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.

Empowered For The Journey

I have taken up a new hobby of sorts. It's insane and brilliant at the same time. I have become a little bored with my regular gym routine ever since I decided a year ago to reclaim my health at the beginning of my thirties and start making it look good. It's called Crossfit. I blame this latest addiction on R., as he was the one who began doing this last spring, and I completely scoffed at it. Me, do a pull up?!? Uh, yeah, what prescription medication are you abusing? You surely have me confused with someone who cares about more than Cheetos, Double Stuff Oreos, and sleeping in at every possible opportunity.



I did eventually roll my bones back into the gym and have been pretty hooked on it ever since. R. should be a personal trainer because, not only does he have an endless wealth of information about physical fitness and the human body, but he's a great motivator. The times we've hit the gym together have been great. I need someone to cheer me on and hold me accountable, and he's my Number One Fan. Or at least does a great job of making me think so as every cell in my body is crying, "Mutiny!" and begging for me to stop and rest.



With his encouragement, my disgusting vanity and competetive nature, and the knowledge that I'm actually caring for the temple entrusted to me by my Creator, I feel empowered to do things and experiment with activities that I would have never even considered five years ago. It makes me feel more productive, and I also like setting this example for my children of caring about being active and taking care of myself while I am in good health. God empowers us, too, and helps up to develop our spiritual fitness that will serve us in the future when we need to rely on it during hard times.



In Mark 9:2-13, we read about Jesus' transfiguration. Some miraculous things happen that are more than a little confusing to the disciples, and likely a little terrifying to boot. The voice of the Father commands them to listen to the "beloved Son," and afterwards the Father has empowered the Son for the next stage in his life, that of his active ministry, an intense time of movement and preaching that begins a sort of countdown to his eventual death and resurrection. In short, Jesus has one heckuva journey ahead of him.



Many theologians, from the days of the Acts 2 church until our own present time, like to debate Jesus' humanity versus his divinity. Was he really a human, true flesh and blood? Is it possible for him to have actually been God? Is it conceivable that he was actually fully both God and human, or some weird combination? I'll leave that argument to the true theologians. My personal belief is that Jesus was fully human and fully divine, "God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father," as we read in the Nicene Creed. This is the understanding from which I work. That being said, the way I understand this passage is such:



Jesus had a mission during his time among us, and like all things, God had a perfect time during which Jesus would serve out obediently that purpose for which he was sent. This was it -- showtime. Jesus didn't go around speaking in parables and working miracles as a toddler or a teenager, although we know that he was raised in a way that had him in and around the temple and discussion of the books of Moses. This was a new journey in his life, and God gave all power and glory to Jesus so that he would have the tools he needed to go the distance.



As I heard these words in church yesterday, I thought about all the people I know and the different journeys they are on. Some are embarking on journeys of physical healing and recovery, some are journeying into the realm of the unknown after having lost jobs in this crummy economy. Others are tentatively dipping their toes into the scary, deep pool of dating after divorce. Yet others can see the next journey that God is calling them to take, and they are hesitant to take that first step into the unknown. Personally, I'm embarking on a journey of service in my church to minister to those who are ill or elderly and cannot attend Sunday services. No matter what road we are all on in this life, God is standing on the sidelines cheering us on and empowering us to continue moving forward. God is the source of our strength, not our own mental fortitude or best efforts. By surrendering that control to God, we allow God to completely fill us with the skills, insights, patience, endurance for the journey ahead. Like R. cheering me on to do that last painful set of pull-ups or squats, God is there to see us through and knows what we need to keep us going.

A Proud Pookie

Yeah, yeah, I know I haven't blogged in a while, but that's a whole other blog. R. and I were entertaining ourselves tonight by dinking around on the internet, and he told me about this movie he was in on YouTube. While most people might raise an eyebrow when their significant other admits that they are in a "movie on the internet," I didn't flinch -- I know my Pookie.

I just have to say this: I'm so stinkin' proud of the work he did while he was over there on his last deployment to Iraq and everyone who continues the mission. I love getting to see him in action, doing what he loves. That's my Pookie!

Nec aspera terrent!!