Always in Threes

14 07 2017

This week three people in my circles died. Over the years I’ve noticed that it often happens that way–if there is one death, two more follow. It’s a phenomenon I’ve come to dread, the reality that death arrives in groupings at the worst times. And isn’t it true that any time is the worst time?

Because my own loss is still raw even after four years, maybe I notice these things more than in younger days. And maybe, because I am aging, the reality of that final moment causes me to stop, remember the fragility of life, and appreciate the small, seemingly insignificant occurrences which once may have passed unnoticed; those little gems happening all around me, waiting to be seen.

Last night I went to an outdoor concert with a friend. We arrived early, laden with small coolers which held our sandwiches, drinks and snacks, and carrying our chairs and a light jacket for later at sunset. The music was that of ABBA, a popular Swedish group from way back, the songs were familiar enough that we sang along much of the time. The crowd was unusually large, with most being of my generation, the remember-when group still young enough to come to such an outing, but old enough to have been in our prime when ABBA burst on the scene.

At some point in time the beach balls appeared. They were batted around from person to person all through the concert, sometimes forward and sometimes back, but always with laughter and banter. There was a young man ahead of us with Down Syndrome, who had such fun batting the beach ball, and directly behind him sat a woman I’d guess was in her mid-eighties who was more than eager to have a turn. I enjoyed watching the two of them as much as I loved the concert. The woman was fully into the music, swaying in her chair, often with arms up and waving, and singing along to all the songs. At times she would stand and dance, a huge smile on her face, pure joy pouring out of her. And I thought, I want to be her when I grow up.

Not far from us a father was dancing with his daughter, alternately swaying and twirling her around as she laughed in delight. Beyond them a woman with absolutely no abandon was doing crazy dances, her moves exaggerated and hilarious to watch.

Kids ran around with drinks spilling all over themselves, as absent minded parents wiped their clothes with napkins and sent them off to spill once again. A church group beside us had unloaded a wagon full of trays, food, chairs and blankets, and they were dancing in the aisles on the grass. The boy with Down Syndrome was coaxed into standing and dancing with his mom, a huge smile on his face as he moved in rhythm to the music. As the sun began to set and the reds and pinks and blues spread over the horizon, I couldn’t help but think what precious moments these were.

We only get one shot at this life. Death is the one inevitable thing we can count on, but what we do with our time before that, how we cherish moments and celebrate those little things like batting a beach ball, dancing with abandon, and enjoying the company of family and friends, that is what is important. Living in that moment instead of allowing ourselves to project into tomorrow, that is the gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Blank Page

1 01 2016

I’m not doing resolutions this year. They set me up for failure every time. Promising myself that I’ll work out regularly, eat healthier foods, develop a better house-cleaning routine, be a better friend-mother-grandmother, be more organized and vowing to write a little every day isn’t working for me.

The thing is, I shouldn’t have to make a resolution in order to do those things. They should happen because I want to do them. The doing should be a part of me that is automatic, a natural response to all the blessings I am showered with every day–because I am grateful.

Today is page one of a 366 page book. Without those resolutions I am free to be and do what I was made for, to write an exciting story that starts on page one and continues daily. None of that grinding I-should-have-I-have-to-I-failed-to-I’ve-already-ruined-the-resolutions guilt.  I want to use my energy to look back on each day and think of the worthwhile moments that set that day apart.

Instead of a resolution, I’m starting the year with a question that has a new answer with each turn of the page. How can I make this day stand out? What can I do to make this a better world for just one person?  Call it random acts of kindness, paying it forward, doing what’s right—it doesn’t matter. It’s all about remembering to look outward.

January 1, 2016, page 1. God has gifted me with amazing friends. I have a wonderful, loving family. I am in good health and able to do whatever I want. I am blessed with reasonable security. I woke up this morning alive.

Great start, right? I don’t need resolutions. I just need to live the gratitude and stop thinking about what’s in it for me. So maybe in place of a list of resolutions, I’ll make a list of ways I can show gratitude, ways I can be a blessing, ways I can leave a legacy of giving back.

Happy New Year! God bless you all.





The Real Tragedy in Charleston

19 06 2015

Very few of us have been spared the sorrow of facing loss. I found it so incredibly sad today as I watched the families of those whose loved ones were so heartlessly massacred inside a church building during a Bible study as they struggled to understand the senseless killings. And yet, there they were, in the courtroom, speaking with such love of those who were killed, and then saying to the young man who took those lives, I forgive you.

Wow. And then the statement made later that we should be focusing on the family of the young man and the families of those who lost loved ones and not focus on the perpetrator. To hold in prayer the families involved in the tragedy, both sides of the families (please note here the compassion being shown the Roof family as well as the families of those killed).

I’ve thought about this a lot since this shooting occurred. Obviously, Dylann Roof was mentally ill. He admitted to having second thoughts about what he was about to do because “they were so nice to me.” But it makes me wonder what the real issue is in this situation as in so many others in recent months. Are we focusing on the wrong thing? Gun control is always the topic that comes to the forefront. We need more gun control. No, we need to allow people to carry guns.

My thought is this: maybe we need to do less about the whole gun issue and much more about teaching the value of life to our young people. Maybe we need to tell them that each person out there has a life that matters, has a family who loves them, has a purpose in his/her life, has a right to live that life, is a sacred being. Respect, inclusion, honoring God’s creation, agreeing to disagree, allowing for differences—isn’t that what life should be all about?

How boring it would be if we all agreed about everything. Differing opinions allow us to expand our horizons, learn to see other sides of a situation, teach us that maybe, just maybe, we aren’t always right. And differences add color and depth to our lives. And leave blame at the front door. And differences don’t kill someone for being different.

Well, that’s how I see it. God bless and comfort all those families. Maybe, especially, the Roofs.





CONFESSIONS OF AN INTROVERT

25 02 2015

Image result for Snoopy cartoons

Soon it will be two years since Mel died. Conventional wisdom says that by now I have settled into my life as a widow and should be doing well. Outwardly I suppose I am, but the truth is I’m really good at not saying what I feel. I specialize in maintaining the illusion that I have survived my tragedy and now all is great. Yeah, right.

The truth? I used to think there was a timeline. I used to believe you eventually get over a loss. I used to think life would return to normal after a respectable time of mourning. Today I’m on the other side, and I’m here to tell you that none of those things is true.

Here’s the honest truth. Grief never ends. It changes, it’s a passage. It’s not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. Grief is the price of LOVE. Grief is as unique as a fingerprint, but for those who share this state of being there is a common thread. I’m there too. My grief  is different than yours, but I share the common bond of pain with you. I understand the long-term effects. I know you don’t get over it.

Being an introvert can be extremely difficult in the lens of loss. Some of the widows I’ve been privileged to meet are quite vocal about their grief, and I envy their natural ability to express themselves. I wonder if that freedom relieves their sorrow in some small way. Much as I wish I could speak so freely, that is not who I am. So I nod and smile and say what I’m expected to say: I’m fine. Doing well. Thanks for asking.

Patrick O’Malley, a psychotherapist in Fort Worth, wrote the following article titled Getting Grief Right for a series in the New York Times Couch series (January 10, 2015):

“Mary was a successful accountant, a driven person who was unaccustomed to being weighed down by sorrow.     She was also well versed in the so-called stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. To her and so many others in our culture, that meant grief would be temporary and somewhat predictable, even with the enormity of her loss. She expected to be able to put it behind her and get on with her life. . .
THAT model is still deeply and rigidly embedded in our cultural consciousness and psychological language. It inspires much self-diagnosis and self-criticism among the aggrieved. This is compounded by the often subtle and well-meaning judgment of the surrounding community. A person is to grieve for only so long and with so much intensity. (Italics mine.)
To look at her, she already had done so. The mask she wore for the world was carefully constructed and effective. She seemed to epitomize what many people would call “doing really well,” meaning someone who had experienced a loss but looked as if she was finished grieving.”

That last sentence hit the mark for me. Looked as if says it all. Outward appearance can be such a liar, something most people will take at face value, want to take at face value. After all, if you dig into it and ask more pointed questions, things could get really messy. Most people don’t want to get their hands dirty or become invested because they fear the dreaded I never know what to say.

I speak for many others in my position when I say we often feel isolated, standing on the sidelines while the rest of the world moves on with their normal lives. It has become my world, not ours. It is now my weekend, not ours. I talk about my house, not ours. We has changed to I, ours to my. The list goes on, every item I tick off with a singular pronoun instead of a plural.

Don’t misunderstand, I’m not saying you shouldn’t talk about your lives and the things you are doing. You definitely should. I want to hear about them and share in your good times. It helps make life balanced for me to be told of your vacation, or some silly (or annoying) thing your spouse did last week. I need to know that how we communicate hasn’t changed. The sense of normalcy we all crave is especially prevalent in those of us who have lost a precious member of our family, so hearing about your life and your family keeps me grounded. Please don’t tiptoe around me. Pretty complicated, right?

So here’s the thing. In this broken, hurting world we live in, God’s intent is not for us to suffer alone. Regardless of our psychological makeup, it’s important to let each other in. We were not created to handle life by ourselves, but rather to bear each other’s burdens, to help lighten the load we see a friend carry. Sharing is hard, especially for those of us who hold our feelings close. It requires a certain amount of risk in the form of being judged, abandoned, mocked, or maligned. I’ve had lots of experience in those areas, and it makes me cautious. I am so thankful for the friends God has given me with whom I feel safe, feel able to share those deepest feelings. What blessings they are.

For those around whom I wear the mask of ‘I’m just fine’, I would ask that you remember this: Sometimes when I say I’m okay, I need someone to look me in the eyes, see the pain there, hug me tight, and say, “I know you are not.”





A Lesson in Compassion–Part Two

2 02 2015

I adore Anne Lamott. Her books border on irreverent, and yet there is such a wealth of faith and honesty in them. She says what most of us feel but are afraid to say. Last spring I was privileged to hear her speak at the Festival of Faith and Writing and discovered tIhat she speaks the way she writes—so straightforward and from the heart.

Her post on facebook last week hit home with me: “The world is always going to be a dangerous place, and people get badly banged up, but how can there be more meaning than helping one another stand up in the wind and stay warm?”

That is empathy. One of the best comparisons of empathy versus sympathy is a youtube short I’ve included below. 

If you have the ability to experience the feelings of another person, you have empathy for them. It goes beyond sympathy, the caring and understanding of the suffering of someone. Those words differ in their emotional meaning. Sympathy is acknowledging another person’s emotional hardships and providing comfort and assurance. With empathy you understand their feelings because you have experienced it yourself in some way–you can put yourself in their shoes.

Then there is compassion. You feel empathy for someone, you want to help alleviate their suffering, and you take action by putting that person first.

Sympathy focuses on awareness
Empathy focuses on experience
Compassion focuses on action

I can feel your pain. It must be so hard to get through alone. Is there any way I can help? And then give that person a hug. You have no idea how much that small action will mean to someone in the pit. I know. It means the world.

p.s. I apologize for the different fonts and font sizes. I’m having  difficulty in adapting to the new WordPress format.

 





A Lesson In Compassion–Part One

26 01 2015

IMG_1054

 

First of all, I have to admit I can be pretty self-centered. Though I could blame my background for that shortcoming, (another story for another day) it is ultimately a problem I could control if I worked at it with more intensity. Maybe this post should have been titled ‘It’s All About Me’. Because it is.

Let me explain. I have a big yard with several flowerbeds which require constant maintaining. Just a few blocks away is Blandford Nature Center. It has a huge deer population, many of which love my yard. I swear after dark there’s a flashing sign in deerinese that says ‘y’all come and graze here’. So they do. A lot.

I’ve seen them meander across my yard during the day as well. You’d think they owned the place. Many flowers, bushes and trees have seen their demise because of these creatures. The purportedly ‘deer proof’ plants have been devoured with relish. Four hundred plus tulip bulbs were an appetizer. Gone. Thirty rose bushes served as dessert. (Why aren’t they blooming? Oh, silly me, the deer ate the buds.) The rest (or most of it) has been the main course.

Am I frustrated? You bet.

I’ve tried many remedies. Liquid Fence for the low, low price of $40 plus per container (I need at least two of those a year) and other more creative options have all failed. Can I say it without being judged? I hate the deer. Absolutely hate them. The hunters can just have at it as far as I’m concerned. (Wait, don’t send hate mail just yet! Please read on first.) Used to think the fawns were adorable and the adults were beautiful. Not anymore. They have cost me hundreds in replacement foliage, plus all the gallons of Liquid Fence. Did I mention the smell of the aforementioned spray? Well.

So yesterday I caught a glimpse of some type of large animal outside my bedroom window. When I looked more closely, I saw a full-grown deer leaning up against the house. Grabbing my iPhone, I snapped a couple of pictures as the deer stared at me not moving. It didn’t seem at all afraid as I shot the photos. The deer’s eyes were calm as it studied me and I saw no fear, only that steady gaze meeting mine. I could have touched it had there not been a window between us.

Then I saw something else. The deer was standing on three legs, the fourth held high off the ground. It was too close to the brick to see why it stood like that, so I waited. Several minutes later when it hobbled away from the house I was able to identify the problem. It had been permanently crippled, the back left leg somehow mangled. The deer stopped a few times, looked back at me, then limped on slowly working its way to the back of the yard.IMG_1058

I can’t get the image out of my head. I will never see the deer in that hateful way again. That creature will die this winter, of that I’m sure. Its ribs were prominent, the speed with which it was able to move was minimal, and it certainly had no allies. Here’s what that deer did for me: it made me see it as real. A living, breathing, beautiful yet damaged creature created by God. What an awful fate it will face. My heart broke for that deer looking for shelter and food.  A hard thing for this crippled one. And it made me think.

Although many of our handicaps aren’t visible, aren’t you and I damaged too? That part in the first paragraph of this post about it being all about me, that’s a handicap. My vision of the world around me is limited to how it affects me. Poor me. Pretty sad that I’m so absorbed in myself that I can’t see the pain of the world around me. Gotta work on that. When others get accolades about their accomplishments or have something good happen to them, it’s so human to think but what about me? I deserve that. I work hard. Why not me? Gotta work on that, too.

Can I become a better person? Absolutely. That deer taught me to appreciate what I have instead of envying what others have. My kind of crippled can be worked on, but that deer–well, its fate is pretty much sealed. Those animals need to forage in order to survive, regardless of what that does to my yard. As for me, I have hundreds of blessings to appreciate. It’s not all about me. God created me, so I know I’m not junk. He gave me much in relationships, in good health, in a  brain that serves me well, in circumstances that could be so much worse. . . He gave me enough. So if the awards or recognition don’t come, if I never make it in the publishing world, if all I do is write what is in my heart and share with those I love, leaving the rest to God, so be it. I’m working on accepting that, not as willingly as I should, but still.

By the way, I’m starting a new career–cheerleading.





Legacy

16 07 2014

IMG_4544

My father was born in 1915, the youngest of seven, to farm-laborer parents. He was the only child who had farming in his blood and after completing sixth grade, he became a full-time worker in the fields alongside his father.
As he grew older he knew he wanted to farm, but buying land in the Netherlands was impossible. He decided his best avenue would be to learn a trade and save up to move elsewhere, though the place he would go wasn’t yet clear.

After taking night classes and completing his required training, Dad became a barber, first as an apprentice and later owning his own shop. When he and my mother married in 1943, he began in earnest saving every penny he could, a difficult task since war had begun the year before.

The thing about Dad was, he had the most optimistic view of life of anyone I’ve met. Pair that up with sheer determination, add an adventuresome spirit and a fearless attitude, and you have Dad. So he packed up his little family of four and set off for America in 1947. And he worked hard.

Fast forward to the 1950’s and Dad owned a small, seven acre farm in Washington where he raised asparagus and tomatoes and milked a handful of cows. He moved us from farm to farm until he purchased a forty acre parcel growing concord grapes, with a contract to sell each crop to Welch’s for juice and grape jelly.

Dad became a successful man who farmed well and worked hard, but most importantly who loved his family and his God without reservation. A man of principle and faith, devotion and loyalty. A truly good man. The world was blessed to have him for 92 years.

And I miss him.