Top 5 . Thanks, 2025.

Feeling less reflective than most years, my thoughts land on a very-zoomed-out version of 2025. If you're interested, they are as follows:

• My Mom died in February but I'm not leaving her there. I'm bringing her with me.

• A puzzle can be your best friend when your son is a Marine at the same table, going through bins from his whole life at home, and on the brink of leaving again. The perfect tool when you're trying to be present, but not too, and distracted from all of those feelings, but not too...

Probably the hardest year of marriage, yet. (The competition is tough when it spans over decades.) We were closer to divorcing than ever before. Spending our 23rd wedding anniversary apart when we could have spent it together was a pretty good sign of the times. Probably not ideal, but still best. 

And guess what? I think we're closer than ever before. (I say I think because I'm still a little afraid to ask him, so we're going with it.) Anyway, didn't see that coming!

That's the thing, isn't it? We can't see the good coming around the corner. Even when we're well into the turn. 

Another BIG lesson. Which reminds me - in case I haven't said it, and I know I haven't, Thanks, 2025. 

Top 5 Takeaways from 2025 

1. Don't run away just because you don't know how to stay. 

2. What is best is often a long way away from what is ideal. But that makes a lot of sense when you are way past ideal in the first place.

3. It bears repeating...We can't see the good coming around the corner. Even when we're well into the turn. 

4. Use yourself as an untapped resource. We can feel as if we're actually dying if someone else doesn't meet our needs. We're literally wired this way in infancy! In adulthood, we must learn that we won't actually die, we have what we need (or can get it) and we can always help/comfort ourselves. 

5. Prayer for Generosity: Dear Lord, teach me to be generous. Teach me to serve you as You deserve; to give and not to count the cost; to fight and not to heed the wounds; to toil and not to seek for rest; to labor and not ask for reward, save that of knowing I am doing your will. Amen.

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As for new beginnings, I propose thoughtful consideration of "Thus far..." or "This again?" 2025 saw me out with timely inspiration between my morning devotional and a Ricky Gervais comedy special. We run the gamut over here. 

2026 started similarly with mumbled conversation across rooms with our teenage son.

.... ... ... ... _______________10:00.

Did you say it's' only 10:00 or it's already 10:00? He answered "already" when pressed (but only because he didn't want to hear another lecture about wishing time away.)

Reminds me of a line in a book I read recently. Something like... Time - Nothing is more valuable nor regarded more cheaply. Preparation for Death by St. Ignatius, I think. Now that I think of it, I just might put that on my headstone.

Is 2026 going to be a thus far, this again, only, or already year? Probably D. All of the above.

God be with you and yours in 2026. Don't run away. We have what we need and there is endless good ahead...

Pushing The Call Button

Our mom has been in the hospital for nearly a week with a severe infection. The antibiotics they thought were treating it weren't touching it. The correct and apparently the only antibiotic that could treat it wasn't started until the fifth day after admission. 

She woke up long enough to answer questions and hopefully take two bites of something. I have never seen her so sick nor been so afraid for her life. I spent four nights with her in the hospital and have a new appreciation for that little red circle with a white cross in the middle. When you push it, someone comes.

The call button.

Some nurses and aides were great, some weren't.  None of them took the time to learn or use my name. But someone always came.

The antibiotic worked within a couple of hours and returned Mom to herself. She is being discharged today. I am filled with awe and gratitude and am thinking about call buttons--how they show up and when they show up in our lives. My premature conclusion is that we should all have one. 

One push. No need to dial 911. That's too many separate actions for someone who is really in trouble. Physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually.

However, based on recent experience with a patient that should be too young to die by today's standard, I know that having a call button doesn't mean that it is easy to push. In this case, I am not talking about muscle weakness but that can be true too. I am talking about pride and expectation.

When you spend 65 years walking to the bathroom and wiping yourself, pushing a button for someone to come and help you is one of the hardest things there is. Unless you count pooping or peeing in a diaper before you push the button. You can call it a brief if it makes you feel better. Hopefully, we can find comfort in language when we can't find it anywhere else.

Pushing a button for someone to come and help you for any reason—unless you are a boss with a secretary or personal assistant-- requires a conscious acknowledgment and willingness to admit that you are no longer independent every.time.you.push.it.

Unfortunately, this is how we define death in our culture. Just not openly. 

As a wise woman in a nursing home once told me, it is a good thing we don't have an on/off button, or we would push it way too soon.

As I was returning to my mom's hospital room after getting some dinner, I saw an elderly man in the lobby. He had a highly bandaged leg whose signs of seepage indicated that it might be time for a dressing change. But he wasn't there for himself. He was trying to get a wheelchair to get himself to his wife's room as she had just had brain surgery. 

The man working the front desk said he could get him one but it would be a minute. The elderly man insisted he could not wait, as he told his wife he would be there at 8:30 and he did not want to be late. He limped off in the direction of her room. 

By the time I signed in and caught up with him in the hall, he was leaning with his head against the wall to rest. I sidled up beside him and offered my arm. He eagerly accepted, thanked me, and leaned into every other step. 

At the long-awaited door on the third floor, I told him he made it. He looked at me and said “we made it.” I said okay, and smiled. He introduced his wife and we shared a little small talk. As I closed the door behind me I heard her say “Who was that?!” I laughed as I recognized myself in her.

I just had to put words to all of these things because that's what happens when my head and heart are full. Plus, I like how it all goes together.

 Sometimes, we have to push the call button and sometimes we get to answer it. That’s how call buttons work.  

Circling Sea Glass

Some people think the world is going to hell in a hand basket.  But, not me. Because, there’s Mitch.

I’m tagging along with my husband and son on their hunting trip, which happens to be 15 miles from Surfside Beach.  Seems like a weird combination to me, but no matter. 

The guys left early this morning to hunt, and I walked out behind them to have a cup of coffee on the beach and watch the sunrise.  I’m not a morning person, so I haven’t seen a lot of sunrises, and I’ve seen fewer on the beach.

Without planning to, I got up with my empty coffee cup and started walking.  After awhile, I started looking where I was walking.  After another while, I noticed that someone had drawn what looked like eyes in the sand. One here, one there.

I assumed someone up earlier than me, needed to mark a moment of some great vision or insight.  

But, then there was one close enough to my feet, that I couldn’t miss what was inside of it.

Sea glass.  

It took me a minute, but it dawned on me that someone was walking this beach, circling sea glass for others to find.

Really?  It’s only 7 in the morning, and somebody has already been here, pointing the way to a treasure that a later traveler might miss? 

It doesn’t seem like a thing of great magnitude when you write it, but it is dumbfounding when you discover it.

I kept walking, but now, I was walking and wondering “Who is doing this?!”  

I stopped long enough to take pictures of the evidence, but never took the glass.  I was too eager for someone else to find the treasure I found.  Evidence of the person who found it first, and wanted you to find it, too.  

I only saw one other person coming from the direction I was going, so I stopped her.  “Was it you?”  “Did you draw the circles around the sea glass?!”

She, Michelle, head of beach clean up on their "4 miles of heaven", smiled knowingly.  “No, that was Mitch.”  

Mitch?

“Yes, he walks the beach every morning at sunrise.  He’s 85.  He couldn’t walk and was near death a year ago.  But, now he walks two miles every morning and volunteers to clean up the beach. He only wanted a bucket and a grabber, so that’s what he got. His wife Susie goes when he gets back, so she can use the bucket and grabber, too.”  

She said, “If you’re here tomorrow morning at sunrise…”

But, I won’t be.  I’m leaving soon. 

But, I’m taking Mitch with me.  Along with all of the treasures I found (outside of his circles).  But, leaving knowing Mitch walks the beach at sunrise, picking up trash and circling sea glass for others to find, is the greatest treasure of all.

 

Competitive Suffering

If only awareness of another’s suffering made our own disappear. 

A week ago, my Mom had her leg amputated and an inch of collarbone removed.  Even the pain between the two seems to be in competition.  Her shoulder, the clear winner in the beginning, is now falling into a tie, but only because second place is catching up.

An elderly father is hospitalized for the third time in a month.  A daughter wonders what is next and how to care for him, while working full-time to make ends meet.  A marriage ends and arbitration begins.  Someone receives a terminal diagnosis.  A husband watches his wife of 50 years linger in her last days of life and he feels like he is “going to a funeral every day.”  

The Ukraine is being invaded and bombed by Russia.  Death and terror abound, and a 90-something can’t stop looking at the spots on her hands, ashamed they concern her at all - with all of the “real suffering” going on in the world.  

If only awareness of another’s suffering made our own disappear. 

If only...  

A friend with a broken ankle decided to “stop whining” after listening to my Mom talk about her amputation.  But, her ankle is still broken and 8-weeks of healing and rehabilitation are still ahead.

As much as we wish it were different, being privy to another’s suffering doesn’t erase our own.  And sometimes, perhaps most of the time, we feel shame about that.  

But, if greater suffering vanquished lesser suffering, all who suffer less would have no suffering at all, and those who suffer most would be huddled together - suffering, without anyone who could understand or sympathize with them.  

I think it is a noble instinct, though. To consider our own suffering as nothing the moment we hear of something more uncomfortable, tragic, or grandiose.

But, whatever suffering existed before awareness of a greater suffering, isn’t nothing.  It still exists, and is perhaps even a greater suffering than before because it does exist and remains uncomfortable.

What then?  My hope is that suffering “less” than another can bring not shame, but awe. Awe at greater suffering borne bravely, with a side of fruit.  Abundant fruit.  

Inspiration.  Compassion.  Patience.  Perseverance.  Gratitude.  Goodwill.  

Ankles can break, legs can be lost, and hands can grow concerning things in times of war, as well as peace.  May sufferings great and small bring that mysterious grace which allows one to rejoice in them.

…we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

Romans 5:3-5

Life's Pages

I've been thinking about writing a book for as long as people have been telling me I should, which has been awhile now.

My husband insists I have "a book in me" and breakfast with one of my dearest friends always starts with the same question.  "Have you found a publisher, yet?"

Honestly, I laugh at the thought of having anything left to write (and the irony of this post in light of that).  Ecclesiastes and nothing-new-under-the-sun are forerunners in reasons why not.  There is no storehouse of ideas, or anything within me that feels like it is waiting to be written.   

Perhaps, it is what I've already written, they suggest.  

While this is very nice and affirming, it hasn’t proven a springboard for anything other than good feelings about what has already been done. 

But, occasionally things happen which feel like a nudge toward something. Things that make me think that maybe I shouldn’t rule it out.  Not just, yet.

Little things like little questions in little blue books that say, “Take something that feels big and make it smaller.  What is the first step?”

And big things, like meeting a new hospice patient and her family. Carol.  Her greatness unfolded right there at the kitchen table, in part, but not exclusively borne of her length of years.  I admired her bright eyes, painted fingernails, and her paintings on the walls.  

I inquired about whether she'd ever consider writing a book.  Her daughter-in-law replied that she already had.  Her son disappeared from the table and placed it into my very hands.

I had to fight back tears, and said as much.  Not just because she'd done the work of it, but because an aggressive dementia has closed the window of time when doing any such thing again would be out of the question.  She simply stated that she started with a table of contents, went as far back as she could remember, and went from there.  

I’ve only just begun to read it, but I am in awe of it.  Its cover, contents, and weight.  I think about all that has happened within her life and its pages, and wonder how much of it she remembers or would have been lost without her rendition.

She reminds me that there is more than one reason to write a book. For yourself, now.  For your family.  For hospice chaplains and interested strangers.  For profit, if you have the means.  And for yourself, later.

Only the last reason might be the one for me.  The one that pushes me over the edge from dreaming to doing.  What if by writing these things now, I can revisit my life again as me with intimate knowledge or as an outsider who has forgotten?  As one who admires the main character in the story, but has forgotten I was her?  Or as one who gains some warmth of soul by hearing a “new” story written in a really, really, really familiar way?  

Carol’s first chapter begins with a quote by James Barrie. “God gave us memories that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.”  

Thank God for difficult ideas and realities put simply and beautifully. 

And thank God for Carol and the Prestenbach family, The Bends In My Road, and the ability to inspire at every age and in every circumstance.  For June roses in December, thoughtful planting, safe-keeping, and books waiting to be written…

Lingering Dragonflies

Once upon a time, a beautiful girl sat on her driveway and talked to a dragonfly, as she cupped him in her hands, and cried.  

I know this because that beautiful girl is my niece, my sister is her Mom, and once upon a time was this morning.  

I love my niece and I like dragonflies, and I think it is cool that she got to hold one, but there is more.

One of her best friends died from brain cancer in July.  He was only 22.  He promised his Mom he would come back and visit as a dragonfly.  And this isn’t the first time he’s visited.

I want to believe this, but I also want to reject the idea that would allow a human to visit his loved ones as a dragonfly, but not as a…human.  

But, then I remember a Scripture I recently read about freedom…

What would a soul do, if it were free?  

If a human dies, it is because the body has stopped living.  The soul remains unharmed and is freed from the confines of its weighty clothes, which previously bound it to the earth when walking, or the bed when walking became no more.

So, a body has died and a soul has returned to its Creator.  By some heavenly agreement, souls are allowed to visit those they love.  Maybe to keep their word.  Maybe to offer consolation and hope.  But, what to wear?

One woman described re-entering her body after a near-death experience as donning an old, heavy, wet pair of coveralls.  Blech.

If souls are truly free, can they choose to wear anything they want (except for their old body, which they wouldn’t want, anyway)?  It seems as though they should.  Today, a dragonfly visited a friend. Cardinals and butterflies are visiting others, elsewhere.  Who can blame them? 

Those who have visited heaven describe traveling at the speed of thought.  Barriers do not impede and effort is not required.  If I were to visit the earth after living in such a way, I would certainly choose to visit as something that could fly.  

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom…

Sorting Day

It might be too soon to write, but this is the place I come when my heart and mind are full.  It feels too raw and too one-sided, just yet.  The main character in this story is my Mom, but she won’t be writing it and may or may not read it.  Even now, her iPhone is disabled.  Passwords can be problematic and customer service, worse still. 

I’m sitting in our hotel lobby, a 1/2 mile from her new home - The Healthcare Resort.  It has been her temporary home for the last 3 weeks, but the decision to stay was made two days ago.  Finding the care she needs at home has proven an impossibility.  Good care days apart is just not good at all.  

Yesterday was the 4th of July.  Independence Day.  We sat outside on the patio with the most perfect of breezes and ate take out from her favorite restaurant.  We played cards and had a private concert.  My son played the Star Spangled Banner and Sweet Home Alabama, unplugged on his electric guitar.  Pretty sweet, because he had to sit all the closer, so she could hear.  

We talked and colored and watched 50 fireworks shows all at once, stretched across the Topeka skyline.  We watched the deer who made their peace with the fireworks, but not with us, and knew again we were in a good spot when others came to watch the show from where we already were.

It was the best visit we’ve had in years.

But, today is Sorting Day.  She will go back to her apartment for the first time in a month and will be looking for a particular set of things…The essential ones.  

When you’re disabled and live alone, the essential things have to do with survival.  When you’re moving to a place where survival requires less of you, you can remember that you have art supplies and imagine having the energy to use them.  You can imagine spending an evening on your patio with your family instead of in the kitchen, because you did that just last night.

If you’re a daughter along for the ride, you keep telling yourself these things and take a lot of pictures of the good, because you need them to get through the part of this day that you’re dreading.  You naively believed that it wouldn’t come to this and you can’t stop wishing that it still won’t, somehow.  But, you will show up at the agreed upon time, and it will unfold like everything else.  And it will be okay.

The good will keep coming along with the impossibly hard, and we will keep trying to remember that Independence Day can include freedom to do life in a new way.  Maybe even a better way.  Last night reminded us that this isn’t all about loss and losing ground in the game of life.  

After all, we haven’t played cards or watched fireworks…in years.  We’ve been too busy doing the things we’ve always done, and learned we can survive without deviled eggs in the process.

I snapped this last night for her brother and sister-in-law after we hung up the phone, so they could see where we were.  This morning, it looks different and feels weightier.  I’m tempted to let it stand alone with all of its significance, and break my heart.  And all of ours.  

But, I remind myself that she’s not alone in that parking lot, or in that place.  I’m on the other side of the camera, and my siblings will be here when I am not, and her friends will be here when they are not, and her favorite priest will be here when they are not, and the staff will be here when they are not…

And with all of that, my husband said he sees hope.  So, I am going to go with that…  

Love Is...

Love is…

Everything.  Never ends.  Forever.  Taking care of him when he can’t take care of himself.  Strength to do what you need to do.  A need.  Learning to love in a different way.  God-given…We love because He first loved us. 

These are good descriptions of love.  But, they gain a shocking amount of power when you meet the ones who spoke them.   Ones who continue to learn daily about a “love stronger than death.”  Widows and widowers.

 They have suffered the deep and unrelenting pain of losing a spouse.  And they would do it again.  100% of them would do it again.  They understand grief as the price of love and they are willing to pay it. 

“Ask any young man in love if the suffering that he has known is worth the hour that it has brought him to, or if he would now forego his love to be exempt from future sorrow.  It is not necessary for me to tell you his answer.  Suppose that God gave every man the choice between a world in which there was no suffering, but also no capacity for love, or a world in which suffering remains, but everyone has the power to love.  Which do you think mankind would choose?  Which would you choose?  Quite certainly the power to love, even at the cost of suffering.” – Caryll Houselander

These men and women inspire and embolden as they live out their answers with their unanimous and resounding YES.

 They show up weekly to profess their love for their spouse and the depth of their grief, which is its only equal.  They take chances on sharing these most-sacred-of-things with strangers who quickly become friends.  Safe friends.  Because they know. 

Through the eyes of the only person in the room who has not experienced the devastating and life-altering loss of a spouse, I marvel at them.  I do not know.  And they let me come, anyway.  They welcome me and love me, even. 

 I tell them they are my personal superheroes, and I mean it.  They have lived through one of my worst fears and continue to find and take their next steps, all while not knowing how.  They are the embodiment of courage, resilience, and incredible faith.

 They teach me how to keep going when you don’t feel like it.  They show me how to offer and receive lunch invitations.  They model how to start, build, celebrate, and sustain friendships.  They take chances on people, and they remind me it is the little things that represent the greatest of loves.  A dirty cup lid, because your husband used to wash it, an empty passenger’s seat where your road-trip partner used to be, and a red shop rag in the back pocket of a pair of overalls tell the tale. 

 Happy Valentine’s Day to all who continue to celebrate a love stronger than death.  Your love continues to make the world a better place.  Thank you for sharing it so generously.  May you continue to love well and be loved well, in return.  God be with you. 

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” – C.S. Lewis

 

 

 

 

COVID-19: Another Perspective

We are on day two of schools being closed and all other activities limited or stopped completely to slow the spread of COVID-19, a novel coronavirus.  People are hoarding groceries and toilet paper, facing extreme illness and mortality, unemployment or crazy overtime, decreased personal interaction, no childcare, and no idea when or where it will end.  Fears for our personal health and for those we love abound.

But, I just keep coming back to what Naomi said.

“I’ve survived the worst thing of my life.”

Naomi is a newly bereaved wife with four young children to raise.  She was one of the ones that didn’t stock up and knows this will pass, as most things do.  She recognizes her outlook on everything has changed, and in this case, that is a good thing.

Naomi inspires me and makes me think about the beatitudes.  Matthew 5:4 to be exact.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

When normalcy, pleasure, fantasies, and distractions melt away because of a worldwide pandemic, a terminal illness, or the death of someone you love, maybe part of the comfort promised in these mystifying verses is that the fear of anything worse ceases to exist.  Your worst fear is behind you and you’ve survived it.  And you know this.   

This gives me hope for those who have faced unimaginable loss and who persevere in living, as well as hope for the rest of us.  Especially now. 

As I ponder the most likely impact of COVID-19 on my immediate family, my thoughts turn to food. It is embarrassing even to admit this considering the threat to life itself, but the shortages tell the truth.  It is on everyone’s mind.  The canned food aisle won the most-ransacked-award when I went shopping a few days ago.  Except for canned peas.  There were plenty of those.  (Who knew?!)

Canned peas aside, we eat well. We could pare down a lot and be just fine.  But, it makes me think about the divide between what we have and what we actually need to live.  This divide is what makes us panic over empty shelves and stocking delays.  We are used to having way more than we need.  We don’t know what we can get by with, and we don’t want to know. 

But, there is a group of people who do know what they need because that is all they have, and all they are used to having.  There is no surplus and no division between have and need,  and yet, an entire kingdom seems to have their name on it.  They are called the poor in spirit.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” 

   Matt 5:3

Being poor and poor in spirit are not necessarily, nor always the same thing.  But, our poor are often poor in spirit, and I am thinking about them.  They are used to limited supply.  Not because the shelves are empty, but because their wallets are.  Food stamps and food banks routinely remind them they are beneficiaries.  People at the mercy of other people.  Making room for blessings not earned is mandatory.  Going without, a way of life.

Mother Teresa said, “Even God Himself cannot fill what is already full.”  Well, guess what?  We are making room.  Our circumstances demand it.  As we tackle the uncertainties of living day-to-day in a scenario we never could have imagined, our shelves and calendars have emptied, but our capacity to survive, serve, bless, love, and receive is growing (if we let it).

Amidst all of the unknowing, my hope is that those who can recognize themselves in the beatitudes will find the comfort and the kingdom they have been promised — and that the rest of us can learn something from their hard-won perspective secured along the way.

 God be with us.

Hope Embodied

We're still celebrating Easter and for me, Easter means hope.  Hope has become one of my favorite things to write about, because it's the one thing we need to live as much as air and water.  But, its sources can be harder to find.  It's not pumped into our homes by the city and it takes more than breathing to be filled with it. 

Sometimes, we just have to go looking for it, or hope it finds us when we.just.can't. 

So, it is with this in mind, that I want to tell you that I had a good day at work today.  I had a good day for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason was meeting someone special. Somebody who inspired me, and who I know will inspire you, too.  Her name is Candace and she welcomed my help in sharing her story, which most definitely needs to be shared.

This is Candace. (I took her picture in the hospital, but when she saw it, she offered to send me one instead. :)) 

When Candace was 14-years-old, she began to suffer from kidney failure.  After three trips to the doctor and three misdiagnoses, she ended up in the ER with little chance to live.  Her mother prayed and told the Lord, "I will take my daughter any way, but don't take her away from me."  This is a prayer that Candace has struggled with, because she's here, but her life is difficult and tiring.  

For awhile, she was angry.  She'd been robbed of living a normal life and nothing could change that.  Nothing, but a change of perspective.  A gift from a 2-year-old with cancer who just wanted to play Barbies.  She still has the bracelets they made together.  Candace looked around her at Cooks Children's Hospital and absorbed what she saw...kids who were "sicker" than she was, and yet, they were kids who were happy.  

They showed her what it looked like to live with joy despite significant and imposing limitations.  After 31 days in the hospital and dialysis for almost a year, Candace received a new kidney from her father.  She still remembers receiving the call that the time had come because she was out finishing up her school shopping for her Senior year.  Although her body rejected it early on, her medical team won.  Her father's kidney did its job for about five years, until her body rejected it for good.  She started retaining fluid, it started hurting, and it had to come out.  

That was bad enough, but her faith stopped working, too.  She felt "forgotten".  

But, her grandmother was there to cheer her on, reminding her that "this is a test" and faith "the size of a mustard seed" is enough to get the job done, all while she pointed her toward the mountain her faith needed to move. 

Since that time, Candace has been undergoing dialysis for 10 years.  Three times a week for three-and-a-half or four hours at a time.  She beams about "getting it down to three-and-a-half hours" and how 30 minutes of not-being-on-dialysis time is worth more than you can imagine.  

She spends this time with the people who keep her going...her Mom, Dad, Grandma, boyfriend, and two brothers.  They take her to the ER when she has to go, encourage her to go out when she'd rather stay in, and keep close tabs on her daily activities, down to the drop - "Are you supposed to drink that?"  "Is that too much for you?"  I know an 11-year-old brother who is going to be a gift to the world because he has already learned how to care for someone other than himself.

Candace still hopes to be a hospital "care partner" one day, since her care partners made such a lasting impression on her.  They take you outside, sit with you while you play, or anything at all "just to make you happy."  

Candace, I'm pretty sure you were a care partner today because you made me very happy, indeed.  Thank you for letting me share your story.  You are hope embodied.  Keep shining, girl!    

"...Amen, I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move.  Nothing will be impossible for you."

Matthew 17:20

The Acid Test of Flight

"All our ideas, all our calculations, all our hopes lie there before me, waiting to undergo the acid test of flight...Today, reality will check the claims of formula and theory on a scale which hope can't stretch a single hair" writes Charles Lindberg about his preparations to make the first transatlantic flight in The Spirit of St. Louis.

This is not my normal reading fare, but a recently widowed man recommended it to me, so I went to the library and checked it out the next day.  I'm only a third of the way through, but I'm surprised how much I'm enjoying it and how Mr. Lindberg is able to nail descriptions of things that are difficult to describe.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised since doing difficult things was kind of his specialty.

The acid test of flight...

As a hospice bereavement coordinator, I work with the bereaved.  Those who are grieving.  Those who are learning how to live with grief.  And none of them feel like they know how.  And yet, they do it, through the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years. 

Sometimes there are preparations that last years and other times not even a single day.  They anticipate, imagine, plan, discuss, and guess about how things will come to an end and what it will be like, all the while saying "I don't know how to do this" while they are in fact, doing it.

The acid test of flight...

After the recent death of a patient I had the privilege of getting close to, I was struck by the five seconds it took to write her name and the word "funeral" after it in my calendar.  How can that be?!  We die in less time than it takes for someone to pencil our funeral in on their calendar.

It probably seems morbid to you, but this prompts me to imagine people writing "Heidi's funeral" in their calendar, followed by a time for the service.  I wonder who would come and whose attendance would surprise me, and pray that people aren't whispering sadly to themselves, if only.

As I read somewhere, I believe that we die in a moment and all the rest is living.

The acid test of flight...

Beyond thoughts, preparations, and intentions to actual flying.  Not thinking about flying, but f.l.y.i.n.g.  Living, for those of us who have never had a flying lesson.

I love what Charles Lindberg writes about preferring steadiness to accuracy in a compass, if forced to choose.  It's easy to subtract or add a few degrees to one's magnetic course.  

And when the skeptics press into the cracks of his own doubt, he replies, "I can't very well miss the entire European coast."

I'm not sure I can explain it, but this sentence that has no obvious relevance to my own life, makes my soul laugh in relief.  Yeah, I can't very well miss the entire European coast. 

My hat is off to Mr. Lindberg for his always hopeful and detailed account of his endeavor to make the first transatlantic flight and to you, my fellow flyers, who are acing the acid test of flight, in spite of not knowing how.

 

Hanging Chickens and Hope

There is a day left of 2017 and I'm thinking about hope.  Mainly, because a few days ago, a well-bundled woman approached me as I sat in my very warm car in a parking lot, finishing some last-minute mascara application.  As she walked by, I couldn't escape her searching eyes, nor overlook her hood and bulky scarf, which indicated her plans to be out much longer than I.  I wondered if she was going to circle back to my car.  And she did. 

"I have to walk a long way to get my bike and I just wondered if you had any money or change for snacks or something to eat."

While I was looking in my wallet I heard her say, "I don't know your name, but God knows."  And I was thinking to myself, "Yeah, God knows."  He also knows that I gave her most, but not all of my money.  Maybe enough for a couple of value meals.  Maybe.  And lest you think I was having a "widow's mite" moment, I wasn't.  Embarassingly,  I kept my last two dollars. 

She thanked me enthusiastically and said things were looking up...She just got a new job hanging chickens for $12.43 an hour!

I congratulated her, walked into my work, and have thought about her every day since. 

I am in awe that her hope lies in a job that I could only cry at the thought of, much less do.

The apparent ease with which she asked for what she needed reminded me that blessed are the poor in spirit - probably aware of every blessing because receiving so often necesitates asking.

How many catastrophes I would have to endure to be so humble!

After long awaiting and receiving the Christ child in the temple, Simeon said, "Lord, now let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled..."

And I wonder to myself, "Will I ever be at a similar place in my life?  A place where all promises have been fulfilled and my only earthly desire is to leave it?"  I hope so.  It seems like death by contentment.

Interestingly, I read Simeon's passage to a small group of nursing home residents during our weekly communion service.  I asked them if they ever imagined they would still be alive in the year 2018.  They all said no.

I wonder what it feels like to live longer than you ever thought you would?  As one widow with Stage 4 cancer said, "I believe if I had an On/Off button, I would push it now."  But, in her hard-earned wisdom, she admits that it is good we don't have such a button,.  We would all push it way too soon.

Hope is that invisible force that keeps pulling us through life, when we'd just rather not.  For a long time, I wondered what it was that kept people going after unspeakable tragedies and horrific losses.  I figured it was something other than great advice, although Winston Churchill ranks highly in my book, with his "When you're going through hell, just keep going."

I've often imagined what I now know to be hope, as a little God-fueled motor propelling us forward, in spite of any desire to move in such a direction.  Or any direction, for that matter.  I've seen it in the poor, sick and very sick, grieving and dying.  I've seen it in all who labor in the skin of humanity, and most recently, in the well-bundled and newly employed.

If you have labored your fair share, it is good to know that hope can be forged.

...knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.   Romans 5:3-5

We can have a hope for a particular experience or outcome, a moment or a day, a lifetime or an eternity.  And we can have them all at the same time.

Simeon's earthly hope rested in the fulfillment of God's promise that "he should not see death before he had seen the Christ of the Lord."  My hope lies in this same God Who has brought me to where I am - in a town, far away from my birthplace and from where I met the man I would spend the rest of my life with, holding a job I couldn't have dreamed of, sharing a couch with children whose existence was dependent upon the meeting of those two strangers in the hill country, surrounded by a persevering people that keep me circling back, wondering what keeps them going.  I certainly couldn't have stumbled this far on my own, groping in the dark.

Let us not move one inch from our position of hope, be it hanging chickens, a happy death, or any place in between.

The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.  

1 Thessalonians 5:24

Meet Mr. Griffin

Meet Mr. Robert Griffin.

Mr. Griffin is retired from the United States Navy and has been inspiring me for two and a half years.  I had the pleasure of visiting with him today, and a few sentences into our conversation it dawned on me... I wish you could be there.  To see what I see.  To hear what I hear.  To reap what he sows.  

So, I proposed the idea, and he agreed to meet you, too.

Mr. Griffin was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 1987, which was probably 5-10 years after the onset of his initial symptoms.  He has been a nursing home resident for "a little over nine years".  He relinquished his driver's license on his 63rd birthday, and he lives as gracefully and gratefully as anyone I've ever known.

When I asked how he was getting along, he replied that things were the same, and God is good.  And then he said, I mean...

I wish... I could still walk...

 I wish...I could roll over in bed on my side, like I used to...

I wish... I could still go to my church.  I always feel loved, but there, it was something special.  They were my extended family.

And as he talked, I realized I have his wishes in spades.  I carry out his top three wishes hourly and daily and weekly and monthly and yearly and am rarely even conscious that I'm doing them, much less grateful for this same fact.  

I park as close as I can to wherever I'm going, so I have to walk less.  I'm annoyed if I'm rolling over in bed because it means I'm uncomfortable and awake enough to make a decision of any kind.  I enjoy going to church, but that doesn't mean I don't grumble about changing clothes or routinely explain to my precious offspring that they don't "have" to go to church, they "get" to.  

Mr. Griffin doesn't chastise me for my cluelessness or ingratitude.  He doesn't have to.  I'm immediately and painfully aware in his presence.  It is one of his many gifts to me.  

I asked him if there was anything else he wanted you to know and I wrote it down as he was saying it...

God is good, every day.

He is the same yesterday as He will be tomorrow.   

He has never given up on me, so I will never give up on Him.

I feel blessed, in a way, for how long it took from my initial diagnosis to going to a nursing home, because I know people who went from being diagnosed to becoming a quadriplegic in 2.5-3 months.  Everybody with MS is different.  I'm not sure why that is, but if it wasn't for my belief in God, I probably wouldn't be here now.  

Because if you don't have something to pin your hopes to, you'll give up...

And hope is what we've got.

Hope, that when we leave this earth, there is a God who will take care of us and restore our bodies.  

One day, I will be able to walk, and maybe run, 

jump, clap my hands, and praise God.  

Like in Amazing Grace, when we've been there for 10,000 years, it will be like an instant.  Because there is never enough time to praise God.

And to all of this, I say...Thank you, Mr. Griffin.  Thank you for being you.  Thank you for having your perspective and sharing it.  Thank you for being the face of perseverance, gratitude, and hope, as I (and now we) count our blessings this Thanksgiving.  May God continue to bless you and yours in abundance, as He blesses us through you.  Amen.

The Monarch

Over the weekend, my oldest son approached me with a little something in his hand.  Maybe half the size of a quarter.  I was expecting something gross, funny, or dead, so I met his something with an appropriate amount of hesitation.  He insisted that I look more closely and hold it.

As soon as I held it in my hand, I knew it was alive or had been alive, but I didn't know what it was, nor had I ever beheld the hue of ethereal blue it radiated.  It looked like it had been sealed with kisses from a golden ink pen, held by a meticulous lover.    

"Where did you find this?!," I questioned my son.  He found it attached to one of the wooden boards in our atrium.  I looked even more closely and realized I could make out a butterfly wing on the inside!  Ohhhhhhhhhh!  Unbelievably, the word "chrysalis" popped into my mind, and I finally understood what I was holding.  It looked like this, with a color somewhere between the second and third photos from pixshark.com.

 Before I had a chance to google these great pictures and understand more about what it was, and exactly where in the process of metamorphosis "we" were, it "fell".  About 10 feet.  The four of us present were aghast at the thought of such an incredible discovery coming to such an abrupt and violent end.

We recovered it and put it in a jar to see if there was going to be more to the story, or not.  By nightfall, it had turned black, which of course meant it was dead.  Any color turning to black always means death, doesn't it?

Morning told a different story.  The Monarch butterfly had emerged from its chrysalis, but it had not flown away.  It was lying in the bottom of the jar, in some liquid that wasn't there before.  My husband had the wherewithal to take it out of the jar and hang it on a stick, so it could pursue its natural course from there.  Like a crash course in delivering babies, we watched a time-lapse video of this occurring in a natural environment, but something was wrong.  Try as it might, it could not unfurl its wings.

This little fact about this little creature whose existence was totally unbeknownst to us 24 hours before, devastated us.  We took turn holding sticks, and providing assistance when it fell off.  After a while, like a good theater company, we placed it on a rose for a different backdrop, hoping for a different scene to emerge.  When that didn't work, we filled a lid with sugar water, which enticed its incredibly long proboscis out for display.  Wow!  Have you seen this in real life?!  Just when I thought this mystical little creature had shown me all of its wonders, it showed me more.  Surely, there was something more I could do for it.  When all else failed, I tried to fix its wings myself.

(And I'm the one who goes around perpetuating the story about never helping a struggling butterfly out of its cocoon!  The struggle is crucial for its survival, I've been told.  It facilitates circulation through its wings.  But, desperate circumstances called for desperate measures.)

All of this to say, none of it worked.   Only two choices were left.  Was it going to die "naturally" as a victim of the elements or more mercifully and quickly, by my hand?  I entertained trying to keep it alive in an aquarium, but to what end?  After a quick call out to my husband, and no reply, I knew I had to do it.  The kids went out the back door and I went out the front.  I was never so sad to kill something so small, and yet so shockingly exquisite.

From first glance to tragic end, this little butterfly and its place in the story of life have made an indelible impression on me.  Lying in bed last night, I googled more about a Monarch's life.  I had to know.  Just how much life was truncated by a series of unfortunate events in my living room?  From what I read, it takes about 4 weeks to pass from an egg to a butterfly.  The average length of life beyond that?  About 4 weeks, with a range from a few days to a year. 

The marvels of the caterpillar, aesthestics and ecological value of the butterfly, aside, I am totally in awe of the captivating beauty and ornate detail of the chrysalis.  Outside of its central place in the metamorphosis of a caterpillar/butterfly, it is independently and astonishingly beautiful

What is the reason for such beauty?  Under more fortunate circumstances, it goes completely unnoticed.  In short time, I am becoming convinced that the better question is, for whom?  For whom has this beauty been created?

As far as I can tell, it is for no other reason than that "For from the greatness and beauty of created things comes a corresponding perception of their Creator."  Wisdom 13:5

Maybe, the beauty is just for us.  The ones lucky enough to stumble upon it...

"If you become Christ's you will stumble upon wonder upon wonder, and every one of them true."

-St. Brendan of Birr

Dear God of Metamorphosis and a Million Wonders Unseen,

Thank you for all things beautifully and wonderfully made.  Thank you for the countless details, which comprise beauty in every form...Especially in this chrysalis, whose beauty is most compelling because the reason for it can only be You.  And us.  I'm sorry it had to die, especially because we had our part in its death.  But, I'm not sorry that it led me here, and to You.  It's funny how life is like that, with exceeding beauty and death "living" side by side.  It seems like there could be one or the other, but not both existing at the same time, so close together.  I guess that "seeming" is the way the truth embedded in our heart drifts toward our minds.  The heart knows that death will take its final blow when it meets the Source of all beauty.  Thank you for this hope and everything in life that points to it.  Amen.   

Because I Love God, I Love His Will Above All Else

Today's post is a summary of last Friday's Morning of Reflection, hosted by the women of Regnum Christi, for all women.  Members of Regnum Christi hold eight core convictions.  The topic, "Because I love God, I love His will above all else" is one of them.  I will do my best to weave the thread through my notes, so that you may reap the benefit of the content. 

Our first speaker was consecrated woman, Almudena F. Blanco.  She shared her personal challenges in responding to the Lord's call to the consecrated life.  She highlighted the need for courage, patience, and the ability to swim in the unknown...

Think of all the things we do to show our spouse that we love them.  Watch football even though we're not interested?  Make what they like to eat even though we don't like it?  The list goes on.

I love God's will because He loves me...

Ask yourself, "How much does God love me?  How does God love me?"  Stay here.  Don't rush.  God loves us in an infinite number of ways.  It takes time to ponder them...

"If you love me, show me..."  How many times do we say this?  But, how can we respond when God challenges us this way?

We can start by keeping the Ten Commandments.  The basics.  By not offending God.
Absence of sin is actually no more than the indispensable condition for the life of grace...It would be a tasteless insult to think that to love someone means only to abstain from offending him.

Live the question, "Is this pleasing to God?"  Choose the greatest good.  God's will is about the daily surrender; not just the big things.  We have to trust those we love.  God included.

God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the son whom he thought would never come.  Abraham was willing to do it because he trusted his God completely.  He withheld nothing.

We have to be careful to resist the temptation to demand a prompt answer, when we finally muster the courage to ask God what He wants from us.  We might lose our courage or feel faint at the thought of cultivating patience, but me must wait on Him as long as He deems it necessary.  Avoid "Answer me, now!" as much as possible.

In the unknown, we are like swimmers in the open water with no sense of where or how far away the land is.  All we can do is keep afloat.  Try not to drown.  God says, "Trust me."  By keeping afloat, we are building spiritual muscle.  We may think we are ready for a prompt answer, but God knows best.  We often need more time to prepare ourselves to do His work.

God is painting the picture of our lives.  Sometimes, He uses colors that we don't like.  "Not black!  Anything but black!"  And we try to dodge the paintbrush.  But, of course, we lack the perspective of the final work.  We're too close to it.  We need to trust The Artist.

Can we join Pope Clement XI in his prayer to God when he says...

I want whatever you want,
because you want it,
the way you want it,
as long as you want it.

Personal Reflection
1.  What has been my last experience of the love of God in my life?
2.  How am I able to recognize God's will in my life?  How does it manifest concretely?
3.  How can I be more sensitive and open to God's will?
4.  What are the main obstacles to following God's will in my life?

Our second speaker was Fr. Michael Sullivan, L.C..  He shared many stories, some from his life and some from others.  I am not re-telling those stories, but simply providing an overview of the main points those stories made.  The stories themselves are too funny or magnificent to be watered down here.

His points (more or less) were as follows:

God's will is better than you think!

Wisdom is the gift given to those who possess charity, according to St. Thomas Aquinas.  Wisdom is seeing things as God sees them. 

Faith is knowing God, and God's "stuff".
Hope is loving God for my sake.
Charity is doing (loving) God for God's sake.

We reach Charity through Hope.

God does not give you any desire He doesn't want to fill.  When you seek happiness, You seek God's will for you.  St. Thomas More (prior to his execution) said something like, "God's will is always good, no matter how bad it may seem."

Case studies for heroic Hope and Faith:

Ernest Shackleton -attempted to cross the Antarctic continent in 1914 and subsequently struggled for survival with his twenty-eight man crew for almost two years, as detailed in Endurance:  Shackleton's Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing.

Declan Brown - Died from cancer of the spine, wearing the cassock of a novice at age 14, per his request (after obtaining special dispensation).   As his mother sat at his bedside one day, Declan said to her “Mom I’m a priest.” His mother responded “No Declan, you’re not a priest yet.” Declan insisted, “Mom I’m a priest.” She replied again “No Declan, you’re not a priest. You’ve just received the uniform to begin your training for becoming a priest.” Declan explained “Mom, Christ was a priestly victim when he was suffering on the cross. I’m suffering with Christ on the cross now, so I am a priest.” (Excerpt from Thanksgiving in a Whole New Way by Fr. Michael Patrick Moriarty)

Sinners' sufferings are sterile, useless, and vain.  Saints' sufferings are fruitful and eternal.

Something can be hoped for when it is:
1.  Good
2.  Difficult
3.  In the future
4.  Possible

We travel through hope to faith to love.  The opposite of hope is despair.

The height of immaturity is "The world revolves around me."  The height of maturity is empathy.

When we are faced with those whom we find most difficult to love, imagine them as a child in Mary's lap.  Pray for that kind of love.

In Marriage and Holy Orders, if holiness is gained, it is through service to others.

It all boils down to "Be not afraid, because I will be with you."

Personal Reflection:
1.  What has God done in my life?
2.  What have I ever given to God and regretted it?!

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for mornings of reflection.  Thank you for the priests, consecrated women, and all of the lay people of Regnum Christi who sacrifice personally to make them happen.  Thank you for the people whose stories encourage and strengthen us long after they've gone to join You.  Please bless all who made the effort to attend, those who wanted to but couldn't, and those who know nothing of the sort.  Please increase our hope, so that one day, we may pass from loving You for our sake to loving You for Your sake.  Please forgive us for our impatience and all of the other obstacles we place in Your way.  Increase our faith.  Help us to love Your will above all else, because we love You.  Please give us the grace to want whatever you want, because you want it, the way you want it, as long as you want it.  Amen.

Fear, Hope, or Love - The Reasons for Every Action Since the Beginning of Time

Fear.  Hope.  Love. 

One of these three things motivate every action of our life.  They dictate how we suffer interiorly, and how we treat others.  They are often very hidden, but the absence of clamor doesn't nullify their existence or change their power.  If anything dictates everything in my life, I want to know about it.  I like to know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.  If you don't have clarity about what you're doing, it is impossible to act with purity.  Purity of intention is acknowledging and removing all selfish intent when performing an action, and doing it for love alone.

To do good to others in the hope that, in turn, our Lord will be good to you is a supernatural motive, even if it is self-centered.  To do good to others with the consciousness that Christ asks it of you is less egoistic.  To do good to others because you are convinced that Christ will consider it as having been done to Him personally is a sign of pure love of God.  To do good to others because you can please God, and you want to give Him the best you can, is perfect love of God.
The Hidden Power of Kindness, Lawrence G. Lovasik

Fr. Lovasik didn't refer to doing good to others to avoid going to hell, but it is a possible motivation nonetheless.  In the same way, fear, hope, and love dictate our response to suffering in our lives.

According to Rt. Rev. Dom Lehodey in Holy Abandonment, there are three degrees of conformity to God's will in response to suffering:

In the first degree, we have no desire for suffering; in fact, we avoid it as much as possible.  However, we are willing to endure it if it is the only way that we can avoid committing a fault [for fear of condemnation].

In the second degree, we don't wish for suffering, but when it comes, we accept it and endure it willingly because we know that suffering is a part of God's plan for us.  We have a love of suffering, but this love is only a consequence of our love for God. [Hope in God's goodness and plan]

In the third degree, which is the most perfect of all, we are not content with just accepting the trials that God may send us and suffering cheerfully out of our love for Him...our love for God is so great that we long for trials and we rejoice when they come to us because we know that they come from the hand of God and are ordained by His adorable will. [Love]

 [What is contained in brackets is my interpretation, based on St. Bernard's summation]

According to St. Bernard, beginners as a rule have only resignation derived from fear; proficient bear the cross with a willing heart, a more generous conformity begotten of hope; the perfect embrace the cross with ardor, which complete conformity is the fruit of holy love.

Since we are all looking for happiness, it is good to know that we can have something even greater.  That something greater is joy.  It transcends happiness because it is not dependent on people or circumstances.  "Authentic joy is a deep interior peace and satisfaction that we experience as the fruit of wisdom and understanding." (Endow study guide)  It is the result of placing our expectations on Jesus, and not on others.  It comes when we do all things with purity of intention - the intention to love our neighbor for love of God.  Even, and especially, in our suffering. 

In his letter Salvifici Doloris, Pope John Paul II gives us four reasons our suffering can be seen as a reason for joy:

1.  It clears the way for the infusion of grace which transforms human souls.
2.  In it, there is concealed a particular power that draws a person interiorly close to Christ...
3.  ...human sufferings, united to the redemptive suffering of Christ, constitute a special support for the powers of good, and open the way to the victory of these salvific powers.
4.  Faith in sharing the suffering of Christ brings with it the interior certainty that the suffering person 'completes what is lacking in Christ's afflictions'; the certainty that in the spiritual dimension of the work of Redemption he is serving, like Christ, the salvation of his brothers and sisters.

So, basically, our suffering (IF we unite it with Christ's suffering by our intention to do so), can serve for our own salvation and that of others. 

That is a reason for real joy.

Dear Heavenly Father, Thank you for the rain, roofs that don't leak, and bread machines.  Thank you for loving us.  Thank you for fear to motivate us when our love is not yet perfect.  Thank you for hope along the way, and your love to imitate.  Please give me the wisdom to know what motivates me.  I want to do all things for love of You.  Please grant me the grace to act with purity of intention and detachment from all that is not You nor leads me to You.  Please give me the joy that comes from understanding your love for me, and your plan to bring good out of everything, especially suffering.  Thank you for the opportunity to participate in my own salvation and that of others.  Thank you for Pope John Paul II and the continued guidance of your Church since you gave Peter the keys to your Kingdom.  Thank you for Pope Francis and for his love.  Amen.

Pope John Paul II, pray for us!