What a Fun Day!

What an incredible gift today has been!  It was FUN DAY at school! There was an assembly with a clown, a movie, and carnival games.  It was a badly needed last hurrah before Spring Break.  Thank you Corrie and Lauren for making this event happen, and being a blessing to the kids (and adults) in our school.  

I have had a few rough days at school.  Today was the kind of day that reminds me why I work there.  I had two kids get sick, and I was there to comfort them.  One was even kind enough to vomit in the trash can.  Wasn't that thoughtful of her? I got to watch the little guy who has struggled to keep his rage intact all week dance "the Chicken Dance" with wild abandon, shouting, "This is my favorite song!  I love this dance!!"  I loved it too.  For a few minutes he was just like every other kid.  It was bliss. 

I got to watch one of our attention-seekers get to be the star of the show when his mentor came to the Carnival and watched him play the games.  He was so sweet.  He made me think of a tomcat strutting around, begging to be petted, rubbing his head against your leg and purring, "Look at me!  Who loves the kitty?"       

After school, I took the kids out to dinner at Applebee's.  (Luke had choir practice.) I lost out on the Mother of the Year Award, as I caught myself yelling, "Harriett, SHUT UP!...and fasten your seat belt." I love her so much and she got the genetic trait of being unwilling to stop arguing a point until...well, ever.  I have many family members with this trait.  Many of whom I birthed.  Under threat of going home to have Peanut Butter & Jelly (which Isaac actually applauded) we turned our behavior around, and had a lovely dinner.  My children were angels.  They ordered their food and talked with each other politely while waiting for it to come.  Once Sylvia stopped timing the waiter, everything was great!  The food was delicious, and we totally enjoyed sharing bites with each other.  Lydia gave Simon her extra garlic-smashed potatoes (almost as good as Aunt Chris makes.) They were so well-behaved, I ordered this huge cookie/sundae dessert thing, and we all shared it. How fun! 

There was a moment when we walked into the restaurant that was kind of strange.  At a table there were three ladies and four (or five) little babies in their car seats.  They were so cute and little!  I looked at my kids standing there with me for a long minute.  Isaac towers over me.  Lydia is taller than me, and Harriett is almost my same height.  Simon and Sylvia aren't "little" any more.  It was bittersweet.  Where did my babies go?  It wasn't very long ago that I had my very first son.  Then a minute later Spencer was born.  Then came the rest...single file (God and I had a deal about that.)  They were only babies for a second, and now they seem so grown.  Sometimes I miss those moments of holding that sweet new person and smelling their fresh baby breath.  

I think the older my kids get the more I feel connected to Mary.  It says in the Bible that she "saved up all these things in her heart."  I get that.  She LOVED that baby Jesus!  She held him close to her heart, and helped him grow up.  I'm sure at some point she saw him becoming a grown man and feared the day he would leave her to join his Father's Family Business.  Dreaded it, but was excited to see him reach his potential.  Maybe that's why she gave him a shove at the Wedding at Cana. (I understand he waited until he was in his 30's to start his ministry.)  "Do whatever he tells you."  is what she told the servants there. 

Do whatever he tells you.  She was all about Jesus.  I love my kids, and I get so excited when I see them "do whatever He tells them."  Like praying together out loud at Applebee's.  They initiated it.  Not one of them hesitated.  It's just what they do.  Their father taught them that.  

What's he telling you to do?  Have a fun day?  Love your children?  Honor who they are right now, and remember they are still that little baby on the inside?  Maybe he's telling you to give them a little shove to reach their full potential, even knowing it's going to hurt a little.  I don't know.  I just know I had a great day with my school kids, and my home kids.  

Blessings!   

Frisbees of Love!

One year for Christmas I wrapped up an old frisbee and gave it to my cousin Chuckie.  My family thought it was hilarious, but I just couldn't stand the thought of someone going without a present at Christmas.  I pretty much can't stand the idea of people going without any time, especially my cousin, who I love very much.

So what made me think of this now?  Christmas was months ago, but I feel like someone is going without something really important, and it breaks my heart.  It might be you.  If it is, let me know.  (I have lots of frisbees.) 

I see lots of lonely people who are looking for someone to listen.  It feels like they are going without the gift of being valued.  Those of you who know me realize that I can and will talk to anyone, anywhere.  I learned the talking to strangers part from my Dad.  He's never met a stranger, either.  I'm trying this thing I learned from my Nun Camp friend, Mary.  She loves to walk up to strangers and ask,"So, what's your story?"  I LOVE this!  She has listened to some amazing stories from people.  She's quite amazing herself!  She got hit by lightening once.  A-mazing.

Some of my peeps down at Ministry with Community seem lonely, until you play Bingo with them.  Then they come alive!  They just want to have fun, be involved, and win some Bingo Prizes!  It don't matter if it's socks or chap stick...I'm a be a WINNER!!!  They also have amazing things to say.  They just need someone to take the time to listen.  Last time I was there, a new friend explained the way of the Samurai to me.  It seems that the job of the Samurai was to protect everyone in the village before himself.  He was to keep everyone safe, even to his own death.  This guy told me Jesus was the ultimate Samurai.  Hmm.  I never saw it that way.  I'm glad I listened. 

I remember Aunt Kay telling me all kinds of cool things.  She just wanted someone to come see her.  She just wanted to be valued.  I feel a bit sad that she didn't get to meet her grandson.  It's too late now, she's gone.  Maybe I'm the one missing out on her. Sylvia still holds her memory very dear.  And also the Santa bears that Aunt Kay gave her.  And the doll house.  Aunt Kay was generous to a fault. 

Who are you missing out on?  Who is missing out on you?  One thing I learned from meeting Pete was that I don't want to wait until it's too late to repair my broken relationships.  I don't want to live in a self-imposed loneliness because I'm too rigid or too stubborn to say I am wrong or sorry or whatever.  If I've done something to you that hurt you or made you feel less than lovable, I am so sorry.  Please forgive me now, and talk to me about it now, so we can enjoy each other's friendship while we can. 

Thank you for listening to me.  Thank you for reading my thoughts and making ME feel valued.  Call someone, or stop by and see them.  Be a good listener today.  Send your cousin a frisbee.  It's the thought that counts.   

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.  He was an egg, and chose to sit on a high wall.  Humpty, seriously, what were you thinking?  Did someone try to talk him off the wall?  Were restraints in order?  Maybe Humpty wasn't thinking clearly about the repercussions of his actions.  Clearly he was unstable, because he did, indeed have a great fall. 

What was so great about it?  He ended up shattered in a million pieces on the ground.  His gooey yellow yolk pierced by the sharp shards of his splintered rough exterior.  Laying there on the ground, he was broken, exposed, for all the world to see.  All the kings horses, and all the kings men stood around perplexed.  Humpty was broken.  So very broken, and they had no clue how to fix him.  I felt like one of those king's men today. 

I work with special children every day.  Some are more broken than others.  Some days, I feel like one of the king's horses.  I am watching with horror at the brokenness of this poor kid, and I have no idea how to fix him, or even comfort him.  I'd like to hug him, but he's covered with prickly shell fragments and it hurts him for me to even touch him.  I'd like to offer a gentle hand, but all I have is these clumsy hooves.  I'd like to offer some words of encouragement, but I don't even speak EGG! 

So what can I do?  I do what I always do...Pray.  I pray and wait for some glimmer of goodness that usually comes when my creator shows me a different way to see the situation.  So here goes. 

What if Humpty looked at himself in the mirror really hard one day, and realized that the best part of him was on the inside.  A shell is a wonderful thing to keep yourself safe, but how many of us put the shells in our omelet?  Eggs are for eating, and you can't make anything out of it without breaking the shell.  We all have shells.  We use them to protect the big yolkie part of us that we keep deep inside.  There is a fragile part inside of each of us that can't be a blessing to the world until we break through our own calcium-rich cell walls, and allow ourselves to be broken. 

Broken and shared.  Jesus did it, too.  He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples and said, "This is my body, given up for you..." And at the end of the meal he said, "Do this in memory of me..."  Now he said a lot of things in between there, but if Jesus is willing to break himself into pieces (which he did) and share himself (which he still does) maybe he would like us to do the same. Just like Humpty, laying on the ground.  Don't just stand and gawk, make me into an omelet!  Maybe something fancy like Eggs Benedict. Or scramble me up and fry me and feed me to your soul.  I don't want to just lay here with my yolk hanging out for nothing!  Let me bless you with the stuff I have inside!  Now that I'm broken, share me.  Share me. 

We're all called to be broken in one way or another.  I've broken so much of me: my heart, my life, my relationships. Sometimes I can feel my own poky shell fragments still cluttered around me.  Broken and shared.  Maybe that's the lesson with my school kids.  Maybe the point is that I'm not supposed to fix them.  Maybe I'm just supposed to share with them.  I need to show them how to love their yolks.  I should be the mirror to show them that they ARE something wonderful, no matter what kind of shell they are in.

Being broken isn't just alright.  It's necessary.  I'm so glad my job teaches me that.  I'm a bit of a wall-sitter myself.  Have you ever heard a  nursery rhyme about the egg that didn't sit on a wall?     

My Fuzzy White Faith

I have a confession to make.  When I was a kid, I slept with a grand menagerie of animals.  Even my pillow case was a raccoon, and I cuddled the tail.  I've always relied on the love and support of friends filled with cotton, and (some) holding a plastic banana.  Here's the big confession...I still do. 


I know, I know.  I'm 44 years old, married with kids and grandkids.  I went for years without a "stuffed up animal" (as the kids call them) to sleep with.  When I had my cardiac arrest, one of the floral arrangements came with a fluffy little white bear in it.  My daughters named her "Faith", and she spent time in the hospital with me.  She reminded me of my kids, and how much we love each other.  She also reminds me that I always have "a little Faith". 


Faith got to go to Wyoming with me.  I felt like I would need all the Faith I could get to be supportive, and to deal with death, my old nemesis.  It really was good to be able to hold my Faith dear to my heart every night in this strange new place.  In fact, Faith is very well-travelled.  She's been to Nun Camp, Oklahoma, Alabama, and on pretty much every overnight trip I've gone on since we've met.  Faith was helpful on the airplane, even though she was in my carry-on bag.  You should never fly without Faith!  I'm pretty sure Faith racks up a lot of frequent flyer miles, if you know what I mean! 


The best part about having a friend named Faith, is that so many things you would normally say take on a new meaning, and depth.  For example, I have heard Sylvia say, "I was looking all over for Faith while you were gone, but I just couldn't find her." Hmmm.  (Sylvia shares Faith with me, and spends a lot of time looking for her.)  "Faith got pushed down to the foot of my bed." Hmmm.  "Mom, can I have Faith tonight?" (Yes, you can.  And every night!)  "I don't know where Faith is, did you look under the covers?"  (Okay, that's just weird, but you get the picture.) 


So it's cool that someone sent me flowers with a very cute little bear in it.  But even cooler is that my whole cardiac experience has brought MY faith to life. It's almost like my faith is taking on wings of it's own.  I took a leap of faith and sent in some of my writing and got PUBLISHED!!!(Insert two thumbs up and grin!)  I had the faith to tell my story in public, in front of a lot of people, and make them do a "Go Red" cheer. They made contributions of several thousand dollars to fight heart disease!  Even this blog is a direct result of God's gift of faith.  It's a really good gift, I think.  (The Faith, not the blog, unless you are being blessed, then maybe the blog, too.)


Think about your Faith.  Hold it dear to your heart.  Keep it close, and care for it.  Nurture it and share it with your kids, your friends, or whoever you know that could use a little Faith.  Take it with you everywhere you go. Let it out of the carry-on bag.  Let it stretch it's wings and fly.
           

I'm Home!

It's 1:25 in the morning.  I said I'd blog.  I'm blogging.  I am feeling very blessed, and I thank my dear friend for sharing this experience.  I have learned so much about dying with dignity, and valuing life.
 

Our place is not to judge the choices of other people, it's just to love those people the best we know how.

I also grossly misjudged the size of a mountain lion, which Peter thought was hilarious.  He laughed out loud and started telling me stories about mountain lions.  I think I'd like to remember him that way.  Happy, smiling, and laughing.  God's blessings on us all! 

Finding Peter

One time, a long time ago, there was this fisherman.  I picture him to be a big burly fellow with longish hair and a rough beard, rough skin from being in the sun all the time, and one of the strongest guys around.  I picture him being the kind of guy other guys looked up to and feared a little.  I think he'd made some poor choices in his life, and he was looking for something better, but until then, he was fishing.  When the wife nagged, he'd fish.  When he had something on his mind, he'd take the boat out and fish.  I bet he had huge hands.  He lived his life, until Jesus came along and changed it for him. 

His life was drastically changed.  He still fished.  As Pope, and Rock upon whom Jesus built his church. 

I met another Peter.  He likes to fish.  He loves living in a place with mountains and trails. He looks just like the Peter I imagined from the Bible, except more yellow. (It's part of his disease.)  He knows all the beautiful places, and has visited them frequently.  He talks slowly, and has huge hands and feet.  He's made some poor choices in his life, but they were his to make, and his apologies are between him and his maker.  I had never met him before coming to Wyoming, but I came to see him.  I came to help bury him, as he will soon be dead.  This is not news to him, his doctors have already told him this, and most of the time he remembers, but once in a while he gets confused.  It's part of his illness. 

We went to his house today so he could decide what to do with his belongings.  He gave me some sweatshirts, and told us what to do with the rest of his things.  It took him a long time to say goodbye to his home.  He's not coming back to this house.  I packed his stuff, while his sister took him back to hospice. 

You learn a lot about a guy by packing up his worldly possessions.  He had been a carpenter.  He liked working on construction sites and building things.  He loved nature, and owned several pair of binoculars.  (Which he took some good-natured ribbing for.)  He's not going to be Pope.  He's not going fishing again, he's just going to hospice, where he'll stop taking his medicine and get very confused, then one night he'll fall asleep, and be gone. 

I hope he gets to meet Jesus and it's a happy meeting.  I think they have plenty to talk about.  Jesus helped MAKE Casper Mountain.  (Pete's sister and I drove to the top, it was amazing!)  Jesus was also a carpenter and loved building things.  I've only known Pete for a few days, but I wish him well.  I made him laugh, twice, which was one of my goals.  We've packed his things, and now it's time for him to go.  It's also time for us to come home, and let him die.  In Wyoming, where he loves to be, surrounded by beautiful mountains, and a light snow in the morning and short sleeves in the afternoon. God's Blessings, Pete.  Happy trails.   

Wyoming--WOW!

I'm in Wyoming.  It took a lot to get here.  Late flight, the plane had to be repaired in Denver, rental car problems, we nearly hit an elk...then a rabbit. (No one warned us that the wildlife gets suicidal after midnight!)  We got to our hotel room about 3:30 am Michigan time, but we got to sleep in really late. 

Wyoming is beautiful.  When we finally got to see it in the daylight, it was amazing.  There are mountains on one side of the city, and they look black and snow-covered.  I keep singing, "The hills are alive..." but these hills aren't green, and I would mostly be in a winter coat, and I'd be all out of breath if I tried to run on them, so mostly I just admire them from a distance.  The clouds hang over them in the daytime.   I will post pictures when I get home.  

I've seen Jesus a lot today, and out of respect for the privacy of those involved, I won't divulge the details.  Let's just say that the hospitals are loaded with the Christ-like people who insist on dignity, respect and compassion for all of the people they treat, and I was blessed to be in their presence today.  Really truly blessed.  And I hardly even cried.   

I'm also pretty sure that if Jesus was from Wyoming, he'd probably be a burly guy with a big beard and a pick-up truck, and have the faint scent of beer.  Maybe I'm stereotyping, but there's a lot of that type running around here.  And elk.  Did I mention the elk?    

Blessings to all.  I am mentally, spiritually, and physically exhausted.  Plus there's a 2 hour time difference, so it's really midnight.  

Peace!              

I'm leaving!

Here we go!  Getting packed, and making sure everything is set.  Every night, before bed I give my kids a blessing on their forehead.  "God Bless you all night long, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.", then I make the sign of the Cross, kiss my hand and smack them in the head so the kiss sticks.  It's a weird tradition, but they don't go to bed without it. 

So, how will they sleep while I'm gone?  I make them paper blessings for when I'm gone.  It says the same words, and has my lipstick kiss on the paper.  Paper blessings, for when I can't bless them in person. 

Maybe that's what the Bible is.  Go read your paper blessing, and know you are loved...and Blessed. 

Lent A Journey

You'll notice this title doesn't have any punctuation.  I didn't forget, I have actually been "lent" a journey.  This whole season of Lent has been a journey.  That's actually the point of Lent, is to walk the path with Jesus.  It is a time for us to share HIS journey.  Share in his dying so you can share in his rising.  I wasn't sure this blog was going to be enough of a sacrifice to get my heart and soul closer to God this year.  It is.  It's been quite a journey, and it's only starting out. 

So tomorrow I'm leaving on another journey.  This journey is also being lent to me.  I am a traveling companion, along for the ride to offer friendship and support.  I will be there when my friend needs me to help her deal with the impending death of her brother.  I don't know all the details, nor is it my place to know.  He is dying.  We are going. 'Nuff said.  I am excited.  I've never been to Wyoming, and to me it is a grand adventure.  Although, I also see dying as a grand adventure, so maybe I'm "not like everybody else."  It should be an interesting and blessed trip.  Pray for our safety, and for our strength, please, this won't be easy on my friend, and she really is a wonderful person. 

So this reminds me of traveling with another companion.  Her name is Sylvia, and we went to Oklahoma when she was 3 to see her big brother (who is also her Godfather) marry his high school sweetheart, Misty.  She was pretty sure they needed someone to hold the flowers.  They did.  Good thing she was there!  We sat on the benches with her being crabby, and watched the guys in striped prison suits being led into and out of the courtroom.  (It was very surreal!  I swear, the Sherriff looked like Roscoe P Coltraine!)  Then it was our turn.  We watched them promise to love and care for each other.  It was beautiful!  Then we went out to throw rice at them as they left the courthouse.  The prisoners were yelling their best wishes from the well-guarded fenced area nearby.  How sweet!  

Oklahoma is a place rich in Native American culture.  It is close to Texas (where I've never been) and has all kinds of cool caves and stuff to explore.  So I ask Sylvia which of these awesome educational experiences she'd like to have.  "I want to chase the birds!" She says.  Would you like to go explore a cave?  "No, I just want to chase the birds!" She says again.  Hmmm.  I came all the way to Oklahoma... We're only an hour from Texas...  Okay.  Fine.  We found a small park nearby.  With birds.  

We end up spending the next 2 hours at this park.  She stalks the birds slowly, then goes running at them flailing and yelling, making them scatter and fly away in a panic, and watches with glee as they fly!  I had forgotten how much fun this really is.  In all of the planning and preparation, and the drama that goes with getting married and having a grown child, and lots of not-yet-grown children, I forgot to chase the birds.  

We swing, and I push her as long as she wants to swing.  I soon forget about Texas.  It's not going anywhere.  We walk the entire perimeter of this park, and talk about things important to three year olds.  Wow, that IS a really big stick.  No, I don't think Oklahoma has alligators like Florida.  And I don't know what kind of birds they are, but they sure come back quickly, so we're chasing again until the sun starts to set!  By the time we get back to the hotel, she's asleep.  And satisfied.  She loves Oklahoma, they have great birds. 

My traveling companion taught me so much about enjoying life.  I hope I can do the same for my friend.  Especially when she knows this will be their last visit.  I hope we don't get too bogged down in the business of dying that we forget to enjoy the living we still have left.         

***Sigh***

I don't feel well today.  I dropped the kids off at school and came home and laid on the couch.  I slept until 1:15.  I hate feeling off.  You notice I didn't say "sick".  I don't feel "sick", I just don't feel "well".  Let me explain.  When you have the stomach flu, you feel nauseous and may have diarrhea, or some other lovely symptom that jumps right to the forefront and yells, "Hey, it's me!  Your stomach is sick!"  Same with the flu or a bad head cold. 

My heart has its own tricks.  Sometimes I wake up and I'm skipping about every third beat.  Then it will be fine for a while, then it just gets weird.  Beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...  That's what you all do, not me! 

Beat..beat..beat.......beatbeatbeat............beat...beat....beatbeatbeat....beat.......beatbeat................beat.  I am a drummer's nightmare! Every time there is a pause, I get a little jolt of adrenaline that doesn't want to go away.  So sleep isn't usually an option.  Today I was just exhausted.  My heartbeats were off yesterday, and it is exhausting, even when I'm not doing much.  (Which is all relative, since I worked the whole day, and hosted a bunco for eight. Hmmm, that's practically eating bonbons!) 

So I tried the new medicine I got from the U of M doctor.  Wew!  Another beta blocker!  Consider my betas BLOCKED!!  Some people pay a lot of money for this feeling, but I don't like being stoned.  I like to be coherent.  The good news is that this one only lasts 3-4 hours, so I'm actually starting to come down, and I'm getting a headache.  Beta blocker hangover.

So if you follow my blog, I'm sure you're thinking HA!  Just let her find God in THIS one! Well, He's still there.  I've always been too busy, and He keeps saying "BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."

So after I divorced Tom, and I was lost in my independence, and drinking this and dancing there, and not at all acting like myself, He said it then, too.  "BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."

And when I miscarried and I felt so abandoned and unloved and hopeless, I heard him call out,"BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM."

Then when I had all these kids and I was faced with the possibility of having cancer (which I do NOT, praise God!), I heard him say to me,"BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I."

When I started feeling his love and compassion, and was able to say ,"I think God loves me."  I heard him say,"BE STILL AND KNOW THAT"

I taught with Fred Janofski, a very learned man, and felt inferior to him in every way, until God showed me that how I know Him might be different than what others have learned.  And he called out,"BE STILL AND KNOW."

When I was railing against the darkness and my own sadness, and felt like I was being attacked at every turn.  When my own body seemed to fight against me, trying to take my life away from me, and I fought inside, screaming out in pain inside my own head, He whispered, "BE STILL."  And just like the time Jesus said the same thing to the stormy waves that threatened the safety of his friends, my storm stopped, and the sea was calm. On days like this, I feel the clouds gather, but I remember those words.

"BE STILL".  While my body lay on the salon floor with Colleen and Cheryl and Mom desperately trying not to lose me, I wasn't aware of any of it.  I was in a warm loving place.  It was very beige, and I couldn't see anything (but beige) and it felt just like that warm loving feeling you feel when you are holding a baby you love.  The baby is warm and fed and falling asleep in your arms, and they smell like love, and they ooze love, and you feel the wonderfulness that is this little person.  It felt just like that!  Except I was the baby.  That's what it was like.  "BE STILL."  It doesn't get stiller than that.  No breathing. Just Love. 

Now He Just wants me to BE. 

Some days, that's enough.        

A Crappy Friend

That's me.  I am a really crappy friend.  I never call.  I rarely write. You might not even hear from me for years!  But it doesn't mean I don't love you and care about you.  THAT I'm pretty good at.  I'm terrible at returning phone calls.  I crab at my boys to call their mother, but I haven't talked to mine since...well, okay I saw her Friday evening, but sometimes it's a whole week!  If you are looking for one of those friendships where you do everything together, and are never seen apart, I'm probably not the one you are looking for.  I don't have a long enough attention span for stalking, not that you aren't INTERESTING and all!     

In fact, I really didn't used to think I had any friends, until a few years ago.  My kids used to laugh when I'd say something beginning with," My friends and I are going to..." (Ooh!  I almost said Chinn Chinn!)  They'd just fall out laughing! "You don't have any friends, Mom!  You're a... Mom!"  Well, there's something about dying that brings your friends around.  It was really a gift, because most people's friends don't rally until the funeral, and I didn't have to have one.  I was still here to enjoy the flowers and lasagna.  Thanks, all of you, more than you know.  

But I do have a group of friends that gets together to roll the dice once a month.  This is not a clever euphamism, we play Bunco.  Real dice, real rolling.  Tonight was my night to host.  I made dinner, the Bunco girls came over, we ate, rolled, laughed, watched videos of Lydia's three point shot, and learned a new "Backing Up" song.  (Youtube, it's hilarious!)  We shared our lives like we have for some time now.  At least 11 years, because I missed Bunco the night Harriett was born.  In fact, they rolled their last 6's and piled in the car to come up and see me, but they missed visiting hours by just a few minutes!  Darn Blasted Sixes!!!  I remember we told them we named the baby "Danielle Josephine" after my brother because he was the only one who cared enough to come up there.  

But they do care.  We have been there for each other through thick and thin.  In sickness and in health, and even death doesn't keep us apart, because we have thrown more funeral luncheons than I can count.  We've laughed together and cried together, and have even been forced to use some unsavory language in our pursuit of rolling three sixes on the final roll and winning the JACKPOT!!!  We bounce ideas off each other, and give each other the confidence to stand up for ourselves.  We're also not afraid to stand up for each other, when we don't have the courage to do it ourselves.  And for Heaven's sake, what happens at Bunco, stays at Bunco! 

We also pray for each other.  Not in an organized "let's have prayer time" sort of way, but we each carry away a little piece of each other's pain, and offer it up to our maker.  Each lady in her own way, has her own relationship with our Maker.  I hope we aren't crappy friends to Jesus.  We care about him, and  love him and all, but when was the last time you really checked in with him?  How's His family?  When was the last time you called His mother?   He wrote you a really long and detailed love letter.  Have you written back?  Try it!  I'm telling you, it's amazing what happens to your heart when you start writing!  Ask yourself what kind of a friend you are being to God.  Are you being a Bunco girl?  Or a crappy friend?  

      

Family time

I had a great time with my family today.  I was also reminded that we aren't like other families.  Actually, I'm not sure, because I don't know what other families are like.  But apparently, they are more in tune to what "appropriate behavior" might look like.  Ironically, knowing what behavior is appropriate is one of the subjects I teach with my students, both in religious ed class, and with my special need kids.  

My 14 year old son Isaac says that today is the first anniversary of Pops (Victor Swager) going to his true home.  He's right, Dad left us a year ago today.  He was ready to go, but most of us weren't ready to say goodbye quite yet.  

To celebrate Pops' victory over this life, we had a picnic lunch at the cemetery.  Swagers are a prolific bunch, and no gathering is a small affair.  All together, there were about 25 of us eating sandwiches and throwing frisbees in the Gilson Cemetery in Scotts.  As we nibbled on chips, we remembered Grandpa and Grandma Swager.  We told his grandkids about batches of puppies, and walking the railroad tracks home from detentions after school.  They heard us talk about how Great Grandpa Swager kept Grandpa going after his son Victor died.  And how Grandma Swager's faith inspired Grandpa so much, that he became a devout and dedicated Christian man.  He was even Church Beadle, a term we swore he made up, but he found in some obscure writing.  He loved doing that, finding old words and using them again.  

Now in the South, it's quite common to see families having a picnic among their deceased loved ones, but it is not smiled upon in Scotts, Michigan, so the Township Supervisor came and broke us up.  (We were already packed up, anyway, by that time.) The first words out of her mouth were "This is not appropriate behavior!"  I was so proud of Luke (because my first thought wasn't a nice one) who politely asked, "It's not appropriate to visit Dad's grave to pay respect on the anniversary of his death?" 

I walked away at that point.  I was getting steamed.  How would she know the appropriate way to pay homage to this wonderful quirky man, who knew literature inside and out, yet still peed in a coffee cup on his front porch?  This sweatpants-wearing scholar took pride in the fact that he might be mistaken for homeless.  He worked very hard at his humility, but he didn't have to work hard at being compassionate.  You never knew who would be there for Easter, or any given day for that matter.  He was known to pick up hitch-hikers and invite them to stay for a while.  Sometimes he'd have some new friend over for a few weeks, while they got on their feet.  He was just that kind of guy.  Appropriate behavior, my eye.  He'd love the fact that we opened up a canopy and folding tables and feasted on ham on rye (with mustard, of course) right there next to him and Mom, Grandma and Grandpa Swager, and Little Vic (his son, not his dog.)  He'd have laughed at the image of his grandkids playing frisbee in the rain in the cemetery, just to be near him.  It was great!  

Then I got to spend some time with my sisters. The ones that came from my same parents.  (I have a brother, too, but it was girls' night tonight.  Sorry, Joe!)  They were my first friends and adversaries, then friends, then my competition for the affections of such hunks as Donnie Osmond, Leif Garrett, and Shaun Cassidy.  Just kidding about the Shaun Cassidy, I just wanted to see what Chris would say.  She has maintained "dibs" on that guy for 35 years now.  It hinges on creepy.  I'm glad we've gotten back to the point of being friends. 

Hanging out with my sisters, catching up on their adventures, I realized the answer to another sister's question.  My Sister-friend from Rwanda asked me, "why do people who speak English all their lives take an English class in college?"  It was a really good question, and I tried to explain that what we speak in our homes is not standard, proper English.  We joke in our family that you need a code book to figure out what's really being talked about.  In the family I was born into, you might be called a JDubs if you are trying to be in charge.  You might have CHRG of the finger.  You might randomly start singing "Hide your kids! Hide your wife!" and no one thinks you are strange.  That's the best part of my family, all of my family.  They KNOW I'm strange, and love me anyways.  I know THEY are strange, and I love them for it.  

And, both of my sisters have saved my life at one time or another.  Only one of them knows it.  Colleen did CPR on me when my heart stopped.  That's not really something you can pay back.  It's also not a debt I owe, it's just her loving me.  I think she knows how much I love her right back.  I'm truly sorry for hitting her in the head with a shoe.  But it is a really good story.  

I don't think Chris knows how much it meant to me that she called me the night before my breast biopsy.  I don't talk about that much, but it was the most frightened I've ever been, including with my heart issues.  It was the first time I realized I was going to die.  Sounds dumb, right?  It had never sunk in before.  I could have cancer and I could die.  My kids would be left without me.  Luke would be alone.  My parents would be devastated (since I might be their favorite).  I am certainly going to die...some day. The fact that I'm living also means I'm dying.  Whew!  Terrifyingly deep stuff! 

So, Chris calls.  My head is swimming from trying to wrap around the fact that I will die at some point, and it may be from cancer that may be in my right breast, growing as I sit here, and she says she is concerned, and is going to see the doctor next week.  Wait, what?  "What's wrong?" I ask.  "Well", she starts out.  "I was eating some corn the other day, and a piece went down the wrong way, and I could feel it in the top of my lungs, and it's been there for like a week or so, but then I coughed it up, so I was relieved.  Then I inhaled a piece of RICE!  I had just gotten rid of the corn, but I don't know if it all came out.  So I think the rice may have come out, but that spot still hurts, so I'm going to see the doctor.  I think I have a "Grain" tumor."  

You have to love Chris!  No, I mean it.  You HAVE to!  She reminded me that it's okay to laugh. GRAIN tumor!  Do other families comfort each other like this?  

She saved my life by bringing me back to church when I really needed it.  When I was lost, she took me in, and introduced me to a church family that I love and now call my own.  The depth of my relationship with God is due, in part to her gentle reminder that He loves me, and that I'm a welcome member of His family.    

I'm so blessed to have sisters that love me.  I'm so fortunate to have an oddball family that gets me, exactly as I am.                          

Go St. Joe, Yo!

Today is the feast day of St. Joseph, so I went to celebrate with my sister-friends at Nazareth.  The Congregation of St. Joseph is our local treasure trove of blessings, and the home base of many religious sisters (retired) and their associates.  The Holy Family Chapel contains a relic room with remains of some very well-known saints, and a set of Holy Stairs to help people pray and reflect on the steps Jesus took to his condemnation, and the steps we take on our personal road to glory.  The building itself is a treasure of beautiful architecture (Joseph WAS a carpenter, after all), but the true treasure lies inside. 

I felt a little awkward the first time I came to Mass here.  I felt like a freak show, actually.  I look in on this beautiful chapel filled with sweet little old lady nuns, and young vibrant fresh sisters, all joyfully preparing to celebrate God's love. Here comes Luke and I, five of our kids, and Adam and TJ, our nephew.  We herded the children in as quietly as one can smuggle six kids into a convent.  It was awesome.  We tried really hard not to be distracting.  This is my cross to bear.  I AM distracting a good portion of the time, without even trying.  

That was three Thanksgivings ago.  Now it feels like home.  On that first day, we met Sister Anne who welcomed us and doted on us as if we were long lost relatives, come for a visit.  She is the sweetest thing!  We also ran into Sister Joan who was a friend of Luke's Mom and Dad, and remembered Luke and his siblings.  They offered us coffee and filled the kids with cookies.  We had a great time talking and Luke and Sister Joan enjoyed catching up. 

Today walking in, the excitement filled the air!  FEAST DAY!!!  Woot Woot!!  There was much hugging and celebrating.  (Two of my favorite things!)  Once again, the sisters amazed me.  Just when I think I understand who they are and what they are about, I find that their truth runs deeper. 

They really REALLY get St. Joseph.  He's not credited with a single word in scripture.  Not one!  But he had a most important job to do.  Think about it.  Mary saying yes to the angel was huge, no question.  But Joseph could have had her stoned and walked away.  Go Joe!  He didn't do it!  Then there were repeated accounts of God telling him to do something in a dream.  Go Joe!  He listened.  Good old St. Joe saves the day again!  He raised this son to be who He was meant to be.  He taught him about wood and being a carpenter.  He helped the creator of the universe create things out of wood.  Huh, interesting.  Jesus helped create the wood he gave His life on. 

So, anyways , I was saying about the treasure.  It's the SISTERS!!!  They are so amazing!  They make me want to be a better person.  They make me feel confident and inspired.  They make me just a little jealous of their vocation.  One sister is learning English and learning to drive.  She has spent her life in service, caring for her people in Rwanda.  She carries in her heart untold pain and horrible memories.  But more importantly she carries the love of God that pulls her through every day.  She always has a ready smile and something nice to say.  One sister has spent the better part of her years ministering to those in the prisons of Lima Peru.  She doesn't talk about their sad fate, but about their amazing faith and charity.  The history of this congregation goes back 350 years to France where the first Sisters got together.  If you add up the years these women have spent being St. Joseph to the world, it's in the thousands.  

So, yeah, I guess I'm a sister groupie.  Their belief statement is, "to live and work so that we, and all creation, may be united with God and with one another in God." You've got to respect that. 

So I've been trying to determine if I am called to join this order.  Don't worry, Luke knows.  I would be an associate.  They are lay people who live the statement without being sisters.  Today I was asked to help bring up the gifts at Mass.  I carried up the empty chalice.  It was gold, and ornately carved.  I looked inside it and saw my reflection in gold.  I was taken by the fact that I saw myself in this cup which would hold the blood of Christ, poured out for all so that sins would be forgiven.  His blood would be poured over me to cleanse me.  I'm part of the sacrifice.  I think I got my answer.  Go St. Joe!   

This 2nd Friday of Lent

Maybe I need to back up a minute and explain the idea of Lent, in case anyone is unfamiliar with it. I'm no scholar, but basically, Lent is the church season leading up to Easter.  It features prayer, fasting, and almsgiving (giving to the poor), as a means to allow yourself to get closer to God.  Different people do this in different ways.  Some people give things up, some people take things on (like BLOGS!)   


One of the things our family does during Lent is to follow the "Way of the Cross".  When you visit a Catholic Church, you may notice there are 14 pictures on the walls depicting the events leading up to the Resurrection.  These are called the "Stations of the Cross", and we pray them together as a parish every Friday during Lent.  I have yet to make it through this prayer without using a very large quantity of tissue.


We are using a new booklet this year for this prayer, and it is credited to Pope John Paul II, who I thought was pretty cool. Did you know he was an actor as a younger man?  Anyway, I digress.  This is a part of the opening prayer that really grabbed me, since I think God wrote my thoughts: 

"Bless us with  the grace of inner vision

so we may see you among us,

and seeing you,

may open our hearts to you."

That's what I'm trying to do.  That is the blessing I'm hungry for.  So I pray along with my church friends and family.  We walk through the Garden of Olives as Jesus prays there. Basically, he's scared.  So am I.  Father let this cup pass from me, but not my will, but yours be done.  How many times have I prayed that?  Divorce--let this cup pass.  Miscarriage--not my Will.  Death--your will be done.  Over and over.  One with Jesus in prayer. That's the goal.  One with Jesus.  

Then Jesus is betrayed by Judas and we walk right into the scene.  "Hey, Rabbi!" kiss kiss "How you doin'?" kiss kiss.  Every cell of my being screams, "NO! Judas, you're choosing death!" But the deal is done.  You know, he regretted it.  He tried to return the money, but they just laughed at him.  He threw the money into the temple and hanged himself.  He could have asked for forgiveness.  Peter did.  The book of Acts says his guts splatted out.  Ick.  

Next, Jesus is condemned to death.  He becomes a death row inmate.  I met Sister Helen Prejean the death row activist that the movie "Dead Man Walking" was made about.  She's amazing.  Did anyone offer him comfort?  Did he have a Sister Helen?  Apparently not, because at the next station, Jesus is denied by Peter.  

Peter that used to be Simon.  Peter the fisher of men.  Peter his right hand man!  The Rock on whom Jesus would build his Church stood by a fire and warmed himself and at one point, it says he "uttered an oath" (cussed) that he did NOT KNOW JESUS!  He said it THREE TIMES!!  Then the rooster crowed.  Then Jesus looked him in the eye.  Then the rock cried.  Jesus forgave him.  Three times He specifically asked Peter if he loves him.  Three times Peter forgave  him.  Do you love Him? How many times will He ask you?  

Next, Jesus goes to Pilate.  Pilate tried to let him go, but oh no!  Pilate kept on trying to set him free with just a little flogging and a harsh warning, but we wouldn't have it!  That's right, WE!  Crucify him!  Crucify Him!  My sins keep calling out!  Let his blood be on us and our children!!  (I'll blog more about the blood at a later date.)  This part is very troubling to me.  You know I'm crying.  I can't even get myself to say those words.  How can I demand the blood of the innocent to cover the sins I am CLEARLY guilty of?  I was there.  I chose.  He didn't do anything wrong!  Pilate keeps saying it, but the evil inside of us cheers the louder.  Crucify Him!  It's ironic, though that the evil that crucified him was what he came to destroy.  The sin that pins him to the cross can't trump the love that sets him free from the tomb.  

Next Jesus gets flogged and crowned with thorns.  Mocking makes me nauseous.  Seriously.  You've already decided to crucify this guy (this INNOCENT guy), mocking him is just too much.  The funny thing is that everything they said to mock him was actually true, but they were too blind to see it.  King of the Jews!  Yep.  Royal robes?  He's got 'em. Crown? Yes, but not thorns.  

Now he's carrying his own cross.  Actually he's carrying my cross...and yours.  Jesus didn't have any sins.  That's our burden he's carrying.  And even though he was scared to the point of sweating blood, he was still willing to do it.  Because HE LOVES YOU!  Jesus, why do you keep forgiving me when I keep sinning?  "Because I love you! Come and get your love!"

Which is funny because next a guy named Simon helps him carry the cross.  This guy from Cyrene just happens by, and they make him carry this cross.  Can you imagine?  Would I be willing to help a perfect death row stranger carry his cross?  (I do admire sister Helen on this one!)  Wait, so Simon also helped carry our cross, right?  So, how can we help each other carry our crosses?  I want to be like Simon!  I love helping!  

Ooh, the next station is a fountain of pain for me.  Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem.  Read "God's Will".  That's all I'm saying.  

Then,  "Jesus is Crucified". This only happened once.  Isaac described stations of the cross as living the crucifixion again, but really being there.  That's the beautiful part of this form of prayer.  You are meant to put yourself into the scene.  Jesus is crucified.  They hung him on the cross...with nails.  You are there.  Watching.  How do you feel about the whole thing?  Where are you in this picture? 

While he's hanging there, Jesus has a chat with the boys next to him.  One guy is running his mouth, mocking Jesus, being an idiot.  The other guy gets it.  "Dude, he didn't do anything wrong.  We got what we deserved, he did nothing!"  Then he said the words that chant in my head when times are hard, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom." Which guy are you?  Jesus said yes, by the way.  He said that very day that thief would be in Paradise with him.  Lucky thief!  

Now Jesus shows his mercy to his Mom.  I never fully understood Mary until I had a son.  Don't get me wrong, I know my sons are awesome, but not quite Jesus yet.  So He sees his Mom standing there, probably sobbing.  (I'm no Mary, but I would be.)  And He sees his best, most beloved friend (possibly also crying, I don't know) and he gives them to each other.  Who does He give to you to be his stand-in?  Whose hand does He give you to hold?  Who does He give YOU to? Are you being a good replacement? 

Jesus dies.  

They place him in a tomb hewn from the rock.  Joseph (not his step-dad, a different one) wrapped him up reverently and gave him a decent burial.  The Mary's sat and waited, looking at the big rock covering the hole.  

This would be the saddest story ever written if this were the end.                    

What I do

 I work with "special needs" kids, mostly Kindergarten and First Grade.  They have a special place in my heart.  I'm calling them by fake names to protect their rights, but when you pray for them, God will know who you are talking about.  

One of our students, "Susie", is leaving our district for a new foster home, and I will miss her terribly.  I'm asking myself, "Have I taught her anything?"  I bought her a small gift to remember our group by, and the whole time I found myself thinking that what I REALLY want to give her is the love and protection of a family!  A family that is always there!  No CPS. No police. No bouncing from home to home and learning a new set of rules each time. She deserves to be loved and respected and listened to.  All I could do is teach her to hug herself every morning, tell herself "I love you" and say out loud, "this will be a great day!"  But I'd really rather give her a lifetime of good days, and coping skills for the bad ones.  I'd really like to give her the knowledge that she is wonderfully made in the image and likeness of God, because He loves her and wants her to know it.  I'd really like to give her some Jesus.  Please pray for her with me.    

Jesus isn't taught at our public school, but if you think he's absent, you would be mistaken.  He walks the halls.  He helps with tests.  He inspires the teaching staff when they have hit the wall.  He smiles at the funny stuff, and cries with the sad stuff.  He lives in a lot of different bodies, and has a lot of different titles:  Teacher, custodian, librarian, parapro, student, principal, recess lady, lunch lady, bus driver.  The list goes on and on.  We are all called to be Jesus to each other, and especially to the kids.  They need to know they are loved, respected, and valued, and that's what we do at school.  How can you put a dollar amount on that?   

 "Johnny" needs help discovering that "ennemmenno-fee" is not a letter.  (His speech is difficult, at best.)  Most people don't take the time to listen and "decode" what he's saying.  Boy are they missing out!  He's a clever kid with a great sense of humor.  He cracks jokes a lot, and if you're listening hard, he's got some good ones.  He also knows a lot of words that are inappropriate for school, yet not quite a curse word. "Butt Crack" for example, was his favorite for a while.  He's also a very deep thinker.  He asks how God made the world, and why.  He wants to know what God did with the dinosaurs.  Good question. I don't know. 

So, I look at this boy and wonder.  Am I helping him?  We go over our letters again and again and again.  I tell him funny ways to remember things. Humor sticks for him.  He calls the letter T "Mr. T" and says he "has a real cool haircut and a mean mean look in his eye."  (Anyone else remember that ad?)  I'm teaching him his letters, but I hope he's learning that he's worth taking the time to listen to.  He's small, asthmatic, pale, usually has a snotty nose, and is hard to understand.  Life is going to kick this kid around A LOT!  I need to teach him as much as I can!  I'm just not that good of a teacher, but I know the best teacher.  The Rabbi.  I can pray for Johnny.  Please, pray with me for this guy.

Then there's Robert.  My mom used to say I moved so slowly she'd have to draw a line to see if I moved at all.  That's Robert.  He does everything S-l-o-w-l-y.  He once spent 20 minutes washing his hands.  They were quite clean.  He talks slowly, processes slowly.  It's like the rest of the world is on high-speed internet and he's on dial-up.  Like his buddy, Johnny, you have to really listen to understand what he's saying.  His speech is fine, just pain-stakingly slow.  So, one day Robert is walking down the hall with me and he does this weird little jump-step.  He keeps doing it over and over and over.  I was a little concerned he was having a seizure or something, so I asked him. "What are you doing?"  He said (very slowly),"I...want...to...skip!"  So we went into the gym and I told him to skip away!  He skipped the whole gym end to end.  You've never seen such a happy skipper! 

That's when it hit me.  HE doesn't have a problem, I DO!  This boy just wants to skip.  I worry and wonder what will become of these kids.  I read and study and look for the right lessons, or the best therapies to help them achieve some level of success.  He measures his success by getting to skip!  He's got some Jesus, and I'm trying too hard.  A lively, free-spirited, skipping Jesus is smiling (and probably racing) with this kid in the gym of OUR elementary school.  

It's amazing to me how working at the school feeds my soul.  I don't make a lot of money, (I'm not complaining) but what I earn is priceless.  If our pay was equivalent to our value, we'd all be rich beyond measure!   

The Ugly Package

I keep thinking about this weird idea of great gifts in ugly packages.  See?  I told you it’s a little weird, but hang with me.  I remember one year for Isaac’s birthday, Aunt Anne and Claudia gave him this used cigarette package with tissue taped on it.  It was a bit odd, but when he took the tissue off, it contained a beautiful butterfly that they had found.  What an amazing gift!  It was so beautiful, but it came in an ugly package, no question. 

I have received lots of these kinds of “gifts” from my maker, and I don’t think I’ve been properly grateful.  An unhappy marriage is a pretty ugly package, but it contained some wonderful gifts.  Jordan and Spencer top the list at #1, and they are a gift better than I could have ever hoped for.  I also learned a lot, and that’s where the gifts come in.    

I learned that weakness is really the opportunity to become strong.  Thank you God, for the gift of weakness!  I learned that I am way stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.  I also learned that no one can make you feel worthless unless you allow them.  Thank you, God for letting me question my worth.  You gave me the chance to love myself.  You allowed me time to flounder around awhile and be lost, so I could appreciate being "found".  You gave me Luke to help see myself through your eyes, worthy of love and kindness and respect.  Thank you for the gift of love, and living what “marriage” is meant to be. 

I have the gift of being able to feel the highest highs. There are times my soul flies with the happiness of the angels.  I feel like I could reach out and touch Heaven.  Those are the times my happiness oozes out of every pore!  But that kind of bliss comes at a price.  What goes up, sometimes comes down, and I have felt the depths of utter desolation.  There were days when I felt I was staring into the abyss and could find no love, no peace, no purpose.  I have been blessed with the gift of a heavy pendulum. Sometimes it swings really hard one way or the other.   Some people refer to this as “bipolar tendencies.”  I prefer the word “intensity”.  I wouldn’t trade this gift for the world.  Thank you, God, for giving me a foretaste of both Heaven and Hell while I'm still on this Earth.  Thank you for the lows and highs, and the very long periods of “normal” in between.  “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” I know you are always with me.  Preparing my true gift.   Preparing the up-side.  Adjusting my vision to see the blessing I can’t see yet. 

I think the biggest, ugliest package God has given me is the great big box of FEAR!!! Fear of the unknown, fear of the known, fear of failing, fear of succeeding, fear of dying, fear of living, fear of people not liking me, not understanding me, rejecting me!  Crikey, woman, will you give it a rest with the FEARS already!  But all of these fears are an opportunity to be courageous.  You can’t be brave if nothing scares you.  I think I’m becoming a brave woman.  I think God is using this blog experiment as a good opportunity to bravely say things I wouldn’t otherwise have the courage to say.  I feel like I’m allowing everyone to read my diary, and it’s terrifying and cleansing and liberating. 

Thank you, God, for the ugly packages.  Being dead and trying to recover from it wasn’t a walk in the sunshine, but I learned and grew so much, it really WAS a blessing!  Who would have chosen that?  What ugly package did you get?  Cancer?  Pain? Sadness?  Loneliness?  What was really in it?  An opportunity to find Grace?  A closeness to those around you that really matter?  A new life?

 I pray that God gives everyone reading this the gift of finding something beautiful in their ugly package.  Blessings!

God's Will

My friend lost her baby today, and my heart breaks for her.  My prayers have been for her ever since I heard this sad news.  I don't know if people knew she was expecting, but I knew she was very excited to welcome this new person into her family.  Person.  A real live person died.  The hard part about committing to blogging whatever God puts on my heart is that sometimes it's very painful...and personal.

When I heard about this loss, I was immediately whisked back to a day when I was on the listening end of the phone, hearing my beloved son and daughter-in-law crying over the loss of my expected grandchild.  It broke my heart listening to them mourn their first child.  I told them it would be okay.  I told them it would stop hurting, but I lied.  It doesn't stop hurting. 

Then I got thinking about the day my beloved niece called, telling me the sad news that she lost her baby as well.  We bawled together.  Sobbing and mourning on the phone, until we got most of the sadness out of our systems.  I cried with my sisters-in-law when they lost their children.  Some of them more than once.  We are like the women of Jerusalem that it mentions in the story of Christ's crucifixion.  They are following this procession of death, following behind a bloodied and beaten Savior.  They know he's dying, and are overcome with the grief of losing hope.  That's what a miscarriage feels like.  Hope dying. 

I lost my child in March of 2001.  Harriett was my youngest at the time, which means this would be my 6th child.  Some people tried to comfort me by reminding me how blessed I am.  Five healthy children!  As a Mother of Many, I can tell you that they are not interchangeable.  What you love about each one is not the same as the others.  God in his infinite wisdom has created each one magnificently and differently.  Maybe it was greed or selfishness, but I loved THAT baby.  I wanted THAT baby.  I mourned THAT baby.   I named the baby "Will".  Mostly as a way to give him back to God, and give him up.  (I assumed he was a boy.)  He was always God's Will and not mine.  I just got to love him for a bit. 

But I had a really hard time afterward, adjusting to the feeling of hope dying.  I imagine that's what the disciples felt like in the upper room after the crucifixion.  Wandering around not really sure what to do.  Feeling lost.  Thinking to yourself, "It's not supposed to be like this.  I thought He was the One.  And he's dead.  Now what?"  Where do you go?  Where do you find answers? 

Luckily, I have an Aunt Patty that doesn't question when God tells her to do things, she just does them.  She found a prayer book in my late Grandfather's things and sent it to me.  It's called the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy, and I started praying it the day it came in the mail.  (2 or 3 days after I lost the baby.) It brought me comfort and peace.  As for the women of Jerusalem, they went to the tomb and got the message that Jesus was alive and was going on before them.  (3 days after His death, Hmmm?)  This message also brought them comfort and peace.  It brings it to me, too.  Because I know Will lives and has gone before me. He brings a smile to my face now, amid the tears. 

 My hope lives.  It was just buried in a tomb for the weekend.  But He came back for me.  I know I mention that a lot, but it absolutely astounds me.  He came back for me.  Jesus told the women of Jerusalem not to weep for Him.  I still do, a little.  (Who am I trying to kid, I'm like Niagara Falls over here!)  He said weep instead for yourselves and your children.  And I do.  But my hope still lives.  And I am so thankful to be a part of God's Will, if only for a few months.       

What can I say?

I'm sitting down to write, and I have no idea what I'm going to say.  None.  Which is really good news, because part of my reason for choosing to blog for Lent was to get out of my own way.  Sometimes I get so busy trying to craft my own story that I forget that I am NOT the author here.  I may be a collaborator.  I am certain that I make the "blooper reel" more exciting, but God's running the plot.  He writes every good story.  

So if I was looking for God today (and I always am!), where did I find Him?  I woke up to my kids snuggling me in my bed, which felt like God holding me when I was unconscious.  I had to smile at the memory of that warm, loving nest of happiness that I was so blessed to remember. 

 I got to school and saw my dear friend and we chatted.  She said she was proud of me for accomplishing things I've been afraid to try.  I saw my Maker in her, smiling and encouraging me. She is a beautiful person for so much more than just her face.    

There are my school kids who hug me all day long, and shower me with kind words and snowflakes they cut themselves from scrap paper.  I see God in them.  Especially the naughty ones.  They catch your eye every once in a while, and know you are trying to help them for not much other reason than that you care for them.  It's a beautiful moment when you see God in them.  I see that God is really trying to help me through them.  And that he only does it because He loves me and cares for me. 

We went out to dinner at an Asian restaurant, and Luke led the kids and I in a prayer for the people of Japan.  Right there in the restaurant.  Right out loud.  That is the amazing man I married!  I think God the Father looks a lot like him, except with a clean shave.  My kids are fortunate to have such a father.

Then my beloved Uncle Tommy called.  I love it when Uncle Tommy calls.  He's the most honest man I know.  We had a great conversation which rolled freely from growing up dyslexic to "The Bells of St. Mary", to whooping a child's a** in a West Virginia Walmart.  He connects me to all my family members who have gone on before me.  He reminds me of things my Grandma and Grandpa used to do and say, which makes me feel more in communion with them.  In fact, he told me,"Martha (my grandmother) never dies, she just spreads around from generation to generation..."  I got a bit of her stubbornness.  And she looked a lot like Lydia.  I'll take a little Martha!  She was amazing.       

So I'm praying that God keeps writing my story.  He certainly gives me plenty of experiences.  I'm blessed with fun kids, an awesome spouse, fabulous friends, and the ability to type (Thank you Mrs. Turcott.)  Thank you, God for showing yourself to me today.  Thank you friends for letting him use you today to show his love to the world.  When I do get the nerve up to submit some of my children's stories, I'd like the following to be on the inside cover of each one. 

To God be the Praise!

To God be the Glory!

He is the Author

of EVERY great story!

      

Come and Get Your Love!

We were on our way home from Mass today,  listening to yet another 70's compilation CD, and Simon says, "this song reminds me of Church."   Hmmm.  It's the group 'Redbone' performing their song "Come and Get Your Love."  Hmmm.  I'm 100% certain we've never sang that song during a Mass, or any other church-type activity.   

So I asked him, "What do you mean?" and he said.  "I don't know, I can just picture Jesus saying that."  So we talked for a while of his vision for a video of Jesus, arms outstretched, fingers gesturing the viewer in towards him, and belting out, "Come and get your Love...Ohh-ohh, Come and get your Love!"   

I love this image.  The more I listened to the song, the more I saw his point.  I don't know if Lolly Vasquez (who wrote this song) was a Christian man, but he wrote a rather Christian song.  And you can even dance to it!  If you've never heard the song, you need to stop reading this and immediately find it and listen.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.  Got it?  Okay.  

"Nothin's the matter with your head", is really good to know when I'm feeling unloved, or unlovable or terminally confused.  And then, if we're still picturing Jesus singing ME a love song, what better lyrics could I hear from my beloved maker than, "Cause you're fine, and you're mine, and you look so divine!"  I'm melting over here!!  How he loves me!  Can you feel it?  He's got me taken care of.  I'm just fine!  And I'm HIS!  I could only hope that he sees the divinity in me.  He may be the only one who can, since he's the one who put it there.  And He's singing to you, too!  He's inviting you! 

"Come and get your Love!!!!  Come and get your Love!!  Come and get your Love!!!"

Then he goes on to comfort me more, by singing "Don't you feel right?"  Sometimes I don't.  I don't feel right at all.  I've royally messed up and trashed my life out.  I've made other people feel crappy and hurt the people I love most.  I'm feeling mean and short-tempered.  I've taken on more than I can do, AGAIN.   I look for love and acceptance from the wrong directions, when all I needed to do was listen to my Native American (that's right, they are NOT black, surprise!)  friends being the voice of my Savior, singing, "Get it from the main vine, oh yeah!" 

Jesus himself said "I am the vine and you are the branches."  So I guess he's the main vine.  Who better to get my Love from, right?   "If you want some, take some!!  Get it together, Baby!!"

I think this image is going to stick with me for a while.  God bless that Simon.  When I see Jesus on the cross, I will see how he stretched out his arms and invited all of us.  "Come and get your Love!      

Time Change

Tonight is the Daylight Savings Time change, when we move our clocks ahead an hour.  At 2 am, we will change our clocks to read 3 am, and we will sort of "lose" an hour.  This got me thinking.  Do we really "lose" an hour?  Is it possible to lose time?  Which hour would I choose to give up?  A dear friend of mine lost her father this week.  She knew he was dying, and was choosing to spend all the time that she could with him.  Every moment became more precious when she knew they would be few.  I remember feeling the same way when my grandpa passed away.  When Vic (my father-in-law) died suddenly, I remember regretting the times I chose not to stop by.  Lost time I'd never have the chance to spend again. 

The truth is, it's all precious.  I have another dear friend whose husband has a progressive illness.  She tells me, "Oh, we have lots of time."  I don't want to hurt her, but she's SO wrong!  I had lots of plans on the day when my heart stopped.  I never dreamed that would be the end of my time here on this planet above the dirt.  If it wasn't for God's Grace, and a lot of loving friends, it would have been. 

Even if it had been, minutes and hours would still go by.  Each hour will still have 60 minutes tonight, we'll just label them differently.  What was being called "2 o'clock" will now be called "3 o'clock".  Kind of like "Prince" and that weird symbol thing he wanted to be called. 

 Anyways, that makes me look at how I label things, too.  If 2 o'clock can be renamed 3 o'clock, then maybe "frustration" can be called "opportunity".  If my frustration helps me learn a different way to accomplish the same task.  If that's true, then maybe I can call my fears by other names.  Maybe my loneliness is really a chance to learn to reach out to others.  Maybe the times I've been cut so deeply were chances to prune some part of me that got in the way of my growth.  Certainly it is in my deepest shame that God shows his greatest Glory. Perhaps having an experience called "death" (loosely defined here as a lack of pulse) has allowed me to be truly and more fully "ALIVE".       

Alive.  With minutes ticking away.  "Like sands through the hourglass...so are the Days of Our Lives..."  (Which reminds me of my beloved Granny Barker.)  I'm going to choose not to lose my hour, how about you?   I'll use it for whatever purpose God sees fit.  If there's something that isn't worthy of that time, I pray He'll show me.  

Goodnight!  God bless!

First Friday

Today is the first Friday of Lent.  The first meatless Friday of the year.  I was trying to think of a way to explain the "why" of being meatless on Fridays.  The bottom line is this: Jesus gave up his flesh on a Friday, and we honor that sacrifice by giving up "flesh" as well. 

Meatless.  Fleshless.  During the Fridays of Lent, we are called to pay attention to the part of Jesus' life that was fleshy.  He took up the flesh for us, because God the Father is too omnipotent for our human minds to comprehend.  (Not to mention that this particular blogger believes that he is best understood with the heart, not the mind.) The person of Jesus was way less scary than God the Father just walking up to you and saying, "Hi, how's it going?" 

 I mean, just imagine Simon Peter, James and John hanging out on the dock fixing nets, and being themselves, (gruff fishermen, spitting, cussing, bragging, etc.)  God the Father, in all His Glory, walks up to Peter and says, "Hi, you are Peter, and on this Rock I'll build my Church."  At this point, Peter is still Simon.  Can you just imagine?  I'd be freaking out, personally, but I'm no Peter. 

So God the Son, Jesus, who was there all along, says, "Hey Father, Let me get this one.  I'll take on their fleshyness, and become one of them and go get them."  And He did.  Out of Love.  They just wanted us to be a part of their Love.  They just want to Love us.  That's all.

But taking on our flesh wasn't enough.  He took on all of our crappiness, all of our sin, he took the blame for all of it.  Every crappy, rotten thing I've chosen.  Every hurtful, hateful word or deed I've ever done, or thought of.  He said, "I've got this one, Amy, I'll take all of this, and put it where it belongs.  Give me your fleshyness, and I'll trade you for my Divinity.  No charge.  Just Love Me."  He took my crappiness to Hell and left it there, where it belongs.  Then He came back for me, in the flesh.  The new flesh.  The perfected, glorious, sinless, Divine flesh.  

I'm keeping my part of the deal.  I Love Him.  He holds most of my divinity until I'm ready for the fullness of it.  Like a kid with a $50 bill, it's too much for me.  Sometimes it's overwhelming, so I cry.  That's okay.  Crying is good.  

So happy Friday.  May the gift of Jesus (in the Flesh) sink into your heart and soul and mind, and overwhelm you with gratefulness until I'm not crying alone.  

          

Thank you for the answers.

I prayed for answers and Father Chris prayed with me.  I prayed for clarity and peace and acceptance. 

I awoke with peace in my soul.  Fearless, just going to another appointment.  Telling the story one more time about dying, and Colleen being so brave, and Mom and Cheryl and Boo.  I pictured it all again in my mind, although I never saw it the first time.  This time the wave of fear that washed over me was less.  The doctor's surprise at my survival struck me, and gave me clarity.  

I am so blessed to still have a heartbeat.  Even more blessed to have my mind intact.  I can walk, and talk.  I know who my kids are, and they still have me.  I love Luke, and know how hard it has been for him to go through all of this with me.  I've only been shocked a few times, while others get shocked every day.  I saw my selfishness and greed clearly.  I still want more.  I want to dance! I want to run!  I want to live without fear!  But who really does?  Clarity.  What do I really want?  To be whole and alive. I am!  To be heard and appreciated?  I am! (I think.)  To live happily ever after?  I am right now!  And I accept that my life is a gift. 

So I heard the answer.  We may never know why this happened, but it doesn't matter to Dr. Morady.  What can we do to make me fully functional?  If we strike the right balance of medications, I should be able to exercise without issues.  (Which sounds a lot like an answer.) And yes, he has seen some cases like mine.  (Another answer.)  

So now the day is over.  It is peaceful in my soul.  I have heard the only answer that matters.  "Why did this happen to me?"  "Because I love you."  Peace, Clarity, acceptance.  Thank you, Maker,  for all three! 

Happy Ashes!

It's here!  Lent has begun.  I received my ashes, and my reminder that I am dust.  It's amazing to me that God would take the time to get his hands dirty in the stuff of which I am made.  I can picture Him adding water to the dirt that I am and forming Adam and Eve just so.  Blowing the Spirit of life into that first man, and then that first woman, he knew.  We were still dirt, but he gave us life.  What we do with that life is for us to figure out.  We'll give the dust back when we're done using it.  Until then, I will try to be happy dust. 

This blog is called "Lent to me" because God has lent all kinds of wonderful things to me, for the purpose of learning, growing, and loving him.  Also, I'm writing each day in Lent, so there's that. Sorry today is short.  It's late, and I have a big day tomorrow.  I'll tell you about it later! 

Peace and blessings!  Be a happy pile of dust!!!