The Poor Kitty

I can't imagine what she thought when her son brought me home.

She probably had that same feeling a mother has when her son chooses the kitten with a gooey eye that doesn't open all the way, missing parts of an ear and the tip of a tail, and breathes like a heavy smoker.  He picks it up, which is fairly easy, as the poor thing limps around with one leg shorter than the other three (an old wound never properly healed) and declares this bony ball of fur and sickness "the most beautiful, perfect kitty in the whole world!" I AM that kitty!

I was broken down, used up, devalued, starved, pitiful, and hopeless.  I"d been played with for a minute, then thrown out the window of the moving car.  I was worthless and pathetic.  And sad. I was just another stray in a vast sea of strays who are lost and looking for a home. I'm sure she could see it and feel it and sense it.  I will never be good enough for her son, We both know it.

When faced with the kitty, most Mom's are thinking, "Right.  I'll give this poor wretched thing two weeks, and if it doesn't die of this respiratory infection, I'm sure it's intestinal worms will work their magic and put the poor dear out of her misery." Then, because she loves her son and her son CLEARLY loves this kitty, she helps him nurse it back to health. She may be secretly hoping he loses interest in this poor wretched thing, but his love heals this desperate, broken soul.  His love feeds her and returns the shine to her eyes, and the softness to her fur.  His love softens Mom's heart, and soon Mom sees his beloved through the son's eyes.

Mothers-in-law have a certain reputation.  For a reason.  It is the mother's job to protect the son.  This child is the fruit of her womb!  His care and protection is no small feat!  This particular son is not like any other man on the face of the earth!  He is her beloved son!  It is his mother's job to protect him.  It is the mother's job to keep away the rabble and those women who would suck the Spirit right out of him until he's a shell of the man he was intended to be.  It is the Mother's job to make certain that his lady understands how special and wonderful he is.  He deserves to be loved and appreciated for all of the wonderful things that he IS, and adored for the way he loves so completely.

And in the case of Mother Mary, it is her job to see me, her son's beloved stray kitty (me), through Jesus's filter of love.  What an incredible job for a human woman.  Even one full of Grace.

So now I have the responsibilities of a daughter-in-law, where it comes to her. I will learn the traditions, the recipes, the history of his family through her.  I will ask her to share the stories of him as a child, and learn the special language that each family has to communicate with each other. I will get to know them because I love him.  She and I will share him lovingly.  We will mourn together remembering his crucifixion, and rejoice together on Easter remembering his Resurrection.  We will each hold a beautiful and perfect place in his heart.

We will love each other. His love makes me worthy, and his love makes her accepting of me. We will love each other for love of him.  I hope that all that I do gives proof to my loving intentions towards him.  I hope that my words and actions illustrate my affection and adoration.

I hope to live up to my Mother-in-Law's expectations.


 ***Any discussion of daughters-in-law must come with a disclaimer.  I have been one, and I have some.  I've walked this path from a variety of directions, and I know that I have been blessed by both of my Mothers-in-law, and both of my Daughters-in-law.***

Sylvia's Heart

Sylvia is my 8 year old daughter. She's a girl on a mission 95% of the time!  If she's not creating some type of artwork, she's practicing back bends and cartwheels or trying to dance like a more appropriate version of a "hoochie mama".  It's hard to work your mojo when your mojo is 8 and your Mom would rather you dance like a lady.  The thing about Sylvia is that she's all heart.

Everything she does is full throttle.  I love that about her.

The other day, Sylvia came up to me with her ever-present pad of paper and asked me, "Mom, how do you start a fundraiser?"  I have to admit I was only half listening at first.  Then she said, "Mom, this is really important!" So I started really listening.  "What is this fundraiser for?"  I asked, and her answer caught me totally off-guard.

"I want to raise money so people don't have to have heart disease like you, Mom.  I think Moms should be able to play with their kids and they shouldn't have to worry about their Moms dying.  If I raise some money, they can get rid of it, right?"

She was 4 when my heart stopped.  Half of her life I have lived with heart disease.  I really didn't realize that she worries about me dying.  That's the kind of heart Sylvia has. It's full of love for me, the other moms, and all the kids who have lost their moms to heart disease.  She knows how cruel and crappy life can be when your mom's beta blockers make it hard for her to get off the couch.  She's learned to accept that sometimes Mom just can't.  It breaks my heart.  She deserves the full Mom experience, and she's willing to do the work to make a difference.

Her timing was perfect, since the school was in the final days of their "Jump Rope for Heart" campaign.  She jumps rope, people donate, and the money funds research via the American Heart Association.  It's way easier than creating her "Cartwheels for Heart" fundraiser where people pledge money per cartwheel.  I like her idea.  We'll work on it.  (She's really into cartwheels right now.)

Sylvia understands first hand what it is to live with heart disease in your family.  She's jump-roping her little self silly to try to "get rid of it".  It's very important to her heart that no one else lives in fear.  She's blessed with a heart for others.

If you'd like to support her efforts, go to  http://jumpmwa.kintera.org/sylviaswager

I Am What I Am....

Once upon a time I was a goofy crazy little child with chubby knees, big brown eyes, and a sense of adventure and imagination that never slowed down from the moment my eyes burst open until the minute I finally fell asleep.  I wasn't a pretty little girl in frilly dresses, but if you needed to find a lizard or a snake, there was a good chance I might have a spare one in my pocket, or at least knew a good spot to find some.

If a food fight was needed in the school cafeteria, I was your girl! I wasn't afraid to go fishing with the boys, since I could bait my own hook AND take the fish off with no problem, but I wasn't dumb enough to bite the head off the fish to join Jimmy and Rusty's fishing club either. I may have been the brother MY brother always wanted...except I was a sister.

But by the grace of God I am what I am!

For a while, I was a very awkward band geek that could play the bass clarinet despite having a mouthful of braces, and a very large white-girl fro that my Mom swore was "adorable".  (I have pictures. Don't make me share them.)  I had this weird new body with no operators manual and no clue what to do with all these...curves... and emotions.  So I covered them with T-shirts and jeans, and just kept being that crazy, goofy child inside, but knowing that I couldn't stay that little child broke my heart a little, and I needed something to ease that pain.

  But by the grace of God I am what I am!

I didn't know those words then.  I may have read them, but they didn't really speak to me like they do now.  

Some time later, I awoke to find myself married with a couple of kids.  "Worthless." "Ugly." "Ridiculous." When you hear them enough you begin to believe them.  Turns out he has a problem with lying.  


But by the grace of God I am what I am!

Then in another stop along the timeline of my life, I find myself surrounded by beautiful people, except they don't know their own worth.  Like me, they're broken.  "Queer." "Fag." "Homo." They've heard it all.  They know you don't approve, so they put up a shell.  Inside they are dying to know the truth, that they are wonderfully and beautifully made in the image and likeness of their Creator. Just like you. Just like me.  My best friend wears a mustache to hide the scar on his lip where he was beaten in the face for trying to feel beautiful. I'd love to go back to that time and yell with them from the rooftops: 

 But by the grace of God I am what I am!

Through the times when a bottle was my friend, and the times when I had no joy left in my soul save the tiniest micro-dot of love. In the times when I was completely alone and scared and learning to care for myself again.  As I nursed my wounded soul back to health and started looking, tentatively at first, into the mirror, I began to learn the truth about myself:

   But by the grace of God I am what I am.

I spent a few minutes of "quality time" with the Creator when my heart stopped.  Just long enough to feel the most perfect, complete, flawless, all-encompassing, forgiving, rejuvenating, renewing, joyful Love that ever existed. Love so intense in that one moment that it's enough to last forever!    

Now I can hold my head high because I don't just think I'm loved.  I KNOW that I am the beloved child of my doting Heavenly Parent! Lizards and perms and braces, and sadness and brokenness and all!  Loved!  

All that I was.  All that I am.  All that I will EVER be is a gift of grace from God.      

...and his grace to me has not been ineffective..."- 1 Cor. 15         

Snowy, with a chance of prayers.

I'm looking out my bedroom window at the snow falling in soft puffs, cheerfully and quietly racing towards the ground.

They are like millions of prayers and kind thoughts all fluffy and pure covering the dark, scorched ground of a tragedy.

It's been snowing for a while now, and only a few dark spots of sadness remain.  At first glance, all is well and light and pure in the world.  Choose to see only that.

Hold on to the vision in white, made whole by the praying of friends and those who love you and don't know anything else to do for you.  Don't seek out the dark patches where the broken pieces show through.  It's too easy to be drawn into them by their stark contrast against the purity of love, joy and happiness.

 The bare ground of sorrow will be covered by the billowy white softness of this snow until this season of coldness ends.

Soon, the warm rays of Divine Love will melt the snow of blessings into water so plentiful that we can't absorb it all.  Kindness, like soft rains will gently soak away the hardness of cold ground that we've become.  For a time, the  murky mud of our sorrows seems to be everywhere. It sticks to our boots, dirties up our homes, and tracks along behind us everywhere we go.

As we allow these blessings to flow deeper within us, and we absorb the warmth of God's love, we are transformed into fertile soil where seeds of hope can find nourishment and flourish.

The ground always remains, but as time goes by it can't be seen through the colorful blooms and dense foliage of the garden we've allowed ourselves to become.        


    

The Rear View Mirror

I'm driving to church with my 8 year old daughter in the passenger seat.  She's looking out the window at the crushed side mirror that dangles by a strap of duct tape from the hole that once held it in place. "Hey Mom.  Are you gonna get that fixed?"

I intend to.  It's not a big priority, to be honest. The mirror was fine until one morning when I was cranky and hurried and fuming about something and came flying out of the garage too close to the side of the garage and stopped just in time to crack the mirror glass, but not dent the door.  Having the glass hanging their limp and lifeless is a great reminder to me that if I don't slow down enough to pay attention, LOTS of the things in my life will end up broken.  The precious things.

Out of the blue and for no particular reason, I said "Can you imagine if we had to drive everywhere using only the mirrors?"  Hmmm.  Why did I say that?  It got me thinking.

I think I've been trying to drive my life using only the mirrors for a while now.  I don't  look out the big window in front of me much.  Instead, I look at the rear view mirror to see where I was and how far I've come.  I look at the familiar, and how odd it looks as the perspective changes as I fly down the street away from the things I'm leaving behind.

Then, of course, I get fixated by the objects in the mirror that "are closer than they appear". Closer than they appear?  Are you kidding?  Certain objects loom large in my rear view mirrors! My cardiac arrest is right there.  My recovery is right there.  My fears and my worries are all right there.  Closer than they appear! But those are the things behind me.  My heart is getting healthy.  I still have heart disease, and always will, but my heart event is past.  My divorce is long past, and happily far from view.  Lots of good happy roads have been traveled since then.

 If I'm not careful, I get stuck looking behind, and forget to look at where I am right now.

NOT the view out my back window.

I'm still heading to church.  I'm looking right out the front window, with the sun shining off the little bit of snow still melting on my windshield. With my eight year old daughter wondering about my broken mirror.  I'd rather look at her sweet face than anything I would see behind me, anyways.  Maybe it's Love that's closer than it appears.