Random Thoughts of Amy Potts

“Mom, I have been dating someone who I am crazy about and I am going to marry him.” Mom said, “I sure hope he’s not an atheist or [worse] a democrat!”   And so this is how my beloved Mike would be introduced to my family.   Each time I introduce Mike to someone now I am tempted to say, “I would like to introduce you to my democratic, atheistic, husband whose name really doesn’t matter to a closed minded, conservative, hypocritical Christian, such as your self because you can’t look past the differences.” There would be several things wrong with that.   First of all, it was a run-on sentence with punctuation errors enough to get me arrested by the editing police. Secondly, I don’t believe that everyone views people of different political and religious beliefs as the enemy.   I enjoyed coffee and conversation with Mike’s sister this week and at one point she asked, “does your mom know you’re a democrat?”   She does and she’s not happy about it.   She IS howe...

Today as I was thinking about the people in my life, one person in particular came to mind.   The more I thought about her, the more I began to think that I should tell her how much she is appreciated. The battle in my mind ensued. There was a little voice that said, “ah, she knows she is appreciated, she has a million friends and colleagues that affirm her every day”.   That little voice continued with reasons why my words of encouragement would really be insignificant. I would take time to list all of those reasons for you if I thought it would somehow validate my case.   After a rather lengthy battle I tossed my thoughts to the wind as if to say, “screw it, it really doesn’t matter much”.   I decided to go grab a sandwich at one of my favorite little Kansas City stops and when I returned home I headed outside with the animals and a good book. I no sooner got set up for comfort outside when the thought returned.   It wasn’t like it was this great spiritua...

“Why does grace hurt so much?”   That question is forever etched in my mind.   I have a friend who over time has helped me to know the answer to this question.   The first time she asked this question I knew very well why it hurt, but couldn’t give words to my pain.   I have been around Christian circles long enough to know that meaning of grace to be “unmerited favor”, so I know it isn’t really something that we can or need to earn.   But people aren’t so kind sometimes and so I could write a whole blog on examples of grace gone bad. (another day) It had been four years since the death of my first husband and I had crawled in to a deep dark emotional hole.   The deeper I dug, the more I was convinced that I would never love or be loved again.   Over many conversations, Diet Coke’s and coffee, Lynn and I would talk about grace, love, God and the fact that I really was worthy of it all.   Because I knew Lynn ’s background, I knew that I could tru...

One of the most significant life lessons I have learned was learned in piano lessons.  A couple weeks ago Mike asked if I would teach him how to play the piano.  Because he does play guitar and drums, not at the same time, I know that he has an ear for music and that rhythm is nearly second nature for him.  This is a good foundation for a beginning piano student.  First of all it is good because he can hear when things are going bad, and he knows that playing notes without any sense of meter is just playing notes.  But when you sit down to a piano the first time and you see 88 keys it is overwhelming.  How can a person possibly know when to use which key?  Middle C.  We start with middle C and everything above it and below it begins to make sense, slowly make sense.  If you’ve ever sat down to play and started on the wrong note, you understand how being one key off can quickly humble you.  So you take your hands off the keys and you refo...

I am from bean fields and corn and from Iowa from a house that was large and full. I am from hollyhocks whose flowers were made into dolls I am from a town whose boundaries  seemed endless though so small. I am from dreaming and imagining;  from playmates, pets and playgrounds I am from conversations with Pat and Rose,  with Carol Johns  and Mrs. Delambert; Gertrude was her name. From piano lessons and the prairie song I am from black cherry soda at the baseball park in summer I am from a small school whose teachers taught more  than academics;  about life and caring and fun. I am from the wrong side of town  where I was often looked down upon; from hand sewn clothes and hand-me-downs. I am from homemade bread and milk fresh from the cow Because it was cheaper than the store brands. From garden grown vegetables and oatmeal with currents I am from homemade stew. I am from a small school wher...

Being 19 or 20 and still single is hard.  The awkwardness of dating and dead end relationships is frustrating at best. That and watching your friends get married leaving you in the dust of wishes and dreams, is a cruel reality.  You wish for that special someone to come along and you dream of family and dinner at the table each night.  I remember those days. Then one day it happens.  We find the person we dreamed of being married to, or maybe we settled for someone who had at least one of the traits we hoped to find.  No matter the case our lives seemed to have been made complete according to the unwritten rules of society.  Man + woman = happily ever after. Right?  Away we go to every event, every family gathering with our spouse.  Somehow in our wedded bliss we forget about the ones who until the day we found Prince Charming, celebrated our joys and held us in our sadness; those who believed in us when we doubted ourselves.  Maybe it’s not ...

Softly she climbs up the stairs hoping to escape the glares Another day another fight she slips away in to the night Years go by she runs a race trying to forget that place She carries all her guilt and shame and thinks that God forgot her name She cries for her freedom Out of the blue he came to her rescue lifted her up from her shame He knew her name he felt her pain he held each tear that she cried he cried for her freedom Painfully he walked that road carrying my heavy load And on that day he saw my face He knew my shame would need His grace He cried for my freedom Along with the celebration of our Nation's independence, I'm celebrating another kind of freedom today.  To those who have been hurt and abused and have found freedom, I celebrate with you.  To those who are still waiting in line for that moment, I pray for you and hope that you will find your freedom soon. Blessings this day, Amy Lynn