David and I talked about my lost feeling. He assured me that once we found a church home I would feel more grounded. With a church would come ministry opportunities. He also suggested that I might want to volunteer at the boys' school. We discussed the possibility of my returning to teaching now that Zach was in school, but I wasn't sure that teaching was the answer. A teacher's hours would be the same as those of the boys, but I knew from experience that classroom hours weren't the only hours a teacher spent doing her job. I wanted my evenings free to spend with my children. About the only solid conclusion we reached was that we would need to invest in a second vehicle so that I would have wheels, other than roller blades.
Unfortunately, the search for a church home proved protracted. The college president suggested to David that we visit all of the churches in town before making a selection. He thought our presence in the various churches would be good P.R. for the college. While this may have been so, it prolonged my feeling of disconnection.
When we finally did join a church after four months, we discovered that David was a terrible church member. He had trouble listening to someone else preach. Instead of allowing God to revive his spirit, David had a tendency to critique the sermon. No matter how hard he tried to turn off the inner critic, he failed. When the opportunity came to serve as interim in a pastorless church, he jumped at the chance. The boys and I stayed behind. Our rationale was good, but in hindsight, it may have been flawed. We decided that the boys needed continuity. They needed to build friendships with other children from Christian homes. We believed that developing peer relationships was more important than worshipping together as a family. This decision laid the groundwork for separate ministries. Looking back, I believe we were out of God's will in this decision. I don't know if we should've moved from interim to interim with David or if he should've turned down interim opportunities in order to give his sons continuity and a unified family worship experience. I am convinced that one or the other was God's perfect will for our marriage.
At the time, this period of ministry separation seemed to be the right decision. For years it appeared to work. It was like my earring, lost in plain sight.
When I was in the late stages of my pregnancy with Faith, we took the boys to my parents' home for a protracted visit with their grandparents. They would bring the boys back when I went into labor. After we returned home, I discovered that one of my earrings was missing. I searched the house and the car. I called my parents and had them search there. The earring was gone. After a week, David bought me a new pair. He knew from experience that I would resist an identical pair. Instead he bought one with grape leaves forming a circle.
"It's like our love," he told me. "The leaves and the vine form a continuous loop. Our love feeds on itself. It's an unending circle that's strong and enduring."
Sadly, I donned the replacement earrings. Despite David's words, my heart ached for the loss of my roses. Somehow the new earrings didn't look right. For David's sake, I pretended that his gesture was enough, but we both knew it wasn't. In my heart, I hoped for a miracle restoration. I even checked the bottoms of all of our sneakers. When we talked to the boys, I challenged them.
"Search around grandma's house. If you find my earring, I'll pay you ten dollars."
I figured they would look harder if I promised a reward. Mama told me that the promise was an effective stimulus. They searched every inch of her house. They even crawled around the yard and sifted through the gravel in the driveway, but no earring.
Three months later, Zach was strapping Faith's car-seat in the back of the vehicle. He straightened up with a wide grin on his face.
"Is that earring reward still good?" he asked.
I was bent over, changing a diaper on the front seat. At his words, I snapped to attention, banging my head on the top of the doorframe. I rubbed my head.
"Of course it's still good," I said.
Holding out his hand, Zach revealed the missing earring.
"Where was it?" I asked. "We've all searched that back seat many times, because I took a nap back there on the way home from grandma's."
"I know," Zach said. "When I pulled out the seat belt, the earring fell out. I guess it was caught in there the whole time."
Like the earring, our marriage was lost in plain sight. The only difference was that we didn't know it was lost. Even though we experienced ups and downs, we believed we were on track. Everything was right in our world. David was where God wanted him, at Rimrock College. Our boys made close friends at church. I became the youth leader and later the education director for the church. We were serving God. He seemingly had no choice but to bless, and bless He did. He blessed us as much as He could, but I believe He wanted to bless us more. The problem was that we chose the direction of our ministry, rather than asking Him what He wanted.
#
Faith stared at the silent fountain in the corner, a large clay pot with two smaller pots stacked on top. A pump usually sent water from the bottom up through a tube running through all the pots. The top two pots lay on their sides, letting water splash from one to the other and into the cistern at the bottom. It had been unplugged because no one was living in the house, and it needed water added every few days because of splash and evaporation factors.
"That fountain still has the capability of running and providing tranquil sounds, but it's not connected to a source of power," Faith thought. "When Mama and Daddy chose their own direction instead of seeking God's guidance, they disconnected themselves from their source of power. Is that what I've done? I keep telling God I want his help, but I'm not listening to what He tells me."
Faith got up, filled the fountain with water, and plugged it in. At first the pump gurgled and sputtered. Then it began to hum and water started pouring out of the top of three stacked pots as the pump did its job. The soothing sound that Mama loved filled the room.
Standing by the pump, holding the watering can, Faith realized that the pump not only needed to be plugged into a power source, but it also needed a continual supply of water. Left untended, the water would evaporate and the pump would have nothing to pump.
"I'm like that," she thought. "I need to be watered often. For God's power to be effective, I have to read my Bible and pray and attend worship. Otherwise I'll dry up.
"I'm sorry, God. Give me another chance. Pour in your love, and I'll let it flow through me, even into Aaron if that's what you want."
#
I took David's suggestions. I volunteered at the boys' school. I took on the job of youth leader at the church we joined. I made some good friends and slowly began to fill my life with worthwhile things. Still, I was not completely satisfied. I itched to write.
I acquired a list of Christian publications. I mailed them each a copy of two columns, one humorous and the other serious, offering to make submissions on a monthly basis. I told them that I planned to keep the copywrite to my columns and to submit them to numerous publications, just as syndicated columnists publish the same column in numerous newspapers.
I kept the copywrite to the columns I wrote in Louisiana, too, although I had written them for only one paper. The editor told me I could keep the copywrite, as long as I promised not to sell them to anyone else until a year after he published them. The name of my column, though, belonged to the paper. I could no longer use Taking Off with Lander. I tried out numerous other titles that would be a pun on my surname before finally settling for Life's Bumpy Landings by Sydney Lander.
Ten publications sent a favorable response. They all agreed to a six-month contract with an option to extend if they received a positive reader response. They all stipulated that they wanted humor, like the column on cold feet. They told me they already had enough serious writers. All of the publications renewed after six months and numerous others chose to pick up the popular column that resonated with readers.
We had been in Billings a year when the first call came asking me to speak at a conference.
"My husband is the public speaker in the family," I told the caller.
"We don't want him. We want you," came the reply. "Your stories are so funny. All you have to do is tell a story or two, deliver a moral, and everyone will be thrilled."
"I need to talk this over with David and pray about it," I equivocated. "When do I have to let you know?"
"I'll call you back in two days."
I was excited and scared at the same time. I couldn't wait for David to get home. I checked his schedule and then called and invited him to lunch. David had always been my biggest cheerleader, and he didn't disappoint this time.
"You can do this, Syd," he said. "When you make up bedtime stories for the boys, you keep them in stitches. I can give you a few pointers on organization, but if you stick pretty much to the stories in your columns, everyone will love you."
"I don't know, David. I do okay in front of a classroom, but this is entirely different."
"Just picture them in their underwear. That's a time-honored gimmick. It's hard to be intimidated by someone in their underwear."
He had no idea how counterproductive that advice would prove. Obviously his imagination was less vivid than mine.
Luckily, I tried the gimmick when I did a sort of trial run for the seniors' group at our church.
There was an overweight country bumpkin in the second row with a beer belly and a triple chin. I pictured him with his rolls of fat resting on a protruding belly that sagged over a pair of American flag boxers?
An anorexic-looking woman was sitting behind him. I imagined her wearing a stretchy sports bra because she didn't have enough fat on her bones to fill out a real one. I could count the ribs leading to the concave place where a normal abdomen would be. The tiny briefs I pictured on her bony hips looked like they were designed for a toddler.
There was an extremely old couple nodding off in the first row. I'm not even going to describe what might sag and where you might find unwanted hair, but the gander at his knobby knees next to her dimpled ones was enough.
You get my drift. Few of the bodies in the audience calmed my nerves when imagined in their skivvies. By the time I worked my way through graphic pictures of bikini briefs on the wrong guy, boxers with florescent designs, whitey-tighties a size too small, and bras and panties from sexy lace to faded granny-style briefs with holes, I was ready for the loony bin. Somehow I stumbled through my speech, but never again did I try picturing my audience in their underwear.
Another suggestion David gleaned from those who teach public speaking is to pick a spot or object on the wall behind the audience and speak to it. I tried that in front of a mirror. I had a really difficult time generating enthusiasm while talking to a wall. It caused me to violate another tenant David espoused, maintaining eye contact. When I was speaking to the mirrored wall I was imagining behind an audience, I looked like a zombie tuned in to an unseen master. I knew I would make no eye contact and so give the impression of insincerity, at best, and evil intent, at worst.
I finally decided that I would just talk to my audience as though I was telling a story to my kids. David's natural talent was relating to his listeners on their level. He could enthrall people of all ages by keeping his sermons simple and using lots of illustrations. I didn't know if treating adult audiences like they were kids who wanted to hear a good story would work, but it was my only shot. After all, that's what Jesus did. He told tons of stories.
#
Faith laughed. Leave it to Mama to find a parallel with Jesus that she could use. But she had been a great storyteller. All of Faith's friends loved to spend the night because they knew Sydney would put them to bed with a story.
"My favorite was Junkyard Bear," Faith said aloud.
Mama had made up a story about a bad little bear cub that wandered away from his Mom to explore the junkyard. It took place in Alaska, where Aunt Joni said you could usually find a bear rummaging through the city dumps.
"I wonder why she didn't ever write a children's book?" Faith thought.
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