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Tonight, I tried to help you find rest because it was bedtime. You didn’t want to sleep. Perhaps, you wanted more time to talk, you wanted more back tickles from me & Mommy, or you wanted a goodnight kiss from Daddy? Only you really know.

But, your Aunt La La looked at your bedside table and saw something – you have a clock. It has an alarm.

In the blink of an eye, you will be an 18-year old. You will be in college, waking yourself up with an alarm clock. Maybe you went to a big party the night before and you’re thinking, “nobody will notice if I skip.” They will. Wake up. Go to class. Even when it’s hard.

You will be 28 years old. An alarm clock will encourage you to pull your body out of bed every day. Do it. Even if you are pulling your body out of bed for something you are not sure about. Pull your body out of bed until you are 100% certain it’s not for you. Keep looking and keep waking up early…grab that time to figure out what you want to do. It’s quiet in those early hours.

You will be 38 years old. An alarm clock will sound and you will already be awake because there will probably be a baby, dog, or spouse that woke you up. That alarm clock will be the “third” wake up. Wake up. It’s not a joke. This is is your life. Remember, if you are not happy now, you will be someday because these years are difficult for almost everyone. Call me from the car. I’ll make you laugh and remind you about why you are an amazing dude.

You will be 48 years old. An alarm clock will be an annoyance because you want to set it, but you’ve not really needed an alarm clock since your first kid was born. (Hell, you never needed an alarm clock, Wyatt Walter. You were always awake by 7:15 at the latest.) Stretch your legs, which might creak from time to time, and hit the ground. It could always be worse – you could have nothing to wake up for. Remember that.

You will be 58 years old. I doubt they will have alarm clocks.

The time will fly by and I didn’t need an alarm clock to remind me. So, if you need me to look for an overdue library book, a monster under your bed, more minutes to give you back tickles? You got it. We are not on a clock…it doesn’t matter how old you are. I’ll always look for the book, monster, or your back. I’m your Aunt La La.

My family is not unique. Well, we are. But, we are not unique in the following sense.

Within a mere 3 months in 2010, two cataclysmic evens occurred – a Death and a Divorce. (I’d copyright that “title,” but no one would dare want it.) Those “big ticket” events that occur in families tend to make a family pull in tighter or begin to find other ways to find that “good family feeling,” as I refer to it.

We did the latter.

One of us moved to another country. One of us fostered children. One of us became the “go to” for anyone in Dallas that needed a runny nose wiped. One of us moved out of one burden to buy another equally heavy burden. One of us retreated entirely. Running away from what we’d lost.

Having returned to this family after many years, I find a family that is fractured, and not doing as well. One of us is overworked (no, two). One of us is underutilized. One of us is feeling left out. One of us is feeling too much pressure. All of us have one thing in common: we are not happy.

Traditionally, this would be the point when, like an old, beautiful carriage house in University Park, someone would bring in a demolition crew and bring it down. Replace all the old family members with new shiny ones (with new shiny DNA that doesn’t know the history).

But, there was a long-standing tradition from half of the “death” about how we, as a family, handle issues like a fracture. I can hear him now. “Granddotta, get in the car, just like we always used to do, and go to the beach. All of you need to put down your worries and be togethuh (Virginia accent).”

Sometimes, when a family fractures, the only glue that can bring it together is time and traditions. Time to heal some deep, fresh wounds. Time together to make some new memories that will replace the old, painful ones.

And, when the foundation of that old carriage house was built by generations of family-loving Texans and Virginians, that’s something. Traditions is something that even a fracture or a demolition can’t destroy.

It’s worth it to try to put the fracture together and there are four reasons…W…C…A…and G. The next generation doesn’t deserve to be without their family’s strong foundation.

This changed me a long time ago and I was reminded of it today.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”

Jalal ad-Din Rumi

Lots of people in the past few weeks have been talking to me about The Fig. Due to the “lack of that one Ayres kid livin’ overseas,” I am getting the question, “did you forget about us?”

Instead of a simple “no,” I thought I’d write about my thoughts on this place that I’ve always secretly believed was God’s favorite “chill zone”: The Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration.

My first ever memory is actually my baptism. I remember stepping into the aisle and seeing Father Paul. I was 3. My first singing memory is similar. I also remember stepping into that same aisle 3 years later and singing “Once in Royal David’s City.”

On the flip side, I remember stepping into that aisle after a rather heated private prayer session at age 16, when I told God I wasn’t buying what He was selling anymore. At age 33, I remember stepping into that aisle, genuflecting, and exiting the church as we said “goodbye” to everything that was Life with Granddaddy.

So, I got history. Here’s just a glimpse at what The Fig taught me…so far…as I sit below the Bell Tower and write this.

* If you treat this world and the people and things in it as you want to be treated, you’ll be doing your best. If you do anything less than that, you will be doing less than your best.

*Different isn’t just “okay.” Different is good. Be different because that’s what makes you who you are and that’s who we like…YOU. Not a version of you. We want the actual child of God named Laura. Good, bad, chunky, not chunky, laughing, crying, working here, working for the diocese, working for the national church, singing, acolyting, LEMing, or doing nothing at all. We want that girl. The whole thing, the thing God created.

*You were born a child of God. Even when you make a big mistake your senior year of high school with your best friend, this church will love both of you. Why? Because of this word “agape.” We have it for you and so does God. Remember that love we’ve shown you and show it to others.

*If you ever feel like you don’t fit in, come to The Fig. You always fit in here because everyone fits in here.

*God’s gonna take care of that whole “judging people” thing. Not your job. Not even when you think you know the best way to do things. When you are judging people, look at that first thing you learned, regroup, and say “I’m sorry.”

So, here’s my adult take on why I would never forget about The Fig and all it’s lessons.

The best boxes of crayons have lots of colors. There are lots of shades of red. Tons of blues. Some crayons have barely been used and others are so worn they are only stubs. Some are broken and I dip ’em in a bit of hot water, reshape ’em, and they are good as new and purposeful again. Maybe a few are missing their labels, but I don’t care about that anyway. Together, we’ll make our own names! When I have a box of crayons with all those colors, I feel lucky and make certain I take good care of it. I would never wish to have only green, red, blue, and yellow. Why would I want that? And, for God’s sake, I cannot fathom taking crayons out of the box by choice. Never. However, I can easily imagine needing more space for all my new crayons and coming up with new ways of drawing to make sure every crayon is able to shine.

The Fig – a box of 64 crayons. Remembering the primary colors that made us all who we were and adding new shades every day. But the outside of the box will always say the same thing, “All are Welcome.”

It doesn’t matter where I live, where I worship, what language I am speaking, or what I am doing with my life. I mean, how in the world could I forget such a place or…such beautiful crayons?

I am constantly pushing people to focus on the positive and live lives centered around gratitude.

This is a time when I am really struggling to do that. The moments that are wonderful are wonderful at 100-strength power. The moments that are not wonderful are many and they are really not wonderful, and those guys are battling for my attention.

So, I have to sit in this moment (and others) and remember how lucky I am to be:

1) alive

2) well-educated

3) aware of how much I have (not talking about “things” or “money”)

4) and, here’s a new one after having visited the Middle East (albeit briefly), lucky to have been born a woman in the United States

Around this time last week, I was living through my worst nightmare. What did I do? I went through my list. But, I had about 26 hours and 17 minutes left, so…I improvised.

I focused on meeting my nephews for the first time and seeing my sister as a mother. I thought about GJ and kind eyes. I’d made a video in my church, so I watched that. I sang “Be Thou my Vision” a few times.

How would it feel when I saw my brother’s face after 4 1/2 years? What about when I’d walk into my mother’s new home? Hey, I’d finally have a ‘rita with Cah. I could see Kelley teaching yoga. I could play with Wyatt and Cooper instead of watching them over a computer screen. For God’s sake, I could finally meet all these precious little Auntie LaLa babies that have been born, prayed for, and loved from afar.

Why am I like this? I don’t know. My Kenyan friend says I am a “light bringer,” born that way. I think I choose it. Because I remember waking up in the hospital room at Triemli in Zürich in September of 2013. It was dark, and I was alone. I knew I’d been brought to the hospital because I couldn’t walk, hell I couldn’t even hold my own head up. I knew, even if I called L…he wouldn’t come. There was no one and nothing to get out of that bed for. It was so dark.

Clearly, I only had one choice.

I had to choose the light.

To reach inside, throw open the windows and get fresh air in. I’m a human being, so it’s easy for me to focus on the reasons why I “can’t do” or why I “don’t want to” or why I “really shouldn’t” but what the hell does that contribute? More darkness. And, I just, as Cooper says in the cutest little British accent, “I just caaaaahn’t.”

So, again, I don’t just say this stuff…I do it. I try. Be a light bringer. I promise, it’s a better life, even when life is tough.

And speaking of “light bringers”…