Saturday, December 30, 2017

Bulletin Board

It's alive - an expanding, changing, rarely neat, appendage to my pantry door.  It smiles at me with the faces of my children, my in-laws, my grandbabies and my mom. It's a collection of the fragments of my life - each piece expressing a sentiment I hold.  It may appear to be attacking you when you turn the corner into this room, but I assure you it's built with love. It's my bulletin board.  And now.....well, it's empty.
I'm not sad.  It's time.  It will be lovingly removed and brought along to our new home, after 24 years of residence in this one.  I've no idea where I'll put it, but it will have a place.  The sentiments accumulate where our family resides - it's a living thing, its life consists of the lives it reflects.  The smiles will once again accumulate.  The home is not the structure. It is the people.  And therefore, it travels with us.... our home.... and our bulletin board.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

A Healing of the Heart

I have gone through a tangled jungle spiritually the last 6 months. First it was the church that I attended for 24 years, worked in for 3, led worship in for 7, which I'd so recently posted that I loved.  Through events that I won't share, the previously unthinkable became apparent:that my time there was coming to an end.  I held on with all my strength; I turned myself inside out in an attempt to secure what had served as a cocoon for so long - a place that housed my family, both literally and spiritually; a place where I'd grown mature in my faith and unshakable.  When God means to move you on, the unshakable can surely be shaken.

After we left, when asked how we were doing, I described it to those whom I love as "ripping my heart out," but, also, that I knew it was right to leave.  I've since spent time recuperating from what felt like an amputation.  The greater part of my life and identity was in that church. But I knew my Savior goes with me wherever I go - it's not about the church - it's about Christ in my heart.  I learned long ago that I am never never alone.

Since leaving, there followed a dizzying sequence of major decisions, both glorious and heart-wrenching.  We decided to sell our home of just as long and move into another large enough to give both us and our daughter's family our own space; this was in order to hasten our retirement savings, and their move-to-their-dream-home savings.  It has involved gutting and redoing the new home, and that has been therapeutic and intense. 

Still, in the midst of these two major changes, we also outgrew a family dynamic of codependence with different branch of our family.  It was abrupt and startling and not pretty.  But we came to realize that it was time.

I was churning, anxious, reliving the not-pretty parts of these changes in our lives that we had not really seen coming.  As I was relating this to my best friend of 25 years, the pain started out as a kindling fire inside that just kept burning.  And then.......it lifted.  We continued to talk, but I felt a distinct difference - and I told her, "Thanks so much. I can just move on now. It helped to tell you."  I was now peaceful - about all of it: About the changes, the loss.  My grief and loss, stirred up all over again by the family conflict, seemed to have passed.

That night, as I drifted off to sleep, my cell signalled an incoming text from my Charlie, who is married and is on staff at a church in Kentucky, where he also plays guitar for their worship.  "Do you have a heart condition?  And did Dad pray for you tonight?"

Half asleep, I responded, "Not that I know of....," completely forgetting that I'd sobbed under the weight of the stress that morning, and the tenderness in Dan's eyes as he patiently waited for me to pull it together.  He does pray for me, I know. He wants me to handle these things, and that they won't overtake me.

"Okay, I know that was random. It's just that we are at a conference our pastor is hosting, and a prophet from England called me out and told me, "Your mother.....Gail, has a heart condition.  But as you are playing guitar, she is being healed.  Then he asked who "Dan" was.  I told him he was my dad.  He said that he (Dan) was praying for (Gail),  as you're playing your guitar, she is being healed.  So yeah - may be metaphorical? Not sure but I figured I'd ask." Charlie texted.

"Gosh I hope not." I said, but when we said goodnight, I thought of the condition of my heart; of my exit from the church, and how I'd felt like a body part had been removed - I so loved that church, the people; how I'd almost felt the world had an aggressive character to it throughout that experience.

And then what I'd just gone through with family members - the realization that no matter how much you love someone, no matter how much you want growth, independence, and good decisions to guide them, there comes a point when nothing will help them but that they step up for themselves. I had withdrawn my willingness to be a safety net. My hands were weary and I could not hold up their net any longer.

And I remembered my conversation with my friend, when suddenly, inexplicably, a peace had come over me.  It was a heart condition - a condition of my heart, so that I had literally used the words "It ripped my heart out."   This conversation  with my friend took place in Virginia, while Charlie played the guitar for that service in Kentucky.

"How did he know our names?" I texted Charlie.  "'cause God told him, I reckon! lol, I've never met the guy in my life - he's from England so there's no way he could know us.=P"

Well, by now, I was surely awake, so I got up, grabbed my Bible and crept out of the bedroom so as not to awaken Dan.  My Bible opened to Deuteronomy 4:35: To you it was shown, that you might know that the Lord Himself is God; there is none other besides Him.

Earlier yesterday, after my breakdown, but before the Kentucky service, this song was on my mind. I found the lyrics and chords online, and transposed them 3x until I found the key I was most comfortable with.  I'd laid it aside before bed.  When I woke this morning, the song was again running through my mind, this time through a mind that was comforted by a miracle of heart-healing through my Godly boy Charlie.

You are my Shepherd Who cares for me
You lie me down in fields of green
By quiet waters restore my soul
For Your Name's sake guide me on righteous roads

Oh my Jesus You know me by name
You will lead me in kindness and grace
I will follow wherever You go
All my life I'll trust You, heart and soul. 

from "Heart and Soul" by Josh Fox/Paul Mabury


Friday, November 10, 2017

Death - the door to something better

I've been at the side of a handful of people whom I love, at the time of their passage on to Heaven. My mother has given me many lessons of life that I'll never forget, and one of them is her perspective on death.
My father passed when I was in college. I recall her fear and uncertainty the day he took off on his dirt bike and did not return.  She stayed in our home, as asked by searching friends, family and rescue personnel, to receive him if he came back, though I know every fiber of her wanted to join the search, and she kept saying, "Don't go out there alone, Gail - it's late and dark - I'm worried for you," forever concerned about us, not herself; gathering who she still had close.  I thought at the time that there must be some misunderstanding, and that Dad would be found alive, or that he would walk back in the door with 3 flavors of Haagen-Dazs and say, "What's going on?"
But he didn't.  When my mother was told that one who loved him deeply found him, I don't think I was in the room - much of that day is a blur. But in those that followed, she modeled an attitude entirely unexpected.  Now one might say it was shock, but I've been there since, and no. My mother grieved, certainly, as a woman whose man was so good to her, so perfect for her, unwilling that it should end so soon. But she also has a life force I've only seen in a few people in my lifetime, and a positivity that I pray I carry on as well.
Later, there was my stepfather. Harry came into our lives when I had teens and elementary age children. He related to them lovingly as if he'd been there all our lives.  His eyes lit up when we came to visit.  And he made my mother happy..... and mad ..... and happy again - the two of them were a pair.  We all loved Harry, and were unsurprised when my mother told us she planned to marry him.  A diagnosis of esophogeal cancer preceded the wedding, however, and he lasted only a few more months.  My mother's renewed sense of marital happiness turned to attentive care-taking, and she loved him all the way to Heaven - cooking for him, conversing with him as she always had, with her characteristic energy and love, welcoming anyone from his past who wished to be there, keeping him warm when his body began to lose heat, all those things - everything he needed at what state he was in.
Then my brother, who lived with her at the time: My brother had a companion, his mate, a lovely soul, Brenda. Together, Brenda and my mom cared for him following his diagnosis of cancer - continually responsive to his needs, setting the atmosphere in the house, which was palpable love.
In all these experiences, there was not a whiff of foreboding - sadness, yes,  and acknowledgment of the reality, but not as one who believes they end at death.  My mother knows, and taught me, that the soul lives on, and that death is not the end, but a passage, which in our experiences so far, has been a passage to something more beautiful than anything the earth offers - and even Earth is a Masterpiece. So my mother and Brenda fulfilled his need for an escort - they went with him to the door.
I have experienced 3 similar passings in the past 3 years, and I feel as if, because of my mom, I've been apprenticed.  I respect the experience of death - knowing it is universal, and for myself, I'm unafraid.  Further, death is an opportunity to go ahead of others fearlessly, as I know where I am headed, and that there is nothing to fear - my Savior will meet me, and my brother, and my father, and Pattie, Dick, and Pa.  I'd prefer not to be in a lot of pain, of course, but what will be will be.
But meantime, I've had modeled for me that when the end is apparent, the dying can darn well have what they ask for, be it a salt shaker, a bowl of ice cream or a tenderloin. Or they can eat nothing, if they don't want it, dagnabbit! Don't stand between my loved one and the bag of Taco Bell I bring them. I've made a pact with all my loved ones that I will assist them in rebellion, and I expect them to assist me. I don't mind being the heavy when necessary, and I expect them to rise to the occasion if I need them to.
I've also found that there is an organization that is fully supportive of such a respectful, dignified and permissive approach to death - Hospice.  I've heard people criticize Hospice, but I've also seen their compassion in action at the inevitable end, when without them, a strong-willed loved one would be required, and not everyone has the strength at that time, or has my mother at hand.  I fully support the assistance of Hospice in those circumstances, and I'll not forget what they have done for people I love.
If my decline is slow, I want someone like my mother by my side, and I hope that I am her to others.  I thank you Mom, for your example. How was I blessed, and this is only one way, with such an excellent mother? If I ever whine or complain, someone slap me, and ask me that - give me some perspective. What a gift you are, my Mommo.




Thursday, November 9, 2017

Third-Second-Chances


I'd wanted babies from my babyhood.  I was the kid who had so many baby dolls I'd line them up and count them, then forget how many I had, and I'd willingly do it again.  I couldn't part with a one of them.  I had several I was totally devoted to.  As I became an adolescent, my desire was to be married and have real babies.  This outweighed my common sense, my wisdom, and my desire for an education, which my father insisted was important.  I only wanted to be a mom.
I tripped my way into the adult world, and found that you don't know a person until you've gotten past the front they present; that sometimes you lie to yourself about who you are with because you fixate on their qualities that are admirable - everyone has those; that for a time, a person can change, but that you need to know their relaxed off-guard self before you know if you're really compatible.  We weren't.  I tried, again and again, to make myself equal to the task of being his wife.  It was following a time of turmoil, when I came back to try again, that you were begun.
You presented yourself when I was a young, chaotic, traumatized, confused, disheartened, hopeful 22-year-old.  And from your very existence forward, everything changed. Once I knew you were coming, everything aligned.  There was still a new direction to take, to bring you to healthy adulthood, but I began to know my purpose, and who I was, and what my priorities were.
The marriage didn't last much longer after that. It was gut-wrenching to leave, but impossible to stay.  We did everything we could to make it amicable, and suffered the most from the parting when the other was spending time with you.  But I am positive, looking back, that leaving was right - that if I hadn't left on my own power, I would have self-destructed.  I would not have had the strength to raise you with love if I was with him, and your future trumped everything.  Yes, I was selfish to conceive you in that state, but I already revealed that I was confused and chaotic then.  As a very wise person once told me, "Desperate people do desperate things."  As it turned out, you are the best mistake I ever made.
It was you and me in the years that followed.  We had bunk beds in my mom's home. She lovingly, and uncritically took us in, and she and my sister watched you while I realigned my life, coaching gymnastics to provide for us, and re-starting my education by taking a Psychology Through the Lifespan class.  I related everything I was learning to you, and I was fascinated.  I'd take you to class  and to the library with me when I didn't have a sitter and you were so well behaved.  I continued until I got my degree in psychology.
I wish I could say that I made no more mistakes, but that would not be true.  But in my Junior year of college, I met Dan. Again, my life aligned with my dreams and you and I became settled into a family.  Joining with a man with two boys of his own was not easy by any estimation, but oh, it was worth it.  He was totally devoted and focused on the success of our family, and we met any challenges as a team, which gave strength to our family. 
It's been 26 years since our family was joined, 22 years since our Charlie, and then our Sam came and blessed our whole family with a unity we may not have achieved without them; a focus, a shared love.  The meandering path I took in this life brought me you and then Dan, and then two boys and two babies.  Is it not obvious? It was all right - it was ALL right.  Despite that crooked path, I have everything I wanted as a little girl.
The picture is of me holding you on the black sand beach in Hawaii, a beach that no longer exists, covered over later with lava from a subsequent volcanic eruption.  And like that beach, you and I are not what we once were - embroiled in a life of doubt and confusion - but we've realized our first dreams.  The expression on my face of total contentment with you in my arms doesn't reflect the challenges that followed, but the sureness of the path I was on, however indirect.  I, in mine, soon with the man of my dreams and precious family around me, and you with your Jimmie, who blesses us all in so many ways as a positive light, a reliable father, who brings laughter and kindness.  I am so grateful for the life that I've lived, in its totality. I don't focus on the challenges that brought me here - it's God's hand - the blessings and second chances and third-second chances that renewed it and allow me now to look back and know that it's been good....wonderful-good, and that He began with you.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Outward Appearance

To be misunderstood is incredibly disheartening.  There will be times in your life in which you know that you have been.  No amount of discussion will amend it.  This is the limitation of man, who filters everything he receives through his past and experiences.  Your seemingly flimsy skills of  persuasion are not nearly so convincing as a life of concrete emotion-inducing experiences.
First, appeal to your Savior. Ask Him to reveal your part in the misunderstanding.  Sin has great force in this world, and carries ramifications that live on, regardless of whether you've asked and received forgiveness from your Savior.  So does the perception of sin.  It seems unfair until you realize that salvation is only a get-out-of-jail-free card in Heaven, not to the perception of those who feel wronged by you, as Satan is the god of this world (2nd Corinthians 4:3,4.) Yes you are forgiven now, but those your sin has affected are hobbled by the memory of your sin.  It is only Christ, you and time that can heal those memories, and that is actually best, since the memory is a warning to yourself and others that a better route should be taken.
But back to misunderstanding. Some people's hearts are too busy dealing with their own inner chaos to even consider your request for forgiveness, much less reframing the offense.  They simply cannot produce it.  Be sure you have done what you can. Then move on.  In time, your words may produce the forgiveness you so desire. But don't let Satan, the accusor, get a foothold in your heart, doing collateral damage to your walk.  Move on with your Savior so that your life can be a blessing to others, and pray for that relationship.  One day, it may be given back to you.
For the Lord does not see as a man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.  1st Samuel 16:7
For the Lord searches all hearts and understands all the intent of the thoughts.  1 Chronicles 28:9

Friday, October 20, 2017

The Artbox

Seldom is the path of an individual clear in real time. I've no idea the life events one I encounter has faced.  I make assumptions from their present role in a given moment. But like me, they have meandered to the place they now occupy. 
There are dichotomies - the hippy becomes a conservative mom; a conservative mom becomes a hippy, etc., the stuff exhausted well in Hallmark movies; no need to dwell on that, but on illustrations more interesting and indepth.
My mother, the enthusiastic effective maternal grandmotherly matriarch  blossoms to a buyer and seller of art and things unique, then becomes a prolific poet. 
My sister-in-law lovingly raises up 3 boys, with pacifiers, soccer games and band practices and then produces art whose frame I could step into and be sublimely content.
Turns out Teddy Roosevelt wanted to be a scientist. He was irresistably drawn to rough-it in jungles untouched by humanity, bringing back previously unknown specimens.
Like them, I'm an amalgamation of many interests that, should you know them all at once, you might think I'm confused.  A life that has never bored me, however, is the result.  I've not failed to find focus, to produce within whichever one I occupy at a given time, as I suppose is true of most.
So infinite the array of personalities you will interact with in your life.  Take them all, lay them all one on top of the other, and we cannot deny the vastness and intricacy that went into their creation. Uniquenesses, giftednesses, oddities, harmonies and dissonance we dwell with in our collective humanity.  The collective we, with all of our potential in every direction, reflects the complexity of an Artist the size of Whose artbox makes laughable the limit of tools we take such pride in. And yet, He encourages us, within our sphere, to make excellent what we can. 
Whatever you find to do, do it with all your might;  Ecclesiastes 9:10
The artist reflects the Artist.  The athlete reflects the Creator of the human form.  The genius reflects the Designer of the intricate human brain.  The musician reflects the mathematical  patterns of a whimsical dramatic master Musician.  The expert scientist represents the aforementioned Created brain encountering an earth and universe of incompletely-discoverable complexity of Creation.  None of what we have was not given, did not exist first in the brush and palette of our Creator.
So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.  Genesis 1:27
For in the image of God, He made man.  Genesis 9:6
My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.  Psalm 139:15
I will praise You; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Psalm 139:14
Until my last day, my life will reflect, and so will I acknowledge, the existence of the Artist.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Chemist


Oh the sweetness of these my grandchildren!  Their flawless skin, wide eyes, tripping walk.... turn a corner and down to the floor. Doesn't matter - the floor is as good a terrain to be discovered, distracted by a fallen trinket easily ignored by the tall ones.  Fine hair forming into ringlets or framing their face, or pulled into a fountain on top;  the scent of their heads inhaled contains a drug, a natural force that brings them care from the adult who is unaware of being bamboozled by the chemistry of this needy human form.  Such a creation of perfection, this system, that draws care to their side when a boo-boo happens, and grandparents from across the miles to absorb their life force minute by minute, completely overtaken by their little soul's presentation on this earth.  Were it not for this brilliant plan, this irresistible built in chemical insistence on care, where would we be? Would we be?
I am captured by these tiny presences in my life, drawn close, and would fight in a way no one would ever expect just to keep them smiling, healthy, living, growing, should it ever be required.  This is an occupation bestowed on me by my Creator, who placed me in this time, in this place, among these charges.  Here I am. Choose me.




Saturday, October 14, 2017

The Desires of my Heart

My sister-in-law, sister-in-Christ once pointed out to me what was a different take on Psalm 37:4.  In that seemingly minutely insignificant moment of conversation that she likely does not even remember, she began a trail of realizations within me that would echo over the years.  I don't remember the circumstances, only the gist.
Trust in the Lord and do good; Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness.  Delight yourself also in the Lord and He shall give you the desires of your heart.  Psalm 34:3-4
Quite familiar with this scripture in a Christian-store plaque sort of way, I had to take a second look with her direction.  She said if you delight yourself in Him, feed on Him, and trust in Him, you are inviting Him in and allowing Him to fully guide you.  You are allowing Him access to your very heart. As a result of aligning yourself with Him, he places desires in your heart that he intends later to fulfill.  And by placing His desire in your heart, He leads you on His path.
Oh my.  He has borne this out again and again in the years that have followed.  If there is any wisdom this fellow struggler has to share, it is this.  In the words of a teacher, make Jesus your unit study.  Let Him not just occupy your Sunday plan; but inhale Him daily, throughout your day, and exhale His mercies to others. He is sustenance, and holding Him close means that whatever you encounter in this varied existence, He is always always there with you, yoking with you - you'll bear nothing alone.
I stand now in territory unknown, as happens to a soul repeatedly throughout life.  But He is here.  He has always, since I allowed Him to be, been here.  The email address I chose those many years ago, before my last  two children were born, shares this then-realization: that I am never alone - never never never alone.  It was chosen to reflect Psalm 139.  And as I follow the advice of Psalm 34, I nurture His home in my heart, and He drops these lovely crumbs, His desires, for me to pick up, one after the other, leading me gently toward Himself.  Oh, what a life He has given me in the midst of a chaotic world.  My heart is full and so grateful.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

The Swap

So, how much life has changed since my last post.  One year ago, I ran a half marathon.  I had become so fit at that point that I was  running 7 miles in a day willingly, three times a week.  Bad idea.  And I knew better.  I developed Plantar Fasciitis in both feet, and as a result, went from a 21 mile a week runner to a zero runner.  This condition had hung on for several months before I decided to simply stop running to give my body ample chance to heal itself.  12 months later, I still have it, despite a doctor,  shoe inserts designed for me, icing, stretching, wearing braces at night, and cortisone shots.
Of course it has not been fun.  But during this time, my life mission has markedly changed.
First, what to do with all the time and discipline that I'd previously put into getting my runs in at 0-dark-thirty three times a week: entry of a new gift to nurture.  I became (again) a lead worshiper in my church.  Last September, while I was making the decision to simply stop running, I felt called to begin a new chapter.  My first night of singing was my birthday.  Nervous that morning, knowing I'd be singing, and petrified, I glanced down at my phone, which lit up uninvited, and displayed on my phone (again, unprompted by me -- I did not even own this album or song,) were the words, "Sing like never before."  It is a line in the song by Matt Redman, "10,000 Reasons."  This was prophetic, and encouraging. I had not called up that album cover, so it was God.  I needed that encouragement on that, my first day back into lead worshiping.

It has been quite a year.  One God-inspired musical experience led to another.  My mother had given me a large ukulele.  I got some uke strings, chose to string it like a 4-string guitar.  My hands are too small to play a guitar, and 'on a whim,' I thought I'd just learn a few chords.  Only once I got started I was driven to learn more.  All I was learning fed into my role maintaining the music database for our worship team, and it sharpened my skills.

Meanwhile, I also felt inspired to pick the viola back up from my school days, when I took 8 years of orchestra.  Again, I was driven -- DRIVEN -- to learn and practice.  I quickly realized that it would be a wonderful compliment to my role on the worship team, and my husband observed the direction my skills were going, and provided me an electric viola so that I could praise God on it.  The way I felt when I was able to give that gift to my Jesus just confirmed the decisions that led up to that.

Finally, in June this year, I had learned several keys on my "4-string" ukulele. I was playing all the worship songs that we were using in church.  I found a 4-string guitar on Amazon for $150.  I longed for it, but did not feel free to splurge for it.  Then, after creating and presenting a slideshow and all the media for a celebration of life, something I do as a volunteer, I was handed, completely unprompted and unexpected, was handed an appreciating check for $100.  I cried.  I knew I could get the little narrow neck 4-string guitar that would enable me, in eventuality, to praise God in even another way.

So one year later, I can see looking back, that yes, God took something away, my running.  He didn't heal me immediately of my pain.  But he gave me something so very wonderful, so much more valuable.  He gave me the opportunity and the means, not just a means, but 3 different ways to love on Him.  In just one year - I am astounded at his swap.  The opulence in what He gave me, in return for my running, which I had hung onto for 4 years with great self-discipline, as if it had value equal to my best efforts. The fact is that what God gave me is worth far far more.  I trusted Him before, but oh He has given me 3 more glorious reasons to trust Him.

So yes, I am grateful, and I praise Him, and thank Him for not just answering my prayer, which I had prayed some years before, "Just one more chance, Lord, to sing for you. I realize I'm getting older, and that is usually for younger people, but I'd love it, if I could just do it for a time, just once more, before I sit in my rocker.  I want to sing to You again." He honored, answered, fulfilled that prayer, and He heaped my viola and my little guitar on top.  I am more grateful than you will ever know.  I will try, dear Lord, not to ever hold anything closer to myself than You.  xoxoxo Your Gail