I Fell Down

A year ago, I had a plan. 

KJ (aka Girly) was to leave for college. I would spend the first half of the year researching tutoring companies and after school programs. I had a few options for library positions in local schools. My plan was to look into online opportunities and finish my undergrad, hopefully get my certificate as an interpreter for the deaf.  I was going to explore what my art capabilities were, develop an art history/art curriculum and find a way to market, then sell it. 

That was the plan I worked towards for two years while KJ finished high school. I built up my resume building through volunteer work in a local school classroom and theatre projects. I made appointments with the local colleges to see what was necessary to become an interpreter. It was a slow process, between Fibro flare-ups and week long Migraines. I was proud of the slow, but steady progress I was making. 

You see, every moment of my life since December 1, 1987 has been on purpose. I lived “In Spite of…” what happened in my life. I was told I was strong. I needed to get my shiznit together. Keep going. They told me I was a survivor. They said I was inspiring. I heard I was to be admired. I was challenged that I couldn’t give up. They chided me with, I shouldn’t be a martyr. 

“Don’t play the victim.”

“Don’t be codependent.”

“Don’t ask for help.”

“You’re fine.”

“Quit complaining.”

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Be brave. You’re strong!” (oh, right… I said that one).  

AND wash, rinse, repeat. 

Then Life happened.

Last year I felt, yet again, forced into another person’s narrative. 

I felt pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. 

I asked for help like I was supposed to. I stayed strong like I was supposed to. I held my shiznit together as best I could. I kept checking off each goal box at a time.

Get KJ to school

Get home.

Start over.

All the helpful advice focused on one basic sentiment: “Now you get to do what you always wanted.”

Problem was, I had what I always wanted. I now needed to invent something I never imagined for myself: Alone.

I kept up appearances adequately. Checked all the “you should” boxes. Until...

In September, KJ told me she needed to come home from college.

In late October, a dear friend of mine had a medical emergency that checked all my Senior Year death boxes.

The holidays loomed.

Everything began to crumble. 

I had no plan for when life turned to sand and disintegrated in my hands. I did have a choice. I could either drive myself insane making it stick together…

OR…

Let it run through my fingers.

It was terrifying beyond all imagination. What would everyone think of me? Who would stay by me? What would happen if I was alone in all of it? One fact I knew about myself.  No longer could I be strong. I had no shiznit to hold together anymore. I had no idea if I could survive this, actually I knew I wouldn’t. I knew that I had to let go of all those shattered pieces of myself I held together since December 1, 1987. 

It was time to let it all fall apart. 

I had no plan for the first time in my life. I understood that not everyone who was in my life at the time would be able to walk with me down the dark road before me. It was alright. It was a darkness I avoided for far too long. I could not pretend anymore.

It was time I faced it and healed correctly.

About Me: NO vember

NO vember is when it all started.

November took me away from a family filled with love and laughter. Boy cousins ready for fun adventures. Fall colors at Thanksgiving and snow at Christmas. A house filled with sunlight, a gentle grandfather who had tea parties with me and a grandmother who laughed. Running, camaraderie and bionic adventures for hours were the holiday experience.

November took me to a winter filled with cold gray foggy days. A house where the windows looked out on trees, but no sun came in. These grandparents argued and watched golf on television. Too busy to play, but not too busy to spank or discipline. I had nothing in common with my girl cousins. Lonely, quiet and waiting for it to be over was the new holiday experience.

Now Thanksgiving Day was filled with angst. Parents stressed because my three sisters needed a nap and these new grandparents insisted on dinner at 2:00. During the hour’s drive, I would talk myself into being excited. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe someone would talk to me. Maybe fun could be found. Sometimes it would glimmer but like the fairy it was, never stayed for long.

 November finished a year of death. It started the December before, my senior year with a boy named Jeff. We met third grade when we finally settled into this Central Valley town. 

Then that odd Christmas break obituary.

I went because I knew him. Friends knew him. No knowledge of how he died, just that he did. I sat in the overflow lobby, his pastor announced that he would read the note he left behind. The word suicide was never spoken, but something within me cracked. The idea of adolescent invincibility weakened. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure it out. My parents were as dumbstruck as I. The rest of that year would include a winter suicide, a spring accidental drowning, and an almost fatal accident.

Then November.

Mark was the brilliant musician youth group leader. Blond curly hair, big brown eyes all backed his overwhelming kindness. He was patient enough, one church camp, to learn by ear a song I was going to sing. Complete with grin, he led the band as I for a moment felt like someone with something to offer the youth group. One time he taught on the Beatitudes, which would anchor my relationship with God forever. He said something along these lines:

“The pure in hear will see God. That means telling him everything. If your mad, yell at him- he knows it anyway. Let nothing stand between you and God. Not even yourself. Always talk to him. Always seek him. Ask your questions. Yell at him about your doubts because eventually you WILL see HIM. He promised.”

This beautiful soul decided he could no longer live.

Eleven months of life taken left an indelible scar. For me there is no, “You Only Live Once.” Life became fleeting and fickle. Every moment deserves attention and presence. Death no longer surprises me.

Almost 30 years later, three kids and a loving husband, we have made our own happy Thanksgiving memories. I make a great turkey and trimmings myself so The Counting Mutant can make his Friday after Thanksgiving Turkey and Stuffing omelets. I find myself forcing myself to enjoy it all. I find joy in it and the presence of these events still hovers, like the winter fog the Central Valley is known for.

So I am allowing myself this moment to remember.

To grieve so that I may be comforted.

I am grateful for that.

I Don't Miss It

I miss you.

Sometimes those words give my heart a warm pitter patter of fluffy bunny memories. Laughter until my sides ached and ice cream sundaes. Dance parties, horse back riding and secrets spoken in the dark. A place of safety, innocence and mutuality.

Other times...

My heart freezes, bracing for the next blow. Trapped in the torture of a toxic relationship these words are bait. Scars flame in memory of pain and rejection. Words spoken in the past bounce around my head - judgement, blame flavored with bitterness.

It took a long time for me to learn what my part in a toxic relationship was. Boundaries I overstepped. Vulcan logic heard as insult and judgement. Once I understood, I reached out to make amends and make a behavior change. I listened more intently so as to not make the same mistake again.

Only to step into a new minefield labyrinth of mistakes. Like a starfish, a limb would be lost, but I would grow it back again: all in hopes that at the end of the day the relationship would be filled with love, grace and equality.

Then I woke up. I made of an ass of myself. I assumed the person wanted me in their life. My presence was more than just geography and convenience for them. I believed the other person honestly liked me and valued the journey we walking together. The reality; my existence in their life was by default not desire. 

In order to thrive a paradigm needed a shift. I disciplined myself to reciprocate. If someone had a need, I could happily serve. As I watched satisfaction color their soul I felt joy. I needed nothing else. Some of my relationships now are one sided. Others are mutually beneficial. I have found fulfillment in both. The difference is, my worth as a person does not stem from the success or failure of these affiliations.

On occasions, my path crosses those past acquaintances which proved to be most painful. Three little words spoken and I freeze the urge to vomit. I wonder what is missed about me. Who would miss a bull after he left a china shop? Would anyone regret removing the pebble in a shoe? I cannot respond because of the word constipation in my brain. Those three words are irrational.

Then I saw this quote and understood. It put the word "miss" into a different context. I miss the smell of summer thunderstorms of my childhood. The romantic idea of becoming a famous singer/actor. It isn't the person, it is the idea. The presence. The fragrance. The romantic idea. 

That is logical. It hurts to visit that ideal, because it was so wrong. Contentment is within the reality of today. A peace of mind built on trust. Teaching myself not to jump to conclusions, but allow a camaraderie to grow organically watered with mutuality. Value for value. I weigh my words before they are spoken. Then ask myself: am I listening as much as talking? Love ebbs and flows. People weave in and out of life on their own paths. Finding the joy in the moment with them is what matters.

Laughter At A Funeral

My brother in law died in April 2009. 

Tensions were high that morning as we prepared for the day filled with overwhelming emotion and numb brains. The Counting Mutant was the designated speaker of the eulogy. His brother had committed suicide. People filed into the small funeral chapel. Family seated together in the front rows all with tears creeping down, their faces filled with confusion.

Two decades before I sat in this very funeral home. In high school, a friends’ sister was killed in a boating accident. She was barely a teen. Not long after we again met to bury their mother killed in an automobile accident. Those memories invaded my mind as I sat next to my sweet Mutant. His stoic nature created a calm demeanor. I knew he was struggling though, deep within his introverted self. The last natural son of his father, the duty to speak had fallen to him.

Music started to play. The collective hearts in the room began to sink. On queue, the Mutant walked up to the podium. I braced myself. He shakily began his carefully crafted speech.

He was so brave. His voice quivered just a little, his gaze connecting to each person in the room as he spoke those first few sentences.

Then…

To my horror that sweet man drop his face and gazed at the podium. One of his hands flew up to cover his eyes as he shook his head. My friends grabbed my hands in comfort as we watched him shutter a little. I heard everyone supportively hold their breath as we waited for him to gather himself. After a few moments he lifted his face. With a changed expression on his face the eulogy was eloquently finished. Something happened in that moment to lighten his burden. I wasn't sure if it was resolve or…

The day was bittersweet. Tables decorated with flowers and butterflies lined our backyard. Ducks glided along the water of the lake. Hugs, Friends and family who hadn't seen each other in years softly laughed about my Brother In Law’s antics. His life was our focus. It didn't matter how he died.

Hours later The Mutant and I sat completely drained. For the first time in days we were alone. The task of the funeral completed. Sunset colored the lake in ethereal golds and reds. In the stillness we sat together outside at the empty tables littered with bits of dirty dishes yet to be cleared away.

A flicker of his hand covered face jogged my memory. I cautiously put my hand on his arm. Our hazel eyes met and I asked, "What happened during the eulogy?"

Frown lines melted and laughter filled his eyes, "As usual," he began laughing,” Just as I began to speak your parents walked through the door. Stood looking confused then quickly found a seat. I had to stop talking because I was laughing so hard. They will be late to their own funeral."

Massacre, Disaster and a Fig tree

This was originally posted on March 21, 2011 after the Tsunami in Asia. Having lived through many different types of disasters and listening to diverse reasoning, I stumbled upon this passage in Luke. It is odd and seemingly disjointed when examined closely. As I stepped back and considered the context of the whole, a picture presented himself. Jesus again disarming arrogance and forcing listeners to look at themselves. 

Natural disasters create pause in all of us. The sight of carnage and complete loss causes our souls to ache. All ask why.  While some turn to action, participating in fundraisers and send help to ease the burden. Others sit back and look for blame. Many in Cultural Christianity explain it with a judgmental God.  Their logic is: if we were a better people, bad things would not happen.  

This really pisses me off. Instead of a God of order, he is made into a capricious and mysterious image.  It negates the very curse that began it all: the law we all live under. He doesn't will for tragedies to happen. They happen as a result of what was put into motion in the Garden.

In Genesis 3:17-19, God tells Adam that the very ground would be cursed because of the choice he and Eve made. In Romans 8:18-25 this curse upon our planet is explained further.  "… For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, (Adam) in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God... "

    In Luke 13:1-9, Jesus is told about a massacre in temple at Jerusalem.  Only Jews were allowed into the sacrificial areas.  In spite of this fact, the Roman governor, Pilate, sent soldiers into the Temple. An uprising ensued and many Jews were killed, some while they offered sacrifices. For the Israelites, the horror was immense.  Yet a division existed; upper class and lower class. The Judeans thought of themselves as cultured and cosmopolitan. They viewed Galileans-where Jesus was from- as provincial and simple

. 

Jesus hears a hint of this arrogance from whoever is reporting the event. After listening, he poses a question,

“Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans, because they suffered such things?"  

I wonder if Jesus paused here and looked around into the faces of his listeners. 

He continues, " I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.” 

Jesus continues to remind them of another recent tragedy. One that was accidental. A tower in Siloam fell and killed eighteen men in Jerusalem.

He asks them, “...Do you think that they were worse sinners than all other men who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.”   ”  

Many stop with this verse and unfortunately they miss out on what Jesus meant. Jesus then does what we love most, he tells a parable: It is about a fig tree.

The tale begins with a land owner talking to his groundskeeper. The land owner asked,

“Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none.  Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?”

The groundskeeper answers, “Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it.  And if it bears fruit, well.  But if not, after that you can cut it down.”

Huh?

How does a fig tree figure into massacre and disaster? This passage of scripture can be ignored because it seems incongruous. Jesus was good at disarming his listeners and then addressing the heart of the matter. Getting the finger pointing to stop and for each one to look in the mirror of self.

Although circumstances vary, disaster and death are certain. Some are lost while others are spared, regardless of class, creed, social standing, criminal or law-abider. The consequences of a disaster are not based on personal worthiness.  It should never have arrogance attached. As Jesus sits, surrounded by listeners, he is challenging the survivors to examine their own existence. If Jesus called people on arrogance then, it surely grieves them now. Blaming disasters upon a group of people is egregious. 

The earth groans as we groan. Our discussions should not be about why the disaster happened or who caused it.  The response ought to be how. Am I living life as I should?  What changes do I need to make? Am I adding to the lives of people around me or am I just taking? 

When the next disaster comes, am I ready?

Divine Mother's Day

This was originally posted on May 7, 2011 after a girlfriend and I discussed the challenges of Mother's Day. My hope is that hearts will be opened and those who struggle with the day will be welcomed.
Enjoy.

Her name is Nurture.  She risked life to birth a person. She corrects those under her instruction.  When advice is needed, it is her counsel we seek.  Mother is who she is.  The intention of Mother's Day is to take a moment and honor the gifts of this woman.  For some the day is filled with laughter and joy.  For others, it is a day of regret, filled with duty or loneliness.

 My heart is pained for those who struggle with Mother's Day.  Women who have experienced abortion or loss of a baby, face the emptiness.  Those whose mother has passed on, gaze into loneliness.  Others who have a strained relationship with their mother, practice the duty of honoring her station. These people stare blankly at the thousands of cards in the store. They painfully weed through affectionate declarations for a simple factual card; a needle in the haystack. For those looking on, what should our response be?  

God is referred to as a loving Father.  Scriptures support and help define what a loving Father should be. God takes that place for the Fatherless.  The New Testament calls Jesus, the Son.  He is our example of what we, as children, should act like. Those who struggle with the spiritual example of a mother search those same scriptures and wonder; who is the Mother to the Motherless?

In Genesis 1:1- the creation narrative- God decided to create, then he spoke.  In John 1:1 we are told that Jesus embodied His spoken word.  The Spirit hovered over the waters. The word used for Spirit here is Ruwach, a feminine noun.  The Spirit was the application of thought and word to physically create.

In Proverbs 4, Wisdom is referred to as a woman.  She wants to teach right ways of living.  In the New Testament, Jesus tells his disciples he will send Holy Spirit to exist with them. The word for Holy Spirit is the gender-neutral noun, Pneuma.  Jesus described Holy Spirit as comforter, teacher, counselor and nurturer: these are same roles as Wisdom in Proverbs.  In our quiet moments with the Loving Creator we find the example of a loving mother in the person of Holy Spirit.   

            Jesus was teaching one day when he was told that his family was outside to speak with him.  His response:

 "Those who follow the will of my Father, they are my brother, sister and mother."  Matthew 12:50

In Jesus, we are all family. No one should be alone or neglected. The great comfort for those who find themselves with out a mother or child on Mother's Day is the Divine. God is the complete and perfect parent. To those who feel loss in the day we should welcome them in as family to our celebration. For those who find the day empty; consider a woman who has filled the void and honor them. Her loving support should be recognized. This way all will experience the Divine Family Jesus was talking about.