Very Belated Annoucement Haiku

forgot to mention
he finally popped the question
a "mrs." in march

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Beauty Will Rise

I have just deleted the blog I had intended to publish today, but strangely enough I think the title needs to stay.

I have been awash in emotion today. I awoke to yet another day of rare, pristine fall weather that I have not experienced in this part of the country in a number of years. I rose from slumber feeling at peace, happy, fulfilled, purposeful. Then I came into my office and sat down to listen to my latest download, Steven Curtis Chapman's, "Beauty Will Rise," which is the griefwork put to music of the Chapman family after the loss of their sweet little five year-old Maria over a year ago. When I heard the words to some of the songs, I immediately felt a pang of identifying with the bittersweet sentiments of intense loss and a holy grief, one that is observed by many people but privately lamented and deeply mourned. And then the panicky, sick feeling as the events at FT Hood unfolded this afternoon. The scrambling for information, contact with loved ones, waiting, uncertainty, and the undeniable stench of death.

I was so struck in many ways by the Steven Curtis Chapman CD that I was moved to devote an entire post to it; as luck would have it, I got busy and had to walk away from the post, saving it for completion at the end of my day hours later. How would I know what events would end up ruling the day and taking priority in my mind?

As of this post, the latest numbers and information is staggering: 13 dead, at least 30 wounded. The shooter's smiling face has been plastered all over news channels, and the assumptions and foregone conclusions are swirling like a Kansas twister across the networks. No matter what finally emerges as fact or fiction, this entire event is beyond sickening in more ways than one.

Being a creature with selfish tendencies, I internalized today's events in such a different way than most. I was immediately rushed back to November 29 and 30, 2005. I felt the numbness again in my arms and legs that I had felt upon hearing about T's motorcycle accident, driving past the wrecker loading up the demolished bike, the ambulance in the bay, the swath of trauma personnel hovering around him in the ER, the thwocking of the medivac rotors as they waited to rush him off to a trauma center in Shreveport, the waiting in uncomfortable waiting rooms for a shred of information, wondering what shape he would be in when I finally got to see him, wondering if he would be in the hospital for a month or if he was going to die. Then I remember hearing my Casualty Assistance Officer's voice on the phone, going through the steps of making final arrangements that seemed so surreal. This is really happening? To me? To him? What?!? But he was getting ready to deploy -- this sort of thing doesn't happen until the guys are deployed. He was only coming home from work, we had just gotten off the phone -- are you sure you got this right? What am I supposed to do now?

How many new widows are there at FT Hood tonight? How many people saw a soldier in a Class A's show up at their door with a commander or a chaplain? How many people now know what a Casualty Assistance Officer is going to help them do over the next couple of weeks? How many parents are finding out that there will be one less table setting at Thanksgiving three weeks from today? How many kids get to celebrate Christmas next month without their parent? How many babies are going to be born into a single parent family?

I don't even have to be up at Scott & White trauma center to feel the tension pulsating from the hearts of these families, waiting on pins and needles to hear news, any news at all about whether their soldier will make it or whether they have been shoved through Door #2 without their permission, a door which locks after you pass the threshold and has no doorknob on the other side. It's a one way ticket to a life you never thought would be yours.

The fact of the matter is this: tomorrow is not promised. Not for me, T., Maria Chapman, or any of the soldiers who died today. Not for you or your loved ones. I've said many times that, as military spouses, we brace ourselves for the possibility that our loved one may not come home to us alive from a deployment. We do not prepare ourselves for something like what happened today, or like what happened to me. And why not? Who knows. Any number of reasons I guess.

I can only hope and pray that these new Gold Star families will draw close to one another and to God as they grieve and struggle in the days, weeks, months, and even years to come. And I hope that we can all give them a wide berth to do so and to unconditionally love them through this process. I hope that they will find the tiny pieces of grace and hope in the ashes of their lives and use them to weave a new tapestry, one that will blend together their past love and the new life toward which they will have to move, just as even I daily move toward my new reality. The title song on Steven Curtis Chapman's new album is about this exact topic -- how beauty can rise from these tragic, astoundingly painful situations. It is a lifeline to cling to when you are sinking, just praying that what you're going through won't swallow you alive. If you can hold onto the idea that God will redeem this pain and use it to God's glory, then just maybe something beautiful can emerge that you would have never thought possible as you were going through it at the time.

I wanted to embed this song from YouTube but it doesn't want to cooperate. To be blessed by this song, I implore you to download the album or listen to it here. Even in the midst of absolute pain and grief, I truly believe that beauty will rise.

+ May the Holy Spirit encamp around the ones who are hurting tonight and give them rest and peace for the difficult days to come. Amen.

33

As I sit here today on my thirty-third birthday, I've got a lot to ponder, a lot for which to be thankful. I wish I could show you every image racing through my mind of things I've experienced, people I've loved and admired, heartbreak I've endured, and every song my heart has sung, but Apple hasn't released that type of technology yet.

So many people grieve turning thirty, as if the best years of their lives have already passed them by. I feel as though life began for me, in some ways, once I got to my thirties. I may not have the neck-high perky boobs of a college tart, but mine are still hanging in there. They have given life to two children, have comforted broken hearts in an embrace, and even made a couple of trips to Hawai'i. I am healthier and stronger than ever before in my life, and I feel as though I am navigating the proving grounds of physical health that will pay off in future decades. I have learned things about myself, about others, about our world, about God, that I could have never comprehended with any clarity in the days of my "youth".

By the time I turned thirty, I was a widow and mother of two children ages 2 1/2 and 9 months. In my thirties, I have learned that being a single parent really isn't the end of the world. Being tired and frustrated with life isn't an excuse to be a jerk to your kids. If you are going to survive, you adapt. Kind of a modern twist on natural selection, and quite frankly, I'm not ready to raise my white flag. I was able to reflect on the ways in which my marriage could have been much better and what things I was so fortunate to have found in T. I listened to so many of my married friends talk about their spouses, sometimes to their spouses, and discuss marriage in general. Sometimes I would cringe and wonder if I had spoken that way to or about T., which I know I had, and I could only wish that I could tell him how sorry I was, if I only had the chance to apologize face to face. I realized how quickly married couples can overlook what they mean to each other and to their children. It has made me determined that, when R. and I tie the knot, I will remember what I have learned so that I can be a better wife to him.

I've been privileged to meet so many beautiful, wonderful people who have touched my life or inspired me in ways I didn't realize until much later. Some of these people have gone on to be friends, some have wandered off in their own direction, and I don't love one less than another. My friends are truly part of my family, and if God is taking requests the day I get to heaven, I hope God will put us all around a wonderful meal or a campfire in the mountains so I can be with all of the people I love all at once.

Travel has impacted my life in such a meaningful way, too. I told R. recently that, although I don't want to be cremated when I die, if I was cremated, my ashes couldn't just be spread in one place. I would want a little piece of me to be taken to dozens of different places that I have loved. My grandparents' farm, the cemetery where T. and all my family is buried, Mount Rainier, Waimea Bay, the beach where I've gone with my parents, Washington, D.C., the pyramids in Egypt, Rome, Kusadasi, Istanbul, Rhodes, Fort Benning, and so many other places -- I have carried something beautiful from them in my heart that I simply can't describe.

I remember my birthday four years ago: a cold, crisp autumn day in Louisiana on the back of the motorcycle with T. I had specifically asked to ride to a battalion function on the bike because he was going to deploy the following spring and wouldn't be there to take me out on my thirtieth birthday on the bike. Little did I know that almost exactly a month later he would be gone. I remember being behind him on the bike and looking at the sky, thinking that if I died that day, I would have been the happiest person in the world because my life had never been happier than it was on that day. I had a great husband and two beautiful children, my health, friends and family. As I looked up at a blazing sunny sky yesterday, it was cold and crisp and I mused at how I felt the same way then as I had four years ago, and I couldn't help but offer up quiet praise to God. I know my birthday was a good one last year, but I swear they keep getting better and better.

I don't know how to make a slideshows on YouTube, but this song says pretty close to how I feel today. I hope your next birthday brings you the peace which passes all understanding as this one has brought me today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7P8pPYSXhk

Haiku for Molly

learning how to shake
licking sniffing wagging tail
our cinnamon girl

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

BDU haiku

his old uniform
distant yet so familiar
on his little boy



-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

H1N1 Vaccine: What The Pork?

I'm having a dilemma these days, one I'm not used to pondering. I'm uneasy about the H1N1 vaccine. Does it strike anyone else as strange how fast a vaccine was developed for this strain of influenza? I have personally known at least four individuals who have contracted H1N1 since Labor Day, three of them children, one of them with some serious complications. This flu has been moving in and out of the ranks of Americans (and no doubt around the world) like a stealth operator on a secret mission in a faraway land. I am starting to think that this vaccine may be too little, too late. However, Li'l G's school is administering this vaccine in mist form next week, and I'm starting to get cold feet about it.

To vaccine or not to vaccine? That is the question...

Let's establish one fact: I support vaccinations. I have made it a priority to keep my children up to date on all of their vaccinations since birth and plan on keeping it that way. All three of us got the flu vaccine just after Labor Day this year, and amazingly, the kids have been in pretty good health, even though I was laid out with a pretty nasty virus about 10 days after the vaccine. However, I believe that there is a good reason to vaccine our babies against polio, TB, MMR, and so on. I have known a man who has spent nearly his entire life, since childhood I believe, in a wheelchair ever since he contracted polio. There is a reason why our infant mortality rates and childhood mortality rates are some of the lowest in the world, folks. Vaccines are not the evils that some people think they are.

That being said, I know we need to be cautious about the ingredients in vaccines. Certain agents, such as thimerosal, have been linked to causing autism in children, and I know a family who believes this is what happened to their child. Vaccines are not perfect, but by-and-large, my personal belief is that they accomplish the goal set forth by the doctors and professionals who set out to develop them.

I just have an uneasy feeling about this, however; it's nagging at me, and I cannot simply ignore it. I talk to my friends who are Vietnam vets and they are only halfway joking as they mock the medics, "Agent Orange is safe. Your government wouldn't make you do something that's going to be harmful." And so on...

Even though I did not vote the current administration into office, I do not believe that Obama and the scientists at NIH and other governmental agencies sit around a bubbling, green beaker in a back-alley lab, stirring this foaming concoction with a rusty spoon like Doctor Jekyll, and when the spoon dissolves they toss back their heads and gargle out, "Yess, finally, the vaccine is complete! Mwaa haa haaaa...!"

So why, then, am I so distrusting of this vaccine? I don't really know. It just seems to have come out so fast. Has it even had a chance to be tested properly? I don't know. On the other hand, if it's possible to crank out this vaccine in such record time, why does it take others years, decades even, to reach the masses of dying, suffering people? Is it due to corruption? Needing to allow the scientific process to run its course? I don't know. I just have so many questions and little time in which to find answers to them.

The other thing I find disconcerting is accessibility. The government is in charge of distribution. My hospital told me last month not to come to them for the vaccine, that they would not be receiving any. The public schools are going to have them for students and teachers. Active duty military will get them. Active duty military dependents will have access to them through their healthcare on post, but what about people like me, military who have been pushed into the private sector? What about the millions of people with no direct link to government? The homeless and/or insuranceless? And these vaccines are being handed out for free?!? Am I the only one smelling a rat here?

I'm sure my hospital has gotten more information in recent days since vaccines will be coming out this week and weeks to come. Either way, it's a sign of the times to be sure. I don't want to risk my children's very lives by not vaccinating them; however, they are not petri dishes on legs, available for governmental research. So help me out here, guys: what do you plan to do?

Gluten-Free Wheat-Free Triple Chipper Cookies

Disclaimer: Just because I have substituted some ingredients here doesn't necessarily mean this recipe is proven to be absolutely GF. My dietary need is just to get rid of grain-based carbs. I do not suffer from Celiac Disease or have any medical reason to be eating GF. So, take these modifications with a grain of salt and do your research. Otherwise, enjoy!

As many of you know, I have started doing CrossFit over the last several weeks in a feeble bold attempt to get into shape. BTW, I have a separate blog just for my daily reflections on my workouts -- head over to Make It Burn to read about my daily sojourn towards "forging elite fitness".

Sorry for that shameless plug there. Where was I... oh yes... Part of being a CrossFitter is thinking about how we fuel our bodies. The program wants the students eating lots of lean meats, carbs in the form of fresh fruits and veggies, and laying off on whole grains, refined sugars, flours, and starches. So when I heard this, I thought to myself, Good-bye pizza, homemade bread, rolls, muffins, cookies, and so on. However! I did find a loophole!

Gluten-free was my get-out-food-jail-free card. The problem with that list of no-no foods is that they all contain grains. High levels of sugar in our blood cause our bodies to secrete large amounts of insulin to break it down. I don't remember the rest of the biochemistry that goes behind elevated levels of insulin in our blood, but I do know that it causes us to put on weight and carry around unnecessary fat. Mine likes to hang around my joke of a belly button and flop over the top of my jeans, even on a skinny day, and make me feel like I've been driving trucks cross-country. At any rate, things that are gluten-free lack that carb component that puts your body into insulin overload I guess. Obviously I'm not terribly up-to-date on all the scientifics here, and there is a plethora (yes, I said plethora) of information online and elsewhere if you really want to research it.

Let me interject something at this point. I have always been the kind of person that believes in cooking healthy meals or goodies for my family, but if I'm going to sacrifice texture or flavor in the name of being low-fat or healthy or whatever, then you can just forget it. There are some sacrifices I don't make when it comes to my food. I consider food and culinary delights to be one of the most satisfying carnal pleasures this side of heaven, and I'm sure not gonna waste my time down here eating stuff that tastes like cardboard just so that I have one less dimple in my backside. I may look like my rear end has been pummelled with a bag full of nickels, but dangit, I'm going to be eating well and savoring every morsel.

All that being said, I vowed to do some solid kitchen testing on gluten-free stuff so that I could still cook "normal food" for my family and be able to eat it guilt-free with them. Part of being successful at CrossFit is using the proper fuel to help your body restore the energy it's using (and trust me -- you're using a LOT of energy), and if I'm going to invest the time and money to do this, I want to do it as best I can while not turning into one of those people who become annoying to be around because they only eat organic vegetables grown on mountainsides in the Andes or drink water that has run off the leaves of a rainforest fern or some kooky crap like that.

Now to my first experiment: cookies.


Every time I go through the checkout at the local grocery store, I see some charming little periodical that has yummy treats in it for fall. I am such a sucker for fall baking! After perusing its contents, I've marked off at least 15 recipes I want to try. I made the Nectarine-Plum Crostada last week, which tasted a lot like a peach cobbler -- I highly recommend it. However, I was wanting to make the Triple Chippers on p. 6 and wondered if I could do it in a guilt-free, gluten-free way. As I sit here typing this to you, I am eating one of these suckers, and boooyyy is it good! So, in short, the answer is "yes", and I'll tell you how I did it.


Here is the recipe:

1.5 c packed brown sugar
1 c granulated sugar
1 c butter or margarine, softened
1 c shortening
2 t vanilla
2 eggs
3.75 c all-purpose flour*
2 t baking soda
1 t salt
1.5 c white vanilla baking chips
0.5 c butterscotch chips
1 c semi-sweet chocolate chips

*I substituted 3.75 c Pamela's Baking & Pancake Mix for the all-purpose flour. You do not need to add xanthum gum or anything like that to it -- it's already in the mix! Woo hoo!!

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large bowl, mix sugars, butter, shortening, vanilla, and eggs with electric mixer on medium speed until creamy, or mix with spoon. Stir in flour, baking soda, and salt. Stir in white, butterscotch, and chocolate chips. Onto grease cookie sheet, drop by 0.25 cupsful about 3" apart. Bake 12-15 minutes or until light golden brown. Cool 4 minutes; remove from cookie sheet to cooling rack. Yield: 26 cookies.

I thought that making cookies that big sounded crazy, so I used a Tbsp to scoop out dough. I have made 24 cookies that way, and they spread out pretty big. I still have enough dough left to make at least 30 more cookies or so using a Tbsp. This would be a great recipe to make big cookies with, spread out into a large cookie to decorate, or make a kajillion of them for some kind of school function where you'll be feeding a lot of people. I plan on putting the rest of my dough in the freezer for safe keeping until holiday baking is in full swing.

The gluten-free flour turned out to be a winner. In fact, the raw dough tasted so good that I ate a LOT of it before the cookies were made, and now I'm starting to feel a little bloated. Ick... This flour has natural almond meal in it, so it has a faintly nutty taste to it that is awesome in cookies. This flour also comes with recipes on it for making pancakes, muffins, crepes, waffles, breading for fried chicken (!!), and regular chocolate chip cookies.

I will most definitely start using this in lieu of regular flour. This is a subsitution that you can make in your baking and non-dieting types of people will probably never know you switched something on them, and if anything, ask what you added to the food to make it taste better. My next experiment will be for dinner tomorrow night when I use gluten-free pasta for spaghetti night. I think I've filled up on cookies and milk (and dough) for dinner tonight!

Trash Can Haiku

you know you want to
as tempting as it may be
must.resist.the.urge.

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Blevins cemetery haiku

bittersweet beauty
peaceful farmland gently holds
those who slumber here

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Poptart Haiku

poptart sprinkles crunch
upon my clean kitchen floor
why do i bother?

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Freaky Fungus

For those of you who never ate mushrooms before, you really won't want to eat them now. I almost put thus genetic freak-o-nature in my spinach salad today. It's a mushroom with a siamese twin attached at the head, so to speak. Nothing remarkable to say here -- just wondered what the odds are of finding something like this in your salad!

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

9/11 Remembered

Life stood still eight years ago at almost this very precise moment at which I'm typing to you. I remember sitting there in my classroom with a husband who had just left days prior to go to the National Training Center (NTC) in California, thinking about today being his birthday, and then the harsh reality of the news of the day. I was terrified that his unit would deploy immediately to Afghanistan from NTC and not even get to come home first. I wasn't ready to face the fact that I could lose him. And yet, look what so many others had already lost.

For so many of us, 9/11 is simply part of our American history. We have passionate feelings about the events of the day and those that followed. But for so many others, their lives were ripped apart. To try and understand the loss felt by the husbands and wives, children, the unborn, the moms, dads, and siblings, and other lives touched by those we lost that day is futile. The best we can hope to do is grieve alongside them and shed tears "on behalf of a grateful nation."

We didn't just lose people in the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We lost people in the soft, plowed fields of Pennsylvania, where our forefathers likely trod as they fought bitterly for our independence from England. We lost people in the labrynthine Pentagon as well, some of our brilliant military and civilian thinkers who have dedicated their lives and careers to the job of defending our country. We had a huge gash ripped out of the rich, colorful tapestry of America. Rather than trying to repair the gash and pretend it never happened, thankfully we have all gathered 'round it to look at its hallowed, jagged beauty to remind ourselves of each person borne into the arms of God that day. Their lives hold meaning to this day and will not be forgotten.

I cannot hear this song without weeping. Like coming across a precious memento of a loved one lost, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning" so poignantly captures the sweet sorrow of those days spent huddled around the television, watching the news crawl across the bottom of the screen for breaking news. It gives me permission to cry with its gentle melody and simple words. At the beginning of the song I feel simply rotten, but by the end there is hope, an important point that we all miss each day. Faith is great, hope is wonderful, but we must love. Unconditionally. And intentionally. As Christians, Jesus commands us to do this. If you are not Christian, showing love to another person is simply treating another human being with the same respect and dignity you expect to be shown. How different our world would be if we humbled ourselves to truly love one another.

Soak in 9/11. Remember. Allow yourself to take that walk back in time. And keep moving forward in love.

I Just Gave Birth...

...to a new blog!

That's right -- GGG is branching out these days. I have decided to start a separate blog that focuses only on my attempt at being a PT stud. I have recently started CrossFit (again) and am trying to do it the right way. It's only been two days, but the psychological effects alone have been incredibly empowering. Ever since R. inspired me to get back into the gym a year and a half ago, I have tried to make it a priority to take better care of myself and challenge myself. While some days it has been an uphill battle of gargantuan proportions, most days it has been extremely rewarding to watch myself do things I never thought I'd do.

I'd love to motivate others, especially women and busy moms, to step up and do the same -- to step outside the comfort zone and take charge of their health. That would be gravy. (Mmm, gravy...) But really, this is a selfishly motivated blog. I'm really just doing this to be more disciplined about plotting my progress so I can look back and see how far I've come. I really want people to read and interact, but if you chose not to, that's cool, too. But please leave comments/kudos/kvetches/etc. I thrive on feedback.

So, without any further adieu, I give you...

Make It Burn.

Fall, Could That Really Be You?

While that might not be the most flattering picture, it was the best of many attempts at documenting my woolen protest of summer. Thankfully, when I walked out the door this morning, it was somewhat cool ( think only 77 degrees) and foggy. A "cold front" is due to arrive over the next few days, and we'll be topping out at a chilly 80 degrees by Saturday, so y'all say a prayer for us.

I am so optimisitc that weight have fall this year that I got out my seasonal home décor last night and started the changing of seasons on my own timing. R. asked how one goes about decorating for fall: "What do you do, stick some corn around the house?!?". I was not deterred by his lack of enthusiasm for my favorite season. I put those bright citrus fruits to bed in the closet and pulled out my pumpkins with pride. I, my dear, am ready for fall.

To top it off with warm struedel, I found this awesome new product from my BFFs at Febreeze. They are basically paper air fresheners that stand on a square base that has a flickering light. They come in several great scents, albeit none near as cool as the caramel apple fragrance (complete with spooky spider and web design on the scented paper) and orchard apple (with a happy little jack-o-lantern motif). With the flickering light effect, it's way cool. I let the kids put them in their rooms. Now, the hacienda not only looks fall-ish, it smells like it, too.

My last touch of seasonality will take a little more effort, however. I want to fill up my clear column votive holders with candy corn and monster fingers, topped with either a green or purple candle. Not even the venerable Hobby Lobby had what I needed! Blasphemy!!

Yes, dear readers, fall is indeed on the way to this hot, parched land. Even as I write this in the carpool line, it's actually rainy and 73 degrees -- what a rare treat! Think I'll pop some popcorn this afternoon and cozy up ok the couch for once.

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Labor(ious) Day

I just don't know what's up my skirt some days. This is usually when Sing4Joy asks me if I'm PMSing and I bite her head off, stomp my feet, gnash my teeth, and holler in my most indignant tone, "I'm not PMSing!?!?!"

I've been sorting through, like, almost a thousand unread blogs from bloglines and sadly gave in to the fact that, even though I bear a striking resemblance to Wonder Woman, I am no superhero and cleared out my bloglines. However, I read something over at Gretchen's place about some of the issues she's been going through, and in my heart I wanted to say, "Yes! I know that feeling so well! Is that what that is?" Her image of teetering on the edge of the precipice of depression, wondering which direction she's headed, strikes a chord in my heart. While I've never been diagnosed with depression, I'm positive that I'm the kind of person that goes through emotional seasons. Once I catch on to the changing of the seasons in my heart, I get a little anxious; I am completely unsettled and relatively agitated until I can get my bearings again. Call it fear of the unknown, avoidance, PMS, or lack of sleep. It's unnerving either way.

I've been on a war path with my kids. Can't really explain why, but I've been so uptight about ridiculosities (Is that a word? If not, then it is now.) I believe reasonable people call this "the small stuff." I have been stern with myself about personal habits that have crept in and taken root in a temple of which I have worked hard to take better care. Things that have been my passion still are extremely important to me, but I can't seem to take the first step to getting them done. To top it all off, I've been really emotional and have even caught myself being short with R.

This time of year naturally turns my mind toward tragedy. Is that a little dramatic of me? Of course -- have you met me?!? T.'s birthday would've been this Friday, and he passed away four years ago this November. These are not necessarily days I dread all year, but as the weather turns from face-of-the-sun hot to mildly-sweaty hot (a.k.a. fall in the south), I believe my subconscious becomes aware of a season of grief, of timelines, of my current circumstances, complex and beautiful as they are.

I often find myself wondering these days: Have I always been this way? Why am I so wound up about certain things? It would be such relief to be able to brush these things off and look at the bigger picture, and many times I am able to do that. Other days it just seems so impossible. Why is it that Li'l G gets on my last nerve to the point that I need to walk out of the room? Why can't Bud listen to me and follow simple directions like "don't eat that mud" or "stop climbing on the handrail of the escalator"? Why can't I see these beautiful babies that God placed in my arms and be kinder and gentler toward them? Why am I constantly so exasperated with others whose opinions are different from mine? Why can't I be more of a team player? and so on...

I have had two friends in the last ten days become widows. One woman was a determined, dedicated caregiver to her ill husband for years who was able to watch his passing with the knowledge that his days were coming to an end. Another woman had her husband snatched from her loving grasp almost as quickly as mine. How distinctly I remember the feeling of, "What just happened here," the feeling of looking at my non-breathing husband and wondering what I was going to do. I was reminded on Sunday of the passage in psalms that God takes care of widows and orphans and puts the smack down on any evildoers that come their way. I know without doubt that is true. That doesn't diminish the circumstances but certainly made me feel like I had someone on my side to take care of me.

I wanted so desperately to pick up the phone and talk to someone. I needed an ear to chew on. I wanted to ask someone, "Is it just me, or is it normal to feel like you don't think you can handle one more day of messes in the bathroom, mowing the lawn, a dirty house, and not having a helpmate to help shoulder the load?!?" Then I realized that almost every phone number on the contacts list of my phone was that of a person who was married. And while many married individuals do, indeed, end up doing more than their fair share of the parenting/cooking/cleaning/etc., and spouses of deployed soldiers get an intense snapshot of that life, it's just not quite the same. And in my mind, R. has little to do with this because he didn't put me in this situation in life, and he's not my ticket out of single parenthood.

I know many of you would love to hear that this is when I put the kids to bed early and curled up with my Bible. It's not a bad idea, but that's not what I did. I've exhausted my concordances with references about widows and comfort and so on. I needed to put children to bed and wind down for the night. Bud ends up talking to me about how he doesn't want to go to heaven because he will miss us and our house. I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about going just yet, but that heaven is a really wonderful place that we'd all like to be at some point. Then his line of questioning goes toward old people and dying, boo-boos that don't get better, and the inevitable "I miss my Daddy" tearjerker. We've had these conversations before, and as the kids get older, they can understand more and thus the conversations become more detailed. And while many people might pooh-pooh tonight's display as tears of exhaustion at bedtime (which some of them truly were), seeing the pain on his face as he put his chunky hand to his face and cried just cracked my concrete heart into powdery bits. Our tears mingled on our wet, sticky cheeks as we just sat there and let it flow.

Bud has to take family pictures to school tomorrow. Joy of joys! What a fun time of explaining our family situation when you're the only four year-old in the room who does not have a dad in the picture. I'm so thankful that the kids are not ashamed of this and explain it quite matter-of-factly to anyone who asks. They also have a clear understanding of how R. fits into the picture and how that is growing and changing. I was proud of him, though. When I asked him which picture of our family he wanted to bring, he said he wanted on with R. I asked if he wanted one of our family with T. or one with just the three of us to take as well. He said he wanted to take one with R. and and one with T. but not one of the three of us. What does that say about how he sees our family? I'm not entirely sure, but I feel good about how he feels about how our family will hopefully look in the future.

Maybe I just needed that good cry. Maybe I've got a hormonal thing going on (extremely likely -- apologies to my male readers). I don't think I have a season of sadness up ahead. I definitely feel the inclination to slow down these days and heed the call of the Spirit to look upward and inward. I am the sort of person who must be intentional about not moving and going constantly; it goes against every fiber of my being, but I know that I must do it. I want to enjoy my children at this fleeting time in their lives. I want to savor the fading of the heat and humidity from the air. I want to relish in the sound of a deep, familiar voice on the other end of the line that makes my heart smile even when the rest of my day has stressed me out and brought me down. There are too many lovely, precious blessings in my life and in the world to appreciate to allow something else to tug at my heart and throw me for a loop. Where ever this post finds you in your day, I hope it finds you feeling positive and hopeful. If not, go ahead and get the funk out of your system. There are better days ahead -- I'm sure of it.

Sweet Southern Comfort Part 2: Waffle House

What is this mysterious plateful of... stuff? Let me introduce you to the glory of the Waffle House chili cheese omlette, rivaled in satisfaction only by its close relation, the ginormous hashbrown that one can order in various states of culinary splendor. In this restaurant the size of a shoebox, you can order any kind of food you want 24/7. And even though you might die of a heart attack or explosive diahrrea on the way home due to the thousands of grams of animal fat you just consumed, you will die happy from the great service and hot coffee you just had only moments before.

We had the late night munchies after a day of airports, fellow passengers who reeked of stale smoke, and hugs and laughs for hours with long-lost comrades. We needed more than sustenance. We needed good cookin', the kind that calls for a stick of butter per serving or life-threatening quantities of gravy. There in front of us, like an oasis in the desert, was the Waffle House.

So much for Weight Watchers, sensible portion sizes, and spinach salads. I'm here in Hotlanta! Gimme some Waffle House! I've got pepto and the gym at home.

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Sweet Southern Comfort Part I

I haven't even boarded the plane, and already my fellow passengers think I'm nuts. One man, sitting at a forty-five degree angle on a waiting area bench with his legs sprawled out all over the aisle, commented loudly to his giggly lady friend, "Now who wants to take a picture of the door in the airport?". Satisfied with his brief foray into stand-up comedy, he unwittingly proceeded to do his best Santa Claus impression, chuckling so smugly that his bowl full of jelly shook in tidal waves.

Who takes pictures of doors in airports??? I'll tell you who. G.G.G.

Off to Atlanta now...

-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Army Wife Puts The Smack Down On A Purse Snatcher

Just another reason why you don't mess with a woman who is surrounded by her children constantly and hasn't had sex in almost a year! This local woman is a tribute to military wives doing what they have to do to keep the household running while the guys are out there in a modern wilderness. (Of course, this could have been a military husband keeping the homefires burning while his wife was deployed, but then again, wouldn't we all wonder why he was carrying a purse? I digress...)

I looked for a link to this story so you all could read it for yourselves, but the only online newspaper that carried this story is my local paper, to which I already subscribe. They wanted me to get an online subscription to access the story, which I find preposterous. So, I will boil it down for you, GGG style.

This lady -- we'll call her Wonder Woman for obvious reasons -- is a mother of three children and has a deployed military husband. She was at Wal-Mart the local mass discount retailer and was finishing up her grocery shopping after having dropped her youngest child off at watchcare on post. Being the proactive superhero that she is, she places her purse in the car before unloading her burgeoning cart. After having scanned her perimeter for enemy infiltrators, Wonder Woman dutifully returns her cart to the corrall, lest it wreak havoc on other minivans and SUVs Millenium Falcons or space shuttles and damage their force fields. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Swiper moving stealthily to her own rocket, left vulnerable by an open bay door. Faster than she can slap on her sparkly tiara and matching wristbands, she recognizes that Swiper is moving in quickly, and she recalls that the watchcare nazi on post won't allow her to pick up her child without her military ID. With her umbrella in her hand (remarkably, since we haven't had any rain in, like, four months), she proceeds to run after him at warp speed, yelling out, "Swiper, no swiping! Swiper, no swiping! Swiper, NOOOO SWIPING!" This alerted fellow shoppers as to the crime in progress.

By the time our fearless heroine caught up to Swiper, he was getting into the stolen space cruiser he was rollin' in. They fought, they struggled, they talked politics and religion, after which time Swiper attempted to shoot off into orbit WITH WONDER WOMAN STILL HANGING ON TO THE SIDE MIRROR OF THE VEHICLE!!! Upon being interviewed, Wonder commented that she "wouldn't encourage that type of response"; however, I want to kiss this fearless woman for taking the fight to the man!

All's well that ends well. Swiper is behind bars, and Wonder Woman was, in fact, able to get her child out of watchcare. (At least, I assume so -- there was no follow-up story about some woman who had abandoned her child at the CDC (Child Development Center) and thus tainting the image of our fearless heroine.) And that, dear readers, is why you never want to mess with a military spouse -- she will hunt you down and exact justice!

Jackals Are Running The School

I promise I didn't wake up this morning intending to be one of "those" parents. I sing the praises of teachers and extol the merits of attending school every time I get the chance, having been a teacher in my life before becoming a parent and appreciating any shred of parental or public support. But when the school that your child attends is run by jackals in capris and skirts, it is very difficult to maintain your Stepford smile and keep from vomiting simultaneously.

I considered utilizing my new mobile blog app to blog on-the-spot and snap a picture of the lovely sign at the front door of the school today, but thank the good Lord I had sense not to do that. Heaven forbid someone from my local area would recognize the school and get the local yokels down at the beauty shop or the feed and seed all worked up over talkin' about their baby sister's cousin's girlfriends... you get the point. Either that, or a serial killer with a widow fetish would track me down via my proximity to said school and kill me in my sleep. So I just decided I would come home and rant sans photograph.

Let me say this: I do like this school. I chose to support public schools. I was intentional about buying a home in this town and in this neighborhood in large part due to which school my children would be attending. I make a point to avail myself to my child's teacher and the PTA so that people are aware that they have public support. When I was a teacher in Kansas, we received very little parent support. I believe this was in large part due to the demographics of the local neighborhood and the number of single parent families we had with said parent working more than one job. We did what we could with the resources we had and loved on those kids while we had them, knowing that they would be fed, kept warm and clean, and learn something while they were there. As a Christian mom, I am intentional about getting to know teachers and students and praying for them when I can. I'm not decked out in school colors complete with face paint and pom pons on the first day of school, but I let the teacher know that I would be happy to volunteer when called upon.

That being said...

I've been having some "issues" with Li'l G's school. This stream started trickling in the spring of last year but has turned into a steady flow already on the third day of school. After getting a not-so-parent-friendly vibe last year, I was encouraged to know that some of the administration would be changing for this academic year and had high hopes that the climate would be much more relaxed as a result. Insert insane, high pitched laughing here.

If I have to hear the words "district policy" one more time for the rest of the year coming from the Gatekeeper at the front door, you will likely see headlines in the local paper about a local woman being apprehended for insane ranting and raving at the neighborhood elementary school. (Incidentally, during the writing of this post, the administrator in charge of student affairs commented that our school had moved to implement certain policies prematurely and that he would be going out there to "visit" with the principal today.)

The straw that threatened to break the camel's back came this morning. Apparently, parents are not allowed to walk their children to class anymore on the third day of school. While this really not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, it makes me question the priorities of the administrators and minions posted at doors to do their bidding. There are preschoolers in tears, apprehensive Kindergarteners, and even some very young first graders (Li'l G) who need to be shown that a big school of 700 other children and strange adults really is a safe place for them to be for eight hours, five days a week. If giving these children more than two days to acclimate to their surroundings helps them to be less anxious so that they can concentrate, then why is this a problem for "district policy"? According to the Gatekeeper, and I'm directly quoting here, "There are over 700 kids in this school. How are we supposed to keep track of who's tardy and who isn't if we have parents in the hallway?" I propose that, if we are more concerned about rounding up all the tardy children on the third day of school, many of whom are lost or crying to begin with, the "district policy" does not have its priorities in the right place.

What I understand is this: it is imperative that schools are safe for children. Schools and parents must have open, trusting relationships; otherwise, the efforts of teachers to instruct and support our children will be completely undermined by a strained relationship between the adults in the picture. We as parents are called to model behavior that we want our children to emulate, and respect for authority is one of those behaviors that we expect them to master and obey without question. Parents have to be able to show children how to obey rules, regardless of they agree with them or consider them valid. If school administrators expect parents to hold up their end of the bargain, the least they could do is not humiliate and condescend to them. If relationships are strained between parents and the school, there will always be friction for the entire time the kids are enrolled at the school, and trust me -- this attitude always trickles down to the classroom, which really is the bottom line.

Yes, I promise to behave and not vomit simultaneously upon walking upon school property. And I promise to instruct my children to follow rules regardless of their personal opinions on the matter. And yes, I promise to ask God to gently correct my attitude. But I also promise that I'm watching those jackals closely this year!

Have App, Will Blog

Mobile app bloggy test #2


-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Watch Me Blog In The Carpool Line!!

Mobile app test


-- Mobilelly Yours, GGG

Mobile test blog #1

Why I Go To The Gym

I walked away from exercise and physical exertion in a gym over 11 years ago after "tapping out" of my college's ROTC program. After only a year of doing hard PT, my joints were blown, I was exhausted, and I was beyond sick and tired of having to tolerate college boys "playing Army" when, in fact, most of them weren't even taking contracts to enter the military after college. I was only too happy to go back to a lifestyle of taking it easy, pursuing academic interests, eating and drinking to my heart's content, and popping out bowling ball-sized babies. Then I became a widow who would eventually have to get naked again and have the self-esteem not to be suicidal when I saw the look on the (un)lucky guy's face when he saw me in all my glory.

This was not the only reason why I decided to re-enter the realm of extreme neurosis physical fitness. I also realized, having recently turned 30, that I was no longer the perky, firm, healthy person I had conned myself into thinking I was. And some of you who know me or have seen me in person are already poo-pooing this and formulating your comments about how silly I'm being, etc. Perception is reality, and I try to be realistic about my age and size. Let's be honest, ladies: after 30, and perhaps children, things are longer and floppier than they used to be. You wake up one day and realize that there are simply some things in life you've got to accept and grow old gracefully. I can't make stretch marks disappear no matter how much CrossFit or P90X I do, or how many disgusting salads I force down my gullet. But I can declare war on poor muscle tone and cellulite!

So, with a couple of cute outfits, an iPod loaded with motivational music for kicking major hindquarters, and some specific workouts R. helped tailor for my needs, I entered the gym, dedicated to make my 30s the healthiest, most active and vital years of my life. Once I figured out how to make my gym experience be something I would look forward to instead of dread, I have to admit I was addicted quickly. I lost weight, and most importantly a lot of body fat, and gained a sense of accomplishment that I could affect this sort of change in my health.

That being said, this is not why I go to the gym.

My gym is fairly small. I like going in the mornings when both of the kids are in school. This is the time of day when the cardio room is full of senior citizens and a few stay-at-home moms. It's a pretty regular group of faces around here. I also started attending a pilates class and have been known to schedule doctor's and hair appointments around this class, as well as my cardio class. Again, a dedicated group of people, mostly women, are part of my regular experience in these classes.

Here is why I go to the gym: the people.

I have seen a young mother of two transform her life, and it motivates me. "Kristen" has gone from being over 50 pounds overweight with congestive heart failure to being toned and fit, lost weight, and a cardio junkie. She has literally bought years back of her life and will be able to see her children grow up, something that was seriously in danger of not happening just two years ago.

I have seen stay-at-home moms come out of their shells and network with one another, allowing themselves to invest in their own physical and emotional fitness to trust a childcare worker with their small children. They realize the importance of having a little "me" time and don't feel guilty for it.

I have seen senior citizens huff and puff at the cardio machines or shake their money makers in the Jazzercise class. As they are helping to fight off things like osteoporosis or heart problems, they are socializing and interacting in the community, reinforcing bonds and friendships that I imagine they've had for decades.

I have seen a friend of mine, who clearly lives with scoliosis, come to pilates regularly and is one of the advanced students in the class. I say "friend" -- I don't even know this woman's name. Upon hearing of my grandmother's surgery later in the day, she took the time to talk to me about her own ailing 90 year-old father and what her family is enduring. Even though we may not know each other's names, we notice when the other is not in class. We have only 5-10 minutes for any conversation, but I could tell you more about her than my next door neighbors.

Another pilates friend, "Linda," volunteers in quite possibly the scariest neighborhoods in Bell County. Upon hearing about my caregiving ministry that I'm researching and trying to develop, she asks if you have to be a member of the church to be involved. This woman has 20+ years of involvement in this type of ministry, and you can't tell me the Lord didn't place us in each other's paths so that we could be establishing a friendship that might prove to benefit ministry and outreach to the elderly, lonely, or needy.

Physical fitness is once again important in my life; however, the gym offers me spiritual exercise all the time. To see God moving and working in the lives of people, meeting everyone where they are and being blessed by the imprint that they make on this world, is something I never expected to see in an environent that smells of rubber flooring and body sweat. No wonder I'm so hooked.

Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

I'll be honest. I have never been a huge Farrah Fawcett fan. In fact, when I heard that she had a documentary showing her journey through cancer, I must admit it ticked me off a little. I mean, why should we care about this? Millions of average joes are diagnosed with and fight cancer on a daily basis. This whole "let me use my celebrity to put a 'face' on cancer" business just irritated me like a pebble in a shoe. The 'face' I put on cancer is that of my friend, Jenster. My grandfather. Li'l G's German oma back in Georgia. A hardcore Army wife. These are the real faces of real people that have been faced with cancer and kicked it square in the face and said, "Not today; not on my watch." Thanks anyhow, Farrah -- already have a meaningful association here without Hollywood attempting to create meaning here.

And then I watched her film, "Farrah's Story."

And then I felt like a jackass.

What I saw was not some blonde chickie who was famous in Hollywood. What I saw was a child of God, looking with eyes of bewilderment at life, at creation, and how death is not near as far away as many of us might think. I saw in her eyes fear, hope, caution, exhaustion, delight in simplicity, wonder. What I saw was a fellow human, trying to navigate her way in this sea of the uncertain human experience.

I was so touched. True, I really don't need to watch a movie to have an epiphany on the effects of a disease on a person, but in an age where we all drool like Pavlovian subjects at the mention of "reality television" or infidelity between Jon and Kate, this was reality. I believe the Discovery channel calls it "actuality." We do not need films like "Farrah's Story" to make cancer, alzheimers, or children with autism finally seem real to us; we need them to retain a sense of connection during very human experiences -- life, death, birth, love, grief, affliction -- all these things which God calls us to yoke alongside one another and experience in community.

I do not know if NBC will replay "Farrah's Story;" however, if it is rerun, do yourself a favor. Turn off the "Jon & Kate" episodes you DVRed and watch. It is a shining example of how one woman refuses to give up on herself, and those around her cannot help but love and support her and her tenacity. May we all go down fighting.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

--Dylan Thomas

C.S. Lewis: Narnia? Not Quite...

Let me lay the ground work; then, we'll get to the comments about C.S. Lewis...

So I've embarked on this journey of trying to gird my brains with information this summer. Information that will hopefully be a resource as I attempt to piece together a care giving ministry at my church. When my pastor initially discussed this with me, I was surprisingly excited about the task at hand. My normal reaction would be one of, "Oh, no, not me. I'm not qualified/ordained/organized/"holy" enough..." So many times I would be tempted to back out of leading such an effort, but this time I met his gaze with some enthusiasm. It's an area of ministry that I would have never picked out to be involved with, much less coordinate or lead others' efforts. So hopefully that's a seed of God-planted affirmation.

My second reaction was, "Uh oh. I am really not qualified." I graduated from an informal, two year training of "average joes" who want to step up their involvement in their church and congregation. I am not any sort of professional counselor, pastor, etc. When my pastor left in late January, I saw a need to pick up a neglected ministry and fulfill a need. I began visiting with and taking communion to the sick and immobile people who cannot make it to church anymore, and I have received enough positive feedback to know that my efforts are appreciated. However, this should not and cannot be a pastor-centered ministry. There are too many people, both in our congregation and the world at-large, who need this type of one-on-one ministry. It's called care giving. My favorite way of putting it: ministry of presence. A ministry of presence is something that we're all qualified and called to do as believers. My job will be to gather a dedicated group of volunteers and connect them with those in need of this intentional fellowship.

So it occurs to me that the only experience I have is that of being literally plopped into people's homes and apartments, praying that God would be amongst our fellowship and keep me from doing or saying anything stupid. If I am to serve as a servant leader, I need to have some resources. Essentially, I need some tools in my belt. Out of all the books I have chosen to read, this is the one I have finished first:

"A Grief Observed," by C.S. Lewis. I had heard about this book and wanted to read it for some time but had forgotten about it. Having lost a spouse, I am able to relate on some level to those who have also gone through this type of loss, but I'm constantly trying to find a way to express thoughts, glimpses, wrestlings with God that I have experienced to those who have not had to go through this. This book gives a voice to those of us who have been down this road but can't quite put a finger on how to describe it. If you have been through the death of a spouse, please read this book. If you are married, please read this book. C.S. Lewis, like myself, had to do some serious restructuring of how he perceived death, marriage, eternal life, Heaven, God, and so forth. For us, we had to go through our grief as we navigated these murky spiritual waters. Do yourself a favor now and really take a hard look at how you answer some of these questions:

1) What is the role of death in a marriage?
2) Regardless of what my religion tells me, do I expect to be reunited with my spouse and/or loved ones?
3) Where, geographically, is Heaven?
4) What type of awareness does one have after death?
5) Do relationships continue on after death?
6) What is the point of enduring pain?

Most of the people I know who read my blog (if they haven't given up on me yet! haha!) will have a Bible verse for each of these answers. I encourage you here: put away the Bible. Step away from the reliable comfort of the Word and go into a graduate level application without your notes. Close your eyes, and picture your spouse gone. Their smell, gone. Their snoring, gone. Their companionship, gone. The heat of their body pressed against you as you sleep at night, gone. And not deployed, either. Gone. Imagine forgetting the sound of their voice. Imagine wondering if the way you remember him/her is really the way he/she was at all. All of these factors, and many more that we cannot perceive ahead of time, weigh heavily on a person's heart and affects the answers to those questions. The type of relationship you have with God prior to an event like this significantly affects how you navigate grief and loss, but the experience itself gets equal billing in the decision making process of someone left in the wake of their absent mate.

Clive Staples Lewis (yes, that's what C.S. stands for) apparently never intended to publish these four journals, now chapters, that he penned after the death of his wife. Writing being his mode of expression, he worked out his grief ponderings on paper and left us a gift therein. What you witness is a man desperately in love, desperately lost, wrestling with himself, God, and the "grief process." His words are tender, raw, scathing, sorrowful, hopeful, realistic, searching, disturbing -- he is real about what he is experiencing. You will not find theology in this book. There are no fictional allegories about Aslan, no floral writing about "glory to God" or "let it be Thy will." Instead, you will take a peek into the mind of a one who has had part of him amputated and realizes he must somehow survive.

From the first paragraph of Chapter One, Lewis hits the nail on the head: "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness... At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed." Chapter Two is not for the faint of heart. Here is where he gets to the dirty work of wrestling with God, reality, and eternity. He speaks at length about one's faith being like a rope and the level of trust we assign to our beliefs. Sure, we trust a rope to keep a box tied shut. There is no stress on its fibers. However, "suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it?" (p. 23) He also muses over how our beliefs and our faith is like a delicate house of cards that, however carefully constructed, is easily demolished. He comes around in Chapter Four to a beautiful change in perspective about his house of cards, demonstrating that this type of spiritual questioning and challenging is necessary to prune our spiritual bushes in order to stimulate healthy growth.

One of the most profound observations he made was regarding death and marriage. For many of us, we see these two concepts in perhaps one of two ways:

1) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies. When the second partner dies, the relationship continues, almost as if it had been paused in the meantime. We're reunited, walking hand in hand for eternity; or,

2) We marry. We live together in marriage until one of the partners dies, at which time we are free to search for a partner and remarry. Wash; rinse; repeat. Reunification in heaven, maybe yes, maybe no.

In other words, we see death as either a cosmic pause in our relationship, or the finite end to it. Lewis believes that "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. It follows marriage as normally as marriage follows courtship or as autumn follows summer. It is not a truncation of the process but one of its phases; not the interruption of the dance, but the next figure." (p. 50) I felt as if someone had taken my hands out of cuffs the minute I read that. How freeing! For me, this makes marriage possible -- I don't have to fear death as being the unknown or the end. It is part of the process, the natural cycle of life and love, put into place by Life and Love Himself. It certainly does not remove pain, as pain is part of the natural experience of living as much as happiness or love. For some reason, it helps to make sense of pain to me.

I know this post may seem a little academic, and in a way, I would feel guilty reviewing C.S. Lewis and not paying closer attention to some of his details. I think this book was a great starting point for me, both personally and "professionally." Personally, I'm always in search of connecting with others who "get it." Professionally, I'm not a professional anything, besides maybe a speculator, but this is a great tool to hand to others who have not had this experience firsthand. It is a great tool for those going through a similar circumstance. Rather than preaching to people about what the Bible says about death, no more tears in Heaven, God will be your husband, and all the other ridiculous crap people have thrown my way, however well-intentioned it was at the time, I would rather hand this book to them and encourage them to see it as a conversation with a real person, looking realistically and practically at life, death, and love through a holy lens.

Class of 2021

It's hard to fathom, as you look at your squirming, bewildered newborn, that they will not always be tiny and helpless. Making a connection between this little stocking-capped person who can curl up in the crook of your arm and the lanky teenager smelling up your house isn't one easily made. And while my children are still quite young, the ways in which they have grown both delight and depress me. Simply put, they are growing up, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Case and point: Kindergarten graduation. Seriously, who came up with this? Someone who exacts emotional revenge on parents of five- and six-year olds, that's who. Is the growth chart on the bathroom wall not enough of a reminder that this precious, chubby person would rather watch High School Musical than Backyardigans, which WAS her favorite show until she left the soft, sweet cocoon of preschool? Do you just enjoy watching me in pain?!?

All drama aside, Li'l G did, in fact, graduate from Kindergarten today. Given the recent events in my family, as you can read from the previous post, my emotions have been maintaining the red-line area for a couple of weeks, so I was determined to keep it together for Li'l G's sake if for no other reason. This was actually quite simple to do, as I was shooting her daggers with my eyes since she and the little girl sitting next to her were giggling and pushing for the majority of the occasion. But, as per usual, I was struck by several precious moments during graduation that pressed through the floodgates and tore me up good.

After each student had walked the stage and received his or her awards and diploma, all of the Kindergarteners gathered on the stage to sing their sweet, innocent version of that song that says, "The world is a rainbow, made of many colors..." This song puts into simple language, that even they can understand, the concept of living in harmony with people who are different from us. What a profound Kindergarten concept with which we adults continue to struggle! What I saw on their faces: joy, opportunity, promise. I wanted to cherish that space in time for each of them, a time when children genuinely care about the well-being of every student in their class, a time when they know that, if only for that eight hour span of time at school, the adults in their lives love them and want to help them succeed. I watched each child walk across that stage, and I wondered what they would look like at high school graduation, if they made it that far. I watched the kids I knew well from Li'l G's class and cried because I was so stinkin' proud of each of them. These precious little people.

At the end of the gala event, yet another sadistic person had put together a slide show, a poignant compilation of pictures and song that captured each class and showcased the kids doing what they do in Kindergarten. Of course, the only dry eyes in the room belonged to Bud, who was begging to go home by this point in the show. All the while, I was literally willing myself not to cry. As the lights lifted and children were dismissed to accompany their parents back to their respective classrooms is when the bomb dropped on my house.

Li'l G was upset. She was crying, had apparently been crying for several minutes during the slide show. At first, I assumed that the events of the day had caught up with her and she realized she would miss her friends and teachers during the summer. (Keep in mind this is the child who weeps over sad books, cartoons and movies like, "Velveteen Rabbit," and, "Little One.") I asked her why she was so sad and was mentally preparing the salve for her little breaking heart when she said, "I'm sad because I miss Daddy."

Of course, this same thought had been playing in my head during all of graduation. We have reached the beginning of many milestones in life that will come and go without the presence of T. by her side to cheer her on and be her Number One fan. It's a day I have dreaded since November 30, 2005. The mother in me grieves for my children that they will experience their loss over and over again every time something like this comes up. As wonderful as today was, there was no denying its bittersweet aftertaste. The Christian in me reasons back at Grief, reminding me that death has been conquered by the Risen Christ and that the connection between T. and his children is still there and remains forever, albeit behind a gossamer-thin veil that is just opaque enough to always leave room for them to doubt his eternal love of them and how proud he will always be of who they are. In the end, we just sat there, Li'l G and I, and had a good, ugly cry, the world of happy mommies, daddies, and grandparents swirling around us, completely oblivious about the little girl with the broken heart huddled with her mother who could do nothing but quietly cry with her.

What Li'l G and I experienced together was only part of what occupied my thoughts. After I thought of what a loss it was for T. not to see his children grow up, blossom, and move through life, I thought what an opportunity this would've been for R. to have been here today. If we are ever going to transition to being a blended family, R. will have to be there for these milestones. What I have learned thus far, and will no doubt be doing graduate-level research on this summer, is that the transition time of learning how to blend a family makes the milestones less bittersweet. R.'s presence, be it simply in our lives or physically being there, is tangible evidence of the cycle of life, continuing to grow and change into a new person or a new situation. R. brings continuity to a life that has felt like the pause button was pushed almost four years ago. His presence does not erase the pain; rather, it demonstrates that it can be survived and that life, most assuredly, goes on.

The date today is June 2, 2009. I've got 12 more years of living and loving to prepare for Li'l G's next big step into the world. Congratulations, Little Lady. I'm so proud of you.

"I thank my God every time I remember you... he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." -- Philippians 1:4, 6

Legacies

I have had a million things on my mind about which to blog: an unbelievable show I watched recently about Amish teenagers, some of the lessons I've been learning as my involvement in ministry grows and changes, personal updates, etc. All of that came to a screeching halt on the Friday before the Memorial Day holiday weekend when my grandmother suffered an acute gall bladder attack that nearly took her life and left my family completely rattled.



The circumstances of how things began are nothing short of miraculous. Any other day of the week, she would've experienced the beginning of her symptoms in a quiet, empty house as my grandfather ran his usual errands around town. (Although he is an octogenarian, his energy and drive puts many of us whippersnappers right in our place. I have definitely inherited some of his "ADD"-like behaviors, haha...) At any rate, my grandparents had company -- my uncle from California -- who was able to get her quickly to medical care. Had he not been there, all of us would hate to put together the picture of how this story could have played out. At any rate, the random timing of his short visit didn't seem so random after seeing this happen.



As I write this, we have had many ups and downs with my grandmother's physical and mental condition. The life-saving surgery she requires is too risky at this point, so the best thing for her is to rest and regain her strength; however, in the back of my mind, I'm wondering how long until we see a repeat of her extreme pain and agony if this flares up again before she is strong enough for surgery.



Something that has frightened some family members is her willingness to go Home. As far back as I can remember, my grandmother has made very clear to me that we all have important work to do "in the highways and hedges" for the Lord until we are called Home, which is where our hearts should ultimately be pointed. When we have talked of injustices and violence going on in the world, especially in regards to children who are abused or starving, she is always moved to tears, her spirit grieving for the Lord to return and bring His own unto Him. While I would love to see her make a full recovery and return to her St. Francis of Assissi-like love and care for her birds and squirrels at her home, as well as her music ministry at a local nursing home, I know that both physically and mentally she is exhausted and weary. I know that she yearns to see Jesus and add her voice to the chorus of those worshipping at the throne. I will be honored to see her through whichever journey God sees fit to send her on, be it here or there. But what moved me to tears was thinking about what she will leave behind.



"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same." This quote by Flavia has always been a profound truth for me. Especially after T. died, I could really relate. But what I think about today is the legacy my grandmother leaves behind, what each of us will leave behind. We hear a lot in today's media about presidents and their legacies, how they have shaped the nation in various ways during their time in office. In our own personal lives, we each leave behind a legacy. I've also heard the analogy that children are like glasses, and parents leave behind some kind of indelible fingerprint on the glass, while some parents crack or completely destroy this fragile material. The way we act, think, dress, virtually everything about us impacts those around us and leaves a lasting impression, hopefully a good one if we're lucky.



The legacy my grandmother has already created was so easy to see on the faces and in the hands of my family over the last week or so. There were eight to ten of us waiting to take shifts and sit with her, feed her, or console her at any time during the day or night. The sense of family connection in the ICU waiting room was virtually palpable. But consider who we have learned this from: this is a woman who has hardly sat still a day in her life to eat a complete meal. She is the most selfless serving person I have ever seen, somehow being both Mary and Martha at the same time. Even as she worked hard alongside my grandfather to care of five children of her own, she also tirelessly cared for the sick and elderly in her neighborhood, worked around the clock to care for her own ailing mother and mother-in-law. She lived through the Great Depression as the daughter of a widow and still manages to have a song in her heart and a smile on her face. She is kind and gentle to animals and children alike, and is a prayer warrior to make Mother Teresa look like a complete slacker. She wears her "Good News" pin everywhere she goes as a conversation starter so that she can tell people about Jesus when they inquire about what her pin means. She is Jesus in the flesh.



Her legacy lives on in me as well. Many people firmly believe that, unless you have a "come to Jesus" moment, then you have not really accepted Christ into your heart and made your choice for Him. (Which I have a massive theological difference with, but we'll just save that for another blog...) I was raised with Jesus. He has been a constant presence in my life, as much as my own parents and siblings. My grandmother has everything to do with that. She also frightened me to death about what Hell was going to be like, but again, that's another blog. I have never questioned: a) that Jesus loves me, b) that He is always present with me, even when I feel abandoned and alone, c) I could never stray so far away from Him that He will not always love me, d) that He is the one true Son of God, e) that He died on my behalf so that I might be forgiven of all my sins, etc. You can see where this is going. She didn't cram a bunch of scriptures down my throat and tell me I couldn't listen to pop radio in the '80s or that I had to wear long dresses and never cut my hair. She simply modeled what it means to be a Christian in a fallen world. She explained things to me, sang with me, prayed with and for me, taught me to love others and to be kind. She taught me to bring my faith in a meaningful way to others, not through pleading or judgment, but through example and service. As I embark on care giving ministry at my church, I feel like my life has come full circle, in many ways because of the tiny seed which she planted thirty-something years ago.



As I wrestle over what it's like to watch someone fighting for their life, possibly dying before my eyes, I'm realizing that growing older and aging can be a scary thing, but not the frightening experience I once envisioned. It can be a brave, graceful experience journeying slowly back to God, one that I am humbled and honored to be a part of. I only pray that He loans her to us for a little while yet -- there is so much I feel I have left to learn before she is gone.



"For God so loved the world He sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." --John 3:16

A Soldier's Prayer

"I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey...
I asked for health, that I might do greater things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things...
I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise...
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God...
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things...
I got nothing that I asked for -- but everything that I had hoped for,
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among all men most richly blessed."

-- An Unknown Confederate Soldier



"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." -- John 15:13

Good Grief

No, this is not a post about Charlie Brown. I've been doing a little digging around today on some professional resources for care giving and contemplating some of my errands and have had a minor epiphany. Sort of, I think.

I met with the current pastor at church today. As many of you know, I completed training as a Parish Lay Minister in January and have been involved in a care giving sort of ministry to people who, for whatever reason, cannot make it to church any more. We spoke for a couple of hours about the work I've been doing, current needs, what we'd like to see this evolve into, what needs we'd like to anticipate or programs that should be developed. In short, it's too much work to pile upon a pastor, or even to share between a pastor and one or two other people who volunteer to help. What we need is a swat team of caregivers, which is basically what I've been charged to develop.

Uh, ok. Just how in the heck am I supposed to do this?!? I've barely got any experience doing this myself, much less be the one coordinating and training volunteers! So where can I turn for resources on care giving, I asked the pastor. He sent me to the Stephen Ministries website. Some of you may have heard of this incredible caregiving ministry that is offered in churches of all denominations. It is one-on-one support between the care receiver and a lay person (i.e., trained "average joe," not a pastor), and there is extensive training for those who are said ministers. I don't know all the details, but you can read up on it by hitting the link.

Anyhoo, I stumbled upon a book that I ordered that I would love to buy for every person on planet Earth to manditorily read: "Don't Sing Songs to a Heavy Heart: How to Relate to Those Who Are Suffering." It's written by the man who got this ministry started, and I can't wait to read it. It immediately made me think of Job's friends who thought so highly of themselves and of the godly words they thought they were offering, when actually they were being insufferably cruel. It's kind of funny, actually. I remember reading the book of Job some time after Tom died, and some of my Christian friends assumed that I was reading it to identify with Job being faithful to God despite his overwhelming grief. Actually, I turned to Job to know how to deal with people who thought they were bringing help into my life when, in fact, they were crushing my heart and adding to my grief. And don't get me wrong -- we see how God deals with Job, who got it right up to a point. But I am infinitely glad that there is a book in circulation that deals with this problem.

So many people earnestly and innocently believe that offering words of hope and scripture are a way to shed holy, loving light on loss. To the person on the receiving end, it's a real crap shoot as to whether or not those words will be received in the way in which they were intended. And while the person trying to offer support and comfort might feel hurt by the rejection of their sentiments, it would be soooo helpful if they could remember: it's not about them. To expect someone experiencing raw emotions and navigating the pea-soupy waters of grief to be socially acceptable, gracious, understanding, etc., of this is really asking a lot. Not everyone is able to look past it and know that you didn't mean to hurt them, or you're just trying to share your faith, or whatever your reasons might have been. The best thing to say is...

Nothing. Just be there.

At least, that has been my experience and that of many others I have known who have gone through loss of any sort. And loss doesn't necessarily mean death, but that's another post althogether...

At any rate, if you find yourself working with people, working in a church setting, etc., this book might be worth the read. I'll let you know in a month or so what I think about it.

The other thing that has got my hamsters jogging is non-traditional living. And by that I don't mean gay marriage, so just don't even go there. Let me explain...

As I was happily Googling before pilates this morning, over my cup of Hawai'ian joe, I googled something to the effect of "fathers day second dad," "fathers day dad in training," etc. What I was going for was gift or card ideas for the man in my children's lives who loves and adores them, shares in their care and discipline when we are together, etc. What I found were dozens of posts on discussion boards of women wondering how to honor these kinds of men in their lives. Some of the answers back were interesting, funny, and downright rude. What stuck out to me was this:

1) I'm not the only one going through this.

2) There's a growing need in our society to address the non-traditional sector. Like it or not, I think we're here to stay, y'all.

I know that this may not affect many of you, but once it does, it becomes stark and apparent to you in every area of your life. I have had to explain for three years now why my kids attend the Father's Day luncheon with their grandfather and hope and pray that it doesn't make them sad. My kids don't have active memory of T. -- R. is the only father figure they have known. I cringe every time we pass a little girl wearing a "Daddy's little princess" t-shirt now that Li'l G can read. What section of Hallmark do you head to in order to find a Father's Day card for a widow, or a Mother's Day card for a widower? Where exactly are the "Not-So-Merry Christmas" cards for those going through their first holiday after losing a loved one? Is it possible to find a Father's Day card for a man who has not biologically fathered children with you yet, but yet fathers your children? What kind of sentiment is passed along to a foster parent or other family member functioning like a parent? What about those of us who want to celebrate major milestones in our lives, like being cancer-free for an entire month or year, or becoming a "hyster-sister?" I don't point these things out to get to wear my martyr pin again, but these are just the things I was pondering today...

While I am certainly not the fount of creativity from which this line of alternative Hallmark will spring, but if I was smart, I'd come up with something and slap a copyright on it because non-traditional life and experiences are actually becoming pretty commonplace.

What I've walked away with is this: the amount of need in this world is overwhelming to a human, but thankfully, not so for God.

Communion, Cats, and Coconuts

Bum bum BUUUMMMM!!!! I'm baaaackkk!

Yes, I've been away for, well, a little while. Some Many of you have noticed that it's been almost three months since my last entry. Several reasons for that:

1) As mentioned in the previous entry, I've been concentrating time back in the gym. I realized that the holiday pounds were sticking around, and I was already back from my spring break trip with the kids -- in March. I've kept up my committment to pilates and stepped up my cardio to three days/week. I ended up scrapping the CrossFit because it was really bulking me up. I looked like a ghetto girl sans ghetto, bootily speaking. Wasn't pretty. Had to drop weightlifting altogether, and my joints were happy to hear the news.

2) My former pastor officially left at the end of February, leaving me to stand in the gap for a crucial area of ministry that had been neglected -- fellowshipping with and taking communion to our shut-ins. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a "shut-in" is someone in ill health or has any sundry other reason(s) why they are unable to come and worship with us at Sunday services. Many times these people are in nursing homes or assisted living facilities; other times, they are simply home-bound and it isn't safe for them to venture out of the house or be around crowds of germ-toting people. This item right here is an entire series of blogs that have been simmering in my heart like rich, hearty gumbo -- it's worth blogging about, but I will have to be careful to be confidential. So so so many things I want to share that I have learned while serving in this capacity. Needless to say, since we have not had a full time pastor, I'm the one making hospital visits and making sure these people are not forgotten during times of transition.

3) Spring break came in March, and we braved the wet and cold to spend time with R. These trips are so much fun. The kids are old pros now at navigating airports, long lines at security, and moving walkways. Flying through Denver feels like stopping at an old friend's house at this point.

4) We had to find a new home for the cats. This was a significant emotional event at my house. I spent many a sleepless night in prayer, which may seem silly considering what a burden and source of annoyance Newman in particular has been (the white one), but they have always been family nonetheless. Blog forthcoming on this topic for sure.

5) The month of April is a nightmare some years. This year really wasn't too bad, church-wise. The lenten season brings with it extra fellowship opportunities during the week, as well as contemplative worship time. Unfortunately, extra rehearsals for church musicians can wear out small children and their already-worn-out parents. My nephews also have birthdays two weeks apart in April, so we are always pulled in many directions this month. Went by in a flash.

6) We just went to Hawai'i for eight days and partied our coconuts off! We came home feeling like solar panels for the lush, tropical sun. We made sure R. wasn't lonely over there as he worked, and we also made sure that the beaches and pools were well-supervised. I was repeatedly hit on by a homeless diabetic man who wore a wool beanie to the pool and claimed to be Sean Connery and wanted to spread the Good News of the gospel. Apparently, God had only called him to spread said Good News to women in two piece bathing suits, so poor R. missed out on the fun.

The bummer of this trip is two-fold. Readjusting to the time change, which for us is five hours this time of year. The kids, as per usual, did fine. I was dragging for a couple of days. But I came back to a calendar with nothing on it, and I was so bored not having R. around. Also, switching from having someone with whom to share your time, even the mundane everyday sort of stuff, to being a single parent who sits in a quiet house alone every night is nothing short of bizarre. And even though there's always conversation over the phone, nothing beats having a shoulder to curl up next to as you laugh hysterically at "King of the Hill."

Am I sorry for the lag time here? No, not really. I have missed all the people that read my blog and leave comments. I will confess: I haven't actually been keeping up with my bloglines. I'm sure the post count is well into four digits at the rate most of you guys blog. But to be quite honest, I love working out. I love the smell of fresh-cut grass and something cooking on the grill. I love hanging out with 90 year-olds who are raging against the dying of the light or have served proudly in WWII and Korea. I love chaperoning field trips (sometimes). I love ripping weeds out of my yard and re-discovering my flower bed. I love watching the sun set as I drink a frozen sangria-swirled margarita while the kids chase bugs and watch the boats go by at one of my new favorite restaurants. I love spending time, even if we don't speak with words, with my sweetie. I love rescuing garden snakes from being run over in traffic. I'd trade real life for a computer screen any day of the week.