the flip side

Wow, how can it be that in two days the beautiful little girls turned into a bickering, uncooperative example of bad sportsmanship? Could it be because today's lesson was on being a good sport? Unfocused, crabby, mean-spirited words... It was one of those days when it became necessary to let go of the lesson and let them play a game.

It makes me admire parents and teachers and all of those who cannot walk away after two hours. Don't get me wrong--my heart is with these little girls. What you are hearing is my frustration in not knowing how to deal with them.

Shelby's birthday is tomorrow. She informed me that she just felt like she was going to burst, and not in a good way. She said, "I always chew my clothes the day before my birthday." I asked her if birthdays are a good thing, and she answered affirmatively. Yet she described an anxiety that comes before... She's turning nine! (I wanted to tell her to wait until she's thirty or forty or fifty...)

Bekah hurt her tailbone, Jasmine had a sore ankle, Kelsee had a headache. And so on. And so on.

Tuesday we will run a practice 5k, so that will keep them occupied. I'm wondering if I'm going to need some harnesses?!

good day

"Cute chicks! Aren't we just adorable?" And dandelion dust on our hands, tattooing approval for us to pass the girl-barricade on the track.

It was a good day with the girls yesterday. Oh, yes, there were the usual spats and pouts, but I had the chance to walk around the track with Samantha and Alexis draped around me, to learn the "Cute Chicks" song that is part of the third grade musical, and to run with Marah while she exclaimed over the new furniture that she got for her bedroom.

I'm thinking that next year I'll be an assistant, not a coach. The time with the girls just running or walking and talking is so refreshing. And I even got to join the ranks of the fairytale kingdom yesterday... as the donut taster.

Yes, it was a good day.

so that

She held her arms bent, clenched fists toward me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I need you to give me strength for the next two hours."

"Oh, then let's pray right now," I said, and grabbed her hands and held them tightly.

We were standing in the bathroom at the church. When I had arrived, no one knew where she was, so I headed in to--well, use the facilities. And sensed that the person in the stall might be her, so I waited.

It has been quite a journey for her these past three weeks or so.

Her parents called and asked her to come--two months earlier than she had planned. Her husband said, "Go".

She arrived from Germany on a Tuesday. When I called that Saturday to wish her a happy birthday, she was in the emergency room with her 89-year old father. "I will always remember this birthday," she said. "But we've had lots of great talks since I arrived."

The next Tuesday, she woke in the wee hours and felt intense anguish for her father, so prayed, asking God to take him--he had said he was ready, and he was in such pain. She felt like she could go back to sleep, but within twenty minutes her brother called to let her know their dad had died.

So many things happened so that she could be here when he died. Her parents asked... her husband said go...she was able to get a good price on a flight... She prayed...her dad was ready...and so was God.

So many things happened today so that I could be there at the moment we prayed. I didn't leave work when I planned, then decided to stop and get gas, there were no parking spots in the church lot, I had to scrounge for change to put in the parking meter...

There are so many intersections in this story... God at work everywhere, bringing us together for today's celebration of a life well-lived.

Perhaps so that I will consider the legacy I might leave, changing course where needed so that people will say that mine was life well-lived.

looking up or down

I have this crazy desire to lie on the ground and look up through the tree branches.

It doesn't seem "appropriate" for a 51-year old to do this, but it could be the influence of those little Girls on the Run... or the caress of a warm spring breeze awakening my so-called inner child.

Whatever.

Hang what the neighbors think. I grabbed the camera and lay under the dogwood tree. By the way, I always wanted a dogwood. This house came with one, but I didn't even know it until I cut off the end of a branch and took it to a guy at work who knew a lot more about trees than I do and he pronounced it a dogwood. And it was a pink dogwood to boot. It was one of those times when I really felt like God knew this unspoken desire of my heart and decided to give me a dogwood.



I'm thinking that I miss a lot of things on my busy, forward-looking path.

For example, a passerby would miss the very cool eggplant shingles framing the white attic window of our house--unless they happened to look up.



And unless I look down occasionally, I'll miss a lot of other things. The ferns all fuzzily furled, for example. Or brightly colored quince blossoms.



And the hellebores. I'm not sure exactly why their beautiful blossoms hang down. You really have to be at ground level to appreciate them.



And my favorites, the dahlias. They're not supposed to overwinter in Michigan, but they're right next the the foundation of the house with a southern exposure. Each spring, I look among the dead stalks from the prior year's growth. And behold! Tiny green leaves poking bravely toward the light.



Look up. Look down. Maybe even lie on the ground underneath a tree and admire the fractals.

There's a lot to see in life.

patience

I visited Julie today at her mom & dad's apartment. Her dad is still in the hospital, but is as stable as a 90-year old can be.

Julie's mom has Alzheimer's, but still recognizes me.

What are you knitting?
A baby hat.

(Fifteen minutes later.)

What's that going to be?
A baby hat.

(Half an hour later).

What are you knitting?

It was a similar experience with questions about where I live and where I work.

The most amazing thing of all is that I felt no impatience at all. I am one of the least patient people I know, and every time she asked, I answered with no sense of irritation.

It's comforting to know that God gives me patience when I need it.

happy?birthday

So, I asked, how does it feel to be 52? A lot like 51?

Yes, it's not a whole lot different.

My best childhood friend, Julie, arrived Tuesday from her home in Germany to visit her parents, and today is her birthday. She is spending the evening in the emergency room with her dad. He has a multitude of physical issues, including congestive heart failure. Intense pain in his legs and feet resulted in the decision to take him to the hospital by ambulance.

She was planning to come in June, but after she hung up from a recent phone call with her parents (her mom moaning in the background and her dad crying), her husband simply said, "Go."

Julie said she's had good conversations with her dad. As she sits with him tonight, she places her hands on his head as he cries in pain. She is glad to be here, even though it's hard.

We're at the age where roles reverse.

We become comforters rather than comforted. It is a strange sensation for me, but because of the comfort my parents have given me, I have been strong enough for the hard times sitting in hospital waiting rooms.

I will go to be with her tomorrow, for the comfort now comes from each other.

spring in my step

Things I am happy about:
- Taking a run in my no-excuses rainwear on Tuesday, having the cold-drizzled trail to myself and seeing ten deer!
- Daffodils.
- Swinging a jump rope in the warm sunshine for my Girls on the Run yesterday.
- Hugging Wen. (That's her dancing in the photo).
- Hearing stories last night of how the Dale Carnegie students overcame stress and worry.
- Laughing with my husband.
- My brother gets to keep his job because someone else quit.
- My brother and his wife are expecting again, after a miscarriage in December.

It puts extra spring in my step!

punky funk

So, there's no real reason to feel punky and drained (aftermath of too much joy yesterday)? I had difficulty peeling myself off the pillow this morning, and having a warm cat nestled next to me didn't help. Then I was cranky with my husband for no good reason.

If I had to declare a mood right now, it would be tired.


There's good news, though.

#1 - My brother will start at his employer's corporate HQ next Monday. He doesn't know what, exactly, he'll be doing or for how long... But it beats unemployment!

#2 - We didn't unveil the hydrangeas yesterday. With sleet in the forecast, it would have been a shame to lose them after sheltering them all winter.

#3 - I had fun with my students tonight. I'm not sure if it was reciprocal, but I sure did enjoy them.

Life is good, and tomorrow is another day.

I'd like to return to something more like - joyous!

easter.joy

I am full--spiritually, emotionally, physically.

I made from-scratch waffles this morning.

I walked to church in the glorious sunshine with my best guy friend, who happens to be my husband.

The question the pastor asked is, "Wouldn't it sometimes be easier [to believe] if Jesus just showed up?"

Yep.

Yet. Jesus does show up, all the time.

Wherever I go, Jesus is with me.

Therefore, Jesus shows up in lots of places.

What came to mind almost immediately was the so-called chance encounter downtown with Samantha yesterday, one of my sweet Girls on the Run. No mom in sight, but I met Eli, her older brother.

It was the second so-called chance encounter with her outside of school. My chiropractor's office turns out to be next door to her house. So one morning I met her and her sister as they were on their way to school.

Yeah, I'm so obvious. I don't believe in chance encounters. I'm not sure what the purpose is. Maybe as simple as being glad to see her and interested in what she has to say.

Maybe the church has it wrong. Maybe it's not about bringing people to church to meet Jesus. Maybe it's about Him showing up wherever people are.

Wow, that's a lot of maybes.

Happy Easter, y'all.

May His joy & blessings be yours!

father/daughter

He was asleep by the time I got there yesterday, in the recliner with his fleece throw. My mom had packed a snack--a half-sandwich, a Hershey's almond treasure, and apple slices. The hiss of the dialysis machine masked my approach, though he is a sound sleeper and always has been. Not much danger of me waking him up.

Garbed in my Easter-yellow sterile gown, I pulled up a chair and watched him sleep. It took me back to the times I visited my grandma after the cancer had stripped the excess weight from her. The dialysis treatments have done the same thing for my dad, and as he slept, I noticed how much he looks like his mom, my grandma. The shape of his nose, the fine network of wrinkles, the age-spotted hands. He had a terrible, mottled bruise at the entry point for the tube that circulates his blood and cleanses it.

The nurse came by and said, "Look at that. Here you are to visit him, and he's sleeping." "That's okay," I said--"I'm in no hurry". I sat and read my Vogue Knitting magazine, and just as I finished, he opened his eyes. "You're here!" he said.

I've never made time to go sit with him during a four-hour dialysis treatment, but it was a spur-of-the-moment decision made the day before. It was motivated by wanting to spend some time alone with him (knowing that my mom doesn't go with him) and to spur him on with his memoirs. He'll be 80 in June, and told me once he didn't expect to live this long!

We did some work on his memoirs, but mostly we just hung out and talked. It reminded me of how it was with my teenage stepson--the conversations can't be scripted, they just happen when you spend time together. The questions in the memoir book are really poor--he had answered a number of them, but they're worded so that a person can get away with yes or no. It was the space, the pauses between the questions where the stories came out.

There are times when I let myself realize that my dad won't be around forever... Watching the recirculating blood yesterday reminds me that these treatments are keeping him alive, and that the moments we have together are precious.

Sometimes I miss him already.

letting go

It's time to let go. Oh, I'd already rid myself of the old love letters and photos--well, most of the photos. There were a couple tucked in back of one of my Bibles and stashed in the middle of a huge pile of unsorted snapshots. And then there were copies of cards I wrote--one to his sister, one to him. The first card to ask his sister to be there for him during our divorce. The second card to let him know I would always love him.

When the pastor set up the dumpsters three weeks ago in various locations, I knew the photos had to go. So this morning, I pulled them out and set them aside. Next came the journal I started writing to him when our marriage was in trouble. And the journal I kept when I had the compelling urge to become a mother, after years of saying I didn't want children.

I also went to the living room cabinet to pull out the scrapbook I kept from 1995 through 1997; through separation, re-union, and divorcing. It is a big scrapbook, filled with cards and letters from family and friends--so many! Quiet tears flowed as I soaked in the memories of those who walked with me and held me up and kept me alive--literally--when I could not stand on my own. It reminds me of the invisible cloak from the movie "Crash". Love was the invisible cloak.

Today is the last day of Project Freedom, and I will journey to the dumpster to lay these items to rest. It's not like I think about them anymore, but like dust mites, they are in my house and need to be cleaned out.

I am now living a dream that God had for me. It is so much bigger and so much better than anything I tried to hold on to when I was married to him. God has turned His dream into this reality: I am now married to a man who loves me for my imperfect, occasionally-annoying self--a man who thinks that I am good for him. I have more children than I dreamed possible--the "loaners" (my friends' children), my three stepsons and their wives, Noah, my little Girls on the Run. I am more and more the woman that God created me to be.

remedy

Those who believe that the Christian life is easy are delusional.

This morning, I grabbed a CD that our church worship band recorded a few years ago. Listening to it on the commute took me back to point in time where this particular group of musicians, including me, was together.

Josh, our leader--a larger-than-life, red-headed giant. Guitarist and vocalist extraordinaire, competitive athlete. The first hit came when his three-month old daughter died in a home accident. He and his wife had barely recovered (?) from that when he had a swimming accident in Mexico. Josh is still larger-than-life, but is now a quadriplegic. He no longer has the breath to sing; the feel of a guitar is a memory.

Bill, our drummer. Always wafting the smell of cigarettes, occasionally bringing me a box of snack cakes from his delivery job. If it hadn't been for the AED and a store employee who knew how to use it, Bill would be dead. He had a more than massive heart attack and was resuscitated multiple times. The oxygen deprivation caused short-term memory problems; the damage left him with 20% heart function. The drumsticks are set aside.

Chuck, our lead electric guitarist and Bill's brother. The man was amazing, from Jimi Hendrix to the blues to Sixties' riffs--he could do it all. For him, the difficulties came with financial woes, loss of business, foreclosure on the duplex that he and his wife shared with Bill.

Only Mark, our bass player, and I have remained unscathed thus far. And I wouldn't say I've led an unscathed life by any means--I've had my share of sorrow, and I will have it again. Jesus says so.

So while I felt sad at the losses experienced by this group, the music and the memories reminded me how thankful I am that we are not alone in this journey.

Check out the link to The Remedy (Jason Mraz): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mg_ZMU8RF0

joy?

So, I've been niggled lately by the thought of joy. And committing to it.

The question asked recently was, "What do you want more of in your life?" I responded, "More joy!" I became aware of how joy-less many people are, including me. It's easy to get sucked into the swirling eddy of discontent, dissatisfaction, and worry.

I don't necessarily think joy comes easily. At least not to a dysthymic person like myself. Like anything else, it is mastered only by practice, choice, and commitment. Did I learn to play the piano without hours of dedicated practice? Did I learn to speak French by waking up one morning and thinking, "I will speak fluent French from now on"? Heck no.

This morning, I decided to embrace joy. Could have been that child-like feeling of a special day because of the snow. (Am I ever going to outgrow that?)

I wasn't going to settle for less. I might have gone a little overboard, as I energetically approached the R&D team to warn them that they would be asked to cut their already slashed budget by $150,000. The commitment to joy produced energy that got me through that tough conversation, a difficult project, and yet another set of changes to our financial forecast.

The commitment to joy also created a deep sense of gratitude for the students I teach. As I came to class after work, I was happy to see them (even though some looked sleepy and bored). I courageously approached Terence, normally one of my best students, to express concern about his exam results (poor)--was there anything I can do?

Energy. Gratitude. Courage. Unexpected benefits from choosing joy.

It's the end of the day--a good day, a satisfying day.

Tomorrow I will need to practice joy again, I'm sure. Only practice makes permanent.

I want more joy. It's not too late.

spring snow

Winter's last gasp came with breathtaking beauty. Winter is never over until it snows on my freshly-bloomed daffodils. I know that, and while I don't like it, I accept it. It's impossible to control nature, after all.

The first daffodil opened on Friday.

I woke this morning to snow-laced branches on the dogwood outside the bedroom window, and a delicate mantle covering the grass. The flashers on the ditched cars along the freeway alerted me to the icy conditions, so despite my hurry to get to work, I slowed down.

It's a good reminder. Slow down. Appreciate the beauty, pay attention to the warnings.

pink tulips

As I backed out of the driveway this morning, I suddenly thought about buying flowers for my boss. She's been grinding away at a project that imprisons her at the computer for hours at a time, looking at a dreary gray screen. So although I was running behind, I stopped at the supermarket.

Tiny daffodils. Hyacinths. Hydrangeas. Roses. Tulips. Hm. I don't really like tulips... but the buckets were jammed with color--purple, red, orange, yellow. The pink ones, though--they shouted "SPRING!"

I had time to arrange them and set them next to her keyboard before she came in. Returning from a meeting, I found her making the rounds trying to solve the mystery of the pink tulips, so I 'fessed up.

It wasn't until later that she said, "I need to tell you the story of the pink tulips. I don't think I've ever told you. The day I was born..." She had to pause because the tears surfaced. "The day I was born, my dad came to the hospital. Instead of bringing fresh flowers, he arrived with a bunch of pink plastic tulips! It was always a joke between my parents."

Her parents are both dead now, her mom for just over a year.

I am always amazed what happens when I listen to the small whispers inside. God is always speaking--to us and through us.

I will never see pink tulips the same way again.