how to describe her. The perfect combination of sass, spiritual, and snuggles.

*Sleepover with Heather, Becca, and Allison.

*Getting to see the happy shock of several of my friends to see me in the country.
*meeting my nephew, Superfly. Or Sam. I prefer the former, though the latter is pretty good. :) Baby snuggles cannot be topped, really. And he makes the sweetest wee grunts when he's asleep. They're so contented.

*More bonding time. This time with my dear friend, Sadie. She's one of those friends with which humor and spirituality are always pretty tightly knit.

*lots and lots of this handsome guy.

*driving. There have only been two incidents of "what's this guy doing in my freakin'...NOT MY LANE! NOT MY LANE! NI's got me all mixed around.
*yesterday, I was shopping and got caught waiting in line between four sassy black ladies. We had a great talk. I've missed black people. There are three in Belfast. Really. Like there actually are just three.
*Today I went out with one of my mentors. She was my high school AP Biology and Anatomy/Physiology teacher turned friend/mentor. Giant. More giant than I am, bigger boned, louder, and always wears big ole heels (a trait I have recently embraced for myself). All that, and she can work a sex talk into any conversation topic. It's like a spiritual gift. She used to do it on purpose during class to watch me about crawl under my desk embarrassed.

*my ma drawing tattoos and facial hair on lingerie models in a magazine

I have no idea how or why this picture is snowing. That didn't happen, and I'm not smart enough with technology to make that. But the picture and the ice behind the fake snow is real! aha! "google + 'auto awesome'" did this. 

and this: 

This is so fun! 

And this is the United Airways Dublin way of saying, "You're about to be in the USA! Get pumped!"

 My beautiful Oklahoma.

Tulsa from the plane. :)

*and last but very much not least (and I'm sure I'm forgetting several), I finished two of my three papers. 

24 hours, 19 sources, and 6400 words.

Stop. Collaborate and Listen.

It's that special time of year! No, not Christmas. THANKSGIVING!

My all-time favorite holiday. It used to be a close runner-up to Christmas Eve, but since we've grown out of our old Christmas traditions, Thanksgiving has taken its rightful place at the top.

Every year growing up, Chon and I would watch the Macy's parade for hours, then he would...well...I don't actually know where he would go, but I would get changed (usually more than once. Jansie usually called my first attempts "homeless") and ready for the day and help the women in the kitchen.

Mashed potatoes are only right one way. Once they are in mountain form, a spoon forms a crater, a slice of butter goes in, and a dash of paprika sprinkles across the top.

My food roles are cranberry sauce and stuffing. My stuffing recipe is absolutely incredible. The cranberries, though, I never get exactly right. It's a delicate art, cranberry sauce.

When she's there, Krissy joins me in our joint role of table setting. We are in charge of putting ice in the cups. That's it. It's a lonely job without her. There's nobody to hide escaped ice cubes under various table toppers with. Or roll eyes when my mother or aunt cracks a joke about finally letting us in on the family secret recipe for ice cubes. (One day, we'll get that recipe...:))

From there, it's just a mess of singing, people, food, getting trapped at the table (literally), games, pie, mass naps, food, rifling through the black friday ads, and maybe a drive down to Utica Square for Lights On.

The very best part of this tradition is the way my family collects people.

I don't remember a single Thanksgiving where I was related (or knew) everyone at my table. Friends, family, friends of family, teachers of family, random college students with nowhere to go, random church members with nowhere to go, etc. And for that one day, they are my family.

Today, we had Thanksgiving Irish Style with a few splashes of home.

The Macy's Day Parade was on all afternoon, the food was everywhere, and gathered around the table were friends, family, and a stranger. The students, who have become my friends and family; Hadden and Betty, who are a very sweet and sparky older couple who look after us and are also like our family; and Naomi, who is a friend to me and a stranger to them.

And the very best thing happened. All this was good and well, but I received two phone calls that made my day. Two of my brothers FaceTimed me. I don't know. It seems like a silly thing to care so much about, but being remembered is a big deal to me. I met my nephew Superfly for the first time (met is a liberal word for staring at a phone pointed at a sleeping baby) and got air kisses from two of my nieces. Here's a silly, unclear screen shot of my oldest brother and his family.

Jansie, too, has sent me various pictures from the day's festivities. It's a quiet year for the Odom's. The siblings are due for their Thanksgiving with our family next year, so this year was just my ma and daddy, my aunt and uncle, and my sweet grandmother.

Check out my mother's impressive edible arrangement (she really has quite a gift. At my graduation, she made my face, nosering and all).

What am I thankful for?

1. My full handful of nieces and nephews. They completely changed my family and my life. They're so itty bitty, but they've made such a dynamic impact. One they won't ever completely understand. I love them with my whole heart. And while I'm at it, I'm thankful for the technology that allows me to be a part of their lives even while I'm so far away.

2. My family. My brothers, sisters, parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. I'm sure everyone has a wonderful family, but mine...man. Lord has blessed us.

3. I am thankful for a God who forges unlikely relationships between unlikely people and gives us the grace to break and grow with one another as we pass in and out of seasons in our lives. Freak accident friendships. The three I have in mind are with Haley, Caity, and Kira.

I know the top one's blurry, but it captures us perfectly. Always in motion. Always laughing. Always doing something ridiculous and silly and fun. Just fun. And yet, they are the first people I go to when I need to talk through matters of the soul. These pictures in particular are taken in Haley Nelle's room by her boyfriend who met all of us simultaneously. That's how we like to do things. He survived the vetting. We kept him. He's a good one, David is. 

4. I'm thankful for my amazing college friends, professors, and mentors who continue to impact my life. Rabbi, Tracy, Abby, Becca, Peter, Adam, Maddie, Anna, Carli. I'm sure there are others.

5. I'm thankful for change. Like the change of me living here, the changes of family additions and marriages of my best friends, the changes God is making in my own life.

There is no need to make a specific number for God. The rest of the list simply doesn't exist without him.

To close this incredibly long post, I leave you with the song we sing around our Thanksgiving table (hands held so nobody sneaks food. Grandma...):

Father, we thank thee. Father we thank thee. Father in Heaven, we thank thee

*Cue male family members attempts at prayer and successes at tears.*

One Familial

Though there's an argument on my side that his birthday is the 22nd rather than the 21st due to timezones, by Tulsa Time, Samuel Jonathan Odom was born to my siblings Chon and Emily yesterday, on the evening of the 21st.

Sammy Superfly (Chon let Weird Al name the kid) is the second baby boy to be born to any of my siblings. He and Harrison (nephew #1 and firstborn grandkid) sandwich my three beautiful nieces. I'm not just saying that. They're seriously good looking.

Feast your eyes:

 Sitting in ascending order below are Ella Grace, Libby Rose, Gianna Aloisio, and Harrison Peter.

They're not particularly fond of taking photos, but meet them once and you will never get your heart back. Do you see Ella's battle cry there in the bottom? How cute is that? You know you're sitting there awkwardly laughing by yourself at your computer. Don't try and hide it.

Libby love is the older sister of Superfly. She is 2 going on 12. Bright, kind, and funny, if not a little shy. Absolutely loves animals.

When I met her, she shocked me with her direct, unwavering eye contact. Literally a day out of the womb and she could stare straight into your soul without blinking for full minutes.

Chon as a dad is a bizarre concept for me, even though he's had Libbs for 2 years. He's a really wonderful father, don't get me wrong, but he's also the guy who used to practice WWF wrestling moves on me and make me sign semi-abusive contracts before I could read. He's still my obnoxious, antagonizing big brother (hides my cell phone every single dang time I see him. I've had to chase his car down the street more times than I'd like to admit).

People grow up. Isn't that weird? Or people exist one day and don't the next. Or people semi-exist one day and are lying sweetly right there in your arms the next. Humanity is madness.

With the excitement of his birth comes a twinge of selfish sadness. He's the first birth I've missed. Even when I lived in Arkansas, I would drop everything and drive to Tulsa if one of my sisters went into labor.

Thank goodness I'm coming home in January rather than June, but still. I miss my family. I want to snuggle my nieces, ask for Libby's "first impressions", and hold my nephew. But life changes and moves us. Sometimes physically moves us. I don't want to miss their lives or be the aunt they only see at Christmas or on FaceTime. I want to come home.

In Memoriam

I want to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, I was a very small sort of person, and I had two very best friends: Sarah and Shelby. I actually don’t have any memories pre-SS. We were inseparable. Sarah and I were inseparable.

These two girls had two great-grandparents, named Nolan and  Ilene or, more affectionately, Papa and Momo. The three of us spent lots of time with them. Even after I didn’t anymore, I knew of how much time the girls spent with them from talks after church with Papa and Momo.

You see, life took some nasty turns and left Sarah, Shelby, and I in very different places. At Woodlake, every single week before I’d leave, I’d find Nolan and Ilene to hug them, tell them I loved them, and ask about the girls. Every week, Ilene would respond the same way by taking my hands in hers, looking at me with her deep, blue eyes, and telling me to pray for “our girls.” It undid me every time.

The beautiful thing was, though, that no matter what was going on in Sarah and Shelby’s lives, no matter how hard and hurt they were, they were still sweet and soft with their great-grandparents. They inspire gentleness.

They were also the kind of couple who still held hands to walk to the car together. It’s a little thing, but it’s a big thing. After more than fifty years of marriage, they still held hands to walk to the car.

When I left Woodlake and when I moved to Arkansas, I worried constantly that due to my desertion of my church and my estrangement from my friends, I wouldn’t ever know if Nolan and Ilene had died.

This past Christmas break, I felt it all through me that I needed to find them and visit. I made some calls, found the nursing home they’d been moved to, and didn’t go for days. I couldn’t do it. At the very last day possible (honestly, I think it could have even been the day I went back; I don’t remember), I went. I think I spent the whole time crying. My heart burned with every sort of emotion. Missing my friends, wanting them to come back to Jesus, seeing Nolan and Ilene reduced to nursing home state, everything.

Nolan was pleased as punch that I’d come, and he remembered me. Ilene was so near death that she couldn’t speak or move. We just looked at one another, and I held her hand and told her how much I loved her. She died a month later. My ma saw it in the paper.

Her funeral was a most redemptive experience. Jesus has done incredible work in Sarah and Shelby and, for a few moments, it was as if nothing had changed between us at all.

This summer, I felt the same sort of pull to go back and see Nolan. Again, I couldn’t make myself go. The day before I left for Ireland, I finally did it.

It was downright fun. When I came in, he was struggling to get energy enough for shoes, so  I sat on the ground, took up his feet, and slid them into socks and shoes. After, he tapped his feet like a jig and started “yippie-kay-ay”ing. Ready to run the Boston Marathon, I’d say.

We looked up at the picture of him and Ilene on his wall, the one that looks so much like Sarah, and he told me how they’d skipped church right after they got married to have that photo taken. He told me how much he missed his sweetheart.

We talked about a lot of things and laughed together and I could not get over how totally sharp his mind was. As a former counselor/professor, he was thrilled I was headed in the same direction. “But of course that makes sense! You’re one of my girls. You got it from me.”

When I kissed his cheek on my way out, I told him he better wait for me to come back. He said he had no intention of waiting that long for his heavenly reunion.

Just before I woke up this morning, I had a dream that I was in my mama’s bed, and she came in to tell me Nolan had died. I woke up instantly and checked my phone. I had a FaceBook message from Sarah. Nolan hit his head yesterday and went to go be with his sweetheart and his sweet Lord.

God is so good. He orchestrates the patterns of life so perfectly and with so much grace. I was able to say goodbye to both my adoptive grandparents before they left and have closure and redemption with Sarah and Shelby.

But, more and better, Nolan and Ilene lived to see their great-granddaughters come back to Jesus. That, is the very best. 

If You Give A Girl A Castle...

Continuing my series of saying yes to things, I said yes to a Saturday outing. Actually, I said no to the Saturday outing then changed my mind when one of the little cooks here said she would go if I would go. Sometimes all it takes to be brave is to know that someone is on your team.

*Saying "team" makes me miss my daddy. Growing up, my mom used to always say that my dad and I were in a club together. Mostly the club tag-team teases my mother and high-fives, but lemme tell ya. It's a good club. I found out years later that this club was really a way for my mom to bond me to my dad. It worked. Once a part of the club, always part of the club.

Anyway, the group of 14 headed  into the country (truly only 8 or so miles away, but the road and city set-up makes it seem like it's an impossible distance). Where we landed was a place called Hillsborough.

While there, we went on a tour of Hillsborough House (aka Hillsborough Castle). And no, it's not because it's in the hills that it's called so, but because the family of long-time ownership had the last name Hill. Tis true. Heard it from the tour guide herself! This is the place that the Queen visits or any other important person. 

This, my friends, is the castle (even though the church in the picture above looks more like my childhood fantasies). 

After tramping around the castle and its surrounding gardens, 

we went to a nearby fort (large grassy area with a wall around it) and its nearby lake: 

And, if you give a girl a castle, she's gonna want a waffle to go along with it. You know what I mean? 

Listen about this waffle. First of all, it's from a place entitled: Humble Pie, so obviously it gets points from location alone. 

Bottom to top: To waffle, add honeycomb (actual honeycomb) and vanilla ice cream, freshly whipped cream, toffee and chocolate chips and marshmallows, butterscotch syrup. 

What. 

Heaven is what. 

Heaven in my and Lauren's (you didn't think I ate all that by myself, did you?!) mouths. 

Came home from my waffle and castle ventures to a snuggly room and a skype date. A very long, very needed, very wonderful skype date. And, finally, sleep. The first time I've slept easily since my arrival. The perfect ending to an unexpectedly lovely day. 

The Awkward Phase

I spend a lot of time talking with other humans.
This is natural, considering I am a human.

I have also served as camp counselor, mentor, and friend to those younger than me.

I have heard several times, from those with whom I speak, that I couldn't possibly understand what they are going through because I don't have any idea what it's like to be so awkward/socially outcasted/weird/friendless/overwhelmed. That I am perfect and have everything put together.

Generally, I laugh at their response.
I have, during the vast majority of my life, been all of those things.

Only in college did I start making sense to other people socially, and even then, I am often considered to be "one strange bird."

When I think back through my years of life and schooling, it is easy for me to get irritated and depressed by how truly desolate I was. How much of the time I used to spend in tears, how much time I used to spend alone, how people's strongest impression of me is one of a low ponytail matched with glasses and hidden in the corner with a book, during recess.

If I'm to be honest, though, I was never truly alone. Granted, to consider me popular or well-liked is a hilarious joke. However, God always provided for me. Even in the loneliest corners of my life, He always sent me at least one friend, often an unexpected person.

And while those friends often shifted, I always had someone who cared about my existence.

I also had my family. They don't count, however, as adolescents consider their family to be an irritation at best and a veritable dagger in their kidneys at worst.

Those friends taught me the value of patience, of remembering birthdays, of writing little notes of encouragement, of remembering to send even a text invitation to the party "everybody" knows about, of standing by the snack table and talking during a party.

Without those friends, I would only have an idea what it's like to be socially awkward and outcasted;  because of them, though, I understand how dynamic it is to be extended the hand of grace, accept it, and learn how to extend mine as well to others.

"The Company"

IronCross Automotive: My new workhome

My daddy started working at this company several years ago.
Among other things, they produce those tube steps on the sides of trucks. If I were a man, I could probably explain better what all they make.

My role in this male-dominated ecosystem of ex-cons, illegals, and toothless white guys, is inventory girl.
I walk around with a can of spraypaint, a legal pad and pen, stencil numbers, and my phone/camera.

Step 1: Locate a machine.
Step 2: Search all over machine for any type of number or information and record it.
Step 3: Clear away the  grease from a spot on the machine and label it with a number.
Step 4: Take a picture of the machine.
Step 5: Upload pictures and information into spreadsheets.

All this must be done while avoiding forklifts, flying sparks, and pieces of machinery that look as if they're starving to rip off my fingers.

The men have different responses to me.
Some look at me suspiciously (Only woman. Woman with paint).
Some are helpful! (Make the welders cease their face-splattering fireworks and tell me the names of machines)
Some are both helpful and suspicious (Only help me because they're afraid I'm gonna mislabel their machine or cover it with spray paint. Entirely possible. Spray paint is a learned art).

It sure ain't waitressing. But, with backward baseball hat on head, server apron turned tool belt on waist, and okie accent fully on-cue, I am plunging into the world of automotives.

9//5/12

Sometimes in life, there are moments of absolute certainty. 

For a handful of people, this comes when they “hear” God’s voice telling them what direction they need to turn.

Others, like my Grandma Ruth, have their moments of absolute certainty when they are in the market and have taken their broom-straw to test melons. And find one. 

My most recent moment of certainty was when I realized, in my distractedness, that my dress was completely seethrough and my underwear were shining straight through. This, and I had already been publicly out and about for three hours. I was certain that it was in the top twenty-five things I wish I could do differently. That or the moment I stumbled over my words and accidentally told my male professor “good cock!” instead of “good talk!” 

It’s in these moments that, in your absolute certainty, you learn more about who you are as a person. God hearers get direction for their life, Grandma Ruths get to prove their half-baked theories when a beautiful red shows itself in a watermelon. And people like me are reminded once again that “cool” will never be my middle name. 

6/29/12-Secrets to the Workout of a Century

Step one: go to the lake with your entire extended family
Step two: wake up before the rest of your cousins
Step three: go jetskiing by yourself
Step four: go to middle of the lake.
Step five: make sure engine battery dies, thus stranding you
Step six: unsuccessfully attempt to flag down help
Step seven: start swimming. Don’t stop.

Yes. I know this from personal experience. It took me 2.5 hours until I received divine intervention. My body is now akin to jello. But it was fun.