Gindi Vincent

The Dish on Career, Fashion, Faith, and Family

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Where’s Our Destination?

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Crunch, crunch, crunch.

(The gravel grinds underfoot.)

Chhhhhh, chhhhhh, chhhhhh.

(The wind blows past my ears.)

Wheewhee, chirpchirp, lalalala.

(The birds sing in the trees.)

I walked past the gravel road, onto the pavement.  Past the barn, the hay, the fields.  The family gathered cattle behind me, but I pressed into the silence further ahead. 

I’ve been seeking out silence this Lent.  Finding it and pressing in.  Intentionally looking for the quiet. 

It’s easier to find out here.  The farm offers the space I have craved.

Last weekend, little bit and I drove into town from the ranch for supplies.

She cradled my phone in her hands with the little map on the screen in front of her.  It was foggy and the roads ahead weren’t visible.

Where are we?, she asked looking for the blue dot that would show her where we were in relation to where we were headed.

Where is our destination?, she followed up looking for the red dot that would provide her the answer. Not seeing it appear on the screen.

Where are we?, I thought this morning as I walked toward nothing in particular.  Where’s our destination?

I’m less concerned with that question than I used to be.  Historically, I would have laid out the map for where we were, where we would be tomorrow, and next month, and next year.  Heck, I’ve almost stopped asking the question. 

Last weekend, I sat in the stillness as the fog rolled over the fields and animals.

I absorbed the space.

Then, I drove along the Gulf Coast the next morning, increasingly disoriented, Deep in dark fog to get to a work assignment.

I woke the next morning in what looked to be a cloud and wandered from the hotel to the oceanfront next door.  As God parted the heavy mist, I absorbed the space. I listened to the waves.

This weekend, the tail end of Spring Break, brought us to the farm.  Lately, I have suffered from searing headaches and one had descended just as we arrived.  I went straight to bed.  It lasted 24 hours.  When I woke this morning, it had lifted, like the fog, and in gratitude I went walking.

Not for exercise value.  Not to reach a destination.  But to absorb the space.

There’s been a verse I’ve come back to for five years now.  It appears twice in the Bible.  As if once wasn’t enough for us to get it.  First in 2 Samuel, then in Psalm:

He brought me into a spacious place. He rescued me because He delighted in me.

I’ve been studying a book with my church this Lent, Sacred Pace.  It reemphasized a desire that has grown in me for years now, sometimes quashed by the inevitability of life in the modern age: intentionality. 

Slowing down.

Being still.

Absorbing the space, and creating more of it. 

Realizing if we will allow ourselves to be rescued, we will discover a spacious place.

Making intentional choices that matter in the long run.

So today I studied the bramble on the rusting gate.  

I watched the water flow out of the bayou.  

I listened to the cows moo as I returned.

On this day before St. Patrick’s Day, I even found a four leaf clover. Because I was moving slowly. And looking for one.

And I continued my un-destination quest. Looking for nothing, headed nowhere, and finding myself.

The Politics Post

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I don’t write about politics.

One, because I love to focus on things that bring us together. From the lighthearted, like fashion, to the sacred, like faith.

Two, I don’t like to set myself up to be burned at the stake.

Really, that’s what political opinions have become. An opportunity for those that disagree with you to throw flaming arrows at you. I generalize, of course. I have dear friends with whom I have fascinating discourse on political issues, and we disagree intellectually. My father in law and I, who have quite different perspectives on political agendas, regularly have riveting and insightful (sometimes heated, but rarely) discussions over wine at his farm table.

But I love politics.

Or love what politics used to be.

I used to wake up on Sunday mornings and brew a pot of coffee and watch Meet the Press with Tim Russert and inhale the political news. His analysis was rich and fair and participants disagreed respectfully.

In those seasons, during my single 20s, my entire life goal was to run for United States Senate.

Those dreams are gone.

I can’t fathom jumping into the firestorm today.

But the political issues of America now are ever more critical, and I still like to approach them with intellectual curiosity. It’s the history/poli-sci major in me.

So I would love for my children to know some of the fundamentals of politics. What are the issues and what are their perspectives on each issue. Not based on the negative attack ad they saw on t.v. in between their favorite show or their parents banter regarding a particular issue (which does get heated during election season).

This post is still not about politics, specifically. A divisive Republican or Democratic world view of immigration or health care.

Rather, it’s about how we talk to our kids about politics. How we raise them to think for themselves. How we tee up what the issues of today are.

I live in Houston, Harris County, Texas. Geographically, my state votes overwhelmingly Republican and my city leans Democratic. The perfect place for the Matalin-Carville-esque marriage I have.

We have lots of races on the ballot this year. I went to the League of Women Voters website to print out their voters’ guide which I used to do regularly but had failed to do lately. For those of you who haven’t used this resource, LWV is a nonpartisan group who asks each candidate in your region the same questions and then prints them for your consideration. I recommend finding your local guide before you vote.

Then, I went to Harris Votes (my local voting website but your county will have one too) and printed off my sample ballot.

On Tuesday night, after dinner, I sat down with the kids and told them we were going to discuss some of the candidates. They boo-ed and hissed and said nooooooooooooooo.

I explained I had a guide with candidates answers. They would get to pick the candidate based on their answer, but I would not tell them the candidates’ names or political parties. I have one child who unswervingly espouses my husband’s political views (based on nothing but each of their passion), one child who tends to side with me in political debates, and one that waffles.

They are NINE.

Yes, we’ve been talking politics in front of them since one of the party conventions during our Disney World vacation when they were two.

They perked up. We get to pick who you are going to vote for?

Yes, I replied, you are going to help me choose.

They still have short attention spans, so I selected a U.S. Congressional race, a Texas Supreme Court race, and a Texas Senate race. I explained, simply, what a Libertarian was as they didn’t understand that party.

I read the answers for the first race which only had two candidates. Two selected one candidate and the other selected the opposing candidate. Then I told them who each candidate was. One child yelped, “Noooooooooo, she’s crazy. I wouldn’t vote for her!!!!” So we explored why he thought the candidate was ‘crazy.’ Hearsay and attack ads. I explained why I wouldn’t want to run for office now:

People will get up on t.v. and say Gindi believes THIS and Gindi believes THAT and Gindi wants all the people in her district to DIE! You see, it’s getting harder and harder to find the facts. And you would know those things weren’t true, but other children in other homes wouldn’t know. Because someone would be loud and entertaining and it wouldn’t matter if they were telling the truth about me. People could say mean things about you too – on the t.v. or on the internet. They could post mean things on Facebook and it could make people not want to vote for me even though it wasn’t true.

They paused. Took that in. I think they understood that sometimes what they are hearing is just the person with the loudest megaphone.

We moved on to the judicial races, which was harder. The answers were dense and they ask me what they meant. I tried to translate simply and wished, on behalf of my profession, there was an easier way to explain judicial philosophy. I am a firm believer that judicial, political party, races are a bad thing for a state or country because it infuses the judiciary with a political bent rather than a clear and fair perspective (not that anyone can ever have an entirely clear and fair perspective).

Finally, we closed with the State Senate race. I laughed because when I read the answers to the first question, what are the two most important things to your district, the Libertarian talked about government spying. Without any prompting, one of the boys said, that spying person is the Libertarian so I’m not picking him. Kids. They’re awesome.

Again, they picked someone they didn’t expect. We talked about why.

I’m still working my way through the guide because I truly don’t know who to vote for in each race. I am not a straight party voter and never have been. When the kids were younger, I was terrible about remembering to research the candidates and I’d leave some races blank and feel guilty. I might still leave some races blank. Feel free to judge me for that but in some races I truly do not care for either candidate. I know we’ll get one, but I can’t pick between them.

But I do know better about who I’m voting for in some races. And my kids helped.

Regardless of your party affiliation, or lack thereof, I hope this is something we can all agree on. We don’t want to infuse angry political rhetoric in our kids and then unleash MORE angry partisans on the world. Why don’t we instead infuse our kids with educated political reason? Ahhh, to disagree with someone and explain my reason why rationally.

It doesn’t matter how old they are – six or sixteen. We should be the ones teaching our kids about the issues and helping them to develop sound judgment. Maybe they’ll do better than we’re doing right now. We can hope.

And go vote. After you research the issues

When You Get Sick

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Sometimes I’m quiet over here because I’m so busy.

Lately, I’ve been quiet because I have been sick. Really sick.

I got a cold in early August and have been sick with a cough and related goo on and off since then. Even after a mid August Z-pack, I just couldn’t kick it.

By weekend before last, I felt miserable. Sharp stabbing pain through my left shoulder blade that hurt every time I breathed or sneezed or coughed. And I did a lot of that. Plus I was wiped out.

Even though I called Monday morning for a doctor’s appointment, I couldn’t get in until Wednesday. I imagined the worst (you know, referred pain and all that business). I couldn’t drive into the office on Tuesday, so I punily worked from home in between coughing and losing my voice.

Wednesday, the pain was so bad I thought I’d pass out driving to the doctor’s office. The working diagnosis: pneumonia and pleurisy (who am I, Henry VIIIth? – pleurisy?). I got a shot of steroids and an extra strength dose of Z-pack.

Nonetheless, I was back at the doctor on Thursday. Since my chest X-ray was relatively clear, my wonderful doc was a bit befuddled. Maybe bronchitis and pleurisy? More anti-inflammatory meds.

Then I was back at the clinic on Saturday. The shoulder pain was gone but my whole body felt like it was revolting. Pain in my arms and legs. Coughing without a break. Chest pain (probably from all the stinkin’ coughing!). My voice had come back but I felt like it was the only thing working.

I had canceled the week’s worth of activities and my hubby was trying to keep the household running.

What do you do when you can’t do anything?

I read. I slept. Even worked as I could. I let the kids cuddle up and read to me. The sensations were acute and it got me fairly scared at times. You know, the world is a scary place and when the one thing you’ve come to rely on, your body, falls apart, it’s unnerving.

I opened up my Bible Gateway app and the verse of the day was from Psalm 37. I started playing the audio of the Psalms, as wafts of Chapter 37, 38, 39, and 40 poured over me:

Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture…Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him…

My back is filled with searing pain; there is no health in my body…All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you.

I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.

My life right now is actually less busy than typical for me. I’ve stepped off all my board appointments. I know how to do my job. The kids are doing well in school. Yes, I work full time and so does my husband and we have three third graders and life is “American busy” but not at levels I’ve been before.

But still.

It was too much.

And even this week, it feels like a bit much. I’ve canceled everything but work and I’m wiped by lunchtime. The rain falls and the chill has set in, certainly chilly for Houston, and I slowly move forward.

For those of us “super-doers,” we judge ourselves when we slow down (voluntarily or otherwise). But we forget we have a marathon not a sprint in front of us. God is faithful, but I think some of us push Him to the limit of what is possible. Maybe a year’s worth of 5 am work out wake up calls and late nights and running kids and working and juggling/ planning life can wear us out a bit.

Maybe some of us are supposed to hear: Be still.

Or be brave or trust me or hang in there. I don’t know the message for every day – heck, it’s probably all of the above.

Do today as best you can. Let go of the stuff you can’t manage today and do what you can. Tell your people you love them. Say your prayers. Kiss your kids.

And wear a jacket for Pete’s sake, it’s cold out there and you could get sick!

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

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This morning, a small black spider appeared in my bathroom sink.

I’d gotten out of the shower and was brushing my teeth when I looked down. There he was trying to discretely exit the bathroom sink before spotted. A challenge indeed for a jet-black itsy bitsy spider on a gleaming white ceramic basin.

Without a moment’s thought, I washed him down the sink along with my toothpaste.

Done.

Or so I thought.

I continued on my morning routine when I looked down and lo and behold up the basin climbed the same resilient spider.

I washed him down again.

Done.

Wrong again.

My daughter came in for me to fix her hair. As I began to pull her newly shortened bob into a ponytail, she yelped. “I’m not pulling,” I responded. “NO! There’s a spider in the sink!,” she replied.

Haha.

So he was.  The itsy bitsy spider.  Climbing up the water spout.

I washed him down my sink FIVE times. I actually started feeling guilty by time number four. This fellow deserved to live, I thought. On the last wash, I determined I’d catch him on his way back up and release him to the great outdoors. He probably wouldn’t make it long, but he’d die happier.

But alas, rinse number 5 turned out to be his end. He never reappeared even though she and I both anxiously awaited his return.

I couldn’t help but think how our journeys can resemble that small spider’s.

Particularly given what my mind had been full of as I was praying this very morning.

Life can wash us down the sink and it’s up to each of us to fight our way back up that dark drain and try to move forward.

How many times can we get knocked down before we lose the will to stand back up?

The answer is different for everyone.

But what if right when you’re at the breaking point, just when you’re thinking I can’t do it any longer, that’s the break through point?

What if that spider had climbed up one more time? He was exhausted. Defeated. More than a little of an underdog. Yet, after seeing his resilience, I’d decided to set him free. He just needed to come back one more time.

I don’t know what you’re facing today. Whatever it is, stand back up.

Get back in the ring.

Climb out of that drain.

Be brave despite what those past setbacks might make you believe the future holds.

Numbers 10:9 When you go into battle in your own land against an enemy who is oppressing you, sound a blast on the trumpets. Then you will be remembered by the Lord your God and rescued from your enemies.

1 Samuel 17:37, 45 (David speaking about Goliath): The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine…. You come against me with the sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel.

Psalm 18:18-19: They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.

Your, my, his, our next break out might be the moment of break through.  The spacious place. The promised land.

The Bitter With The Sweet

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I’ve been sad.

When it comes to writing, one of two things can happen when life deals me a setback.  It fuels my writing. Or I turtle. (As I call it. I disappear. The old adage, if you can’t say anything nice…)

The thing is, I was doing just fine.  Life was busy but stable. Work was busy but good.  I’d been a little under the weather but managed just fine and things were okay.  Good, even.

Then, a setback. Setbacks sometimes knock you a little harder when you don’t see them coming.  A bitter pill.

In the middle of all that, smack dab in the middle, good made an appearance. A few little good things had been brewing, and then the even bigger good thing showed up.  Said hello in the middle of my sad.  A sweet taste made sweeter against the bitter.

My bitter has not been nearly as bitter as some people so so dear to me.  The bitter setback I’ve seen sideswipe them would knock me flat on the floor.  But even in their heartache, I’ll spy a sweet interlude appear right in the middle.

One of my closest friends and I were talking about this duality in our lives today.  She said, It’s the balance in life.  Even when we get really good news, you can get hit with negative that takes away a bit of the sweet.  But then on the flip side, when something really bad is happening, you find a little bit of good happening there too.  That’s life… days and weeks are not all good or bad. 

I couldn’t find, in my translation, the term “bittersweet” in the Bible.  But I found a number of stories which used the word bitter.  Women weeping and mourning because of a painful turn.

Naomi suffered bitterly (“the Almighty has made my life very bitter”) when she found herself widowed with both sons dead.  Her also-widowed daughter-in-law won’t leave her and they find themselves back in her hometown.  How does the story end?  Boaz finds Ruth, marries her, and Naomi is provided for.  By those ancestors of Jesus.  Does Naomi ever stop grieving her husband and sons?  I can’t imagine she did.  But sweet made an appearance in the bitter.

A little later, we find Hannah “weeping bitterly” to the Lord because of her infertility in I Samuel.  What happens?  The Lord blesses her with a son, Samuel, but even then she doesn’t get to see him off to high school.  After he is weaned, she “returns him to the Lord” and he’s raised under Eli the priest.

In one of my favorite Bible stories, in 2 Kings 4, the Shunammite woman has a son after years of believing she’d live without children. Then he dies. DIES. The most unfathomable of the bitter.  She runs to Elisha in “bitter distress.”  Elisha calls on the Lord, lays on the boy, and he lives. Story isn’t done though. Famine hits the land and she has to run to enemy land to subsist for seven years, leaving all she has and knows. When she returns, the king restores her land.  The ultimate bitter and sweet back and forth story.

They come hand in hand.  The bitter and the sweet.  So stark was the contrast today, I sat up and noticed it.  I wanted to know what to do with it.  I decided on this.

Be grateful for the sweet.  My gratitude may have been even more enormous because of how much I needed it today.  And still sit with the bitter.  My dearest friends gave me permission to be sad or mad or whatever I needed to process.  You’ve seen little stories here over and over about how good God is to show up with the sweet, even in the form of a pizza or a refrigerator, when the bitter hits.

Find the sweet.  It’s there.  In roaring waterfalls and afternoon phone calls.  It’s in the first day of school and the plane delay that avoids the storms. Don’t paper over the bitter, but know there’s more there.