courage

""May your weekend be filled with courage. May you choose to honestly confront the competing voices in your head, and may you decide today to listen only to the true ones. Go ahead a take time off from your self-doubt for the weekend. May the break be so freeing that you decide to make it permanent."

It's embarrassing at age 55, being unable to please boss' boss and expecting a sub-par review.

Never mind that boss' boss does not communicate.

Husband posits that I should pursue teaching - I'm passionate about it, good at it, and teaching energizes me. Hey, students are starting to recommend me!

Competing voices. Boss' boss voice - "You are a failure. You cannot please me."

Voice of Truth - "I created you, fearfully and wonderfully. I filled you with skills and talents. I am pleased with you."

It all comes down to the "T" word - Who am I going to trust?

his.hands

These are the hands that held me, newborn.

These are the hands that steadied me until I was riding the bike on my own.

These are the hands that tucked me safely into bed at night.

These are the hands I held this morning.

the.mens.room

The man in the wheelchair - the man in the tan corduroy ball cap wearing the too-large cranberry jacket, that's my dad. I see him down the hallway at the VA outpatient clinic, sitting across from my mom.

He's smaller than me now, this man that always stood tall in character and personality. Some days I wish we could go back to a simpler time, when I was his little girl and he was my daddy. Now we walk in role reversal - I am the caregiver, he is the one cared for. It's the least I can do. But. Sometimes. It is damn hard.

Like today when I went to pick them up for the appointment and found him, pants around his ankles, sitting on the chair buttoning his shirt with awkward hands. We were supposed to be walking out the door that moment. Mom and I orchestrated a finely-tuned dance where I got the car and she kept him focused on getting dressed and then I took over, threading his belt and combing his hair, getting his cap and coat on.

Ah. What happened to my dad, the dapper man? It takes us all to make him dapper.

We got to our appointment, nearly on time, and were waiting for the doctor to call us in.

And then it happened.

I have to go to the bathroom, he said.

A complex set of emotions pummeled me. Empathy wrestled with frustration, impatience with responsibility. What to do?

I did what he probably would have done had the tables been turned.

I pushed his wheelchair into the men's room, got him established in the handicapped stall, and went back into the hall to wait.

And wait.

Checking in. No, he wasn't ready for me to retrieve him.

The doctor's LPN came to call us in.

I explained. She said she'd come back.

A young man offered to help.

I checked again. Not ready. You can't hurry this, he said, or words to that effect.

I had a stranger, a kind African American man, check. Not ready.

LPN came again. Five minutes, she said.

Traffic in the men's room increased, along with my blood pressure.

A man nearer my age said not to worry, to come in anyway.

Dad was ready. I have to wash my hands, he said. I pulled the wheelchair out of the stall and pushed pushed Dad to the sink, then turned the faucets on. Washing his hands consisted of holding his right hand under the water. I put soap on my hands and offered it to him. No.

And the man near my age said how it sucks to get old, and I said what my dad always said, "Consider the alternative." And then the man said how our parents took care of us, so I responded that now we get to do this. And I meant it.

It's hard sometimes to count the joy.

The joy in this day is that I am strong and I am able to help.

The joy in this day is that I can help write this chapter, perhaps the last, in my dad's life.

And that I can write this chapter with all the love in my heart as an expression of gratitude for all the times he took care of me.

dreams

I usually don't remember my dreams, but this recent dream has stayed vividly.

It's been a stressful time, nearly beyond endurance. And I dreamed that I slept on my side (I know, dreaming that I was sleeping?!), cupping a silver, star-shaped paperweight in my hands.

The metal was warm and well, weighty.

It looked kind of like this:

As I held it, I felt strangely assured that God was present and I was loved.

I didn't know how this bad-to-worse situation would resolve, but felt peace.

I've been holding to the phrase from Psalm 26:3, "...for I have always been mindful of your unfailing love".

I counted this joy, this sense of God's physical presence. And that I had, finally, good sleep.

10000.Reasons

The word for 2012 is miracles. Twelve months ago, I didn't expect that to describe my year, but it resonates in my thoughts and soul.

According to Merriam Webster, it's "Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Late Latin miraculum, from Latin, a wonder, marvel, from mirari to wonder at."

These two guys teach me a lot about wonder. Noah likes to ask, “Why, Aunt Susan…?” Yes indeed. Why?

My dad is a marvel, a trouper. We thought we would lose him four years ago when the doctors couldn’t come to a diagnosis. They stumbled upon dialysis, and between that and seventeen (or so) medications, he is still with us. Earlier this year, he lost his “pep”, but again rallied and rehabilitated. I am grateful that my husband and I could celebrate Christmas with him and my mom.

I wonder at the way that God set me, the solitary one, in a family. He gave me, the barren woman, children. It’s been twelve years and I experience no less wonder than the beginning – actually, it is more “wonder-full” as years pass.

God provided a husband who loves Him and me, in that order. As a bonus, he makes me laugh. This picture is from his 60^th birthday dinner, and it’s how I’d like people to remember us.

It wasn’t an easy year. That makes this life even more miraculous. A good friend, a solid Christian man, committed suicide. Another good friend nearly died but has been restored to us. A family rift leaves me broken – but doesn’t God love to work in the broken places?

Psalm 103:1-2 is our family prayer and because of that, Matt Redman’s song 10,000 Reasons pierces my soul.

I've got a BOLO for 2013 because God paved the way in 2012.

Be on the lookout - for miracles.

christmas.day (-6)

They came with a warning not to eat them.

Living in my cubicle-world, I do what I can to acknowledge the season - in this case, window clings. It would help to view a snow-covered field outside, but this is the new Michigan winter.

It hasn't "felt" much like Christmas yet. Maybe it's because I still hope for a white Christmas (though I think Draco is going to pass us by). Or because I feel the grief of my friend who prays and waits for a sign that her son will journey safely through PTSD. And then there is the horror and sadness of Sandy Hook.

And yet.

It is Christmas. The words of Welcome to Our World by Chris Rice speak to me perfectly:

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking

How we need to hear from God

You've been promised, we've been waiting

Welcome Holy Child

Welcome Holy Child

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

I am thankful for Your gift.

the.conductor

With trumpets and the sound of the horn make a joyful noise before the King, the Lord! Psalm 98:6

I stood, awash in the glorious sound (trumpets, tubas, and every horn in between). I found myself crying at the sheer beauty of music never to be repeated in exactly the same way. Its message spoke to my heart of Epic God who came to us as Emmanuel.

The arranger and conductor - a high school student - directed the ensemble with confidence and skill. I watched his masterful leadership and the musicians' response - whether decrescendo to pianissimo, or a crescendo to double fortissimo. The conductor pointed, beckoned, kept time - continuously communicating so that each musician knew when it was time to play or to rest...

What if we, the body of Christ, responded to God with such unity and purpose? Would it not be as magnificent as what I witnessed this morning?

Let us make a joyful noise before the King, the Lord!