The Voice of Truth

The weekend is over again. How does this keep happening?! Acupuncture? Check. Swimming? Check. Life by Keith Richards? Check. Superbowl fun? Check.

At the end of the typical weekend drive-a-thon, I ended up at my mom's church last night. (Note #1: Kevin, you can stop reading right now. Note #2: Mom, sorry for not calling. Hopefully you went earlier! Came home from Bristol, dropped the snowboard gear in the garage and kept going.) Sometimes I am overtaken with emotion during church services. Yesterday was one of those days. (Glad you weren't with me?) A young soloist, maybe high school aged, sang the Voice of Truth during communion. She looked and sounded like an angel.

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.

Later Jennings, celebrating the Packers' win, cameras everywhere, confetti flying, says to the FOX interviewer, "To God be the glory."

(Yeah, I hear ya hon. God hates the Steelers.) Even though I know that most of us cannot stand when famous people thank God during awards shows or game day wins, it always takes me by surprise. And I love it. As we say, somewhat robotically, in church week after week, "It is right to give Him thanks and praise." I don't gotta problem with that.

I Love You

The New York Times published an article last Sunday entitled “The People on the Bus Say ‘Shame on You’” in which the author was ruminating on whether or not she is at fault for not saying “I love you” enough to her child.

I need to cut this article out for my mom who, to the best of my knowledge, has never told me that she loves me. Not that she needs to; it’s very obvious. We chat on the phone almost daily (if not multiple times per day). We go out for meals, go shopping and travel together. She takes care of my kids frequently and goes out of her way to do wonderful things for me and my family often. But utter “I love you”? Not as long as I can remember.

The funny thing is: she will say it to my kids. One time, a couple of years ago, I asked her why that was. She laughed and said something to the tune of, “I don’t know! I have issues!” which made me laugh, too.

The inability to express love in a heartfelt way has permeated my entire family. I know that we love each other deeply but whenever I say “I love you” to my oldest brother, he laughs in return. He would probably say it’s because we talk during work hours and his coworkers would overhear but that’s really not it at all. We’re just not an effusive family. None of us hug either. Or if we do, it’s not a warm embrace but more of a light touch that borders on awkwardness.

With the exception of his bear hugs, my husband fits this mold, too. Not that it comes as any surprise. I’m guessing that people tend to gravitate toward people who share some of the same emotional tendencies (or lack thereof). My hubby claims that if we say the L-word too often, it will become rote and meaningless. As a result, whenever I say “I love you” to him, he responds with “Right backatcha.” Not exactly the same but I know that he means it.

So, to the NYT writer Hana Schank: you’re fine and your son is fine. And to my family and kids (and my cat, Stinky, who never says it back either): I love you, I love you, I love you!