dottiecamak

[dottiecamak]

Don’t lump us in with the kids who were BORN in the ’90s, please.

[dottiecamak]

Yay for #winterwreaths #doordecor 

[dottiecamak]

Hello 2015.

My mother's kitchen table has not looked like it does now in over three months.  But today, it resembles much how I remember it.  An organized mess of paperwork, files, and office supplies.   My father never cared for a traditional 'home office' set up.  Instead he preferred to "set up shop" in the kitchen.  Close to the food and close to his radio.  Talk radio and coffee during the day. Rock-n-roll music and martinis by night.  

I sit at the kitchen table as I complete his 2014 business year. Stacks of papers, 'Shovels and Rope' album as my soundtrack, and an endless supply of coffee.   I understand why he liked the kitchen home office set up.  It is pretty convenient.  I retrieved the calculator from his drawer for my next task.  A second nature move because his calculator has been in the same place forever.  In the story I am telling, the calculator is kin to the Santa hat or salmon blazer.  It was part of Dad.  

I hit the button to begin crunching my numbers.  Blank screen.  Again.  Nothing.  Punching buttons with no response from the most trusted calculator in the world.  I did not know whether to laugh or cry. (I really did not want to be spooked by a stupid calculator. Oh Lawd, am I going to be one of 'those people'?)   It did, however, unnerve me enough to ask my mom about this historic math machine.  She said my grandmother, his mom, gave it to him circa 1973! (An expensive purchase in those days and she thinks it was a birthday gift for dad.) They had even recently laughed at how that calculator has been the most handy household item over the years.  Same drawer. And we all used it.  Well apparently not anymore, because it was absolutely no help to me today!  I deferred to my phone calculator.  (Perhaps it's my administrative work history, but I like the clicking and sound of buttons!! The iPhone does not give me this satisfaction.) 

I could not be more thrilled to close out 2014.  It has been a very important year, but it has been the hardest and darkest year of my life to date.  I think reflection is important for growth and development, and there are so many lessons to be learned from my experiences, my own actions, and the attitude of my heart from this year.  However, I believe it is much more important to look forward.  You cannot change the past, and no we cannot 'calculate' the circumstances of our future.  Life happens. And life can come at us pretty hard and fast.  What we can do is determine how we react to it.  And our 'reaction to life' is a result of who we are at our core.  This, I believe, is something tangible we can work on.  Not a mathematical equation, but a seeking and yearning to be sanctified daily.  "So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." (2 Corinthians 4:16) 

Over the last couple of years, I have actively been pursuing living more intentionally.  NOT an overnight change, but a gradual pulling and tugging from the Lord to shape and mold me. Small things and Big things: reading more books, prioritizing relationships, purposeful friendships, listening for God's voice more, and setting fitness goals. These pursuits have not come without failures. I have beyond fallen short of God, people I have loved, and myself.  I have kicked and screamed along the way, been distracted, and completely fallen off course, but God in his unfailing love and grace does not stop pursuing me.  (or you either, my friends!) 

The time we have on this Earth is PRECIOUS! AND SO VERY SHORT. Yes, we were created for Eternal Glory and Peace in the presence of our God, but God would not have created us to live on this Earth if it did not have meaning. 

"My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."(Galatians 2:20)  

Our salvation in Him is the freedom that we are NOT our old selves.  We have been made new in Him, so why not live that way?!  Oh, how I have lived in the comfort of habits and 'default dorothy' with the excuse of "well, that's just me."  No! We have been made to be changed.  May we embrace it. 

"But that is not the way you learned Christ!—assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus, to put off your old self,which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness." (Ephesians 4:20-24)  

I shared a good conversation and a fancy craft beer with a dear friend a few nights ago. (She has been responsible for imparting much wisdom in my life, including the taste and world of beer.)  She talked with me about how walking in obedience to Christ can often feel uncomfortable and unlike us.  As it should! It's not our default.  It is the opposite of our flesh.  But that should not stop us. And failing should not cause us to quit.  Friends, we can punch that fear in the face.  And when I say 'obedience' I am not merely speaking of rules and regulations that are often associated with the Christian faith.  Yes, the Lord gives us commandments, but I am speaking of an attitude and renewal of our heart and mind.  A ongoing human process.  Time will inevitably pass, that we know.  It is what we do with our time that matters: who are we and who are we becoming.  

So I gear up for the one night of the year where I can justify wearing all my sparkles(who am I kidding? I can justify sparkles on my workout tops), I have a hopeful anticipation of 2015.  Sure, I am 'resolutions' girl, and I probably always will be. But, it's not about losing weight, reading a bunch of books, or completing a marathon.  It's about how we approach, walk, and live during the process.  The daily.  The intention.  I pray my 2015 will be better than 2014, of course, but not just in circumstances.  I want to live and love God better, and gosh love others much better, and to be perfectly frank, love myself better.  I want 2015 to reflect better than 2014, just as I want 2016 to reflect better than 2015.  Renewal. I can't help but think of another calculator in my life.  It sat on my desk for the seven years I worked for dad, and it had been there before I arrived.  It had been my co-workers desk calculator and her name was written at the top.  My father put a post it note on the bottom once that stated, "Borrowed by: J Boyd Camak, Jr. on weekends" It was a joke that lasted for years among the office staff. When that desk became another co-worker's space, dad printed her name on top.  And in recent years, as I moved to that desk, he again, replaced the name with mine.  People changed and time passed, but that calculator stayed on that desk.  The life God has given us is a gift.  He gave His life so we can live ours.  Wow.  So, friends, our gift of life here and now really is "borrowed time."   Do we really want to waste it, sweet friends?  

I wish you all a very Happy New Year! #hello2015

Cheers!

Dorothy 

Photo information: Top Row: original calculator.  Bottom row: office desk calculator. 

[dottiecamak]

On Christmas Morning.

The needlepoint chair at the top landing of the stairwell was to be a reminder that we were not yet allowed downstairs. But we did not need a reminder. We had anticipated his arrival all night, and we knew by the buzz and excitement coming from downstairs that he had indeed stopped by. Mom put the coffee on while Dad made sure the video recorder was in working order. Fant had been in position to make his descent down the stairs for a while. Boyd, a little older, knew not to get out of bed till we had verbal confirmation from downstairs to remove our barrier. "Ho! Ho! Ho!" It was time. My brothers and I rushed the living room. Excitement. Wonder. Elation.

It took our eyes a bit to come into focus on the items Santa had left.  In the story I am telling, Santa prefers to leave his gifts unwrapped on the furniture.  This has a two-fold benefit.  #1. Less wrapping to clean up before the extended family arrives.  Mom thanks Santa for this.  #2. It is easier to survey the goods. This was especially helpful on American Girl doll Christmas. I was so overwhelmed that 'Kirsten' was mine, I might never have noticed that Santa had refurbished my mother's original baby doll bed and delivered for me to use.   Each member of the family, including the stray cats who were unofficial adoptees of my father, had a reserved area in the living room.  Santa was so thoughtful.  

But, mother dear was special in Santa's eyes.  She had been the one to bake the cookies we left out each year, of course.  I think he had a special adoration for her too, because she insisted we leave out a glass of sweet iced tea for Santa.  In a crystal glass of course.  Santa would be tired of all that milk.  She was right.  He always left the glass empty! 

Santa and Daddy must have worked very closely together.  As my brothers and I settled in on the floor, holding our newest prizes, we shifted our focus to what Santa had brought mother.  She was the best mother, always on his "nice list," so there was no doubt it would be good.  There would always be a group of wrapped prizes for her.  Dad would pick them up one by one and deliver them with a unique explanation.  A box of chocolate covered cherries, her favorite, may be accompanied by a poem he wrote.  An Emra Bombeck book preceded a comedic monologue from Dad that always made my mom laugh out loud.  He loved to make her laugh.  And we loved when we observed the two of them practically snorting from laughter. Pure joy.  Santa never gave mom a vacuum, but it's not like he just showered her with jewelry and clothes.  Each gift, whether a small surcy from Propp Drugs or a long awaited gorgeous leather purse, was purposeful and intentional.  And given from the heart of a giver who cherished the recipient.  Even still, the years that there were small boxes for mom to open, were pretty awesome. He placed the neatly wrapped gift box in her lap.  The thick silver wrapping paper and slick gold and silver ribbon said it all.  And if you were not quite certain, you could just read the imprinted sticker: Phil's Jewelers.  Mom opened the package to reveal a beautiful gold watch.  It was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.  Dad put the dainty piece on her wrist.  She still wears it today, and it shines just as bright.  I could not even tell time on a watch, but I loved it.  In the story I am telling, Santa is always a step ahead.  Before I realized it, I was opening my own little box to reveal a pink strap watch with a heart shaped face.  And my very own "bling" around the face.  Unexpected and undeserved.  I mean Santa had already left my goods on the sofa.  I learned to tell time that morning.  

This morning, I peered in the living room, almost feeling like I was breaking the "no peeking" rule.  There may not have been physical evidence that Santa had stopped by last night, but I knew His presence was around.  It may feel like He has disappeared up the chimney like Santa, and you are all alone, but no!  Because, sweet friends, the gift the real Santa gave us on Christmas morning is not one that has to be replaced each year.  Santa may have to make yearly trips, but we are justified ONCE.  My behavior assures I would make the naughty list this(and every) year.  But God knows the ugliness of my heart, my selfish actions, and my sins against Him and others.  Yet, He lavishes me with the gift of grace upon grace.  My Heavenly Father sacrificed His only Son to GIVE ME LIFE.  Wonder. Elation.  You are so special to Him, yes you.  He is purposeful in His gift to you.  Intentional. Look around. He is GOD WITH US!!! EMMANUEL!! Oh may we receive it!!!  Merry Christmas and much love, Dorothy 

Photo info: this past Christmas card from my Dad fell out of a stack of papers I was going through the other day.  Thanks, Santa! 

[dottiecamak]

Getting ready for Christmas.

  This particular fashion accessory was seasonal, but so very important.  As a child, I could be certain my Saturday morning would be full of fun and adventure if Daddy were wearing his baseball hat.  His usual driver’s cap indicated he was heading to work, but when he had on his baseball hat, well, there was just no telling where the day may take us! (High above the chimney tops, for sure.)

  In the story I am telling, it is important that you know this was not just any baseball hat.  Stamped on the front in large block lettering was the phrase, “America’s Best Dad,” with a patriotic themed border.   If my memory serves me correctly, my brother and I pooled our funds at the Santa Shop our elementary school hosted to purchase the hat for dad one year.  It was tacky.  It was obnoxious.  We loved it.  We knew it was the perfect gift for our father because he was in fact, “America’s Best Dad.”  In true father fashion, this hat quickly became his weekend staple.

  But for a few short weeks, he hung up his ‘award winning’ hat, and donned something even better. Another winning purchase from the Concord Elementary school sale.  This seasonal accessory was the all important green baseball(more like a trucker) hat with a Santa face embroidered on it. And across the back, it spelled out SANTA.   In our house, it was not the trimming of the Christmas tree that marked the beginning of the season(although important), it was really when Daddy buttoned up his corduroy coat, placed his SANTA hat on, and headed out the door on a Saturday morning.  The following Sunday morning, as we lit the first Advent candle, we knew the magic of the season had begun.    

  Birthdays were always a big deal in our home—celebrations of all kind really.  It does not take much of an excuse for my family to plan an event surrounded by food and gifts.  But, Christmas, oh merry magical Christmas. The weeks leading up to Christmas were always exciting.  We decorated the house, my mother hosted wonderful parties, we baked sugar cookies, and we sang.  (Dolly Parton’s  Christmas was my favorite cassette to put in rotation.)  All the while,  Dad (aka Santa) was in and out of the house doing his “Santa” duties.  Hat on head of course.  He had a spring in his step during December and a twinkle in his eye.  Especially fun was when I had the opportunity to be part of his ‘Santa missions.’ Whether it was a child, elderly person, or family in need,  I do not think one Christmas went by that I do not recall him giving “Christmas” to those in need. (and those are just the ones I know about—being he was a true elf, I have learned since his passing of many more.)

  Between the regular Christmas traditions of our household(I always campaigned to light the pink Advent candle on the kitchen table), my father usually had something up his sleeve. One year, I remember being  disappointed that we did not have colored lights on our Christmas tree.  My mother had the classiest tree, a mix of traditional ornaments, hand crocheted angels, cross stitched pieces, and her children’s homemade artwork.  It was beautiful.  But I was about eight years old and wanted color.  Dad had something in mind.  After a Bojangles breakfast date, he said, “Dorothy, honey pot, I am not sure White Jones has what we need today so we are going to Kmart.”  I was bit confused because White Jones always had what dad needed. 

  He pulled several boxes off the top shelf. COLORED LIGHTS. My eyes widened.  But these were not regular indoor tree lights.  These bulbs were HUGE! (Now, THIS was going to be an adventure.) Dad set the plan in motion.  Mom was scheduled to be gone from the house for a few hours.  We retrieved the ladder and got to work.  Just at my folks’ mailbox is a wooded area.  In the winter it is pretty sparse, but there is a giant tree perfect for stringing lights.  We finished our project as Dad got the power source and electricity in order. 

  Then we waited.  With excitement and nervous anticipation.  The sun set,  and mom returned home.  Sure her live greenery and classy red bows adorning the house were pretty, but right there in front was the biggest tree filled with huge colored lights!!!  I think she almost passed out.  We were giddy!!!!! It was amazing.  And you know what? My classy Christmas southern Mom kind of loved it too, I think, because that very next Christmas, our living room tree featured colored…blinking…..musical lights!! (It was a brief but fun departure)

  Gosh it can be so difficult to anticipate with excitement the Christmas season when life seems raw, ugly and exposed. Traditions that once brought joy now inflict sharp pain and deep sorrow.  And as I look outside of my own personal grief, the brokenness, darkness, and injustices of the world we live in are almost paralyzing.  Singing, “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” is not a pretty soft request, but a deep yearning and plea for our Lord to make Peace on this Earth.  I want to scream it from the rafters, not sing softly from my pew. I am praying for the shifting and shaping of my heart to remember, with great care, that the true excitement and anticipation is to be rooted in the coming of what is to be the final reconciliation. And that in the meantime, as we anticipate Glory, I want to live intentionally—seeking more colored light buying adventures and being an elf to those in need.  As a follower of Christ, I am not called to just live as a Christian seasonally.  Everyday is a opportunity to celebrate His coming, His Birth, and the life He gives to you and me.  May we EMBRACE IT, LIVE IT, and TELL IT.  (cue: Dolly Parton singing, “Go tell it on the Mountain.” 

[dottiecamak]

Throwback Thursday: Christmas edition! 🎁🎄🎅🎁🎄🎅 @ctkyoung #PapwasSanta (at The Good girls and boys party)

[dottiecamak]

Throwing punches is my kind of therapy! #workitout 👊💪💁😉 (at 9 Rounds)

[dottiecamak]

Real Victory

I stomped my foot.  It just didn't make sense to me, really.  If my best friend is wearing her cheerleader uniform to the game, why could I not wear mine?  I knew it was considered acceptable attire for our age demographic(we were five), and even at that age, I felt like I understood the importance of tailgate fashion. It's not like they were exactly alike.  I mean, come on, hers was orange and mine was garnet.  I can only imagine the frustration of my parents as they tried to explain why wearing my garnet and black skirted dress was not the most appropriate attire for attending a Clemson football game in Death Valley verses a completely different team.  I gave up rather quickly on my cause since spending the day with my friend was the most exciting thing ever, and well, the whole idea of people not liking each other just because they wore different colors was just too puzzling.  

It all became very clear, though, how two colors, could be so polarizing by the time I reached elementary school.  Concord Elementary was a safe haven for Clemson Tigers, but it was a risky move for a first grader to wear Carolina colors on Spirit Day--even if it was a cool vintage Cocky shirt.  The understanding of supporting your school and cheering on your team began to take shape in my mind, although the rules and stats of the game of football have never quite stuck.  I loved growing up in my Gamecock family and seeing my dad get so excited when his team would win. Perhaps most fascinating was my younger cousin's interest and love of football.  Even as a little girl, she and my dad could talk football stats, predictions, and players.  My mom, though, would get most of my attention regarding Carolina football.  I loved hearing about how they did it "back in the day": 'dressed to the nines and corsages for the girls from their beaus every game!' 

I sat in my freshman dorm room with my purple cordless phone in hand trying to devise the best way to inform my parents I had told the dean of my liberal arts college I was not returning there for my sophomore year.  I couldn't just call home and say that I was dropping out of school.  But it was April, and most all colleges had closed their admissions for fall semester.  I put the phone down and pulled up my AOL instant messenger.  I will tell the parental units later.  For now, I will procrastinate with seven IM chats. My focus shifted from messaging my crush, whose screen name I still remember, when my friend sent me a chat saying Clemson University was still accepting applications online.  Yes.  This will do.  Somehow.  I went to the website.  I had never filled out much of anything online, and I had definitely never filled out a college application online.  I went to work on it, completed it, and submitted it to the mysterious world wide web.  

I had a plan. Sort of.  I would go to Clemson for a semester until I figured out my next step.  I mean, I was not going to be a Tiger.  Or was I? My sweet Gamecock dad never had anything but support for me.  His love for his Gamecocks never wavered, but neither did his love for me.  Within weeks of being on Clemson's campus, I knew I had found my 'home.' Not my forever home, but the 'home' that would nurture my soul as I tried out life as a "quasi-adult." I gave away more student football tickets than I used, but it was there that I began to discover who I was, who I was becoming, and who I could be.  It was a short but important time. The difference in the path of my twenties verses that of my parents was more than just garnet and orange.  But all the while, my father supported my ventures, twists, and turns.  He listened as I talked to him about God, church, and politics.  He let me wrestle, question, and pause, but was always there for counsel, wisdom, and love.  He respected my 'orange', and I valued his 'garnet.'  

On Saturday, I headed back to that 'home' to see the biggest game of the season.  I scrolled through my social media news feed, disgusted by the negativity and trash talk from both sides.  Obnoxious, really.  Classless and ignorant.  I do not want to live a life that is marked by division and misunderstanding.  I think God is actually much more interested in our likeness anyway.  We all may have been wearing different colors, but gosh, friends, we are all the same.  And to be completely transparent, what most connects the Gamecocks and the Tigers is sin.  We are all alike in that.  As we look to Christmas, in the season of Advent, may we be reminded that our true salvation and WIN comes from God sending us His only Son.  May we reflect Jesus, the Son, in our daily lives.  It is He who makes it possible for us ALL to be heirs to the Kingdom.   "May God, who gives this patience and encouragement, help you live in complete harmony with each other, as is fitting for followers of Christ Jesus. Then all of you can join together with one voice, giving praise and glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Romans 15:5-6)

(Photo information: I  finally did reconcile the garnet vs. orange fashion battle of my youth.  Proudly wore my alma mater's colors to the game, but Daddy's garnet pocket square close to my heart.  For we all know, He is the one who is in true VICTORY!) 

[dottiecamak]

“I believe deeply that God does his best work in our lives during times of great heartbreak and loss, and I believe that much of that rich work is done by the hands of people who love us, who dive into the wreckage with us and show us who God is, over and over and over. There are years when the Christmas spirit is hard to come by, and it’s in those seasons when I’m so thankful for Advent. Consider it a less flashy but still very beautiful way of being present to this season. Give up for a while your false and failing attempts at merriment, and thank God for thin places, and for Advent, for a season that understands longing and loneliness and long nights. Let yourself fall open to Advent, to anticipation, to the belief that what is empty will be filled, what is broken will be repaired, and what is lost can always be found, no matter how many times it’s been lost.” - from my favorite, Shauna Niequist. #Adventseason ❤️ #comeLordJesus

[dottiecamak]

Clemson 2014. #roar #deathvalley (at Memorial Stadium - Frank Howard Field (Clemson's Death Valley))

[dottiecamak]

My BLACK FRIDAY purchase! 💁💪🙋👊 #getfitneverhit #dealoftheday #noexcusesanymore #wobblebecauseigobble (at 9 Rounds)

[dottiecamak]

Perhaps my favorite part of my 'hostess with the mostess' cousin Elizabeth's home today: she has displayed in her kitchen handwritten old and original recipes from the women in the family. #love #handwritten #history #southern #food #passitdown

[dottiecamak]

Give thanks for pies. So many pies. Thankful for the women in my family who host and create this kind of deliciousness. (Other food not pictured) This year I contributed my appetite😁. #andgratitude 🙌🙏