When I was a girl, Burger King came out with a revolutionary ad campaign that changed the way we ate our Whoppers.

In the 1970s ad, a counter girl, sporting a poofy polyester cap, sang this catchy jingle into the order mike:

          
“Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, special orders won't upset us, all we ask is that you let us serve it your way. Have it your way ... Have it your way at Burger King.”

The Burger King ad reflected a trend in customer-focused marketing that’s snowballed into the multitude of personalized products we have today.

Recently, my husband bought my son some brand new Adidas sneakers. Showing his size 13s off to me when he got home, my son was quick to point out the “customizable” stripes on the sides of the shoes.

You see, each shoe had three see-through slots on its side where Adidas gave its customers the choice to “have it your way.” My son could now wear his shoes with red, orange, gold, or black stripes, depending on how he was feeling that day.

Fun. But, in my opinion, a bit over the top. It’s amazing how far we’ve come since the personalization of the hamburger.

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Lewis Carroll in his children’s classic, “Alice in Wonderland,” wrote about an interesting character that I often relate to.

Now, it’s not the mischievous Cheshire Cat, nor is it the eccentric Mad Hatter, or even the confused Alice.


But instead, it’s the rushing white rabbit who, in Disney’s version of the classic, hurries past Alice carrying a pocket watch muttering the words: "I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!"

Ugh. The words of that hurried bunny sometimes swirl around inside my head as I bring my daughter to band practice 15 minutes after it starts. They taunt me as I painfully write down my “arrival” time at the doctor’s office, inwardly cringing because it’s long past the actual “appointment time” that I’m also required to write.

And, I can hear the rabbit’s ditty in the desperate tone of my son as he tries to get me out the door a half hour before his practice. I know he hopes that this will get him there on time.

There are days when I wish we could do away with clocks. How dare they try to dictate my life around their little clicking faces? Sometimes I feel that I’m judged by how well I obey the long and short hand of time.

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I knew the socks were going to be trouble the moment they caught my daughter’s eye.

Their trendy designs were bright and flashy and best of all, they had the days of the week written on all seven pairs.

“You’re going to lose one and then the

whole pair is shot,” I said shaking my head no.

You see, when we started our large family I was told by a smart grandma that plain white socks were best. That way if you lost one, you could easily join it with another and no one would be the wiser. 

But the puppy dog eyes came next and, although I usually don’t give in to them, I thought about my daughter’s childhood and how fleeting it already was. Days of the week socks would be fun right? Something she could store in her memory and think back on as a special part of being a girl.

So we bought the socks, and she gave me the “I can’t believe you said yes” look and thanked me.

The socks were cute, I have to admit. Monday’s was covered with little hearts and Tuesday’s was rainbow striped, but Wednesday’s was … LOST!

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Strewn over the top of my friend Melissa’s kitchen table are a dozen or so sympathy cards and notes.

These are just a sampling of all that’s she’s received from friends and even some strangers since her tragic event just over a month ago.

          
The words of comfort written in each one, the prayers and the scriptures have spoken volumes to Melissa during her low moments, and she finds herself bringing the cards out often.

There’s a card signed by a group of teachers from her local elementary school. Melissa points that one out to me and shows me their kind words.

One card comes from a niece who sends a hug her way.  And another, with pink and blue flowers, has a Bible verse found in Psalm 56:8 that she’s got memorized: “You have collected all my tears in your bottle.”

“I don’t recall ever hearing that verse before,” says Melissa, “but I know it now.” She’s cried a lot of tears over the past few weeks, and she’s figuring that God’s got a pretty big bottle with her name on it.

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I was trying to tell a story to my new friend while we walked around the track yesterday, and I could hardly get the words out because of our quick pace.

Now, I’m no stranger to exercise. I love it actually.


The treadmill and my stationary bike are two of my most prized possessions, and they get plenty of action in my house. But, this new friend was a bit more fit than I, and her pace was a challenge to match.

Huffing and puffing, I went on with my story. I was actually glad for the fast pace, and I told my friend so. I knew it would make me stronger.

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The lady shook her head and sorrowfully said: “She’ll never be the same," as she spoke about my friend who was wading through the pain of a recent tragedy.

A quick surge of indignation welled up inside me towards the unsuspecting and I’m sure well-meaning woman.

And I found myself countering her comment with her own words.

“You’re right, she’ll never be the same.” And then I went on to explain.

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Early this morning before school, my son went out in the rain to take the dog out.

When he came in a little while later, he held up two soaked sneakers for me to see.

“Look what happened to my shoes,” he said with a bit of surprise in his tone.

“Hmmm,” I said, thinking how I could best state the obvious without being confrontational, “you should have worn boots.”

These were his school shoes, and both he and I knew he was in for a soggy day.

Would you go out into a yard full of mud without your boots? How about a blizzard without your coat, hat and gloves?

Or, what if you were a football player – would you face those muscle-bound giants without your helmet, shoulder pads or yikes! — your athletic cup?

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I’ve discovered that having five children has many benefits.


One of them, I have to say, is getting to watch my favorite Disney movies over and over again.


Movies that my older kids have outgrown are now new and fresh to my younger ones.

And as for me, well, I’ll get out the popcorn ...

One thing I’ve noticed happening to me as I view these movies for the second, third, and even eighth time, is that certain lines will jump out at me, and I’ll really get the message that the screen writer was trying to get across. It’s one of the advantages of repetition I guess.

An absolute favorite of my “ah ha” movie moments came one day while we were watching Cinderella.

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Have you ever saved a seat for someone?  I did once – and it ended in heartbreak.

I painted the picture accompanying this blog post during one of the most difficult periods in my life – as I was grieving an adoption that didn’t happen. 

 It represents the literal chair that is empty at my table.

It’s a chair that I was convinced that God was going to fill – a chair that I felt God was calling me to fill.

Yet He didn’t fill it with a child.

The chair symbolizes the commonality that we all have:  loss and pain despite begging for God’s help.

What is your empty chair?

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