Commune with Us

When the pandemic began. I was one week into a brand new job, one of my sons was in Lanett with me after deciding to take a semester break from college, the other son was 30 minutes away working at a bank and living in Auburn, and Bobby was way up in Pennsylvania working on an oil and gas project. 

This was fairly normal for our family, but the lock down hit us just as hard as everyone else. We were new to Lanett, even though I grew up here. We had my mom and old friends, but we didn’t know many other people. 

In that year when everything stopped, on a dime, in a second, everything shifted. Everything changed. School looked remarkably like homeschooling for everyone. Work, even when you were working on a team, was done solo. And, church, well, church made me feel more remote than anything.

The shut down in Alabama started about a week before my husband and I were going to join a new church. I was looking forward to getting to know people. Having lunch with ladies I wanted to discuss missions and service opportunities with, having people over for meals that started out slightly awkward then ended in sighs and thankfulness over true connection. I was looking forward to beginnings.

But, we were all sent home to work alone, learn alone and even worship alone.

Bread and fish after an Easter Sunday service
standing by Niagra Falls

During the first Facebook service our church offered, my son, Allen, and I sang along to worship songs and read the scripture text for the morning. We listened to the sermon and bowed our heads in prayer. Molly, our dog, enjoyed the service with us, snuggled in Allen’s lap. Then, communion. 

The person leading the communion part of the service asked those at home to take a minute to “gather supplies.” Allen and I paused the video then scampered into the kitchen to lay our hands on the first things we could find. Anything that might work as a stand in for bread and wine, anything that might somehow help us turn our thoughts to the sacrifice of Christ.

I’ll admit this was kind of hard for me to begin with. I once had a friend describe communion at a camp her family attended. The children and adults at the camp shared in a communion meal of Coke and donuts. I kind of thought that was stretching the bounds of acceptable church behavior. Not sacrilegious, but getting there. 

So, it was with a bit of unease that I grabbed the first things my eyes landed on, leftover Domino’s garlic knots from dinner the night before and Milo’s sweet tea from the refrigerator. I cut two small pieces of buttery, parsley-flecked bread and put them on a small plate. I poured a couple of ounces of sweet tea into two, small, SEC Hall of Fame, plastic cups. I carried them to the family room and sat them on the trunk we use for a coffee table.

As the service continued, we were asked to share the elements with each other. 

“The body of Christ. 

Thanks be to God. 

The blood of Christ. 

Thanks be to God.” 

Allen and I took turns holding the plate, shyly and awkwardly saying the words. We each took our cup afterward and briefly held the tea aloft, almost toasting each other before taking a sip. 

Then, it was quiet. We listened to the music being played on Spring Road Christian Church’s Facebook page and settled back into our places on the couch. I closed my eyes thanking the Lord for all He has done, for all He continues to do for me - in me and around me. 

And, in that moment I felt peaceful, loved. Like God was present in the room, the smell of garlic hanging in the air like incense, the tumble of blankets on the couch needing to be folded. Like He didn’t care what we had eaten for communion, He just wanted to commune with us. To be invited, to be remembered. 

And, He was, even with such humble elements made holy by His very presence.

A gift of wine
brewed in a college fermenting class

Before the pandemic most of my experiences with communion were very reverent and saintly. Like the time I met a young woman who had briefly lived in the home of a pastor. She said every Saturday he ground wheat kernels by hand and baked bread loaves for communion at his church the next day. 

Or at my wedding where we had a freshly made, beautiful loaf of bread made by our pastor’s wife. We also had Sprite. Someone, me probably, had forgotten we needed grape juice for the communion part of our ceremony. I wondered why Brother Webb was looking at me so intently as I took the chalice. I didn’t stop to think about it in the moment, but I did briefly wonder why there were bubbles in the “juice.”

The lock down chipped away at some of my closely held ideals of what communion should look like. During the pandemic, in our communion celebrations, we shared cheese straws and water, pieces of sandwich bread and orange juice, crackers and Coke. It hasn’t been the same communion meal twice, but it was special and sweet and, dare I say it, holy, every time. 

Because the thing about communion isn’t what you’re eating, grape juice and hard, tiny wafers or wine and bread, or Coke and donuts, it’s what you’re remembering. It’s what you’re choosing to partake in. And, that’s the Body and Blood of Christ. 

Sitting in an easily accessible place on the shelf in my kitchen is a book called Bread and Wine. It’s a book with stories about food and meals and friends. It has the biscuit recipe I make many Sunday nights, a delicious vinaigrette salad dressing, and the decadent sounding Dark Chocolate Sea Salted Toffee. In this book, Shauna Niequist, the author, talks about how important bread and wine are not only as elements that fill our bodies, but as indelible marks on the life of a believer in Jesus. She says,

“Bread is bread, and wine is wine, but bread-and-wine is another thing entirely. 

The two together are the sacred and the material at once, 

the heaven and the earth, the divine and the daily.”

Shauna Niequist, Bread and Wine 

I’m so thankful the lock down is behind us, that we gather each Sunday, together, to worship and pray, to hug each other and shake hands, to hear the Word of God and take communion. Beautiful loaves of white bread, dipped in a bowl of scarlet juice. But, Allen would like everyone to know he’d appreciate more opportunities to have church with his dog. 

 7 Things My Dog Taught Me During the Quarantine of 2020

Several months ago, my son, Allen, casually said, “Mom, have you ever experienced anything like this before?” He was referring to the COVID-19 pandemic and its effect on the country and world.  My answer was, “Um, no.”

I’ve never lived through a quarantine or a pandemic. But neither has anyone else I know. There have been outbreaks in fairly recent years of cholera and yellow fever, Ebola and measles. But those have been in isolated areas and I only heard about them through the news or prayer requests of friends who are particularly well-informed.

Our present situation just hasn’t happened before in my lifetime. Schools closed, businesses shut down, travel limited. How are we supposed to cope with this craziness? Living in the midst of a pandemic has been hard. No one is immune to the uncertainty and the changes and the isolation. 

While trying to protect myself and my family by staying home as much as possible, I also realized I have a choice about how I spend this time. I like to learn stuff from what I’m going through. I like to look for the meaning and the reason. I want to have something to carry home in my pocket or show off after the fact. I want things to be tied up with a tidy bow. But, this pandemic, this quarantine, seems so crazy, it’s hard to make sense of anything at the moment.

So, I’m looking in some tried and true places for wisdom and inspiration: the joy of work, the art of making a house a home, and my dog. 

Molly is 65 lbs. of puppy. She runs and plays until her legs literally give out from under her. And she loves her people. The opportunity to have her people at home all day, all to herself, has been the delight of Molly’s life. She’s unaffected by the chaos and clutter in the world. So, I thought, maybe Molly can help me make sense of my world too.

Here are seven things Molly is teaching me during the quarantine of 2020. 

1. You Gotta Trust

Molly needs me for just about everything. Even though she knows where her food is and she can tell time (because she tells me every day when it’s 6 o’clock, or supper time) Molly can’t feed herself. She needs me to open the huge container, scoop out her food and put it in her dish. 

I’m trying to trust that God is going to take care of me and my family too. While I’m not going to go to Walmart and recklessly start licking grocery cart handles, I’m not going to disinfect all my packages when I get home either. I opt for a happy medium between caution and carefree.

I’m trying to trust that in this bizarre time of isolation and inconstancy God has a plan. I believe God has something for each of us to learn and we shouldn’t waste it watching too many episodes of Tiger King or The Big Bang Theory. Watch some of that stuff, by all means, just not too much.

2. Celebrate the stuff worth celebrating. It just may look different. 

Molly loves to celebrate. Just look at her here with this rockin’ hat on. Molly endured the hat because she wants to please us. We rewarded her with homemade peanut butter, turmeric treats. 

Like Molly, my mom had to celebrate a big birthday while separated from her family. It wasn’t a great day, but she chose to make the best of it with grace. Our family Zoom call seemed to make things a bit better. Back when things were “normal” we would have had dinner together and eaten cake and opened presents. But things aren’t even close to normal now. So, we had to make do.

3. If you get stir crazy, run around. Just don’t hurt anyone.

Molly sometimes gets what my son calls “the zoomies.” Apparently, that’s an actual phenomenon where dogs end up the night with a little too much energy. In order to get rid of it before bedtime, they start running, or zooming, around the house. Molly will run around our family room until her tongue is hanging out. Then, she’ll collapse in a heap next to the couch until someone decides to take her out for the last bathroom walk of the day. 

If you get stir crazy you can do something similar. Turn on music and dance, run around the block, or do push ups. Just make sure you don’t actually run into someone else. Molly does that sometimes. It hurts. 

Dancing makes me feel better, so I’m making sure to spend part of each day dancing around my family room. I get sweaty, jam out and laugh at my inability to do some pretty basic dance moves. Then I take a shower and wash it all away.

4. Taking a nap in the sun just makes good sense. 

        Molly needs her naps as any good dog does. She fights it sometimes, but when she lets herself rest, she’s a more pleasant dog to be around. We’re a lot alike in that way, Molly and me. And, if you can find a sunny spot to bask in the glow of the sunshine, all the better. Soak up that vitamin D so your doctor won’t prescribe vitamin D pills for you.

5. Savor the small stuff. 

While we’re all so isolated and schedules are weird and we can all be a bit afraid, we need to savor the small stuff. Molly will gently take a piece of ice or an occasional treat offered from my hand then run into the next room. She’ll find a hidden spot where she can throw herself down on the floor with her treasure. Then, she’ll savor and slurp each crumb or drop. You don’t have to hide with your treats. You can even share them; but take a minute to think about what you’re eating or drinking. Don’t just gulp it down. Savor.

6. You should always have something to play with

Molly loves toys. In fact, she loves every little bitty piece of her toys. She’s a very destructive chewer. I could present Molly with a toy lovingly selected and purchased for $10 or more.  Often she will return within minutes to show off what used to be part of that toy, but now most definitely isn’t. She enjoys her toys, whether whole or in parts, with such glee it’s hard to be upset with her. 

I bet you have something you love to do. Netflix should have nothing to do with it. Something you DO, not something you watch. Break out your complicated coloring book and color pencils or find your knitting needles and that unfinished scarf you started knitting several winters ago. Get to it. Enjoy the process of making and doing something. Play with it. Have fun. 

For Christmas, Bobby, my favorite husband, gave me an online painting class. It’s called “Paint Happy.” It’s taken me forever to make any progress on the happy flowers I’m painting, but I’m having so much fun with it. The teacher, my friend, Tricia, is so joyful. She laughs often and encourages you to “paint wonky.” There’s no risk, no pressure. Just painting and creating for the fun of it. What a joy!  If you want to paint happy too, try this.

7. Sometimes it’s hard to keep your distance

Molly has no sense of personal space, choosing to cling to a tiny corner of my footrest instead of finding her own spot on the floor. As far as she’s concerned, it’s all hers. Her space, your space, the in between space, all for Molly. When I get on the floor to do yoga, she grabs a toy and snuggles up next to me, never mind that I’m bent over in a banana shape and will soon need the space she’s in to straighten myself back up. 

        When I visit my mom, I walk in the door and give her a hug.  We try to turn our faces away from each other but it's hard. I’m a hugger and my kids are getting the full force of my hugginess. I’m sure they wish this virus would run its course for many reasons. One of them is undoubtedly giving mom another person or two to hug. They’re being sweet and enduring all the hugs admirably. However, I’m sure they want me to stop.

What have you learned during this time of coronavirus? We’re all struggling in some way. My husband was working in another state and living himself for the first few months of the pandemic shutdown. He’s an introvert, but this much alone time is even getting to him. He needs to at least see some other people, even if he doesn’t really want to have a party with them.

I saw a post on Reese Witherspoon’s Twitter yesterday. It makes a lot of sense. She says she asks herself some questions every day. These are the ones that stood out to me: 

• What am I grateful for today?

• Who have I checked in with or checked on today?

• What parts of “normal life” am I letting go of today?

I love that. We should be grateful and check in with someone daily, whether in this time of crisis or not. But what part of “normal life” have I tried to hold on to that I just need to let pass away? Makeup? Schedules? The time of day I prefer to go grocery shopping? What can I release and make myself happier in the process? 

Today I’m having to release hugging my mom. But that’s ok. I’ll go hug one of my kids instead. Or maybe I’ll go hug that sweet dog.

 

Everything is Going to be Okay

             If I asked you to help write a recipe for uncertainty, fear, or depression, what would it look like? Maybe, lock everyone up at home with their families? Spread a potentially life-threatening illness around the globe? Fill the news with contentious politics and acts of violence?

            Life today looks a lot like the results of that recipe. It’s no wonder so many of us are struggling with panic, frustration, and sorrow.

            It’s completely ok to be fearful. It’s what we do with that fear or what we do in the midst of that fear that matters.

            Do we watch incessant episodes of Gilmore Girls while eating Cheetos and cookie dough? (Asking for a friend.) Do we hide and waste the time we’ve been given? Or do we decide to rise?

            And, if we decide to rise, how do we do that? How do we rise above the chaos and the hand sanitizer and the nightly news? I know I can’t do it alone. I need something bigger than myself, something greater to pull me out of my worry and doubt. I need the Lord.

            So did a guy in the Bible named David. You’ve heard of him. He’s the guy who killed a lion and a bear while tending his flock of sheep. He stood up to the Philistine giant, Goliath. And he was a successful young captain in Israel’s army. Israel was constantly at war in those days, so David knew what it was to be scared and saddle up anyway, to loosely quote John Wayne. David would eventually rise to be King of the nation of Israel.

            David didn’t deny the presence of fear in his life, yet he knew what to do with it. He boldly trusted God despite his distress and dismay.

            In Psalm 56 verses 3 and 4 David said, “Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God (I will praise His word), in God I have put my trust; I will not fear, what can flesh do to me?” While you and I both know that “flesh” can do a lot of painful things, what David was saying here is the good God gives is much greater than anything another person might do to him.

            In this Psalm, David finds himself captured by some of his enemies and he is very alone. He fled from Saul who was king, who was his boss, his commander in chief, and went to Gath which is where Goliath was from. Goliath’s people hadn’t forgotten what David had done. David, much younger and much smaller, had humiliated the Philistines by destroying their champion with just a slingshot and a rock. The Philistines were still mad about that.

            What seemed to bother David the most about this situation wasn’t just being imprisoned, or solitary, or in danger, David was bothered most by the pressure, the unrelenting seriousness of his situation. In Psalm 56 verses 1 and 2 David says, “Be merciful to me, my God, for my enemies are in hot pursuit; all day long they press their attack. My adversaries pursue me all day long; in their pride many are attacking me.” Then, in verse 5 he says, “All day long they twist my words; all their schemes are for my ruin. (emphasis mine)”

            The incessant-ness of his situation was getting to David. Isn’t that what bothers us the most too? When you dread bedtime because your five-year-old is going to put up a fight. When you just want to be able to visit with your friends or work or go to the grocery store without a mask and hand sanitizer in your pocket. When you just can’t get away from the political arguments.

            But David knew God was with him. God loved him. God heard him and was sympathetic to David’s problem. In Psalm 56 verses 8-9 say, “You number my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle; are they not in Your book? When I cry to You, then my enemies will turn back; this I know, because God is for me.”

            So, what do we do with this? How can I apply this to my life today? How can I daily live out my trust in God? Here are just a few things I’m trying to do.

1.                          One of my resolutions for 2021 is to listen to the Gospels on my Bible app. I can do it while I’m in the car, cooking dinner or folding clothes. I love how the stories that are so familiar come alive when read one after the other.

2.                          Pray. When I pray, I’m trying not to recite my problems repeatedly. I share what’s on my heart, of course, then I thank God for the many blessings He’s placed in my life.

3.                        Journal. I try to journal most weekdays. I set my timer for 15 minutes, open my journal and write. It’s not always pretty or Godly or even legible. But it helps me get the thoughts out of my brain and on to paper. Amy Grant, the singer, calls it a brain dump.

            While you’re making use of one of these practices or something completely different, remember that you’re not alone. You’re never alone. Some of you are literally NEVER alone. You long for a day when you don’t have anyone clinging to your leg or pressed up against the door while you’re in the bathroom.

            God isn’t like that. He’s the company you want to have, the breath of fresh air that clears your lungs and your brain and revives you for the time ahead.

            One night when my twins were about three years old, I tucked them in to bed and heard the dreaded words, “Mom, don’t leave. I’m scared.” I tucked Allen in tighter and told him he didn’t have anything to worry about. Dad and I were right down the hall and besides, Jesus was right there in the room with him. He had no reason to be afraid.

            I told the boys to blow out the light, flipped the switch and closed the door most of the way. Then, I went about my nightly routine – wash the dishes, wash my face, pick out clothes for tomorrow. While walking past the boys’ bedroom, I paused outside the door to see if Allen had calmed down. He was completely quiet. Davis however was chanting over and over, “I’m Jesus! I’m Jesus!” He was the only other person in there and if I told Allen that Jesus was right in the room with him then…

            After laughing for a few minutes, I entered their room to start over. It went something like this, “Okay, Jesus is in here with y’all, but your brother is not him…”

 

“Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.”

-John Wayne

 

 

 

 

The Atlanta Airport at 5am

A day or two after posting this article about meditation, it occurred to me I left out the most important part. You don’t just empty your head of thoughts, no matter how hard that part or how pretty your imaginary bowl. As the voice says, “Inner emptiness is not the goal but the preparation.” The goal is to be filled with Godly truth.

After you’ve gotten all relaxed and quiet and rid yourself of most of your distracting thoughts (do I really need to wash the dog, can I make that yummy roast beef in my InstantPot?) then you need to fill yourself up. 

May your mind be as "un-busy" as the Atlanta airport at 5am.

Before the meditation even starts you choose what Bible passage you want to focus on. There are categories like “Who is Jesus?” or “Praying.” From the category you narrow your choices to something like “A prayer to God the Father, Matthew 6:9-13” or “God answers, Luke 11:5-10.”

Here the real blessing begins. You listen to the voice read the scripture a bit at a time. There’s silence in between the phrases and repetition. I’ve noticed parts of very familiar passages because I never slow down enough to truly listen to each word. In the practice of meditation, I do. 

After all that quiet and stillness and Words of Truth, the voice invites you to “take a moment and come back.” At this point I’m ready to get moving or try to get back to sleep. But, I’m definitely feeling more relaxed and focused on the Lord. 

If you haven’t tried meditation before, I recommend Jesus Centered Meditation. If you have, I’d love to hear what you think.

Is Your Mind Busy?

             Would you judge me if I told you that I meditate? Why am I asking? Of course, you would. And, if you told me the same thing, I would try to wait for a full explanation before telling you to be careful; before assuming you’re opening yourself up to all kinds of wickedness and voodoo silliness.

            That’s why you might be surprised to hear me say I try to meditate regularly. I think it’s excellent for helping me focus my attention on the here and now. It keeps me from getting all tied up in knots when things don’t go my way, and who am I kidding? When do things really go my way? But I haven’t always been so open-minded.

            About two years ago, I participated in something called a PCOS 10 Week Program with Kym Campbell. This isn’t an article about PCOS, but just so you know, I have a horrible thing called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome which, in the words of a nutritionist, has been the cause of all my health issues my whole life. Debilitating headaches? Infertility? Inability to lose weight? Yep, all a result of the nasty, icky thing called PCOS.

            Kym Campbell assured me she could help with all this. One of the ways she could help was by teaching me to manage my emotions. And, in order to manage emotions, Kym highly suggested meditating. I've heard time and again how important and beneficial meditating is. It calms your nerves, soothes your senses, lowers your stress levels. Perfect. I need all that. 

            But when I came to this part of the PCOS program, a healthy skepticism reared up in me along with a Christian fear. We're not supposed to meditate, are we? That's mumbo jumbo, chanting and becoming one with the earth, right? I don't want to get into that stuff. But I wondered if there was a way, as a Believer in the saving power of Jesus, to use meditation to my advantage; to lower my stress levels and deepen my relationship with the Lord at the same time.

            The Bible talks about meditating. Joshua 1:8 says, “Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful.”

           

            Psalm 1:1-2 says, “Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night.”

            The difference is what you meditate on. When meditation is mentioned in the Bible, it's with a focus on the Word of God, on thinking about the right things. I knew there were numerous meditation apps I could get on my phone, so I did a search to find if there were any “Christian” ones. 

            A quick Google Play search turned up over 25 apps all devoted to Christian meditation. I clicked through a couple and installed two on my phone, the very popular Abide which claims to reach 4 million people helping them through depression and anxiety and the one I started using (which was free) called Jesus Centered Meditation.

            I can't even type the words Jesus Centered Meditation without hearing the disembodied voice of the meditation guide. She has some sort of accent and a slight speech impediment. There's one part where I swear she's going to say, "And now it's time for 'Silly Songs with Larry', the part of the show where Larry comes out and sings a Silly Song". But she never does.

            Over the months I’ve tried to more than just listen to the voice and participate in the exercises. I’ve tried to practice. Just like in my teenage years when I did the basic positions of ballet over and over again, until my muscles knew automatically what was coming next, meditation must be practiced. Just like praying for a whole hour with Moms in Prayer isn’t something that comes easily or naturally at first, meditation must be practiced.

            It’s hard to still my body, much less my mind. It’s hard to bring focus to your breath or the words of scripture and keep your focus there. It’s hard not to get frustrated when your thoughts drift to the kids or the grocery list or how long it’s been since you changed the sheets.

            But, like those ballet positions that are so ingrained I still walk like a duck, meditation gets easier. You get better at it.

            One thing I've gotten much better at is clearing my mind. The speech impediment, soothing voice encourages me to just "notice" what thoughts I've brought with me. "Watch each thought for a moment," she says. "Is your mind busy?" To begin with when she asked this very simple question, my answer was an equally simple, “Uh, yeah.” My mind seemed to always be busy; busy, busy, busy.  

            After those questions, the voice instructs me to put my thoughts one after another in an imaginary bowl in front of me. In my head, the bowl is one of those flat-ish clear glass bowls, one that might hold potpourri or water and floating candles. That was probably a busy thought one day, imagining what my bowl would actually look like.

            Taming my thoughts has been the hardest part of meditation. I tried to imagine myself taking each of my busy thoughts and letting them slip from my fingers into my beautiful bowl. But sometimes my thoughts were sticky. They clung to my fingers, demanding my attention. I tried to scrape them off onto the lip of the bowl, but they were persistent little suckers.

            Then, the voice says, "You can cover the bowl, if you need to." 

            What a great idea! In my mind, I covered the bowl. First, I gently laid a beautiful piece of tapestry over my bowl. I soon learned that wouldn’t do the job. A flimsy tapestry could hardly contain those busy thoughts. They would crawl over the edge and make their escape. So, I ended up using the tapestry to help dislodge my thoughts from my fingers, wiping them on the cloth then laying it over the bowl again. Realizing the pretty option wasn't working, I found something that did. 

            In my mind, I used a piece of Glad Press'nSeal Plastic Food Wrap. There we go! Now, I could shove my thoughts in that bowl, seal them up, and if another one floated by, I could pull the wrap off part of the bowl, stick the new thought in, and reseal. Voila!

            It took so much effort, and at first trying to rid myself of my busy thoughts just made me tired. But it does get easier. Now, when I meditate, I often don't see any thoughts floating by. I’ve gotten to the point where I feel calm and quiet in my body and my mind when I start my meditation app. But if those pesky thoughts start flying around my head, I can always grab a piece of imaginary Press'nSeal and I'm back in business.

           

            While my PCOS is not under control and I don’t know if my blood pressure is lower, I do know that I enjoy and look forward to meditating. I’ve started using the app to help me fall asleep or back asleep if I’ve woken up at 2am as often happens. It’s better than watching Gilmore Girls or scrolling through Pinterest. 

            Just like journaling, eating mostly meat and plants and walking my dog are all pieces of a puzzle that may one day help me feel healthy and vibrant, meditation is helpful, too.

            In silence and in meditation on the eternal truths, I hear the voice of God which excites our hearts to greater love.

C. S. Lewis

Hey Friends,

I've been away a long time. I've missed you and AmyLocks. It's been a long, weird year and life continues to throw interesting things my way. I'm praying and learning and I'm sure I'll tell you all about it at some point. Until then...

An Angel Works at DMV

“Is all the information on your driver’s license correct?” she asked. I knew this was coming, so I was ready.  I leaned over the divider separating us and whispered, “No. I don’t weigh 115 anymore.” 

Going to the Department of Motor Vehicles is almost never a pleasant experience. We don’t expect it to be. We moan and commiserate about having to go there, how long it will take, how unpleasant the people who work there are going to be. But, regardless of where we live and who we are, everyone at one point or another ends up at the DMV.

The lady who asked if I needed to change anything on my license laughed when I made my secret confession. She looked up, meeting my eyes, sharing a moment of humanity and sympathy. She didn’t pass judgment when I upped my number, knowing I could have let it pass, leaving my weight the same as it had been when I was a 16-year-old who spent all her time doing ballet and twirling batons. 

Recently, I had another surprisingly pleasant experience at the DMV. Not entirely pleasant, but pleasant enough. And, I can now admit the parts that weren’t pleasant were entirely my fault.

It’s like this…

Over 32 years of license renewals and moves from state to state my name has gotten changed. It happened so gradually, I hardly noticed. First it was Amy Mildred Bass, then, Amy Bass Britton. 

Where I’m from, it’s customary for a married woman to begin using her “maiden” name as her middle name.  Thus, all those deep, southern, well-thought-out middle names are abandoned only to be resurrected by our mothers when we do things that shock or embarrass them. 

After marrying Bobby Britton, or Robert Davis Britton as it says on his driver’s license, I became, for all intents and purposes, Amy Bass Britton.

I got used to this name very quickly. After four months of marriage I got a job as a junior high history teacher. I heard “Mrs. Britton, Mrs. Britton” all the livelong day. So, I easily settled into life as Amy Britton or officially Amy B. Britton whenever I had to sign my paychecks from Georgia Washington Junior High School.

At some point along the way my name became the very long Amy Mildred Bass Britton, then, it was shortened to Amy Mildred Britton. As a result of these changes, my driver’s license and passport didn’t match anymore. I realized this could be a problem, so I set out to change my name back, to stake my claim.

Amy Mildred Britton, as I am now officially known, was a stranger. I almost didn’t recognize her and never signed anything with her name. So, I looked online to see when my local Driver’s License Renewal Center was open, cleared my schedule and headed out. 

The morning was cold, windy and snowy. School was cancelled. I don’t think I’ve ever gone out when school’s been cancelled. If it’s not safe for the buses, it’s not safe for Amy Bass Britton. But I was determined, so off I went. I should have known nothing good could come from venturing out on a “snow day.” 

I arrived at the DMV ten minutes after it opened, supposedly. Once I found a place to park, slogged through melting snow puddles and climbed over one snow pile which was taking up a whole parking space, I made it into the crowded warmth of the dingy office. 

After a bit of confusion, I realized I had to get a ticket to get in line. Mine was #92.  I found a hard, orange chair, settled in and looked hopefully at the lighted display announcing which number was being served. #68. 

Never fear! I was prepared for a wait with Sudoku and Pinterest on my phone, a real live book in my purse, and a plethora of people around me to eavesdrop on. Thank goodness I’m nosy because after only a few minutes I heard a lady saying she had to leave to get a money order. 

First mistake. In my rush to make sure I had many forms of proper documentation to verify the correct name on my license, I didn’t think about how to pay for it. After mulling the situation over, watching the “now being served sign” click slowly closer to #92, I decided to take a chance and drive quickly to Rite Aid for a money order. 

Five minutes away, Rite Aid was deserted. Once I found an employee I was told their money order “machine” was out of order. My best and closest bet was a gas station five minutes further away. 

I found the gas station, quickly walked to the counter and asked for help with a money order. You can’t get a money order with a credit or debit card. Did you know that? I obviously didn’t, so I made my way outside to their ATM. Trying to decide how much money to withdraw I kept hearing my husband say, “Don’t use those random ATM machines. Their fees are crazy.” He would drive 20 miles out of the way to avoid paying those fees.

I said a silent apology, acknowledged it couldn’t be helped and made my withdrawal. 

Cash from the ATM in hand, I made my way back inside the gas station, secured a money order, wondered how close to #92 they were at the DMV, then rushed back to my van. I found my way back to the DMV, got a parking place that didn’t require scaling a mountain of snow, slogged through only one puddle and made it back inside. Now serving #81.

A mere 11 tired and disgruntled DMV patrons later, it was my turn. Douglas, a kind looking man, motioned me to his window where I laid my life before him. He gently returned several of the documents I presented then took a closer look at my passport. 

After all the time and energy given to this endeavor, Douglas informed me that the passport he was holding was expired. 

Apparently, my current passport was at home with my checkbook and my brain. Douglas continued his kindness by telling me if I could be back before 3:30 when the DMV closes, like an elementary school, he’d be happy to make whatever changes he could. Plus, as an added bonus, I wouldn’t have to get a new number and wait in line. I could come directly back to his window where Douglas and I would pick up where we left off.

Since the DMV is open for about 20 minutes every third Tuesday, I vowed to make this happen today. 

So, I headed quickly to the parking lot to relinquish my parking spot to another weary DMV-er and headed home for the correct passport and what I was sure was a return to my correct name.

The end was practically in sight.

I arrived home, anxiously flipped through the important papers and grasped my leathery, only used once so far, passport. I flipped it open and sighed in resignation. It doesn’t belong to Amy Bass Britton. It belongs to that person that’s not so familiar, Amy Mildred Britton.

I gathered the passport, stuck the money order inside, added my checkbook to the pile for good measure and wearily began my 23 minute trudge back to the DMV. Feeling defeated and stupid, I parked in the lot again, made my way past all those orange, plastic chairs and waited for Douglas to finish up his business with an excited new driver and her mom. I sat there trying to think of some way the Pennsylvania DMV would let me use the name on my old passport to validate the name I wanted on my new driver’s license. 

When my turn came, Douglas smiled and motioned me forward. I sighed and laid my disappointing offering on the altar of his counter. I began my lament, showing Douglas my new passport with the new, unfamiliar name Amy Mildred Britton. 

Assuring me that the Pennsylvania DMV would not accept my expired passport as evidence of the name I wished was on my driver’s license, Douglas boldly took my documents to his supervisor for approval. His supervisor was confrontational and abrupt.  He even tagged along when Douglas came back to look over his shoulder and assure me that none of my smiles or explanations would work with him. He didn’t say that, but I know it’s what he meant.

I thanked Douglas for trying and asked how I could go about eventually making the changes I wanted. He assured me it could only be done in court. Court? I thought. Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s definitely not worth it.

Who knew it was so hard to change your name? I mean, there’s an episode of Friends where Phoebe changes her name to Princess something with only a form, a few minutes, and some creative thinking. I had a social security card and a passport with a hole punched in it!

Douglas had heard my “I’ve always used my maiden and last names” explanation and as he gathered the documents he needed to process my renewal he said, “That must just be a local thing.” “But, I’m not local,” I asserted. 

As I dejectedly put the superfluous papers away, Douglas began telling a story.

“You can sign your name any way you want,” he said. “Just like Derek Jeter.” Excuse me? I thought raising my left eyebrow at him.

Douglas excitedly told me about a stadium seat he had bought from old Yankee stadium. He admitted he had paid too much for it, but the seat was signed by Babe Ruth and Derek Jeter.  Douglas has to tell people it’s Jeter’s signature because it looks like a squiggly line.  A very expensive squiggly line.  I guess when Derek Jeter was drafted they didn’t care what his signature looked like so long as he could hit a line drive and make amazing catches at shortstop.

According to the Pennsylvania DMV that’s why you’re asked for ID as well as a signature, because you can sign your name however you want. I can be Mrs. Amy Bass Britton or whatever as long as it’s unreadable.

I didn’t accomplish what I set out to that day at the DMV, but a mere 3 hours and 15 minutes later I had renewed my expired license (didn’t I mention it was expired?) and also renewed my hope for a decent humanity. While I may be disorganized and less attentive to detail than I had realized, Douglas was a lovely delight at the DMV. 

Next time you have to renew your license, look for your Douglas at the DMV. Or, if you know Douglas, please tell him thanks.