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.

Putting Christmas Away

We put the last of the Christmas decor away this afternoon. We leave for Nashville in the morning to spend the long weekend at the Opryland Hotel, just us. I didn't want to come back into a new year with last year's Christmas things still here and there. All of our decor fits into 1 tote and 1 small box. My friend Donna has 20 totes of decorations, so I think I am doing well to have just one. As I wrapped the few pretty glass ornaments I have in bubble wrap, I wondered, just for a moment,  if I would touch them again next year. The moment passed, but just to be sure the ornaments would survive another trip down the scary pull down attic stairs, I wrote "Fragile" on the outside of the box in pretty curlicue letters. A reminder to whoever brought them down that the box held something precious. A few shiny glass ice cream cone ornaments, testaments of my dear friends' care for me. A gold engraved ornament from 1977, our one year anniversary. A ceramic angel, made by my daughter in elementary school years ago. All have stories, have been touched many times, now finding their way back into the attic. Today we put all that away, because tomorrow we drive into a new year, and a new adventure.

Doing the Dishes

My husband had his 11th chemotherapy treatment yesterday. He has more to do yet, but the worst is over.  He has to carry around a little pack that has a pump in it that pumps more chemo into him for 42 more hours, until the nurse comes and takes out the needle and takes the pump away. This does not stop him from doing the dishes for us. We have settled into a satisfactory domestic routine: I cook, he cleans up. I work outside the home, he takes care of the house. We both get tired and sometimes cranky, both get scared and sometimes teary. We both get up everyday and do our chores, because that is what there is to do, and neither of us wants the other one to have to do more. Or less. The routine keeps life normal, even when it isn't normal. Even when you have to watch out for the plastic tubing snaking under your shirt, or the needle poking into your chest. My husband does the dishes for us because he is brave and doesn't complain about those things. He takes care of us this way and one day he won't have to fiddle with pumps and pouches and needles and tubing. He will feel good again, with his thick hair regrown. He is giving me a tremendous gift, the gift of normal, in an abnormal time. He is doing the dishes.

To give love

We can be too hard on people. We want them to know us, by somehow picking up every obtuse clue we leave, and read into our hearts and minds. We want them to give us what we want, even when we don't know what that is. Did you get what you wanted for Christmas? Did you get the ipad, the iphone, the cordless drill, the vacation trip to Aruba? Did you get a clean PET scan? Did you get new eyes, new ears, better hair? Did you realize that the gifts you received that you didn't want were because you held back, you were secretive, obtuse, wishing someone would know you better? Did you give similar gifts?  We want others to know us, to give us what we cannot gain for ourselves, to listen to us, to hold us, to cheer us on. We want to be loved, because that is the one gift that does not need to be returned to a store. We want to love, and have that love received in the manner that it is given...freely, without reserve or guile.  All other things will fade and break and become obsolete. Did we get what we wanted for Christmas...did we give what others wanted? Let us give love, and receive love in return. Let this be the best possible gift, the one we always want above all else, let every other thing fade.

White Paper

I am reading a book about healing through love. Letting go of pain, and loving others, as the key to better health. I was telling my friend Kristie about it, and then was imagining what would happen if you could let go of this pain by checking into a hotel with a roll of white freezer paper and some Sharpies and spend a day writing down all the emotional baggage you carried in the form of wounds that other people had caused you. Then, I thought, knowing something of God, that it wouldn't be long before you started writing down the wounds you had caused others. Friendships that you had let die, promises and hearts you broke. When you have lived a long time, the clean white paper would quickly fill up with dreary reminders of others and our human failings, our lack of empathy, our neediness, our cruelty. After all the tedious writing, you could forgive yourself and those that needed forgiveness and start new. My smart husband thinks there is a better way to purge the past and move into the future. He thinks it would be better to write down the characteristics that you want to own, and then ask God to show you how to own them. That way, the person of hope and peace and joy would always answer in love and find true healing.

The Way Made Plain

We can travel the broken road. We can veer off the paved road and enter a place of bumps and ditches and dead ends. We can decide that we are bored with the routine and venture out into the unknown and unsure, looking for adventure, or a short cut. We can get lost. At that point, we then wonder what happened. Where are the signs, the comforting lights, the warm eateries, the gas stations, the cozy bed? Why is there a flat tire, dropping temperatures, empty stomach, empty pockets, sore feet? How do I get out of here? How do I get home? There is a story in the Bible about a man who did this. Actually, just about every story in the Bible is about every person, except one, who did this. Starting in the Garden, we have never been satisfied with the marked way. We think we know better, we allow ourselves to be swayed by thoughts of disobedience, fueled by distrust. We don't realize that the way made plain will take us where we are designed to go. Sometimes the way leads us deep into the valley, sometimes over the mountain. Sometimes through boring deserts, sometimes through endless terrain of exhilarating forests and crystal clear rivers. This way always has signs, always has lights and rests, always takes us home.