Wedding Day

It was a lovely day, sunny, cool, full of expectancy and activity. Beautiful girls in their finery, my girls, giggling out the door to have hair done and pick up bouquets, down to the venue while we made sure my dear friend was ready for her marathon day doing flowers for the reception with masses of sunflowers, wildflowers,  thistle, ribbon, shells glass beads, poised to turn a large table filled room into something magical. People from all over the country ignored that the wedding was on a work day, and took the opportunity to spend the weekend together before the big event on Monday. There were games and hula hoops, glow sticks and dancing into the late evening. The bride and groom were both radiant, bursting with love for each other. When they entered the room, whether together at the corner of the Krohn Conservatory reserved for the ceremony, or again front and center for the first dance, that love, combined with our mutual love for them seemed to light the place with a different light. A light that emanated from them, to them, toward each other. Unspeakable good will, the ultimate of joie de vivre that was tangible. It was a pinnacle day, fought for and won by the simple acts and words of love that permeated every conversation, blessed every spirit, ignited every memory of every heartfelt kiss. Oh, wedding day!

In the hands of a gracious God

Yesterday was a good day. I actually ate some real food. I got some little projects done for the wedding. I have been making friends with my new oxygen concentrator, which helps. The cat doesn't like it, because it is loud, but it helps me rest better when I lie down. I stayed up way past my usual bedtime and talked to the girls. Our pastor brought our story before the congregation last Sunday, and the prayer that rose up from our faithful people is part of the yesterday's gift of a day. The presence of concentrated oxygen is part of the gift, the new steroid medication starting to work is part of the gift. Secular or sacred, the combined power of science and prayer brought us into the center of a good day, which is the center of God's gracious hands. We cannot hold on to it as if is were our own for all time, it is simply a touch that reminds us that we are not alone in this big world. We sail a sea of troubles, and see calm days and storms. We should never forget that that is God's grace too, because each rolling wave brings us closer to understanding each other and Him, if we pay attention. Thanks to all who pray for us, it is felt and it is appreciated. Thanks to those whose serve us medically, as well. It is all God's work, playing out in our days, caring for us in the ways we need it most.

A Perfect Marriage

My daughter is getting married in a few weeks. In discussion with friends, I told them I thought we had a perfect marriage. I have done a lot of thinking about this, since I have time to do that and I wanted to write something thoughtful in her wedding book. I think of a marriage as a framework for two very imperfect people to use to interact with each other on a daily basis. Kind of like a freeway, or a go kart track, if you will. There are rules to follow, lights to be obeyed, give and take, tight turns and breezy straightaways. This framework, when properly and carefully applied, allows both people to grow into the people they were meant to be, allows for successful child rearing, career growing, personal and spiritual growth. If the rules are applied equally, then each partner will take their turn with the responsibilities specific to them, and neither will be doing all the driving. This framework takes years to build and master, but as it it mastered it becomes more and more important. For each challenge that comes, both imperfect people remember what worked and what didn't and will remember that tight turn and that curve and do what is necessary to successfully complete it. A marriage's goal is to get two people, and their little ones, from the beginning of a life together to the end. It is possible to do it well, evenly perfectly.

In the middle of the night

It is hard to sleep at night when you spend most of the day resting in bed or on the couch. The body is not really tired, muscles are not needing repair, mind is not overwhelmed with the day's events to sort and file. In the middle of the night I find myself most at peace. Usually nothing hurts, the room temperature is comfortable, the bed is soft. My husband is peacefully asleep next to me. I think about my children, comfy in their own beds with their own male companions dozing peacefully beside them. I think about the little grandchildren, dreaming little dreams far away. I feel overwhelming calm and gratitude for the path that I continue to trod, that brings such peace. All is right with the world in the middle of the night. I have kept the faith. I have followed my Lord into the cool of the valley and He comforts me. All of us. He has given me the ability to lie down in green pastures. I can review the chapters of my life story and feel His presence in each one. In the middle of night, I may lie awake, but 100% relaxed, knowing that there is not one place that He is not, and only the light of the morning will tell if I have really gone to Him, or will spend another day in His presence here. It doesn't matter to me.

Towels

I guess because I have cancer I seem to be keenly aware of others around me who have it. One of my nurse friends was just diagnosed last week with leukemia, and the treatment for it is a brutal one. I ache for her and her family. My pastor's mother is struggling with recurrent cancer, as is another pastor we met during Richard's treatment. In their web posts about their struggles, both the newly diagnosed and the chronic, they all mention words of battle, fighting, not giving up, not "throwing in the towel".  I didn't know that life was a picnic until something Job-like happens to you and then suddenly it is a boxing ring. I prefer to think of it like the Olympics commercials pictured it. You start as a child, learning from the loving adults that are placed in your life to encourage, teach and motivate you. You begin to understand the world, yourself, what gifts lie within you. You begin to lean into those gifts, lean into the world, surround yourself with more people who inspire and believe in you until you are able to stand on your own, supported and loved by family, friends and God. Oh, yes, there are towels handed to you to wipe the sweat off your brow, or wipe up the messes that are sometimes made, but there are not yours. They are offered to you. And when life here is done, we all get to the podium together, hand in hand, raised toward heaven in victory. I have no towel to throw in, only one to hand you if you need it. Thanks for sharing yours with me today, I feel better already.

When all is well

It is a peaceful day when everything around you, and everyone you love, is in sync with the best part of themselves. There are no urgent teary phone calls, no odd bills in the mail, no new scrapes on the car. You can feel the peace of the day unfolding like a soft blanket, and you know that today all is well with the world that you know. Those of us in first world countries get lots of these days. We complain about being "broke" but we have more money than most people in the world can even imagine. We complain about our political system, but we live under more freedoms than most citizens of the world. We berate our health care system, but, for the most part, I don't know anyone that can't walk into any emergency room today and get adequate care without paying one cent for it up front. We really complain about everything, from the speed of our phones, to the quality of our burgers, to the price of gas. Yet we have the best phones in the world, we eat more than we should and we continue to buy cars with 40 gallon gas tanks and somehow can afford to fill them up whenever the tank is empty. As I live now, stripped of almost everything I used to hold in such high esteem, I am more than ever appreciating the peaceful days, without complaining. Would that we could see how beautiful they are.

Waves

I have been feeling desperate to see and feel waves all summer. My little construct of a fauxcation to the beach didn't work without them, without the sounds of crashing surf and spray. The only place I knew was close was Soak City, at Kings Island. Even that seemed out of reach, as each day becomes harder to navigate with the limited energy I have. Plus, I am cheap, and didn't want to spend so much money on what would be a short day at the park. For whatever reason, however, I had it in my mind that yesterday would be the day we would go. I had had enough excuses, enough wistful looks at the sights of beach vollyball at the Olympics and the commercials of people at the ocean. So we packed our towels and sunscreen and a book or two and headed off to the park, even with the chance of rain in the forecast. It was everything I hoped, the first look at the curling waves in the Tidalwave pool brought so much joy to my heart that I didn't mind the chilly water, and swam like a little kid. The steel band played, children laughed, the waves tossed us to and fro, we took rides down Splash River. It was a wonderful day. Sunlit waves, gentle against my feet, thank you for filling this heart of mine.

Safari

Last year, my friend Pam decided that she was finally ready to take her trip of a lifetime, an African Safari. She spent months planning it, saving her money, shopping for the right clothes, getting her shots, gearing up her courage for 3 weeks in the open savannah. She just got back a few weeks ago, and brought over her 1500 pictures and videos on thumb drives for me to peruse at my leisure. It was a magical experience to see what she saw, hear what she heard. I remembered my own single day safari in Kenya 5 years ago, remembered the awe at seeing wildlife up close, without bars or locks. I saw the look of contentment on her face in the few pictures of her, seeing her in a new way; not as a busy charge nurse, brimming with professional skills honed over years of diligent work, but as a brave woman, willing to step away from her busy life and do this one thing that she had dreamed of doing for such a long time. No more excuses, no more fears, she stepped into her trek with the confidence with which she does everything. I am glad for her. Some people wait too long to be brave, and never do that one thing. Thank you for sharing your dream with me, my wonderful friend.

In translation

What happens once a prayer leaves our mind, our heart, our lips and travels into the enormity of space? No matter what we asked for, or how we asked, what happens to the words? Do they take on a life and power of their own, maybe against the will of a sovereign God, and change the course of a life to an unintended consequence? Have we prayed prayers that altered history for the ill of mankind instead of the bettering, because we were only thinking of ourselves? Do we ask God what He thinks before we pray?  What happens once a prayer leaves us and goes to God? I like to think He takes them all, each one, and weaves them into beautiful words that work His will into the world. The soulful, brave and selfless prayers overwrite the selfish, cold and hateful ones and translate them into prayers that propel the global us into His ultimate destiny for us. As we live here together, sharing our resources, we must pray selfless prayers, bold prayers that lift the hearts of those that are suffering around the world. When we do this, we can expect to receive the answer for our own needs in today's blessings as He gives us all our daily bread of love, hope, faith, joy, patience and comfort.

A decent life

I read the One Year Bible. It is the perfect way to read it, a little of the Old Testament, a little of the New Testament, a Psalm and part of Proverbs. Like a full course meal in 15-20 minutes each day. And voila, at the end of the year you have read the whole Bible through. Today's reading was from Romans chapter 13. Because we belong to the day, we must live decent lives for all to see.  In times past, some of my life wasn't so decent, but for different reasons. Now, so much of what is happening here I don't want all to see. I don't want to show my frailty or my grief, I don't want to cry or be sick in front of them, my little world of family and friends. But I belong to the day, and the day is full of these emotions and physical pains and sorrows. My little decent life will be lived out for all to see, because I am loved and the love is the kleenex and the whey protein and the hugs. I have not lost hope in Our loving Father, or faith in His compassion and His mercies that are new every morning. My tears are often of frustration that I cannot participate in the life that is happening around me. But I do love to see you smile, and hear your stories and share your life. Don't be afraid to call and see how I am doing today.

Life without guns

I hated what happened over the weekend, innocent movie goers randomly slaughtered. I hate hearing about shootings and craziness and wars and weapons. I hate hearing the blaming and finger pointing and who should have done what and how can this be prevented in the future. I hate that it keeps happening to people, that someone goes crazy and anyone is in the way of the one that does. We share this precious planet, a brief span of days to live in, just so many moments to love someone, hug someone. Every time I hear that a life has ended sooner that one's actuarial 78 or so years, I grieve at the loss of those moments, those hugs. The loss of someone that is loved diminishes the lives of all of us in tiny ways. It is like a light that goes out and leaves some greater darkness. Yet, the love of God reaches past all our woes and craziness, into the hurt and dark, and lights more lights. He ignores our faulty gun and mental health laws and impotent political swaggering. He shows us a life without guns, a life lived with compassion and concern; wise as serpents, innocent as doves. It is hard work to live that life, we might rather carry a concealed weapon to feel safe. I would rather lean into the light.

Nothing on the calendar

Tonight is the first night in 3 weeks that we are not hosting family. Our refrigerator is still bursting with leftovers, which is a happiness from countless meals prepared and enjoyed. We have been on a 3 week roller coaster ride of a grand faux-cation, grateful that family spent their vacation time and money coming to see us and fill our home with love. Now, there are no more activities on the calendar for the rest of the week, no excursions to the city or the country. No wedding planning appointments or shoe shopping. Nothing on the calendar means the house can get clean, the cat can relax, we can resume our daily routines. I can sit under the tree and recharge my batteries. We will get lonely eventually. The calendar, with open empty days, begs to be written on. Dates, meetings, appointments; we will call friends and see what they are doing and see if they can put us on their calendar. We will pencil in pool parties and baseball games, cookouts and bike rides. We will hope that I am able to get out and get away. If not, we will open our home to whoever wants to come by for a glass of ice tea and a bite of ice cream. The lazy days of summer are still inviting us to relax and enjoy every single one of them.

Food Glorious Food

I took care of patients with cancer when I was a new nurse. What amazed me was the way they would become so emaciated; food sights and smells did not interest them, in fact it had the opposite effect. I am told that this happens in poor countries also, when malnourished children go so long without meaningful food that they lose interest in it, even when finally made available by rescue agencies. I understand it now, because it is happening to me. I sit down to eat, 2 bites, no bites, I don't want anymore. Yet I am hungry, I can feel it deep down. I see pictures of food on Facebook, people enjoying my favorite menu items at my favorite restaurants, cookouts with burnt steak and grilled corn and even while mentally I lick my lips, I know that I could no more eat it than a plate of rocks. Meanwhile, I watch my weight drop, seemingly helpless in the face of the toxins that the cancer endlessly secretes that kills the appetite. Maybe this is the most humane way it goes, how a body reacts to overwhelming disease or famine, a kind of quiet fading. I took the taste of grilled buttered corn for granted, I guess...food, with all it's flavors, one of life's greatest pleasures. Today take a taste of your favorite food, savor it, and share it. I think mine will be a root beer float.

Rain

It rained here yesterday, maybe for an hour. It didn't rain at my dad's farm. The corn and beans there are still struggling through cracked earth. Here the little pond is shiny again and ducks are wandering the banks, snacking on greens and swimming again. The global warming people are speaking doomsday speak, and politicians are volleying about what to do. Drought, heat, dying crops, rising food prices; all cyclical, evidence of our cavalier attitude about the earth's ability to regenerate and renew itself. Depending on where you decide to look, you can see the shiny pond or the parched corn. You can see the ducks swimming happily or the tree leaves turning brown and dropping prematurely. Neither shows an accurate picture of what is happening; life happens somewhere in the middle of both views. Without pointing fingers or casting blame, we need to look at our world with our eyes wide open, and see it all. We need to pay attention to what is around us; close by us and far away from us, in order to learn what our role is in preserving shiny ponds and happy ducks. God gave this world to us to live in, we can make dozens of decisions every day that will impact what kind of world we leave for those we share it with.

Vertical

We met a nice man one day while Rich was getting chemo, this man was getting chemo too. We chatted about his life and treatment plan, and he said he took his courage from an elderly friend who told him: If you find yourself waking up in the morning, then get up.  There is a lot of power in being vertical. Sometimes the desire to lie down becomes overwhelming during the day, when the heat of the summer bears in through the windows and the air is muggy and still. Sometimes it takes all one's will to stay upright, to enjoy the baby and the little girl, to read books and tickle bellies. Everyone is gone now, back in their homes, back to their routines, their own beds and toys. It is quiet enough for the cat to sit out in the open, and sleep in his favorite spots. I spent more time than I wanted to resting in my cozy bed or on the couch while they were here. A full house is tiring. Today could be another one of those days, but today I am going to putter around the house and finish folding the clean towels and sheets. I am going to put away the sippy cups and bibs for next time, storing each memory in mental tissue paper. It is how we proceed through this business of living out our days; when we wake up we get up.

The best advice

I think my father's favorite film was Pollyanna. I liked it because Haley Mills was in it and I thought I looked like her. The reason why I think he liked it so much was because he was forever wishing, out loud, very loud, that I would be more like her. She was always finding the silver lining in every cloud, always happy and smiling, cheering up grouchy old ladies etc. I have to admit that I found it easier to be negative and long faced about things, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. I actually thought I made that up until just recently, when I discovered that it is the working life plan for pragmatic people like me. Anyway, in order to see if the Pollyanna way was workable, I started this collection of stories. My first requirement was to find something good in every day, and record only that when the day was done. In almost 2 years of writing, I have found that it has gathered a small group of followers, and opened the doors to new relationships, as well as given me joy, peace and acceptance of what life puts in my path. There is always something good in every day; it might take some thought to find it, it might have to be orchestrated, but it is always available. Sometimes the best advice our parents give us is the one we have the hardest trouble accepting. I am glad I gave Pollyanna one more try.

Bright mornings

It is in the early evening when I feel the magnitude of what is happening inside my body. Fatigue, pain, no desire for food or entertainment take over and off to bed I go, sometimes with a good book and Ritz crackers, late sun still bursting through the west facing windows. It seems too soon to shut down, but no amount of will power is enough to make any physical part of me willing to forgo the call of the bed. That I why I like our bright mornings. The sunlight all around but not beaming in, the cool clear breeze before the sticky humidity of the day. The early birds catching the worms. The still moist earth from last night's watering, the rising sunflowers, the herons stalking breakfast. Hunger pangs, and the sweet taste of fresh blackberries in a smoothie, painless motions and creative energy. Enough to pick up my knitting, or clean off the counters, plan the day's events, do some yoga. I live in a compressed day, now, much like those who work a full time job. My job starts in the evening, when my body requires a 13 hour period of rejuvenation and restoration. Upon awakening, I get time to live the other half of life, at a slower pace perhaps, but one that still bring joys and wonders. Today is another beautiful day.

In between the pandemonium

My family is all together again. There are toys strewn all over the house, baby wipes and diapers in every trashcan. The cat is spending most of his day hiding from Miss Collette. There is shouting and laughing, crying and whining. Even from the adults. We had no air conditioning for 3 days in 100 degree weather. People are coming and going, to wedding planning events, extended family events; to the grocery store, the mall, the playground and pool. Doors opening and closing, the washer and dryer running constantly. Sometimes I would like to find out where the cat is finding his peace and quiet and hide there with him. Just for an hour or two. Just long enough to catch my breath, quiet my mind, pray and rest. Of course, we have plenty of that when family is not here. Funny how the presence of more people causes the comfortably warm soup to bubble and sometimes boil over. How loud is the quiet in between the pandemonium, when children are sleeping and mothers are knitting. How nurturing the peace, that blows across our faces like the cool air from the repaired air conditioner, eliminating any harsh or hasty words. It breaks open our smiles and restores our joy. Our happy, normal, noisy family.

Elevated temperature

Ohio is suffering from an extended period of elevated temperatures, ie: it's hot. Really hot. The pool is almost too hot to swim in. The grass is brown. The cat is shedding so much hair it drifts in the air and swarms in circles under every table. You can sense the trees begging for rain. We are tempted to stay indoors in the air conditioning, which is reminiscent of winter when the windows are shut and all the outside sounds are lost to the constant white noise of fans blowing. Yet, in Ohio, we learn to deal with the weather extremes, because that is how we are seasoned by the seasons. We put on our sunglasses and sunscreen and broad brimmed hats and sit in the shade. We drink lemonade and iced tea by the gallon. We complain about it to each other, but we still want to be outside. We want to swim and go boating, we want to play cornhole and watch baseball. In fact, my daughter is driving my unairconditioned car today. No big deal. She will be able to brag about how she did it, with the temperature being 101. Plus, it's a great excuse to eat more ice cream.

New Red Car

It looks like Christmas in our garage tonight. Richard traded in the black truck for a new red car. It is parked next to my green car. The new red car is a Scion XD, loaded with what most people would consider standard equipment these days...electric locks, USB port, automatic transmission, cruise control. The truck was 10 years old this month, and did not have electric locks or cruise control or USB ports. It served us well. It carried college girl furniture all over Ohio and across the country to Colorado. It took us camping to Gratefulfest in Akron, twice. We used it to haul my craft tent and totes of crafts up and down the highway, setting up in distant towns to sell my handmade wares. It carried radio controlled airplanes, bags of dirt, birdseed, lumber. It made a 50 mile round trip daily for 7 years when Rich worked in Oxford. He took me to work one snowy night in it, because it did have 4 wheel drive, but had a flat tire on the way home and somehow made it all the way back from Cincinnati in a Level 3 storm without a repair. One thing is couldn't do is hold carseats. That is one reason why it is Christmas in our garage, the grandkids are coming for a visit. Goodbye, old friend...hello new friend. We will tell your story someday, when you have over 125,000 miles of them to tell. And listen to the green car tonight, there are 200,000 miles of happy tales tucked under that hood.

What I meant to say

Sometimes we open our mouth to say something to someone and out pops this horrible, inappropriate comment that stings and wounds the minute it is unhappily uttered. If we could look inside the closet of the mind that houses our words, we would see how badly cluttered it is. Old hurts, old memories tumbled about, broken promises hanging from the closet rod, lost hopes and dreams spilling from overstuffed boxes. Of course, those things fall out first the moment the closet door is opened. If we aren't careful, it is all that ever comes out, and we speak words of bitterness and despair daily. Suppose today we could spend the day in mindful meditation, and clean out this word closet. Suppose we could finally discard the broken things, the shoes without a mate, things that don't fit, out dated and stained. Suppose we could organize our thoughts so that there was a place for kindness, encouragement, and civility and those boxes were easily marked and readily accessible so we could speak those words without fumbling. How wonderful it would be to open our mouth to say something to someone, and, instead of having to apologize later,  what we said was what we really meant to say, with love.

An Insect Parable

One long and lazy summer evening, Blue Bottle Fly found his way into the web of Garden Spider. His big fat body was no match for Garden Spider's sticky net and lightening speed. He buzzed and buzzed his hardest but soon he was wrapped in silk so tight, no sound could come from his bound wings. As the long night was turning to dawn, Monarch Butterfly also found his way into the web. He made no sound as Garden Spider swiftly bound his beautiful wings tightly against his soft body. As day began to break, Blue Bottle Fly and Monarch Butterfly lay silent in their silk coffins. Blue Bottle Fly, who lived off death and decay, who was despised by all creation as a nuisance and spreader of disease now rested side by side with Monarch, who had lived off sweet nectar, was admired and lauded by all, photographed and written up in Nature Magazines as a marvel. Of course, neither one chose their direction in life, it was the way they were created. Nothing about that mattered now, in their identical postures it was impossible to tell which was which. Garden Spider, having rested from his midnight labors, looked at them and said to himself, "My, how I love a big breakfast".

Queen for a Day

There was a show on TV years ago called Queen for a Day. I don't remember it all that well, but I do remember it always involved a woman with lots of kids and many sad problems. Once the winner was announced, the show hostess would place a crown on the woman's head and an ermine trimmed robe on her shoulders and the parade of prizes would be announced to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance. There was usually new furniture, a washer and dryer, a lifetime of laundry detergent, etc. There were close ups of the tears streaming down the winner's face. I don't remember liking the show very much. Even as a child, I realized to envy the woman's prize winnings meant you also had to have her life, which no sane person would ever want. I wondered if all those prizes really provided any lasting relief to her and her family. I wonder why I thought of that show yesterday...maybe it's because I am living a "life of ease" now, that others might envy without realizing the high price I am paying for it. I think I have been guilty of that sort of envy more than I like to admit. It helps to remember how I felt about those desperate women so long ago, and put on my own crown today, and enjoy the parade of God's gifts already spread out before me.

Praying for you

I mean to pray for you. I think about you all the time. Does that count as praying? I wonder how you are doing. I pick up the phone to call you, but don't leave a voicemail. Does that count as praying? I talk about you to close friends, how hard your situation, how brave you are. Does that count? I put your name on my prayer list and speak your name out loud. Maybe that counts. I close my eyes and think about how you pray for me, because you tell me you do, and I tell God that I am sorry that I am not as good a friend to you as you are to me. I tell Him that I love you and I want the best for you, His best for you, and I suddenly feel the electricity that comes from plugging into the source of all power. I feel connected to you and God and the potential for great miracles to take place. A tear rolls down my face. I am trembling. I am praying for you, now. I am sitting in my living room and really praying for you, sincere words tumbling out to a God who blesses even when we forget to pray, or think we are praying when we are not. I can tell the difference. I am glad that He does His work even when we do not do ours. I apologize that I thought it counted when I sent you a text or a Facebook comment. I know what counts, and I will be praying more now, because it helps me too, that power, that great love.

Paying Full Price

I am often conflicted about how much to pay for something. When I was young, there seems not to have been so much pressure to buy things 'on sale'.  My aunt never even looked at price tags; she thought if she really liked something it didn't matter what it cost. Me, I head to the sale rack most of the time. I breeze by the pretty clothes at the front of the store, the ones in my size, the ones correct for the season in the newest colors, and somehow try to find wearables in the picked through clothes in the back of the store, the dingy ones tried on dozens of times that don't fit right. More recently, I have stopped doing that. I really liked the pretty duvet cover on the front of the Pottery Barn catalog.  I like the clothes at the front of the store. I don't want to eat reduced price meat. I get tired of ordering the less pricey meals at a restaurant, when I really want the lobster. Somehow, when I go the 'on sale' route all the time, it feels demeaning to me and to the shopkeeper. I want to feel ok about paying the full price. I can do that by realizing that I am worth what I earn, that what God gives me is a blessing. I might have to buy less, go out to eat less, but the things I buy can be truly what I need, and want. And I can bless your work too, by agreeing to pay what you have decided is a fair price. There is no conflict in that, only peace of mind.

God as man

God as God is mysterious, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, fearsome, beyond awesome. God as man is more easily understood, someone you can have a conversation with,  fall in love with, sometimes yell at. God as Jesus was at once approachable, but still mysterious. People ate with him, and slept next to him, but still didn't really know him. After he went to heaven, he became all God again, back to beyond awesome. So what do we have now? We have the people of God, full of the Spirit of God. When we ask God for help, this mysterious omnipresent fearsome beyond awesome being, He answers us, most of the time, with people. They come in the guise of doctors and nurses, teachers, psychologists, singers, cooks, mothers, fathers, friends, neighbors, family.  They are old, young, natives of other lands, city dwellers, country dwellers. They come to us who cry for help with wisdom, compassion, medicine, information, hot food, laughter, love. We may not understand why God does it this way, we may prefer He just did something without using others so we would not get tangled up in relationships. But how else could we all get a chance to know Him better, if we didn't get to meet His family? I am grateful for all those He has sent to us, full of His love, potent, present, awesome and real.

Living at a safe speed

Years ago, when I was in the Air Force, we had to take driver safety classes. One video we watched talked about an arrow that goes in front of your moving car, representing your stopping distance. You used that arrow to determine if you were following someone too closely, or if you should continue through an intersection when the light turned yellow. I don't know why, but that image of the big green arrow on the road in front of the windshield has stayed with me for 36 years. I think we live our lives like that, pushing our aspirations and goals out ahead of us, keeping our eyes on the arrow instead of what is happening around us. Can we get through the intersection? Would speeding up help? All the while, missing everyday blessings, not seeing, not hearing, as if being stopped at the intersection is the worst thing in the world. Then, one day, the green arrow is gone. We are stopped by circumstances beyond our control. We can choose, then, to be angry or sad, throwing our despair around for all to bear. Or, we can get out of our car, and begin to walk, step by step, enjoying the breath in our lungs and our beating heart. Of course, we can choose to do this before we are confronted with such a circumstance. That would be the wise choice, to live at a safe speed, with a daily awareness of the wonderful gifts we have been given, and a grateful heart.

Still part of the club

Most of my friends are nurses. We used to work together at one time or another, and we hang out together regularly. Some of us no longer work in nursing, due to retirement or disability. We are still part of the group, however, because of our long history of shared experiences. Sometimes, when I think about what I used to do, how hard I used to work, the skills I used to have, I feel a little sad that those days are over. It seems a shame that all that knowledge and experience is drifting away while I read under the maple tree. I listen to my friends chatter about this patient, that doctor, a new procedure, new treatments, and envy them for their involvement in real world work. My experiences are dusty and rusty, stories I have told before. Even my forays into medical missions work are dusty, 3 years old really, and volunteer teams go out every month. But, because my friends and I gather and talk about the other parts of our lives, our hopes and dreams, our families and pets, we are all still part of the club, our community built on friendship not work. We have transitioned past shared days into deeply felt shared lives. We value and trust each other, our individuality and insights are our membership dues, paid with joy, reaping endless benefits.

Under a tree

I bought a "zero gravity" lounge chair today. I seem to be spending more time horizontal than vertical some days, so thought it would be nice to be horizontal outside under the maple tree by the pond than inside on the couch. It is quite lovely. From this vantage point I can hear the birds and the leaf blowers and lawn mowers. Busy birds and people, doing their daily work, earning their daily bread. It is cool under the tree, nature's air conditioner, and I can still see the clouds passing by in front of the bright blue sky. I can talk to my friends on the phone and celebrate Kristi's happy news of an unexciting PET scan and no more chemo. I can knit my mindless knitting project for the window in our bedroom. I can sip a fruity drink and eat strawberries. I wonder why it has taken me so long to appreciate time spent in  "zero gravity". I used to wonder how some people could sit around and seemingly do nothing, when the world and the people in it needed so much help, not realizing that sometimes we need to be quiet and listen to it. We need to listen to our own heartbeat, our own breathing, know our own souls to ready ourselves to reach out to another. We can live out Ecclesiastes chapter 3, every day, under a tree, in perfect peace.

Beach Vacation

I have friends who are leaving this weekend for a beach vacation. I love beach vacations. We were going to have one this summer, but since things have changed, we canceled it. So, today, we talked about how to have a beach vacation without the beach. We can still eat seafood everyday. We can still have drinks with little umbrellas in them. We can sit on lounge chairs by the pool. We can leave our bathing suits on all day. We can go to Kings Island's Soak City and play in the waves. We can watch sand volleyball. We can play Jimmy Buffett and reggae music. We can sit on our porch and watch the sunset and imagine the ocean just on the other side of the tree line. We can lie in bed at night and listen to wave CDs and fall asleep to the sounds of the water. What is a beach vacation?  Long lazy mornings, picnic lunches, bike rides, swims, naps, starlit dinners...we can do that here. We can do that with friends, and family, whenever the mood strikes us. We don't have to spend hours in the car, salty, sunburned, stuck in traffic. Of course, the ocean is not here, that beautiful blue body of power and wonder. But everything else is, and we are here, so we will do our best to bring the beach vacation home. Come along with us!

Memorial Day

Our relationship with Memorial Day is complicated. At once we despise war, but acknowledge our human inability to avoid it and the bravery required to fight it. My husband and I served for 4 years in the Air Force, during a period of peace. I often feel we did not really 'serve our country' during that time, because we did not endure any suffering and the benefits of the service far outweighed any negatives. We were young newlyweds, underemployed and looking for an adventure together. We gained independence, a VA loan for our first house, the GI Bill to finish our education, job skills and, eventually, due to our station in the Bible Belt, our enduring faith. That was what we received for our service, more than we could have ever hoped for. Of course, Memorial Day is to honor indeed that very liberty and privilege that comes from the freedoms we hold so dear in this country. Freedom to be independent, to get a good education, to worship openly. Along with us, my father, uncle, cousin, mother and father-in-law, sister, brother, and now son-in-law have all served in the Armed Forces. We despise war. We love our freedoms. It is complicated yes, but also simple. It is putting our love into action, feet to our convictions, and honor to what we hold most dear.

The Pond

There is a pond at my dad's farm. He had it dug out about 15 years ago, and there is a funny story about how he drove to someplace in West Virgina to get the floats for the dock and they fell off the truck onto the highway, etc. The pond was a dream, that he finally fulfilled, even though he already had dug a cement pool that was clean and clorinated most of the time. The pond was au natural, stocked with game fish and crowded with the kind of plant life that stagnant ponds like. I preferred the pond, really, because the water was always cold and the dock reminded me of other bodies of water I swam in when I was a child. The dock at the pond is greying and warped now. The storage box near the bank is full of aging life vests, sized for children, but unsuitable now for any child to wear. The box is also full of dried vegetation and probably scary things like wasps and snakes. It made me a little sad to remember when the pond was new, and the place filled with splashing cousins and laughter, the paddle boat was not filled with decaying leaves and my father was strong and in charge of everything. Fifteen years have changed the place, but not the memories. I can hear the laughter still, above the humming of the bees, not sad but full of life.

Each time we fall we rise higher

How does it happen that when you think you are in free fall, and all the odds are against rising again, the wind of God lifts you up and sets you back on the mountaintop? Oh yes, the ways to fall are many, and the way down is fearsome indeed. There are many ways to feel pain. Between the closing of the eyes, and sleep, there can be violence inside. When the bearing of it seems to be more that can be borne, again the wind of God moves the darkness aside, easing the pain. What mystery is this, beyond the pills and other human concoctions, that opens the windows of heaven with a moment of deliverance. Wings. Wind. We are renewed like the eagles. We are lifted and soar, rising higher each time we fall, until finally we might catch a glimpse of the One who loves us. The One who is drawing us to himself, who will wipe the tears from our eyes, and make everything wonderful. We stand back in our place, keeping our eyes firmly fixed on where we saw Him last, our gaze sure that we will see Him again, confident that our struggle to rise will find it's zenith in His land. In His time. There is a place for us here, and there. When we find ourselves face down here, we can know we will be face down, before Him, up there. O happy day!

In the garden

It is a lovely day to work in the little garden that borders our house. My daughter Mary is here. We got out the trowels and scissors and cut back the brown daffodil leaves, transplanted errant columbine and volunteer lilacs. Amid the heavy growth of utilitarian hosta and ferns are the flowers planted over past Mother's Days, popping up tall and strong. Orange wallflowers, violet monarda,  chocolate heuchera. We remember the years they were planted, times of transition when we were living together, repairing breaches, healing wounds. Each green thing, having survived another wintry season, starts again further ahead than where it ended the year before. A healthy garden takes on it's own life, making room for the new plants, shielding them from the heat of the day. The older plants fade away, barely leaving a trace until the new plants, finally mature, can hold their own. In the garden, there is life and death, memories, joys, successes and failures. There is always the close smell of the earth, the worms, the seeds, the hidden bulbs. We dig and remember and laugh and plan and hope the days reach all the way to where we are always happy.

Somewhat less than amazing

We can get used to striving to be amazing. We can have the best shoes, hair, job. We can walk into a room with the best dessert, the best wrapped present, drive the nicest car. We can get hit with bad news and continue to smile and wear lipstick and our prettiest earrings. We can keep striving to be amazing, but at some point the striving starts to cost too much. We start to make our amazing cake icing and realize we don't have the right sugar. We don't have enough birthday candles to decorate it. We can't find the matches to light the few candles we do scrape together from the bottom of the kitchen junk drawer. Each setback leaves us breathless and frazzled. We don't get the looks we are used to, we mumble "Sorry" and tear up when we think of what we could have done, but were not able to do. We stumble in this foreign land, the land of less than amazing. When the applause dies down and people drift back to their own lives and we are left with the lingering joys of having accomplished something we will probably never do again. This life has it's own pleasures, each amazing in it's own way. The effort to rise, and shine, to smile, to taste a little ice cream, all still amazing, even if somewhat less than it was before.

Chicago

Our latest RATs adventure took us to the Windy City this past weekend. We strolled the Magnificent Mile, had a toast on the 95th floor of the Hancock Tower, ate a Cheeborger at the infamous Billy Goat Tavern, lounged in the hotel's soothing hot tub and, of course, were too loud and too silly at all those places. We were seven, and besides enjoying the sights of the city, we also allowed each other to cry about things that needed to be cried about, tell stories that needed to be told, and gave gentle hugs when necessary. I guess we didn't need to go so far to do those things, and the emotions behind the stories can catch us by surprise, but we sometimes need to get far away from what comforts us to find the sticky place in our souls. How wonderful that we can show that sticky place to the ones who know us well, know what to say, know what not to say. We walked down a wet street and marveled at the artifacts cemented into the Chicago Tribune Tower, brought from around the world, momentos of nameless reporters, capturing a bit of history. Each amazing piece tucked into the wall reminded me of our friendships, our closeness, our joys and our sorrows, our stories all part of our wonderful lives together.

Fuzzy Slippers

I am meeting the hospice team, one by one. The nurse, the social worker, the chaplain. They are dedicated to carrying whatever we cannot carry, as we travel along this road. Like Himalayan sherpas, they will take the burdens of the business of transitioning from one camp to another so that we can climb without losing our breath or hope. They will keep the way clear, so we only have to focus on what feels good, what brings comfort. It is freedom, as they get the prescriptions, the paperwork, the permissions to be the resource for everyone in the family. We can put our feet up, put on our fuzzy slippers, sit on the porch and watch the birds. How wonderful to have such kindness and competence just a phone call away, 24 hours a day. This freedom gives us courage and peace to enjoy the day. God's gifts to us are never ending, as He  provides comfort and strength for the journey, enables His people to extend their hands to those in need, wraps us up in the mercy of His love. We will kneel in our fuzzy slippers and offer up our thanks for His precious gifts, relax in the warmth of His love and pray for God's blessings to be poured out on all of the chosen ones who are carrying our load with us.

The Perfect Day

Yesterday was the perfect day. It started at 4 am, in the cool dark of almost morning. My friends Lynn and Ute picked us up for our adventure in Cincinnati. We stood in Corral H, assembling more friends, until the start of the race. Over the course of 13.1 miles we found family, cheering friends on the sidelines, funny supportive posters, dance music and Elvis. At the finish line we were awarded with smiles and tears and a heavy medal on a wide ribbon. We have planned this day for months, it was my 'line in the sand'. I held it up for our doctors to see that we would give you this much, but no more. We needed to know that wellness was the goal, strength was the purpose, quality of life meant that the day could be perfect. Our friends took up the cause, and rallied with us, allowing us all to enjoy the beauty of the day and the miracle that took place with every step. We were here because we were blessed, we were loved, we made hard choices, we gave up things, we trained, we believed. In one single day, all the days before made sense and found meaning. No matter what lies ahead, there is always hope for perfect days, when our lives find joy, we can dance to the rhythm of the day and fall into the arms of the ones who love us.

Listening to the day

The morning starts slowly, the sun is not yet up. The cat is up and wants his morning snack. He wants out. He has bad tricks he plays if he cannot have those things. As the day dawns, the coffee is poured, daily bible reading is read. The geese are busy chatting each other up, herons swoop over the water in elegant fashion. It is warm already, and still. The frogs make deep music underneath the bright bird calls. This is the first day of this new season, a time of reflection and peace. Each sound is special, each voice from every living thing has a purpose, a connection to the God who made each of us. We all call out to each other, and to Him, wanting to be heard. He responds to us, because He loves us. He sends us messages all day. He sends words on pages of books, in songs, in spoken form. He sends birds and butterflies, rainbows, sweet smelling flowers, chocolate. He sends sun and rain, starlight, moonlight. He sends hope and joy, patience, kindness, love, gentleness. We miss these messages because we don't listen well. Listening to the day, we feel the comfort of God, soothing our ragged souls, reminding us that we are part of His eternal glory. The cat, the frog, the geese, the heron, you, and me.

Doing what is in front of you to do

The time has come for palliative radiation and hospice and finishing things. None of these things are what I would choose to do on a mild spring day if I had my choice. But this is what is in front of me to do. I can still plant flowers and watch the hummingbirds fight over the feeder. I can still spin some wool and play with Collette. I can buzz like a bee to make Anderson smile. I can still do the fun things, but the hard things are there to do, as well. Standing solemn and silent as soldiers, in the shadows now stepping out to take my hands. These hands that know how to knit and cuddle, write words and sew pillows will stretch out and hold the sides of a radiation table and sign my name to a living will. These hands will share those things that I cannot keep with those that I know will keep them well. With steady gaze, I see the work I must do. Once the first step is taken, the path becomes easier, the camaraderie of those walking with you feels safe. Without looking back, you can move into the business of what is in front of you, putting your hands to it with surety, remembering that the One that leads you is able to sustain you, until you have finished doing what is in front of you to do, and can lie down to rest.

What we live for

One of my friends lost a family member to suicide last week. He was 14. It seems to be all over the news now about children, so discouraged with the panorama of their lives, choosing death over life. What have we done to them? How cynical have we become, how verbal with our constant complaining, our jealousies and bitterness that all our children see in their future is a life that looks identical to ours? Is this what we live for? We have changed the gift of life into a chore, a grind, a burden borne. Do you see the tiny premature infant struggling for life in the NICU? Do you see the chemotherapy patient, allowing poison to run through his veins? Do you see the paraplegic straining to maneuver his wheelchair across a busy street? What are they living for? A chance to feel the sun, to have a kiss planted on a tiny cheek, another game of Trivial Pursuit with the family, another Christmas Day. When the fabric of life is falling apart, then we are frantic to hold on to it. When is it not, we allow it to become dirty and wrinkled, wasted, belittled. What we live for defines us, gives our lives meaning, longevity, legacy. The children of this world need to see that life is good, full of kisses and hugs, long walks in the sun, and time to play.

Getting Better

One of the ways we navigate our lives is to be on the look out for ways we can improve it. We might be devoted to motivational books. We might take classes in Tae Kwon Do or learn to play an instrument. We  might watch every DIY show on TV, eager to redo the kitchen or bath. We study, we practice, we ask questions, we make mistakes and we try again. Each day we can draw closer to the improvement we seek, raising the quality of our lives and, hopefully, having that spill over into the lives of those we love. The song we learn to play echos throughout the house, the new kitchen backsplash is appreciated by everyone in the household, our ability to break a board in two brings a sense of security if confronted with danger. Every day we put our energy into getting better. This is an interesting conundrum when faced with the prospect of dying in a few months. Is this, like everything else, something we can get better at? Can we be more open, less anxious, kinder, braver? Can we ask questions, can we cry, can we plan our ceremony? Each day, as we draw closer to the final day, can we raise the quality of our lives and, hopefully, have that peace and security spill over into the lives of those we love? Oh yes, oh yes, we can.

The Princess House

I received a fully furnished vintage dollhouse yesterday that I had purchased on Ebay over a week ago. When I purchased it, I had no idea that both my sisters would be here with me when it arrived. This is the first time that we can remember as adults that we have all been together, without our children, without having to plan or attend a family function, without business meetings or appointments. We spent the better part of an hour yesterday unpacking the miniature chairs and tables, tiny teapot and plates and even tinier play food. We decorated it together and have played with it, populating it with 3 Disney princess dolls that are the perfect size for the little chairs. The dolls play well together, soak their collective tiny feet in the tiny blue bathtub, make little dinners and, of course, sing. The magic of playing with dolls never loses it's power over little girls grown up, mini alter egos in a perfect world where life is fair and it's OK to eat in the living room. We are having fun, my sisters and I, between talking grown up talk about raising teenagers and dealing with singlehood and aging parents and cancer. It is a joy, a gift, this housewarming.  A legacy of love, built in little wooden tables and chairs, looking out of little windows...come on in.

New Old Friends

I had supper tonight with a new old friend, named Myra. We knew each other from a church we used to go to years ago. She was instrumental in helping my daughters become comfortable in front of an audience as they performed in many plays and music dramatizations. Now they spend most of their lives in jobs that keep them in the front of the room, teaching and encouraging others to do wonderful things. I meant to tell you that, Myra. I meant to tell you that I appreciate all the time you gave them, being their friend when I could not; being a faithful, God loving influence in their lives. Life gets so busy, and we say hi and talk about everything but what we really mean to say. I mean to say thank you. Thank you for sharing your life with me, and your smile and your gift of friendship. New old friends...how much potential is waiting for us in our big world? People you knew and for some reason stopped knowing, people you liked but let go. People that get lost in the world that would love for you to find them again. They could use a call and some friendly chatter, maybe some cheesecake. It isn't really hard to do... just start looking. New old friends are the best, you already know them and know they still love you.

When God speaks

I have believed in God my whole life. Even when I was a very little girl, I talked to him in my head all the time. Even when I was a cynical preteen, and hated the church we went to, hated the hypocrites that went there. Even when my parents got divorced when I was a senior in high school, and they became the ultimate hypocrites. Even when I studied the I Ching in college, tossing coins in sequence to create the symbols that predicted the future. Finally I met him, my spirit to his spirit, when I was 27. It was the end of wondering who he was, and where he was, and knowing he was who I had been talking to all those years. Since then, the conversation that has flowed between us has deepened and matured. I have read the book he wrote for us many times. I have talked to him with words of love and anger, fear, pain, frustration, joy. We have talked through financial problems, marriage problems, child rearing problems, false friendships, troubled churches, twisted theology and, especially, hypocrisy. He has taught me about forgiveness, peace, patience, grace, kindness, suffering, hope. I listen for him to speak to me all day, every day. He always does, in an endless variety of ways. I know his voice, it's the one full of love.

No Crying

I raised two girls, and between the three of us we have shed our share of tears. When the girls were younger, I made an observation that crying should be reserved for 2 situations...when someone died or when you hurt yourself really badly. NOT when your sister took your favorite toy or when you had to help with supper. Later, when we were all older, I landed on the idea that one should not cry about things that can be fixed with money. One can cry about the things that can't be fixed with money, but the solution to things that could be fixed with money was not crying, but finding the money to fix them. Now whenever one of us starts to cry about something, one of us says: Can it be fixed with money? And, hopefully, the answer is yes. Over the last few years, we have cried over the things that definitely cannot be fixed with money, but have stalwartly worked through the things that can. Unsold house, broken car,  lost jobs, sky high repair bills, new baby. We can turn our back on tears of frustration, and work toward solid solutions. Dry eyes see everything more clearly.

Pragmatism

I am the most pragmatic person I know.  I might have creative ideas, and silly moments, but ultimately everything I do comes back to being sensible and practical. This trait has been a good friend to me through the years. Being pragmatic doesn't mean always choosing the safe route, or the easy route, or the well traveled route. Sometimes the best way to accomplish something is to be courageous, curious, even contrarian. We walk this planet learning to solve problems as they come our way. Little children learn to navigate stairs and tricycles, speak in complete sentences, share. As we get older, those problems seem to become more complex, but mainly only in scope. We still need to learn to navigate our world in many modalities, speak so we are understood, share. Watch a baby learn to stand, see him thinking it out, practicing, finally letting go. Being sensible, we can use the same skills we have used from our earliest years to evaluate a problem, try out different solutions, determine which one will give us the answer we want, and implement that decision. Being practical, we can move forward with the least amount of emotion, and choose wisely for ourselves and encourage others as they learn to stand.

Always a song

I am not a fan of country music. When we spent the weekend in Nashville, we heard a lot of it around the indoor pool. It is fascinating the things that the country songwriters write about. Broken hearts, broken cars, trailer parks, dogs. Put to music, the woes of various down and outers become danceable and upbeat.  Maybe this incongruity is what makes one a fan of the genre. The Psalms in the Bible are like that. They range from lofty and lovely hymns of praise to gritty, desperate cries for help. The writers tell tales of sublime peace, the Lord is my Shepherd, as well as indescribable suffering, just one Psalm before: They pierced My hands and feet. The small print under many Psalms give instruction to the Chief Musician, set to the tune of a certain well known melody of the day. We still get to do that. We can put to words the stories of our own day, the good and the not so good, the gritty and the sweet. We can put the words to music, and sing to God as David did, rejoicing or crying. We can lift up our voice and shout a word of praise or panic. In a song, they come to the same place; where the melody takes away the hurt and smooths out the rough edges. We might just find our feet tapping and our hands clapping in spite of ourselves.

Fingerprints

I love visiting old places. I try to picture what the place looked like when it was new, with the people who lived there dressed in the garb of the day, doing what people did then. I can see beyond the age and see the hands that rocked the cradle, carried the candle stand, put the hand sewn quilts on the bed. I like to think there might still be fingerprints. When we visited the Lincoln Memorial last weekend, I wonder if any particles of DNA of all the millions of people that have visited that place, marched on the Mall, spoke from the steps, has found a home there. Is there a dried drop of sweat from Martin Luther King Jr.'s brow hidden in the cracks of marble? Is there a tiny bit of hair blown off JFK's head secreted away under the pillars? Did a part of me stay there, somehow, when I touched the smooth walls and wondered these things? As we stride through our lives, meeting the past at almost every turn, are we able to leave our fingerprints on the places we went, the people we touched? When we fold our hands at day's end, can we look at them and know that we will be remembered? Can we make sure that what we touched, we handled with care? Leave your love everywhere, at the cradle, the quilt and every heart you hold.

One at a time

I imagine God in Heaven, handing out our days one at a time, like lollipops. We like to think we can grab a whole handful, store them away in some secret place, feeling powerful and eternal. But He only gives out one at a time, measuring the same 24 hours to us all. Days of sun and rain, heat and cold. Days that start bright and turn cloudy, tornado days, tsunami days. Days when babies are born, days when they die before they take their first breath. Days that start cloudy and end sunny, the promotion at work, the wedding bells. He hands one gently to us, we grab it and run away, never thanking Him for the gift. We go back for more before the time, and pout and cry because we don't get what we want. Days are not for hoarding, they are for living. Days are for sharing, not saving. What we gave up one day we get restored the next, what cost us one day rewards us the next. Days are for do-overs, forgiving, persevering. It would be nice, maybe, to know at the beginning how many days we get over a lifetime. It would still be hard when you knew you were running out of them. I imagine God, handing out our days, and I stand humbly before Him, hoping for tomorrow.

Soapbox

I read lots of Facebook posts and blogs that talk about friends and family that have cancer. There is a common theme...whenever the chemo stops working or the cancer goes crazy, the person is referenced as "losing the fight". If the person chooses to stop treatment, they "gave up". I beg to differ. Cancer and mental illness seem to be the two diseases that place the burden of healing on the person with the disease. No one expects a person with diabetes to grow a new pancreas, or a person in kidney failure on dialysis to grow a new kidney, but someone with cancer is supposed to get well somehow, even when the cancer has spread to every organ in their body. I wonder why this is. It puts a terrible burden on the person, because they feel that they have to do every single thing the oncologist suggests in order to "win" and live. They forget that living with cancer can mean living intentionally, not merely sitting in a big chair for hours at a time, taking toxic chemicals intravenously that may not have any effect at all on the cancer but a major effect on the person's ability to feel good. Living with cancer can mean going to work, kissing your husband, and eating ice cream. If someone you love finds out they have cancer, be kind. Let them really live their best life, whatever that might look like.

Fraud Protection

I have a credit card from Chase. It has a healthy credit limit on it and is the only credit card I carry. I feel safe with it, because no matter what may happen, I can use it to get what I need if I get into a tough situation. A few weeks ago, I was in Virginia visiting my daughter. I thought nothing of using the card to pay for some meals out, and gas for her car. One day, we loaded up the shopping cart with $200 worth of groceries, my treat, but when I went to use the card it was denied. This has never happened to me before. I was incredulous. I felt suddenly bereft and humiliated. Turns out that Chase doesn't like fraud, and thought maybe my card had been stolen since the purchases were out of state, so they de-authorized it. I was thinking about that today, and thought that is how many people think about God. They think a belief in "someone up there or something out there" keeps them safe, that they can use it to get what they need if they get in a tough situation, like my credit card. What they don't realize is that this kind of belief is like fraud, because it isn't attached to the living God. He owns the card, so to speak, but they don't communicate with Him, so, when they need to use it, it doesn't work. It took me 15 minutes of revealing very private information to convince Chase that I was really who I was supposed to be before they re-activated my card. It is the opposite with God. He knows us, we need to know who He is. The best life is having an activated faith in the God who loves us, and who is always with us, to keep us safe.

Lionhearted

My husband completes his 28th and final radiation treatment tomorrow. We are both tired. This has been a grueling 9 months for both of us. It is hard to watch someone you love bow beneath the weight of pain and suffering. He does not complain. He takes his medicine, he takes care of the laundry, he cleans up the kitchen. On a nice day he sometimes flies his planes. When we started our lives together, we really did not know ourselves or each other very well. We could always make each other laugh, we shared dreams and hopes for our future. We did not always know how to be supportive of each other in the hard times, when jobs got stressful, or children pushed us to overload. But we learned what to say, and what not to say. We learned to listen without comment and sometimes, when it was permitted, we gave advice. My husband is much better at this than I am. He sets the bar very high when it come to listening skills and patience in advice giving. Sometimes when I talk about our marriage to single people, they say "You got lucky". I don't agree with this, because a marriage takes hard work for both people, but I do agree that my husband is a special person. His strength is that of a lion, with a heart of gold.

Bridge

I was in Honduras 3 years ago with Volunteers in Medical Missions. We were there to provide primary medical care to the poor in the mountains of Yoro province, assisted by a local church. One day, we had to cross a long foot bridge across a very wide river. The bridge was somewhat modern, with steel supports and suspension wires, but the wooden boards that spanned the river were several inches apart. Between these boards, looking down, one could see the gravel river bed, then the flowing water. Although it technically wasn't, it seemed totally possible to me that one could slip through these wide spaces and fall to the river far below. At the beginning, because the gravel below was a different color than the boards, I was able to gauge where to step. Once the boards were over the same color river water, I could no longer see which was space and which was board. I was paralyzed, afraid, and stood perfectly still, certain I could go no farther. Suddenly, from behind me, a thin and smiling Honduran woman walked purposely to me. She linked her arm in mine, and, without pausing, continued her brisk stride, taking me with her. I could not be afraid, with her arm in mine. What a beautiful parable we made, walking together across that bridge. Bridges are made for crossing, sometimes we need a strong arm in ours.

Unseen Gifts

I have worn many different hats in my 30 years as a nurse. I have been present in hundreds, maybe thousands, of significant life moments in the care of my patients. Some moments were very sad, as those I cared for had to face their own death. Some moments were filled with urgent activity, to assess an injury or disease, and work with a team to bring health back into their lives. Some moments were filled with joy, when a wiggly wet newborn entered the world in my waiting arms. That was the job I thought I loved best, and felt the worst about leaving. For some reason, as time has passed, I forgot about the joy and only remembered the frustration and the reasons why I felt I had to leave. I got stuck thinking about it. Today I realized that all those different hats served a purpose in forming the person I am today. It doesn't matter that I am no longer in those roles, or why I am not. What matters is that the lessons I learned about life and death, courage and perseverance, forgiveness and friendship are lived out each day for my benefit and for the benefit of those around me. These lessons are the unseen gifts that each moment gives us; lessons best remembered with an open mind and gentle spirit. Then we become unstuck and teachable again.

Whitney

My daughter reminded me a few days ago about The Preacher's Wife soundtrack. I forgot how great it was. She remembered one song, Somebody Bigger, that I adapted to puppets. I edited it to make it shorter and made puppets out of stuffed toys that the girls used to "act out" the song. We performed this song several times to the folks who attended the monthly outreach our church made to the homeless and mentally ill. At the event, we sang a few songs, sometimes with puppets, someone preached, we prayed for those that wanted prayer, then went on to a hot meal of comfort foods and distribution of clothing and groceries. I am glad my daughter remembered the song and the puppets and the gift we gave to people who lived their lives largely feeling forgotten. I imagine Whitney never once thought that her song would be the basis of a very amateur performance in an old church in Hamilton. I imagine that she had no idea that 2 young girls would memorize every word of it, little sweaty hands holding heavy puppets, eager to do a good job. She wouldn't have known that her gift was being shared with some folks who needed to hear about a big God. I hope she knows now. I know one person who is grateful for Whitney. Me.

Cancer Confronters

I had lunch with a couple of cancer survivors today. I used to hate the term, especially since it didn't seem like my situation really counted. We talked about our dear friend Amy, who died last year. We talked about lots of other things, for almost 3 hours. I think we should be called cancer confronters. It is not like the disease is some sort of evil that invades our bodies. It is part of our story, the part that causes us to stop and reevaluate basically every part of our lives. It is the part that forces us to look at our life and see how it measures up to where we wanted it to be. It gives us permission to change it. We go through the physical transformation that surgery and chemotherapy bring. We confront our mortality, our fear, our weakness. We build bridges. We climb mountains. We live in the land of what was and what is and what might be. We confront ourselves and our lives and come out stronger. We have a vision for our future, a vision for our relationships, our finances. We take care of ourselves, cherishing our bodies so that each day we are given we can use wisely. Know this, we all have to confront our destiny. It has a name. Ours is cancer. But it is not a fearsome thing, it is a door to a new and better life.

Back seat/Front seat

We were sitting around with our girls when they were younger, and I asked them when they felt the most cozy. Jane said "When we are sitting in the back seat of the car, eating Taco Bell, driving in the dark when it is raining." My husband and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing; that for the driver that was the exact opposite of cozy. Nose pressed almost to the windshield, straining to see, wipers flailing away the dirty spray from passing semis, precious cargo in the backseat. It is like that when you are a grown up, where you could once relax you now have to steer. Where you could watch TV until called to dinner, you now have to shop and cook and clean it all up. We can't go back to the back seat. In 1 Corinthians chapter 13 verse 11 Paul put it this way: 'When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned like a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.' He means he moved to the front seat. When I was a child, that meant I could control the radio. As an adult, it means you have to control it all...your speed, your brakes, map your route, listen to directions, mind the weather, the road, other drivers. It may not be cozy in the front seat, but it is where we need to be to go where God wants us to go. Nose pressed almost to the windshield, following Him.

The desire of your heart

I love Valentine's Day, probably one of my favorite celebrations. The hearts and flowers are so welcome in the dead of winter, a reminder that life is full and blessed. Handmade cards, little trinkets, conversation hearts, hugs and kisses, all coming from those who love you. The desire of our heart, to be loved. In the Bible, God tells us that he will give us the desire of our heart, if we delight in Him. (Psalms 37). Most times we could look at that verse and think of God like a genie, rub the lamp just so and our wishes would be granted. What would you wish for? Expensive things? Better looks? Smarter? It probably wouldn't be paper cards, sticky with paint and glue, with crooked letters misspelling Valentine in every way imaginable. But the real desire of our hearts is only met in something that simple. God knows this. If we give Him our love, He returns love to us from every direction. We find ourselves surrounded by acts of kindness, words of encouragement, little hands in ours, snuggly evenings. In the heart of each person is a song to be heard. Delight in the Lord, he will give you bouquets of spring flowers, conversations with friends, a song, a hope. A paper heart in a little envelope, signed I love you.

1400

There is a calm in knowing that things are in motion. I went to my oncologist today, and we talked a little, and I had a blood test to see what my cancer antigen is now, and then I went back to work. He called me at 4:30 pm to tell me that my antigen is 1400, which is 20 times higher than it was in November. He gave me the chance to talk about it, but I was driving, so I said no, it's ok. I don't remember how we said goodbye. I drove the rest of the way home, feeling the calm that comes with staying in the light. I put the car in the garage, said hello to my handsome husband and picked up my knitting. We went out to eat with our kind and generous pastor and his wife. We talked about what might be happening, how to prepare for what is next, ways to leave a video legacy. We joked and laughed. My disease is speeding down the road, taking me with it, and I am laughing. Maybe the idea that we are speeding toward heaven makes me laugh. Or maybe the laugh hides some of the worries about going too fast. Whatever it is, there is still the confidence that I am not alone. We are surrounded by the warmth of God's love, His people. He knows what will be ahead, and He has already packed the car for the journey. I am still safe.

Living inside the circle of light

We want to know what is ahead. We need to see into the forest. We climb mountains to get a better view, we explore space, we build submarines that go miles deep into the ocean. We want to see what is going on around us, above and beneath us. We cannot stand not knowing, it makes us anxious. We must feel that knowing equals the power to master our world. Anyone who has scuba dived understands that knowing how to breath into a mechanical tube many feet beneath the surface does not equal power. We are never so vulnerable as when we leave our familiar habitat and go where we cannot breath, cannot see, cannot escape a hungry shark. Still, we want to know what is there. In God's world, He gives us just enough light to create a circle of sight that encompasses a single moment. In that circle of light, we can see all we need to see to do what is in front of us to do. The deep darkness that shrouds tomorrow bothers us. We want to see because we don't really trust God to watch over us. We want to arm ourselves, as if our puny efforts can master all the dangers that life brings. Living inside the circle of light takes the ultimate act of faith. Our alarms are off, we can rest and be at peace. Trust becomes the power to master our life.

Humble expectations

Today was a beautiful day, more notable because it is February in Ohio. Usually this is the dreariest time of year; long stretches of days with grey skies and frigid temperatures. The sun was bright and warm today, perfect for my husband to fly one of his radio controlled planes. He has been flying these planes for several years, with varying success. It is a touchy hobby, and one false move of the controller, a plane's malfunction or a gust of wind, sends the precious plane crashing nose first into hard ground. This happened to him today. He carries the pieces back to the car and wonders aloud why he has chosen this fickle business as a hobby. He knows others who are experts at flying, as well as those that bring planes to the field but never fly them. I hear the disappointment in his voice and see the damage to the plane he took hours crafting. He said he never expected to be awesome at  it, he had humble expectations and would be satisfied just flying around in a nice pattern. I think this is a perfect motif for life. Some people are awesome at living, full throttle, all the loop de loops, landing smartly on a dime. Some are afraid to lose what they have if they spread their wings. Some of us live humbly, grateful we have good friends, nice kids, and some extra money in the bank; even if we do take a nose dive now and then.

While I still live

I am grateful that I am alive today. I did not expect to be. While I am still alive, others I know have died...some expectedly, some not. Some were old, with bags packed, ready to leave. Some were young and clinging to life until their fingers were pried from it. I have had my bags packed for a while, but have watched with amazement as others left ahead of me. Left children and spouses, left good jobs and great houses, left parents and friends. I underestimated my body's strength, my heart's courage, my spirit's joie.
I did not know these things had so much power in the hands of a mighty God. I did not know the power of a baby's smile, of a friend bringing dinner, of laughter, Zumba, or even hard work. While I am still alive, I can see the bigger picture of God's universe, how we fit together as pieces of His plan, how He wills us to see Him and know Him. With bags packed, I am free to love without condition, to let go of petty annoyances, to enjoy birdsong. It's like tent camping, when you pile all things necessary for survival into the back of a truck. You take up so little space, and need so little to cook with or sleep with, that your life takes flight. There is the end to fear, because in this little space there is only you, and God.

Not the answer we expected

Years ago, we bought our first house in Arkansas. It cost $25,000 for this small 3 bedroom 1 1/2 bath ranch home. After 7 years, we decided to move to Ohio and put it up for sale. It sold in a few days to a young couple from our church. 4 days before we were to close, after my husband had quit his police job and we had boxed everything up and rented the UHaul, the buyers bailed. We moved to Ohio with everything we owned, leaving an empty house, praying for another buyer so we could use the equity to get settled. What ended up happening was a land contract, small cash deposit to cover the closing fees and monthly payments for years. Because of that, we had no cash to buy another home, had to borrow from in-laws, find a cheap house in a tiny (population 400) town, commute miles to work. In this town, my daughter made a lasting friend named Carrie. She now lives 11 minutes from my daughter, has a new baby, is a teacher like her, with an Air Force husband. She is welcoming her into her church today, and will be there to help her navigate her new life. Because we did not get the answer we expected for the prayer we prayed for 27 years ago, my daughter has a friend in Alexandria. God is good like that.

Mary Poppins

Mary Poppins was a mysteriously appearing nanny, who transformed a stuffy British family into one bursting with love for each other. She had a magical carpetbag, a talking umbrella, colorful friends, and a knack for play. Now, I am not so mysterious. I travel by car, not by umbrella. My carpetbag is a rolling suitcase, filled with normal things like knitting and blue jeans. My friends are colorful indeed, but not necessarily prone to dancing on rooftops. What we share is a knack for play, and the ability to burst with love. That translates into hours of pushing a stroller up and down the Mall in Washington DC, or just down the street. Playing with stickers, eating Tootsie Roll pops, retying shoes over and over, quieting a restless infant, making peanut butter toast. It includes talking through life's challenges with a tired daughter, buying them dinner, a swiffer, giving them room to settle into a new house. Mary Poppins was unique, in that she always planned to leave. She was not interested in her own needs as much as she was for those she came to serve. That is the joy of love, not requiring anything in return, but being blessed all the same. A baby's smile, a call to "sleep with me Nana", a peaceful close knit family, a plane ride home.

Road Trip

In less than 24 hours, my daughter and I will be traveling East with her two little ones to rejoin her husband in Alexandria, Virginia. What was to be a 3 or 4 week visit shrank to 1, thanks to the efficiency of the internet, movers, electronic fund transfers, scanners and motivated real estate agents. We will pile into a overpacked Camry, sing songs, eat hundreds of Goldfish and cookies, talk about what happens next and stop for nursing breaks. We will unpack the boxes, measure for curtains, stock the pantry, set up the toys. We will do this together because it is important to do, and makes everything easier. When my husband and I did almost the very same move many years ago, with two little girls, we didn't have anyone to help us. Family was far away, and we were new to the community and had not yet made friends. We worked through it, took turns, bundled up the girls (without the assistance of portable DVD players, GPS or cell phones) and drove in 2 separate vehicles in the middle of January. We labored in and out of the rented truck, getting slap happy with exhaustion, moving heavy furniture up and down narrow stairs. I want to go along this time to see them through, to help, to sew, to snuggle with little ones starting anew.

Found Cat

My daughter has a better cat story than the one I posted last year. She and her little family are en route to a new adventure in Washington, D.C, and stopped here in Ohio for a brief respite before moving on. They brought their well traveled cat, Shifty, with them. The first night here he ran away, which wasn't unusual for him...he always came back. Except this time. He was gone for 5 days. That is a long time for a cat with an Arizona metabolism in frigid Ohio weather. Jane and Andy realized during this time that they did love this cat, for all his standoffishness and independence. He was part of the family, part of their uniqueness, part of their history together. He was gone, as gone as the house and the life in Arizona, as gone as the friends made, turned immediately from present to memory. There were tears. But I know from experience that God loves cats. So yesterday Shifty was found, far from where he escaped, but close enough to retrieve. Amazing how he survived 17 degrees and rain and coyotes, under the watchful eyes of his Creator, placed back in the arms of his grateful owners. He is now in a carrier on his way to Washington, safe and sound. Any doubts about God's ability to care for life's precious details? Gone.

Pulling it together

A step back into no man's land today. Sometimes the pull down is so strong, it takes all one's strength just to tread water. I wonder why that is. Is that when we step away from the arms of God and fall too far, or are we pushed from behind by an unseen evil? The day looks the same on the outside; sun is shining, the water is sparkling, people are smiling. Inside the mind is spinning out of control into the dark of night. My daughter tells of nights this summer when she would wake to a little voice in her bedroom, asking for some comfort for the 3rd or 4th time, and my daughter would tell this little girl to pull it together and go back to her own bed. It sounds outrageous that a 2 year old could be expected to understand what her mother meant, but she seemed to, as she went back to her room and back to sleep. I wonder what was dragging a little girl down, and I wonder what she thought about in her bed while she was pulling it together. Did she think about crayons and cookies, swinging on swings? Did she hum a little song to herself, or watch the outside lights play across her bedroom wall and imagine angels in her room? Maybe she didn't have to imagine them. Maybe she saw what God has promised to protect us and pull us up from the deep.

Dear Friends

I grew up as a lonely child. I was in the middle of 2 very strong and smart sisters. My brother came along later, and he might have been lonely too, but he was the longed for son so he had special status. Anyway, I never seemed to fit into the family dynamic, and as the years passed, I had trouble making more than one friend at a time. I don't know what happened since my childhood, but I have learned how to have more than one friend. Maybe it was having my one true friend in my husband that freed me to try other female relationships. Maybe it was having two children that forced me to open my heart to the needs of more than one. Maybe it was being submersed in the overwhelming love of God that helped me to understand how to be a friend, how to love and accept others' love. Whatever the reason, I have come to this place where I have more friends than I ever thought I would have. Not casual friends, either, but real true blue ones that would be at my house within ten minutes of a call for help. Friends that call me to see how we are doing, that send me inspirational cards, read my stories and aren't afraid to talk about the future. Friends are the glue that holds us together, bringing the hands of God into our lives and hold us close.

Hot Tub

My husband and I spent New Year's Eve in a hot tub at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville. Actually we spent part of the evening there...the rest of the evening, into the New Year, we spent dancing to DJ music at a nightspot call Fuse. We were probably the oldest couple there, and were hit on by a young couple who thought we were cute. Maybe it was the zumba moves I was doing, or the crazy arm motions my husband was doing that put us in the limelight. Whatever it was, it made for a memorable evening, complete with noisemakers, funny hats and champagne toast. The next day, we were back in the hot tub, and the day after that and the day after that. We put our faces to the sun, shivered in the arctic air that created fast moving mist from the rising heat of the water. The water took away our goose bumped skin, took away our anxiety, our defenses, our fears. In the warmth of the water and the light of the sun, we were able to relax and talk, laugh and plan our future. We soaked in the mist and rubbed our cold ears, and sank into the reverie of our lives far away from the craziness of the past year.We laughed about being "it on the floor". I don't know if the young couple would understand how far we had come to dance.