After Christmas

I don't know who the author of this poem is. It was among some things a friend sent me last summer. I found it this morning, a true blessing on my day.



When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.

The real Me

Several things people have said to me recently are ringing in my ears. "You remind me of myself." "I doubt that you could have mis-understood me." "I am in awe of how you have handled this." "I want you to hear I simply spoke your truth of how wonderful you are."

The people who said these things are far wiser and far more successful in life than I would ever hope to be. And honestly, they are the ones who have had the opportunity to see the REAL Me. The real Me is honest, compassionate, loving, caring, sometimes even wise.

Why isn't the real Me always visible? I am struggling with this part of my Spiritual Journey. So many people in my life have not had the opportunity to see this. I am simply not sure of what part I play in that. I understand much of the psycho babble about transference and projection. Yet, deep down inside, I still feel a bit helpless in understanding any of this.

For one thing I am profoundly grateful. For all of my friends who read this blog, stay in community with me and walk this walk with me in love and compassion: I am in your debt forever.

Weaning

I tend to look at things differently than most people. Many years ago, I came across a definition of weaning that has stuck with me. The author of a breastfeeding book invited me to look at weaning as a sense of being fulfilled. Weaning can be done, gently and with love. I read this poem today, and it brought tears to my eyes.



Wean Me Gently

by Cathy Cardall

I know I look so big to you,
Maybe I seem too big for the needs I have.
But no matter how big we get,
We still have needs that are important to us.
I know that our relationship is growing and changing,
But I still need you. I need your warmth and closeness,
Especially at the end of the day
When we snuggle up in bed.
Please don't get too busy for us to nurse.
I know you think I can be patient,
Or find something to take the place of a nursing;
A book, a glass of something,
But nothing can take your place when I need you.
Sometimes just cuddling with you,
Having you near me is enough.
I guess I am growing and becoming independent,
But please be there.
This bond we have is so strong and so important to me,
Please don't break it abruptly.
Wean me gently,
Because I am your mother,
And my heart is tender.

Disappointed

One time, I was (finally) asked out by the cutest guy at school. He took me to the dance. He danced with me once and took off with another girl. I was left stunned. I didn't even understand what happened. He said he wanted to go with me. He said he liked me. He said a bunch of things. Yet, when the time came he did something totally different. Worse than that, he acted like he had done nothing wrong. At the time, I was so stunned, so naive, I didn't even know how to act. I just cried and felt sorry for myself. It was a terrible feeling.

Years have gone by, but I will admit that I still find myself in situations where I am still get stunned and disappointed. I still don't know what to do. Making people carry through with their promises is not possible. Either they follow through or they don't. Even when they make a solemn promise during a Baptism, you have to leave it to them. They can make a promise to have your voice heard. Yet, if their are no ears to hear, they cannot follow through. A boss can hire you with a bunch of promises of change. Then you find out that it was all words.

I've just realized that I make very few promises to people. I don't want to disappoint. I am learning to try to be clear with people what they can expect from me. The first thing they should expect is that I am human. I can promise that I will make mistakes. I can also promise that I will always offer an apology when I do mess up.

So, if you are reading this, please forgive me. I am spending some time very disappointed. I know that Advent is a time of expectation. I know that I am supposed to be hopeful for the Light to enter this world. Right now, it just feels pretty dark for me.

Bread pudding

This is a story I wrote several years ago. I look forward to making bread pudding in a couple of days!!

Bread Pudding

One of the fondest memories I have of thanksgiving is learning how to make bread pudding with my grandmother. I spent my first married Thanksgiving eve night with her to help her cook. I was so excited to be a part of the preparations that year. My husband went to bed, and I stayed up late with Gaga and we talked and laughed while making bread pudding. I, personally, have never been a big fan of the stuff. We only had it on Thanksgiving as a request from my uncle. The hard sauce we put on top of it is my favorite part. Actually, it is the making of the hard sauce that is the best. Well, over the years I helped Gaga make the bread pudding. We made it a little bit different every time. it was fun tasting it until we felt we had the right consistency and flavor. Well, my grandmother died this year, and I had to make the bread pudding on my own. I had no written recipe, only my memories of cooking with my grandmother. The dessert actually turned out really well. I was grateful to realize that I learned the art of making the pudding. I do feel the need to have a written recipe for posterity, knowing that practice is the only way to get it just right.
I decided to halve the recipe my grandmother always used. I did not have a huge crowd attending, and did not want much leftover. So, I used one loaf of bread instead of two. I took the loaf of white bread and spread it out on the counter and left it out over night. If you plan to use two loaves, you might want to make one of them whole wheat bread. It adds a little fiber and color to the pudding. When it came time to break the bread up, I put my kids to work. They had a good time tearing the bread up into little pieces. Put them all into a big bowl. In a smaller bowl, beat up two eggs. Add the following to the eggs:
About a cup of milk.
About a quarter cup of sugar.
About half a teaspoon of salt.
About half a teaspoon of cinnamon.
About a teaspoon of baking powder.
Take this bowl of liquid, stir it up and dump it over the bread. Start squishing the bread around with the milk mixture. Yes, you must use your hands in this recipe. Keep squishing and adding milk until you get the right consistency. It took us about 15 minutes to get it just right. I want to describe it like a pourable pudding. I tasted it several times, adding sugar and cinnamon as needed. You want to avoid big pieces of bread in the mixture, so tear the bread and squish it as needed. When you think that you have it just right, pour it into a greased pan. You want the thickness to be about one inch, so use whatever sized pan works, or use two. Cook at 350 until firm. Gaga use to cook it until it was hard. This is where I differ. I think I like it better still a little bit squishy.
If you ever want to learn how to make the hard sauce, you must show up at my house for on Thanksgiving and learn how to make it in person. It is the act of making it that is so much fun. It is the most fun part of the day, and also the most tasty. I hope that you enjoy the recipe for bread pudding as much as I have enjoyed it.
Love Melissa Senf

Friends

So, I seem to be learning about this parenting thing as I go. I have entered into the teen aged phase of things. I have decided this part is far harder than anything else, except for the 3 year old girl phase. I happen to be dealing with both right now: at the same time!
I was lamenting this to my spiritual guide. She is from Africa and has a much different take on raising children than Americans. Her suggestion this morning: befriend your teenager. Wow. Isn't that against our cultural norm? Aren't we supposed to battling things out and learning about rules and punishment? Isn't that the quote you hear most people saying "I'm your mother, not your friend!"
It has made me think. Can we be both? I think some of that has to do with understanding what a friend really is. I think my view of friendship is different than many Americans. I think a friend is someone who is in your life because of who you are, not what you do. I think a friend is someone who knows how to be a friend, and accept friendship. I think a friendship transcends any roles in life we might have. I think it is a relationship based on respect, love and clear boundaries. I guess with this definition, I aspire to being friends with my children. Certainly, once punishment, defiance and arguing enter a picture; things begin to get broken down. I want our house to be a place where things are built up.
I think that where parents start getting into trouble is in using their kids for a sense of their own identity. It can become very complicated when a parent needs their child to like them. This muddled kind of 'friendship' is not based on clear boundaries.
I think back on the friendships that I have been able to nurture with some people. These relationships started out with distinct roles that would not be conducive to 'friendships'. Yet, with love, respect and clear boundaries: we have transcended the roles into loving friendships. I hope this can hold true with my children. I certainly hope that they can count on me when things get rough in their lives. I pray that I can find a way to befriend them.

Change

I recently read an article in a Yoga magazine. It says that we should see change as initiation. I found it intriguing considering the many changes I seem to be going through. Some have even called it a Transforming time for me. It made me think of the example set for my by my maternal grandmother. I call her Gaga.
My grandmother was a 'cradle Episcopalian'. Going to the same little church at the end of the road from 3 months until she was 92 years old. At age 92, she was not able to drive, nor get up the church stairs. So, she was left at home most Sunday mornings because no one offered to help her get the short distance to church, or up the stairs. Lamenting her lack of church going to a neighbor, he instantly offered to take her to church with him. So, at 92, Gaga changed churches. This little Methodist church would embrace her, building a ramp for her wheelchair.
I can still remember how excited Gaga was at being a member of a church community again. I watched her glow with love for her new church family. I was so proud of her ability to change a 92 year old way of worshiping.
When Gaga was 95 years old, we faced the reality that she needed to be in an assisted care facility. Instead of dreading the change, she (once again) embraced it. She declared it would be her ministry to help her her neighbors by 'lifting their spirits.'
Someone told me that we learn the most from our elders. They really are the ones that shape us more than our parents. I hope that I can continue to learn from the examples that were set for me. I am hoping that I can embrace change and see what initiation it brings.

What if...

What if everything I had ever done in my life were exactly what I was supposed to do?

What if every mistake, misjudgement, error and loss of temper were a part of my journey simply to teach me the next lesson?

What would our world be like if we saw ourselves through this lens of being perfect and deserving of compassion and unconditional love?

What if we learned simply to love ourselves?

Where would our children be if we learned to love them unconditionally? What if we held our judgement and punishment? What if we held our sharp words and humiliation? What would our children learn from being guided, loved and discipled? What if we parents' learned how to invoke our children to trust us instead of provoking them to anger?

Where would I be if I saw myself as being loved unconditionally? What if I felt that I deserved to be shown compassion, love, respect and dignity simply by being born? What if we discarded our need to perform in order to receive love? What if love were just simply there for the receiving?

What if I looked at myself with compassion? What if I looked at my own journey with love and respect? What if I simply accepted myself as being Beloved?

Raising kids

When I first found out I was pregnant, my husband and I set a goal. We wanted our children to grow up to be a compassionate and happy people. Nothing else really mattered. We didn't care what career they chose. We were not going to worry much about grades, sports, or other accomplishments. We were willing to accept any physical or mental deficiencies in our children. We just hoped for them to understand and give compassion. We have a great desire for them to be happy.
Four kids later, I can say that we still have this is our goal. It really is more of a mission statement. We have gone back to this goal many times when we were struggling with a decision. We will continue to try to do this as long we are lucky enough to be parents.
Someone gave me a book a few weeks ago. I hadn't paid much attention to the full title until today. This book is really hitting home with me, and helping me affirm many things. When I looked at the title, I realized why. It goes back to our mission statement: Attached at the Heart. 8 Proven Parenting Principles for Raising Connected and Compassionate Children. It was written by Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker.
I am grateful for haven started out my parenting with a goal like this. I am certain that it has helped me far more than my children. It helped me because I had to learn how to be a connected and compassionate person. I had to learn this so that I could model it for my kids. I had to allow myself to be broken and put back together with this mission in mind.
Parenting has been the most difficult undertaking in my life. I am sure that it will continue to break me in ways I had never thought possible. As I sat and listened to one of my childhood heroes speak last night, I knew that this work was worth it. He was a coach who won a national championship in 1981. He was an icon in my youth. He told the crowd in no uncertain terms: being a parent is the most important thing in this world. He said that his championship means very little compared watching his players become parents and grandparents. It was great to hear that message. It helps me stay focused on this goal my husband and I share of raising these kids. So, I keep muddling through this parenting journey of mine. I do it with gratitude for this kids, friends and family who have walked this walk with me.

Brothers

This is from a book I am reading by Elie Wiesel. It is dedicated to someone who watched his brother turn his back on suffering. This is a story that goes back to Cain and Abel. When will we humans ever learn?

"He did nothing to console his brother, to cheer him up or appease him. He who was responsible for Cain's sorrow did nothing to help him. He regretted nothing, said nothing. He simply was not there, he was present without being present. No doubt he was dreaming of better worlds, of holy things. Cain spoke to him and he did not listen. Or else he listened but did not hear. Therein lay his guilt. In the face of suffering, one has no right to turn away, not to see. In the face of injustice, one may not look the other way. When someone suffers, and it is not you, he comes first."
p. 57 'Messengers of God'

Anger

I was at a conference last weekend. A friend of mine introduced me to a lady by telling me that she has the most beautiful labyrinth on her property. I told her that I has started building one also, but I never finished it. She asked ‘why not’. My answer came out of my mouth before I could even think about it. “I started it in anger.” At the time, I was very angry at several things in my life, and digging in the ground seemed like a good channel for that anger. Hauling the bricks around, raking, I enjoyed being able to let my body move, hurt and sweat. It was good for me. At the time, I thought my anger would be helpful in getting me to finish this small labyrinth for me to spend time in a walking prayer. This comment to a complete stranger helped me understand something.
Anger has a place in life. It helps protect us, it gives us energy to confront injustice. It is something that we should see as a normal part of our lives. As a child, I was never allowed to express my anger. Instead, I turned it inward. One person told me that most adolescents with drug addiction problems usually have a great deal of anger under that addiction. I am not sure why our culture, especially that Southern culture decided that anger was a bad thing. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Ugh!
Ok, back to my labyrinth. It is sitting behind me, overgrown with weeds, only 2/3 complete. It sits as a reminder to me of something. Anger, once fully expressed, usually runs out of energy. It seems to be self-limiting. I wonder what a new labyrinth will look like when I start it with peace.

Contempt

My husband and I took part in a marriage workshop last winter. The facilitator talked about the 4 dark horsemen of relationships. The worst one was contempt. She said that once contempt entered a relationship, it was in great danger of falling apart.
I, initially, spent a great deal of time in contemplation of where I saw contempt in other people. They say that familiarity breeds contempt. I see this as being a very true statement. So, as I observed some of my feelings of contempt for someone, I decided that I had a choice to make. I really don’t think that a relationship has room for both love and contempt. I think that you have to choose between the two. This helped me strengthen my resolve to stay healthy in my marriage, and several friendships. I would welcome the familiarity and resist any contempt that started to seep in, realizing that contempt would prevent me from loving that person.
Well, to every lesson learned, there is another side. I also started paying attention to how I was being treated by people in my life. I started picking up on other’s contempt of me. This was a hard thing to realize in people who I had thought to be very good friends. I can now see that some people would rather hide behind contempt for another person. This makes me very sad for them. I also decided that I had fallen prey to much undeserved contempt. I didn’t want relationships with people who thought they were better than…
So, one fateful day, I decided to defend myself. As I stood being lectured by a so called friend, I responded with a simple statement. “You have NOTHING but contempt and judgment for me.” Her response was “Yes, I have nothing but contempt and judgment for you because….”. I stopped her there. I was tired of being judged, held in contempt, forced into a label of me that simply wasn’t true. It was a freeing moment. As I exited the room, I told her that she had to choose. “Contempt or love, you can’t have both.”
So, in crazy journey of mine, I have learned a great deal about myself. In the days of being a paramedic, I was very, very judgmental. I held many of our patients with contempt. I will even confess to racist comments and all sorts of stupid things I regret. It was part of a unhealthy coping mechanism. And, unfortunately, a product of a poor self esteem. At times, I was simply ‘projecting’ parts of myself. How we treat each other ends up being a reflection of what we believe about ourselves. We have to choose, consciously, how we want to live our lives. So my journey of self discovery has led me to one beautiful conclusion. I am worthy of love and respect. I also believe that every single person is also worthy of the same thing.

Pop

I have been thinking a lot of my grandfather lately. My kids didn't get a chance to know him like I did. So, I thought I would write about him.

Pop was from Missouri. He met my grandmother at Fort Jackson. He left the states to fight in World War II. He spoke some of his days in the Army. He would tell a wonderful story of his encounter with General George Patton. One day, I'll try to write down that story. I miss hearing him tell it himself. Pop learned how to be a mechanic in the army and came back to SC to make a living. He also worked as a Sheriff's deputy for 42 years. Alzheimer's disease forced his retirement at age 72. It was a sad day for his Sheriff and department. His former Sheriff would be the one to give his eulogy.

One thing that sticks with my from my childhood with a grandfather like this was his smile. His face would light up every time he saw me. He always had a few moments to give me. He always had his ball glove ready. He always had a mountain dew waiting for me at his shop. Oh yes, his shop. He ran the local garage in small town America. He worked there from about 8am until 3pm. He then went home to take a bath and go to work at his other full time job. He then worked 4pm until midnight in a rural South Carolina county. Now, we are talking about a deputy working a rural SC county during segregation then integration. I never once heard him denigrate any person of color. In fact, I never heard him denigrate anyone. He was also the only deputy to have an African-American partner. I learned from him to treat everybody with respect and dignity.

Pop was also the fire chief at the volunteer fire department. I would hear him get up in the middle of the night to answer the phone, and head out the door. He embodied serving others. He worked all hours, all shifts. The only day he insisted on having off was his birthday. He would say that it was a national holiday as far as he was concerned. Pop worked very, very hard. And he did it without a single complaint. He was proud to be able to provide for his family, and serve his community.

I miss my grandfather greatly. The older I get, the more I recognize the impact he had on my life. He still impacts me. I tell my kids stories of a man who quit school at age 15 to support his mom. He worked his entire life so that his kids, grand kids and great grand kids could have it better than he did. He took his lot in life, and made it better for those around him. For that, I am forever grateful.

I've been thinking

I keep thinking of things I want to write about. Some might actually be worth reading, some won't. Yet, there is a common theme through all of these thoughts. I've changed. Yep, believe it or not, I have changed. I think most of this change has been good. Maybe even all of it.

So, why do I keep on thinking? I think that one of the reasons is that I want to try to find a way to express myself, my changes, my thoughts to anyone who cares to listen. This seems a bit crazy, I know. But, I am so excited about life right now! I am also worn out from a long week at work. So, perhaps I won't write my manifesto tonight. It is getting pretty late. I just felt the need to write, to publish, to speak out loud.

There are some very special things that have happened in my world over the past months. I suspect there is even more to come. The work I have done has been worth it. It really has.

My birthday Present

My youngest son has been inviting people to his birthday party since last September. He invites everyone he sees, including the greeter at Walmart. He has been bugging some of his adoptive aunts for many months now, and many of them agreed to come. Yesterday, I realized that 2 of my college roommates had not been together since my wedding. Yet, here they were in my house!! I was so excited I didn't know what to do. Other friends of mine arrived and I realized that I was surrounded by some of the most amazing women in my life. My sisters were sitting around my Table!!
Somehow, in his now six year old heart, Carter weaved a magical night. I'll never forget how he smiled and lovingly invited people to come to his house and celebrate his birth. He asked for their presence, not presents. He wanted to share food, love and his time with others. He managed to help show his mom how much she is loved and respected. This comes at a wonderful time for me. My birthday is in 2 days, but I couldn't ask for any more. My thanks to Carter and all who came to our house last night. My friend Sue said it best: It was like Carter was gathering us all here as his birthday present to his mother.

Club membership

I can think back over my life and realize I have never really been a member of a club. I am not exactly sure why, but it is the truth. The only school club I joined was Students Against Drunk Driving. I only joined that because I wanted to fight drunk driving. I tried girl scouts for awhile, but I never felt like I fit in. I even tried a sorority in college. That lasted for one meeting.
As an adult, I have joined things that were billed as leagues, orders and churches. After I was there for awhile, I started to see the cognitive dissonance within the structure. It was then that I usually moved on.
I really spent much of my life thinking that *I* was the problem. I have been told that I am always a little bit out of step with things. I have told I march to a different drummer. I have been told many things, always left with thinking that I was somehow broken. If I could just learn to get along, follow the rules. I was becoming hopeless.
Then, gradually over the past months, I realized that I might not be as hopeless as I thought. I have awakened to realize that I am blessed with some real, authentic relationships. I am in communion with quite a few people. There is a group of nuns who understand me better than I realize. Last weekend, one of them smiled at me and said "We believed in you all along." This week, at supper with good friends, I spoke of my new job. There was real excitement and encouragement. This is the sort of stuff I have been searching for all along. I wasn't looking for a club, I was aching for community.
So what is the difference? There have been books written on community building. I keep meaning to order Scott Peck's book about 'A Different Drum.' For me the big difference has been simple: when I speak my truth, how am I treated? You can easily be kicked out of a club for disagreeing. In a club, your voice doesn't matter. In a club, people protect their territory instead of protecting the vulnerable. In a community, everyone matters. People can speak their truth. People care.
I think most people in our culture don't really understand the difference. They settle for clubs, because we don't have much in the way of real community. They settle for pseudo community, because they don't want to risk building authentic community. The difference is immense, and I wish people would be willing to work towards what is real, instead of settling for what is not. I, for one, am immensely blessed with the community I have found.

Just take it and move on

I called a good friend to check in with things. I started listing off all of the good things happening in my life right now, happy and perplexed. I said I just feel more blessed than I deserve. He responded with "Just take it and move on." I know it sounds a big backward, but it is helping me understand this Transition in my life.
I was raised to prepare for any thing bad that could happen. I was trained as a paramedic/ER nurse to treat worse case diseases or injuries. Our culture inundates us with fear based marketing. So, basically, I had come to expect the worst. I was comfortable with that.
So what do I do when the worst doesn't happen? What do I do when the good things happen? What do I do when I am being set up for SUCCESS? Wow!
Well, I've decided to take this advice. I don't need to sit and figure everything out. I don't even need to continue to prepare for everything that could go bad. We've done our work with that, and we need to relax.
I am intentionally working on expecting the best in life right now. I expect to be treated with respect and compassion. I expect to be successful at my new job. I expect good things to befall my family. I also trust that when (not if) bad things do happen, we will manage them.
Life is too short and too precious not to embrace all that is good in my life. So, I promise to 'just take it and move on.'

Whispers

Yesterday, I stood at the edge, looking at the angry sea. I was set to negotiate my future. I am tired, so tired. I want to be done. I want to rest and quit doing the hard work of wrestling with myself, my past and most importantly: my path. I sat there saying all of these things and I heard that whisper. The words of a shaman: "I will continue to heal for the rest of my life."

My work is not done, it never will be. I accept that, although not very happily. More to learn, always growing, always healing. Ever grateful for those whispers.

Repair

I recently had a wonderful conversation with a new friend. She made a very simple comment to me. She said "If I do something wrong, please tell me so that I can repair it." We went on to discuss this for several minutes, because I was intrigued by her courage. She said that she felt relationships were built on repairing wrongs. We both know that everyone makes mistakes.

I place high value on relationships in my life. In my experience, the most valuable and secure relationships have had repairs made. Some are bigger repairs than others. I just think one of the most important things we have to be able to do is to tell the other person honestly: "That hurt." Then, the other person can repair it. When we keep our hurt to ourselves, not sharing it, it festers. Pure and simple, it festers. We then end up expressing our hurt in other ways like 'forgetting' a birthday, ignoring the other person, not returning calls.

I have one thing I simply cannot understand. Perhaps by asking the question out loud, I will find an answer. Why do people insist on pretending that they are not hurt? It seems as if they think they are just too tough, to good, to important not to bleed. Everyone bleeds, everyone gets hurt. That is simply part of being human. I guess some people don't want to see the humanity in each of us. I just feel like there are people out there bleeding, not wanting to admit they are hurt. Then, of course, something always happens and the person acts out. I really think that some people don't understand that they are acting out of hurt. They can always find something to justify their actions. Perhaps it is a sense of being perfect. Maybe it is a lack of ability to see their own hurtful actions towards others.

This post seems a bit cryptic, I have a bunch of ideas going through my head, and I guess I like getting them out of my head and out to the universe. I am a thinker, a ponderer and a pilgrim. I also like to think that deep down inside, I repair things. Perhaps, even heal things. Of course the only real thing I can repair is myself......uhm. That might be the next post.

Cool!

SO, I work as a nurse in the emergency department. Sometimes, I make small talk with patients while I am doing procedures. Today, I talked a bit with a young lady as I was starting an IV and drawing blood. I tried to listen to her story and give her some encouragement. She had dropped out of school, and was wandering around looking for a job. I didn't think too much about our little talk. I just want to see people succeed. As I went to take her paperwork upon discharge, she looked at me with pride and told me something. She said that when she got her high school diploma, she was going to bring it up to the hospital and show it to me. I was humbled, saying that I hoped that I was around when she did. I guess I managed to give her a little hope, maybe even direction in life. She seemed pretty sure of her desire to go back to school, wanting to make a better life for herself.
I love my job, and get goose bumps when I think about the impact that I get to have on some people. I am humbled every day when I consider the authority I hold with people who are vulnerable.
I hope this lady brings her diploma up to show me. I pray that I am at work that day. I told her that I believe that she will. I told her that she was a survivor!
Cool! She really did seem to listen, and better yet: BELIEVE.

Chanting

I read a book a couple of years ago titled 'The Cloister Walk'. I'd be quoting from this book right now, but I lent it to one of my token Baptist friends. It is book, written by a poet who spent some time in a Monastery. In this book, she talked about chanting the Psalms. She talked about how the Monks would use their breath in certain ways, sing in such a way that their voice would meld into the others. There is a real majesty as to why the psalms are chanted certain ways and why. I know very little about all of this, but I started paying attention. I was at a retreat a few months ago, and really participated for the first time. I don't sing well, but I could try to hide my voice among retreatants and nuns. By the third day, I had even gotten a little bit comfortable with it. It became a meditation, a quieting of my mind. The words took on some meaning for me, they became alive.
Last weekend, I had an appointment at the Episcopal Convent. I timed it so that I could participate in Diurnum and chant the Psalms. My 5 year old tagged along with me for this appointment He loves going and has made several friends there. So, he sat with me in the chapel. I approached the service with great reverence, only to find my child sitting beside me grinning from ear to ear. He even tickled me at one point. I found it quite beautiful and whole. I could be solemn and reverent, while being rubbed and prodded. He could be a five year old and absorb the sounds, and sights. I can only imagine what goes through his mind as he sits in a church service. He seems to understand it so much better than most.
So, it came to me that there are several times when I get to see who I am in the context of an experience. I am someone who has mostly let my kids tag along. Because of this, I have a 5 year old who loves to go spend time at a convent! He learns something new every time he goes, and we have much to talk about. At the same time, I was able to feed myself with Spiritual Direction, chanting the psalms and lunch with great people. There are times to go alone, and there are times to share it with others.
I am very, very grateful for this place of friendship, retreat and community for me. They even let Carter ring the bell!

Scared

On some level, I think that I am always scared. At least a little bit scared. I am scared of not being able to pay my bills, so I go to work. I am scared of running out of food, so I go to the grocery store. I am scared that the animals and children will go hungry, so I make sure they are fed. I think this is almost like a tension that exists in my life, in every one's life.
So, being a bit scared can be a good thing. I think that I am starting to be able to figure some things out. I am more aware of what I am deeply scared of. I have also stopped being scared of many things. Here is an incomplete list of things I am NOT scared of:
I am not scared of loosing friends.
I am not scared of being judged.
I am not scared of being humiliated.
I am not scared of speaking up.
I am not scared of sharing love.
I am not scared of receiving love.
I am not scared of standing for Justice.
I am not scared of being excluded.

The reason I am not scared of these things is simple. I remain scared of something bigger than all of that.

I am scared of stopping short of the woman I am supposed to be.

A mission

I had the most interesting talk with a new doctor last night. We were discussing the 'state' of health care in our country. Insurance companies, lobbyists, corporations, institutions. It is enough to drive a health care provider crazy. At the end of the conversation, I said "Sometimes, I wonder why I ever became a nurse." His response surprised me, and I am not easily surprised. He said something like "When you start questioning what you are doing, it is time to do what I did. I went on a mission to the Himalayans and reminded myself why I became a doctor." He said it was hard, but it made him so thankful to be able to help others. In the mountains of India, there are no insurance companies, forms or all of the other things that get between a doctor and a patient. There are just people needing help and people willing to give it.
I have been asked to participate in a medical mission to Vietnam next year. I was initially excited about the opportunity to go to a place where my father served in the army. Then, reality set in. I can't afford the thousands of dollars for the trip. And quite frankly, I hate asking for any help. Yet, something is playing in the back of my mind. Is it possible for me to do this? Is this something that I am supposed to do? Could I find the money, earn the money or be given money? Could I possibly just simply ask for help?
I don't ask for help well, and I probably do an even worse job of accepting it. I was raised with the whole 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' thing.
It would be an honor and privilege to go on a mission and serve the greater good in another country. I am seriously considering trying to make a go of this. If I do, I'll have to let people know that I need help, money and lots of prayers.
Was this doctor just making an off the wall comment, or was he challenging me to take on a mission? Who the heck knows? We'll see.

Ayla's quote

This quote is from last book of the Clan of the Cave Bear series. It is my favorite one, and it rang so true for me.
"She had never asked, she had always been chosen, and for each acceptance she bore a mark, a scar that she would carry always. It was the sacrifice she'd had to make. Now she was being chosen again. She could still decline, but if she didn't refuse now, she was committed for life. It crossed her mind that the scars would always remind her that there were consequences to being chosen, responsibilities that came with acceptance."
page 610, The land of the Painted Caves, by Jean M. Auel

Writer's block

I guess one of the reasons I have not posted in awhile is simple. I don't feel like I can say what I really, really want to. Therefore, I say nothing. It sounds a bit childish, and there is a pretty long story behind all of this. Yet, right now, I am in no man's land. I have learned a very hard lesson lately. When I put some of my thoughts out to the world, people can use them. They can use them as a part of their own story, building relationships. Or, people can use my words to malign, humiliate or shame me.
This is a bit of a stumbling block for me right now, and I am trying to noodle my way through this one. I think the hardest part for me is simple, I cannot control what people will do with my words. I can simply try to remain true to my own story, and not be afraid to speak up. I don't like acting out of fear, or desperation.
One thing is certain, I love it when I hear people tell me how my writing has touched them. I learned, recently, that someone has one of my posts up on her refrigerator. That makes me so grateful for the risks that I have taken here, and lucky to be a part of another person's story.
So, forgive me while I pout for a little while. I've gotten my feelings hurt. One thing I have learned for sure: I will never, ever, ever quit telling my story. I want my kids and other people to know one thing about me. I have absolutely NO shame in who I am, or where I come from. I am simply a human being on a journey. My journey, no body else's. I may share it with you by publishing a blog, but I will not give it to you. It is not yours to take.

A hole in my heart

I went to a memorial service for a friend who lost her baby today. It was a hard thing to fathom. A loss: so close, yet so far away from delivery. I was caught off guard by my flow of emotions. I just couldn't stop crying. I looked at a friend and confessed my overwhelming emotions. She said something to me that I have struggled with for a long time. She said that something about becoming a parent leaves a hole in your heart. It makes it so easy to hurt for others, especially children. I think that sometimes, we forget about this hole in our hearts. I think that sometimes we try to hide it, or close it. I think sometimes we try to pretend it isn't there. It can just hurt too much.
I remember times in my life where I have tried to hide that hole. I also recognizes those times when I made a decision. I have made several, very conscious, decisions to open my heart. I have quit jobs, moved away and left communities in order to protect this hole. I have managed to find a way to protect it, honor it and even love it. I want to keep the ability to cry, laugh, mourn and dance. I want to be present to those things that make me a mother. Being a mom is what I do. It is (BY FAR) the hardest thing I have ever done. I work hard at it, and it leaves me tired, grumpy and sleepy most days. It leaves me wondering, wishing, pondering.
Those were words of wisdom I heard today. I have never been able to explain it, but there it is. A very simple comment by a very good friend. Yes, I walk through this world with a hole in my heart.

Why?

Seven years ago today, my grandmother died. It was, by far, one of the hardest periods of my life. I helped care for her in the last years of her life, more so in the final months as we brought in hospice care. I was also in the last semester of nursing school. Gaga died on a Sunday. I took one final exam on Monday. We had the funeral on Tuesday. On Wednesday I took my other final exam. Needless to say, I was completely overwhelmed.

I think with all of the hard parts, difficult decisions and grief, I got caught up in things. I tend to look back at all of the mistakes I made. I would of, could of, should of. I wish I had been nicer to my grandmother. I regret any words that sounded harsh.

Last week, I was cleaning out a book case and found one of Gaga's many journals. I turned a page and found this quote:
"WHY? Why are Harrietta, Steve and Melissa so good to me?"

I was able to hear a big thank you from my grandmother 7 years later. Wow. As my tears flowed, I started thinking about all of the good times. I remembered the deep love that Gaga had for me and my family. She never would have remembered, or focused on any of the bad times. She just didn't have it in her to judge people harshly for anything. Everyone deserves someone like that in their lives. I am very grateful to have a reminder that I had one play a large role in my life. Somehow, I think she still plays a role in my life and always will.

Conflict

I'm going to tell a story that happened a long time ago. It was back in the 90's when I was running ambulance calls. One day, my partner and I responded to a call and transported an elderly lady to the ED. When we found the patient, she was not breathing adequately and needed to be intubated with an endotracheal tube (e.t.). When the tube is placed inside the trachea, we can fill the lungs with life-saving oxygen. Sometimes, the tube gets shifted and ends up in the patient's stomach. When that happens, the patient does not get oxygen to the lungs. This can lead to disaster. On this particular call, we had placed the tube correctly in the back of the ambulance. I watched my patient turn from blue and listless, to pink and looking around. Upon arrival at the ED, something happened and the patient began turning blue. I suggested to the nurse that the tube was out of place, and they needed to confirm it. Typically, this is done very easily with a stethoscope and the doctor actually placing his hands on the patient. However, this doctor decided to defer to an xray and we had to wait several minutes for the xray to be done. In the meantime, the patient continued turning blue, and her stomach appeared to be filling with air. I went back to the nurse and begged her to ask the doctor to do something. She just looked at me and said 'we are waiting on the xray'. Not wanting to have a conflict, I just walked away. She wasn't my patient any more. After a little while, I walked back in to find that this patient had died. I watched the doctor bring her husband to the hall and stand outside the door. He said something like "I'm sorry, but your wife died. There was nothing we could do." He then turned and walked away. That man had been married to that woman for over 60 years. This was how it ended for him. It was all so cruel and unnecessary. I walked out of that ED feeling the full impact of my decision to avoid conflict. I have spent almost every day of my life wondering what might have happened if I had decided to confront the doctor. I watched someone die because I wanted to avoid conflict. I, honestly, think a part of me has been confronting people and seeking conflict since then. I guess I have been trying to make up for what I didn't do so long ago. I share this story hoping that people will have a little more understanding for me. I am hoping that people will show me a little grace and compassion. No one should have to live with watching someone die. But, I do.

Church quote

"On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of the conditions. Does any-one have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return." (from Annie Dillard's, Teaching a Stone to Talk, Harper & Row, 1982)

A Litany

A LITANY of the PERSON

image of God

born of God's breath

vessel of Divine Love

capacity for the Infinite

after God's likeness

dwelling of God

eternally known

branch of Christ

chosen of God

abiding in Christ

called from eternity

home of Infinite Majesty

temple of the Holy Spirit

receptacle of the Most High

wellspring of Living Water

life in the Lord of all Life

heir of the reign of God

abode of the Trinity

the Glory of God

God sings this litany

eternally in the precious Word.

This is who you are.

Abbey of Gethsemani Trappist KY 40051

[modified slightly, Ann Prentice, OSH]

Forgiving God

I recently spend a weekend on retreat at a Convent. Because of several unavoidable circumstances, the planned program for the retreat was put to the side. Instead, we entered into a sacred space of sharing and affirming each other in very special ways. I did not get the 'rest and quiet' I had expected. Instead, I came away steadied. I had a strong sense that I was coming to face some challenges in my Faith. Fortunately, I had a new found strength to meet them. One of the most memorable conversations answered a question I have held deep down inside of me for a long time. I have, at times, been very, very angry with God. I have often wondered, angrily, how our Creator could allow so much suffering in our world. How could people, churches, governments use God's name to kill, harm or exclude God's own children? I just have never been able to wrap my mind around all of it. I had always been taught that Jesus died on the Cross so that we would be forgiven of our sins. I never quite agreed with this teaching, and I have always struggled with the concept behind the Crucifixion. When one of the Sisters began talking about this subject, I sat back waiting for the same old teaching. It was a good thing that I paid attention, because she had a very different take on the subject. She said that she had heard another nun, a long time ago, explain the Crucifixion in a different way. I can't remember her exact words, because I started crying right away. Her ideas went something like this. She explained that God allowed people to see the suffering of a Son of God so that we could forgive the Divine. God wanted to let us know that He knew what suffering was, and that we would need permission to forgive Him. This has changed my view of many things. I will be eternally grateful for this Nun, my sister, to have taken this path of love. She has touched my life (in several ways) that is beyond words. I am trying to find my own path of love and forgiveness, hoping to find more and more brothers and sisters to share it with me.

The final book

Thanks to a comment by my faithful cousin, I found out that Jean Auel had completed her series of Earth's Children. I had no idea that she had already published this book, and it has taken me quite by surprise. I got up this morning and drove straight to the book store and bought the book. This series of books has had quite an impact in my life. One day, someone was trying to help me understand a part of myself. As if struck by a lightening bolt of insight, I literally, sat straight up and said "It is like Ayla in Clan of the Cave Bear!" About 2 years later, we would name our youngest child Ayla. There are so many reasons attached to naming her this. There are so many things I have learned about myself while reading this series. There is just so much here. I was under the impression that I had read the last book in the series. Up until now, I didn't know there would be an end to this epic story. Because of that, I have very mixed feelings about starting this last book. One part of me wants to keep wondering what happens to Ayla. Part of me aches to know the end. In the video clip about this book, they announced "Ayla becomes the woman she was meant to be." This quote has such a place in my life right now. I have been searching, trying, hoping to find the woman I was meant to be. Perhaps, I can find some more of my own truth in this story. I wonder. Later tonight, I will begin reading this book. I will do it with great intention, knowing what this book has taught me about myself. I can't wait!!

Day by day

Our family seems to be finding our rhythm of things. Over the past year, we have had some major ups and downs (temper tantrums are not only reserved for children). We figured out a few things, made some changes. Most of all, our ups and downs have evened out a bit. When something happens, we just seem to take it as it comes. We end a great day knowing that tomorrow could be worse. We end a bad day hoping that tomorrow will get better. There is a rhythm to life, and we seem to be enjoying it. I've even promised to start playing the guitar again! Good news, except for my neighbors who might have to listen.
I heard someone say that you really don't know who you are until you hit 40. I turn 39 this year, and I am starting to understand what she meant. I am just now starting to get to know who I am. More than that, I am starting to like who I am. Even more than that, I've found people who seem to like me just as I come. Having friends like that is all I could ever ask for. Sometimes, I realize I struck it rich with friends. Everyone should be so lucky.
I guess the biggest change in my life has come at one major realization. Life doesn't have to be so complicated! It is the little things that matter. My 5 year old likes to give kisses. His baby sister learned to say 'I love you'. My nine year old just wants to play catch (although, I need a new glove). My 14 year old just wants to know someone is listening. My husband just wants to know that I still, after all of these years, love him. I really even still like him (believe it or not!).
It almost seems that the less I try, the easier things get. I try to just accept the beauty and bounty of my life right now. I don't question it, I don't even try to understand it any more. I am just grateful. Very, very grateful.

Shadow

"The shadow also, however, can contain the divine, the luscious, beautiful, and powerful aspects of personhood. For women, especially, the shadow almost always contains very fine aspects of being that are forbidden or given little support by her culture. At the bottom of the well in the psyches of too many women lies the visionary creator, the astute truth-teller, the far-seer, the one who can speak well of herself without denigration, who can face herself without cringing, who works to perfect her craft." p. 236 of Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

One day, I happened to be looking at the website for a convent and discovered a workshop happening on the weekend of my 35th birthday. I decided, as a gift to myself, I would get away for the weekend. It would be my first weekend away in many years, and my first one away from my then 2 year old son. Little did I know what I was getting into!

It was a workshop about Shadow. I can't remember the exact title, but it was an invitation to face our shadow, and learn to dance with it. Our shadow is made up of our unconscious part of ourselves. It is the part that holds our deepest pain, deepest fears and deepest regrets. That part of the shadow is called dark. Yet, it is only about 10 per cent of our shadow. The rest is called golden shadow. Usually, because we are afraid of the dark part, we don't spend time using our golden shadow. By doing this, we tend to loose the best part of ourselves. This quote from a book I am reading, helped me remember all of that. I made a conscious choice that weekend. I accepted the invitation to face my darkest fears. While facing them, I found a way to love myself and find healing. I found my way in this world.

A ride

My 2 year old pointed to my back carrier today and asked for a ride. It has been a while since I carried her like that. She had decided that she was big enough to ride in a stroller or walk, so we started leaving the carrier behind. Yet, this afternoon, I put her up on my back with ease and we went for a walk through the woods. I snapped this picture along the way.

One of the best decisions I made as a new mom (14 years ago!) was to carry my children. At first, it was quite a struggle. There were not any good carriers around, and I hadn't learned how to order things off of the Internet. Yet, with each kid, I learned a little quicker. It fit my style of mothering very well.

Eventually, each child grew their way out of carriers and being carried. Walking around with Ayla this afternoon, I realized that this part of my life is coming to an end. I am trying to embrace many of these bittersweet moments as they come along. Thus, I posed for this picture. I am trying simply to be present for and with my family. We have seen ups, downs and sideways. And we have marched along, hoping for the best, trying to make our adjustments as we go along. I am grateful for all of these moments that I have had. I have carried my kids in malls, grocery stores, churches, synagogues, subways and where ever else I have been. Now that that part of my life is coming to an end, I am even more grateful of the time that my kids spent in arms, attached to their mom.

My Village

I had a wonderful time last night. I spent some time with 'my village'. It is a concept introduced to me a long time ago by an article in a natural parenting magazine. The author urged mothers to search for 'their village'. It was a new, provocative idea for me. I loved it, and started trying to embrace the concept. It has taken the better part of 10 years for me to feel like a real participant in my community of mothers (or even feeling a part of any community). Last night was the last straw for me. I am hopelessly, utterly and profoundly stuck with this group of women. For that, I am eternally grateful. I've written about you. I have spoken of you in a sermon. Most of all, I love you and know that you love me.
Last night, we talked a bit about how much we have all grown and changed over the years. I was able to laugh at myself, and some of the crazy things I have said and done. I heard others do the same. It was very satisfying to see that all of the 'invisible' work we have done was for a greater purpose. I read this quote this morning in a book. I think it sums it up best.

"To be seen, the uninitiated create insane things, some destructive to life to feel visible and powerful. These creations are touted as the real world. They are actually forms of untutored grief signaling a longing for the true reality of village togetherness." p. 232 of Secrets of the Talking Jaguar by Martin Prechtel

I'm hopeless

I asked a friend of mine last weekend something. I asked him why I continue to reach out to people, even after they have dismissed me. He answered. "It could be one of two reasons. You are stupid. Or your heart is in the right place."

I think that both of these are right. I am just plain stupid sometimes. I should do a better job of deciding who and when to reach out to people. More than that, I need to make sure I am doing it for the right reasons. I need to be willing to keep my guard up. I am learning that I can reach out to people, and guard myself at the same time.
On the other hand, I am starting to think that my heart might just be in the right place. I think that this is just simply a part of me that I cannot deny. I have decided to give up hope of stopping. I suspect that I will always reach out to people. I will leave the doors open. I will always have hope for Reconciliation.
Hopeless to change. This is just a part of who I am. I better start accepting it.

A question

It was a very simple question, mixed into a conversation. "How's your prayer life?" Ouch. "Not so good." was the answer. I admitted that I have gotten bogged down in so many different things, that I have neglected my prayers.
My grandmother would pray continuously during the day. I would find her sitting with her eyes closed, thinking she was asleep. She would open them and just say she was praying. My great-aunt came to stay with us one night. She left her notebook there by accident. It was a notebook with the names of all of the people she prayed for at night. I realized my name was in it, and I was overcome. She was praying for me, my husband and our child every night.
I remember one of the saddest moments I could recall. My grandmother had died 2 days before, and I was going to take my final exam for nursing. I was a wreck with all of the stress and realized how much I had come to rely on being able to call my grandmother and ask her to pray for me. I felt so alone knowing she was not around to answer that phone call. It was then that I realized that I needed to start learning to pray for myself.
I keep wondering what this Lent will bring for me. I think that bringing back a steady and intentional prayer life is a must. I've never been one to pray publicly. I have never felt comfortable praying out loud with anybody. Recently, a friend asked me to pray with him, and I went a long way out of my comfort zone. It was a very sweet experience for me, and I am glad he asked.
I am grateful for people who are willing to nudge me with questions. I am grateful for people who help me grow out of my comfort zone. I am looking forward to a trip to see a Spiritual Director this weekend. I am also going on a Lenten retreat. I am hoping to slow down, remember my prayer life and embrace all of the blessings of my life. I grew up with the generations before me offering prayers for me and my family. To them, I am most grateful.

Forgiveness

Forgive me as I ramble a bit in this blog. I have something in my head that I am trying to get on the outside, and I am hoping that it make sense to someone.
I sat down with a counselor last summer to process a 'critical incident'. It was a chance to move on from a particularly hurtful scene that happened early in my nursing career. After our talk, she mailed me 2 (not one), but 2 books on forgiveness. I have only read one. I plan to read the other one for Lent. It seems to be such a very simple thing to do, forgive someone. Yet, I am beginning to think that it is one of the most misunderstood things in the world. And I think the reason it is so misunderstood is simply a lack of awareness. We are not always aware of how we hurt others. Even worse, we are not always aware of how someone has hurt us. That leads to a series of unconsciously hurting each other back. We don't always realize that we do something, just to hurt the other person back. It becomes a series of justification of actions. Justifying our actions keeps us from being accountable to them.
So how do we be accountable for our actions?
First, we need to be aware of what we are doing. We also need to be aware of how we are affecting other people. When we have hurt the other person, we need to say "I'm sorry." We may even have to ask for forgiveness. This doesn't mean that we should feel terrible. It simply means we made a mistake, and there were unintended consequences.
I remember, very distinctly, a pivotal point in my mothering. I was exasperated with our oldest. I was tired, working nights and absolutely miserable. She wouldn't do something that I wanted her to do, and I yelled at her. She looked at me with hurt in her eyes. I stopped to look at the hurt. At first, I didn't want to acknowledge it. I didn't want to acknowledge that I could hurt my own child that much. I didn't want to acknowledge that part of me existed. After a few minutes, I went and apologized. I asked for forgiveness and went into work that night. I quit that job that night and decided to move onto other things in my life. It was a very, very good decision for me. That was a big lesson in my life. I needed to move into a state of forgiveness with my children. I needed to be willing to face my own ability to do harm and to be harmed. Most importantly, I have all too human limitations.
A couple of weeks ago, Oprah was talking about forgiveness. She said "Forgiving is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." It is simply a way of moving forward. Unfortunately, I think the human side of us keeps us wanting to stay in the same place. Moving forward is unknown and probably uncomfortable. Plus, forgiveness is an ongoing process. In our most important relationships, we should always be looking for, and giving forgiveness. Sometimes we have to do it over and over. Sometimes, we might even get it right and heal a hurt. Most importantly, we may even get to a place of being able to forgive ourselves. We may start living a life of someone who realizes that everyone makes mistakes.

Frustration

•The feelings, thoughts, and behaviors associated with not achieving a particular goal or the belief that a goal has been prematurely interrupted.
allpsych.com/dictionary/dictionary2.html

I am beginning to think that this blog is simply a record of the hard lessons I have learned over the past year. Well, guess what: I learned another hard lesson last night. I realized that when I say things out of frustrations, people can get hurt. I realized that when things are said this way, there can be some real unintended consequences. I has started to chalk this up to one more of my many, many "mistakes". Fortunately, a friend (who is wise beyond her years) said something that set me straight. She said that if it is something that you can learn from, then it wasn't a mistake. It means that you learned from it so that you won't do it again. What a positive way of looking at things! She helped me feel better about myself, and held me accountable to my experiences and knowledge.
So, this is the lesson. I have been trying to figure out why, at times, I come across to people in an unintended way. I think that I need to do a much better job of understanding when I am really frustrated. When I am really frustrated is NOT the time to speak. It is NOT the time to post things on Facebook. Most of all, it is NOT the time to write a blog. I realize, now, that some of the things I have posted here were written in frustration. I had the best of intentions, but frustration, anger, hurt skew things in a way that cause things to be misunderstood.
So here is another definition of frustration:
a deep chronic sense or state of insecurity and dissatisfaction arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/frustration)

So, I think that frustration comes from a sense of powerlessness, immaturity. I need to get away from those feelings. I think that I have a habit of selling myself short. I forget that I do have some power and maturity. Scarier than that, I might even gain some authority. I need to access that part of me and learn better the ways to act in this world. I might even try smiling and joking with people, instead of walking around frustrated.

Our way of saying goodbye

I had the privilege of attending the funeral of a long time paramedic last weekend. My husband and 3 younger kids went with me. I knew it would be something special, but I was not prepared for how emotional it would be for me. I spent a total of 8 years running ambulance calls in my life. Most people have very little idea of the 'stuff' that we see and do. Very few people understand the culture surrounding EMS. I find myself very lucky to have spent some serving among some amazing EMT's and Paramedics who answer the call to help some one else. It was so good for me to see so many of them again last weekend, even if it was to say goodbye to our Chief.

As we were driving to the funeral, we realized that we weren't exactly sure where the church was. Yet, as we rounded a corner we found slew of ambulances, firetrucks and rescue vehicles outside of a church. We knew we were there. As we got out of the van, I heard the bagpipes. I started to realize how special the day was going to be. The funeral itself was a fairly simple affair with 3 speakers and one song. Yet, there was majesty as the line of uniformed EMS workers filed into their seats. The speakers all spoke from the heart, giving very personal accounts of the chief. One of them even addressed how hard the job of an EMT is. He recognized the long hours, little pay and little thanks. One talked about how important Ron's family was to him. The other summed it my feelings very well. Ron Hart wanted to make you a better person. He was even willing to hurt your feelings. This was a man who helped me grow up. At the time, I didn't realize how much he had taught me.

After the funeral service, the honor guard loaded his casket into an ambulance draped in black. The bagpipes played. It was beautiful. We then gathered in the long line driving to the internment. As we gathered at the graveside, a few more words were said. The bagpipes played "Taps". The flag was folded and presented. After that came silence. I couldn't see what was going on near the casket, so I had no idea what to expect. Then, over my shoulder, I heard the distant sound of a helicopter. As I turned, I realized there were two of them, flying in formation. My heart welled up as I realized the amount of effort that the EMS services had given in order to pay respect. One of the helicopters flew off, and the other hovered for a moment. Then the radio crackled, with the dispatcher calling out for Ron Hart. Her voice was breaking, because she knew he wouldn't answer. At this point, I began sobbing. I had run so many ambulance calls with Ron. I had heard him on the radio so many times. I did not want to feel the pain of knowing that he wasn't going to answer. Then, after calling for him 3 times, there was radio silence. Silence.
The honor guard placed thier gloves with the casket. Those gloves would never be used again.

When a person is so important to so many different people, there is a huge void left over. There are no words to convey how that feels to an EMS community. Yet, that community gathered. They gathered and supported each other. They said goodbye in a way that will be remembered for a long time. To that community: I thank you for letting me be a part of things.

Improvement

This is a picture of the hair dryer I have been using since I went to college. That was 1990. To top that off, I have been sharing it with my teenage daughter. It doesn't work very well, it shuts off after a few minutes of blowing. It tortures us! Yet, it worked. Because it still worked, I have kept it and refused to buy a new one. This year for Christmas, I asked my daughter's grandparents to get her a new hairdryer. When I tried her brand new one, I couldn't get over how much better it was. Yet, I felt trapped with my trusty, old one because it still worked. I certainly wasn't going to spend my money on a new one.

The next Sunday, I was at my own grandmother's house. She had won a hairdryer in a drawing and she asked me if I wanted it. I confessed that I had been using the same hairdryer for 20 years and it would be nice to get a new one. Typical to my family's way of thinking my dad quipped "Doesn't the other one still work?". My answer was yes, it does still work. However, what is wrong with accepting something with improved quality? My hair gets dry in half the time. It has actually made a big difference in trying to get ready in the morning. I began wondering how much of my life could have been simplified if I had been willing to replace something that was still working.

I guess this brings me to a bigger question. What else in my life do I need to do? Why not buy or do something simply because it improves the quality of my life? I need to be willing to look at things that might be working, but can be easily improved. Or, what else am I holding onto that needs to be replaced.

I am amazed at the lesson of a simple hairdryer. It has been a part of my life through college, marriage and raising 4 kids, over half of my life! I am glad is it still working and around to teach me how silly some ideas can be.

A special day

It is a very, very special thing to serve at the altar with my child. I have no words as I try to explain my feelings about much of the last year. I am humbled every time I think about how people can grow, people can change, people can love each other. All in all, God works in very mysterious ways. I've decided to quit struggling to understand it. I'm just grateful to be a particpant in the great game called life. Thank you God.

Nothing else matters

Twice in the past couple of weeks, I have reconnected with old friends. It had been years since I had seen or spoken to either one of them. With the first friend, I had heard the news that he was facing life-threatening cancer. I sat and counted the years since I had seen him. It was over 15 years since I had made any effort to see him. Embarrassment set in as I realized that I had been too caught up with my own life. I don't even send out Christmas cards anymore. I fretted over how, or when to go visit him. I was worried that he would be mad at me for waiting so long to show up. I finally found a day, jumped in my car with homemade banana bread and headed out for the 2 hour drive. I was nervous as I walked up the steps and found him sitting in his chair. In about 30 seconds, I realized that nothing else really mattered. I was here to be present with a friend. Everything else washed away. Within about 5 minutes, we were laughing, remembering old times. It was a wonderful visit. I am so utterly grateful for an opportunity to remember what really matters. I think that I recieved far more of a blessing than I gave. I spent much of my ride home, realizing how much of life is wasted worrying about things that do not matter. Worse than that, I started to realize how time I have wasted feeling sorry for myself.

With the second friend, we have a long history of ups and downs. It was nothing out of the ordinary in friendships. Yet, it had been a long time since we had put any effort towards reconnecting. When I found out his baby had been born with a serious birth defect, all of those issues washed away in about 3 seconds. I just wanted to call him and tell him how much I loved him. When life challenges you in this way, nothing else matters. Being present with a friend is what really matters.

I think that jobs that I have had are very helpful for me in this case. I have been a paramedic and ER nurse. When you have seen the things I have seen, and done the things that I have done, it is easy to remember that what really matters.

Working things through

Last year, I was privileged to be able to come in a full circle with myself. I was able to do this because of a gift of real friendship. It happened because of community.
I lived much of my life with one set of beliefs. I've spent a great deal of energy shedding much of these beliefs. A recent comment from my teenager helped me distinguish (or maybe extinguish) a belief. She told me that she was afraid to say the wrong thing to a family friend. She knew if she said the wrong thing that this person would 'quit talking to me'. We both realized that her fear was real. Some people base a friendship on being able to say only what the other person wants to hear. That had always been the basis of friendship for me. Now, thanks to a good friend, I believe differently.
Several years ago, I had a very bad, very loud argument with a friend. She walked up to hug me, and (at the time) I hated being touched, much less hugged. I exploded at her, and we had a big argument at the park. She and I both left in tears. Because of my 'old belief system', I assumed that our friendship was over. I had stepped out of the 'boundary' of saying what she wanted to hear. Instead of the end of the friendship, it signaled the real beginning. I still don't understand it. By the time I got home to email my sincere apologies, she had already explored her part in the argument. She was ready to apologize, and so was I. We agreed that we both had conflicting ideas about hugs, and that was OK. So, over the next few years, we found ways of disagreeing while listening to the other person's fears. We based all of our disagreements in the fact that we both loved each other. People don't feel threatened in a relationship based on love. We decided that whenever we felt fear or discord, we would be able to work it through. This sort of relationship becomes one in which both people end up co-evolving. It is not based in fear, but in love.
A year ago this week, our argument about simple hug came to bear the most amazing fruit. In a moment of pure agony and grief, this friend and I embraced each other with abandon. We were at the graveside of a friend, and we truly needed each other. It was a very, very healing moment for me as I let myself open up to another person in a hug. I would have never gotten to experience this Healing if my friend hadn't had the courage to work things out. I am so truly blessed with these new beliefs. I now recognize that relationships should be based in love and not fear. I try to move forward, with courage, in love with people. I still feel the sting of being ignored or excluded when I don't say what some people want to hear. Yet, I am encouraged by people who have shown me differently. Thanks, Tracee, I am forever in your debt.

Another quote

"Unwittingly, I was looking for a door and not a doorway, something to hide behind and think private thoughts, not a conduit to let the community into my heart. Loneliness was the worst punishment imaginable, and I was trying to rent it." p. 85 of Secrets of the Talking Jaguar by Martin Prechtel

The road less traveled

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

A meandering creek

I have always enjoyed sitting beside a creek. I had one very near my house as a child. It holds special memories for me. When we moved out to our land, we discovered that we had two creeks running through it. This is a picture of the smaller one. Last week, we had quite a snow! It was beautiful.

Story telling

I tend to be drawn to books written about real life experiences. The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, by Sue Monk Kidd is one of my most favorite books. She makes herself so vulnerable in simply telling her story. I have also read books by Barbara Brown Taylor. Her book, Leaving Church, helped me understand so much of my own problems with church. When I went to a book signing to hear Mrs. Taylor speak, she said something that made a huge impact on me. She said something like "I am an expert in exactly one person's journey." She helped me understand that part of my function in this world was simply to become an expert in my own journey. That is when I started quit trying to tell everyone else's story. It is when I started to tell my own.

Telling my own story is much harder than trying to tell other people's stories. It means that I am to start examining myself in different ways. I wanted to be willing to share my story. I began wondering if, perhaps, I have something to say. When I read this quote in a book yesterday, I understood why I wanted to share it publicly.

"I hope something ancient and indigenous may reawaken inside the modern reader, who may catch a whiff or a glimmer of his or her own ancestral indigenous soul, or a memory of her ancient Celtic ancestral roadhouse, or Dravidian river people, or Polynesian canoe raid. Perhaps the soul could remember a little of its origination, when its people still belonged to the spirit of a place. Possibly my own story will give your stories courage enough to blossom." p.xix of Secrets of the Talking Jaguar by Martin Prechtel