Best. Decision. Ever.

There are days when I'm a little jealous of others.

There are days when I look at the lives of my friends who are religious sisters or priests with envy.  I see how they have time in their lives to contemplate the depths of God's love or to sit for hours on end in Eucharistic Adoration, doing the hugely important work of spending time praying for every other person on the face of the Earth. I envy that a little. 

I see the pictures of amazing places my friends have been, and I feel a twang of envy.  There are jungles and mountains and cities all over this planet that I'd love to see with my own eyes.  It makes me just a bit jealous. It makes me question the choices I've made.       

Because I'm A MOM!!!!  I have Mom things to do.  

Twenty-seven years ago, my son was born. He had greenish-brown eyes and dark hair, and came out battleship gray. He smiled at me, then took a dump right on my stomach. I'd never loved a person so much in my whole life. Twenty-seven years ago a Mother was born.  Jordan has been a gift and a challenge.  He reminded me to check to see if soap is toxic before I wash his mouth out with it. I'm his Mom!  I'm the one he cried for, and clung to.  I fed him and clothed him and swaddled him, and did my very best to protect him.  I gave him the gift of siblings.  I came to know God through the lens of parenthood. In return, he's blessed the world with his artistic and musical talents.  He's blessed me with a daughter-in-law, and grandchildren.  He's given me a legacy and a lineage.  Best. Decision. Ever.

So I may not be available for hours of endless uninterrupted prayer, or travel to exotic places.  I praise God in each moment of being the Mom.  I adore the presence of Christ, and acknowledge it in each of my children, and see Him in their beautiful faces. I have seen the amazing sights of my children playing and singing and praising God.  I have felt the warmth of a cuddle on the couch during a snowstorm. I've been moved to tears by their smiles, and shared their tears.  I hold my children in my heart, and it has changed me, and created me into a new creation.

Happy Birthday, Jordan! You helped me find my purpose and calling.  

My Friend, the Atheist

Avowed atheist.  Vehemently anti-Jesus.  My friend passed away this week.  My heart breaks for him. He spent his life seeking truth, a truth outside of any traditional understanding of God.  He leaves this life with his friends left wondering.  What happened?  Why didn't you reach out to us? What the heck?

He leaves me wondering a different set of questions.  What happens to him now?  What did HE believe would happen after his passing?  Did he have a change of heart during his passing and grab onto God in his last moments?  What would it be like to die Godless?  This is why my heart aches so much.  I remember the love that was poured out over me when my heart stopped, and I know it to be the love of a Creator that sees me as his beautiful daughter.  Did my friend have that love to go home to? He was certainly the Creator's beautiful son, and I have no way of knowing what he felt in the depths of his heart.  Lord, I pray, that in your mercy you showed him your love, and let him see how beloved he was.

I wonder how he would feel if he knew he helped me grow closer to God?  His rejection of the idea of God was a healthy challenge to me to look at what I believe and why. He made me "back it up" and in doing so, solidified my stance on my faith. One of the last things he said to me in person was, "How can you be a Catholic when your priests rape children?"  Well, priests obviously don't ALL rape children. He was making a point.  (And he loved to stir my pot, if possible.) Obviously anyone who hurts a child like that is just plain wrong! But it made me remember that the good priests (and there are THOUSANDS of good ones) are called to help people worship God.

Their job, and mine, is to make certain that people know they are made in the beautiful image and likeness of God HIMSELF.  Our job, as Christians, is to help everyone know that they are loved and valued by a Creator who made you the way you are on purpose, because you are beautiful and LOVEABLE! I hope my friend knew that.  I hope he knew that all the way down to the cellular level that he was loved and created EXACTLY the way he was to love and be loved.

And I loved him very much.  Lots of people did.  He was so much more beautiful than he ever gave himself credit for. My friend the atheist did God's work of growing my faith in a way no Christian brother or sister could, and for that I am thankful.  I hope he found peace and truth.      

  

The Perilous Plight of the Persistent Petunia

Look at this picture and tell me what you see.  This is in my hometown of Climax Michigan, on the side steps of SoundStage One, a recording studio.  We're not that different than lots of other small towns all across America.  We have a liquor store and a post office.  We have a restaurant/bar, cows, cornfields, a church...and a recording studio.  And we have steps like these where people pause to eat ice cream.

When I came upon this site, the first thing I noticed was how large and full these flower baskets are.  They're colorful and lovely, made up of lots of individual flowers all bunched up together, sharing their beauty to create something bigger and more substantial than they could be alone.  They are a community of blooms.  Each a little different, but working together to enhance our little corner of Kalamazoo County. And then I noticed the Persistent Petunia!!! (Cue the dramatic music!)

I love this little flower!

I can relate to this little one's plight.  How many times has he felt like he's looking up at something more complete, more meaningful than his little old self, that he just doesn't belong to.  How many times has he wished to join them, but his roots hold him back.  He has lovely blooms, too, but just a couple, and a few little leaves. He's felt completely alone.  A total outsider.  In this photo, his blooms are bold and daring. When I passed by there the next day, someone had noticed him and tried to pull him out because he doesn't follow the rules.  He doesn't grow where the others grow. That's not where he was planted. He's doing the best he can to spread love and happiness exactly where he is.  He is truly persistent.  

But what does that really mean?  I invite you to look at the definition and find yourself in it.

1:  existing for a long or longer than usual time or continuously: as

a :  retained beyond the usual period <a persistent leaf>

b :  continuing without change in function or structure<persistent gills>

c :  effective in the open for an appreciable time usually through slow volatilizing <mustard gas is persistent>

d :  degraded only slowly by the environment <persistentpesticides>

e :  remaining infective for a relatively long time in a vector after an initial period of incubation <persistent viruses>

2

a :  continuing or inclined to persist in a course(see persist)

b :  continuing to exist despite interference or treatment <apersistent cough> 

So, where did you find yourself in "persistence"? Are you "continuing without change in function or structure"?  Is that a good thing? Are you "degraded only slowly by the environment" or perhaps, "continuing to exist despite interference or treatment".  How can you be more like our little Petunia friend?  

Speaking of which, where do you find yourself in this photo?  

Are you the tall yellow flowers in the basket, proudly giving height to this community, leading them upward in their pursuit of beauty?  Are you trailing out and down the side of the basket, reaching down to the base of the flowerpot, spreading color and interest where there was once just a plain wooden barrel holding dirt. Are you one little pink bloom, counting on all the other blooms around you to be beautiful together?  

Or are YOU the Persistent Petunia?  

        

Fixing the Dirt

(Lk 8:8) "The seed that falls on good ground will yield a fruitful harvest."

This is part of that story that Jesus tells about the seeds that are scattered and some fall on the stones and get eaten by birds, and some are in shallow soil, and spring up and get scorched by the sun, etc...  

WE are the soil to which he is referring, and the Creator is the farmer.  He refers to the condition of our souls in preparation for receiving the Word and how it will grow within us and hopefully bear fruit "one hundred-fold, or sixty, or thirty..."  He clearly would like us to be the good soil, but it takes time, and preparation.  Psalm 65 spells it out so well:  

You have visited the land and watered it;
greatly have you enriched it.
God’s watercourses are filled;
you have prepared the grain.

So God has watered us and prepared the grain.  He's got the Word all ready to be sown, but as every farmer knows, you don't just go spreading out valuable seed willy-nilly, or the weeds grow up and choke out the good stuff and you are left with nothing of value, except for ground cover for opossums and raccoons, which eat and destroy good crops, dragging them all down to be nothing but waste. (Know any of those types?) The psalm continues:  

Thus have you prepared the land: drenching its furrows,
breaking up its clods,
Softening it with showers,
blessing its yield.

This is the hardest part, when YOU are the soil!  Yeah, God's gonna drench our furrows. He'll spread fertilizer, which for those of you who don't know, is actually animal feces. Yes.  That's right, some literal "bullshit" (pardon my language) is coming your way!  We'll be drenched and fertilized with some really serious crap! We'll be broken up and smashed and crushed to dust, and reduced to our smallest bits. It will not make us happy or comfortable, but it will bless our yield. It's gonna hurt.  It's gonna stink.  Showers will fall and they may be showers of tears, and we may feel like we're drowning.  But it will soften us in preparation.  Farmers fix their dirt OUT OF LOVE.  They want it to be productive, and make the soil all it can be.  Which is great, if you aren't the dirt.  But here comes the good part:  

You have crowned the year with your bounty,
and your paths overflow with a rich harvest;

While your being fixed into good ground, remember this last bit. Wait for it.  

Be blessed!     

...Now I just sit in silence....

There's a song on the radio by a group called 21 Pilots called "Car Radio".  It's basically the thoughts of a young man with a lot of quiet in his vehicle now that someone has stolen his car stereo.  "...And now I just sit in Silence..." is repeated over and over.

As a child, silence was my enemy.  Church was excruciating, because I knew that as soon as I entered the silence, it wouldn't be silent for long.  I had a hard time being still and quiet.  It just wasn't part of my genetic make-up.  Even when I tried so hard, my mind would bounce from this thought to that thought, and before I knew it I was being shushed again.  Apparently my thoughts leaked out in the form of humming, whistling, and in some cases, full out singing and dancing.  What's a kid to do?

When I was old enough to drive, my 1972 Cadillac didn't have a car stereo.  My friend Terri and I didn't mind, since we were usually bubbling over with the REALLY IMPORTANT conversations of two teen girls full of an intense love of life (and teenage boys).  Boys were discussed for hours, and girls were discussed without mercy.  I remember once on a Late Night Taco Bell Run when we just sat in silence.  Terri's feet were out the window on a warm summer night, and it was quite calm and comfortable.  Until a bat hit our windshield on Terri's side of the car, causing her to scream at the top of her lungs, yanking her feet into the car, and nearly giving me a heart attack!   The silence was over for that night!  E-gads!

It wasn't until I was much older that I started to feel comfortable in the silence. The silence of holding my babies and watching them sleep in my arms is the most wonderful kind of feeling.  It feels the most like Heaven.  In fact...

The most profound silence I've ever experienced happened in a room full of rush and hurry and panic.  I was blissfully unaware of the chaotic fight for my life going on around me.  I, however, was enjoying that kind of quiet when the baby is fed and bathed and sweetly sleeping.I was held in the arms of my Creator. It was a silence so deep, so perfect that even my heart stood still.  I didn't even break the silence with my breath.  I just sat in silence.  I wasn't alone, and it wasn't scary.  My thoughts stopped, except for the knowledge that I was being loved...in that silence.

I'm back from that silence.  My life is full of sounds and things to do and people to love.  My home is full of music and laughter and silliness, and people who are happy I'm here, and that I treasure in return. I have parties to throw and celebrations to attend! I have so much of life still to live!

  But there are times when I just sit in silence.  Remembering.   Being loved.  Loving.

How do you sit in silence?


"I ponder of something terrifying
'Cause this time there's no sound to hide behind
I find over the course of our human existence
One thing consists of consistence
And it's that we're all battling fear
Oh dear, I don't know if we know why we're here
Oh my, too deep, please stop thinking
I liked it better when my car had sound"

21 Pilots Car Radio
 

  

The day YOU became a Heart Sister...

There was a day when everything changed abruptly.

All of a sudden, out of the blue, everything you knew changed in an instant.  You were told that your body was insufficient at doing what it is supposed to do to sustain your life.  If it hasn't already killed you, it most certainly could at any time.

So you wait.

Thankful for every passing moment of existence, you check and recheck your pulse.  You measure your life, first in heartbeats, then in minutes.  Eventually you can go a whole hour without feeling for the throbbing beats in your neck, indicating that yes, in fact, your heart is still beating.  Even though you don't want to know the answer, you ask yourself, ask your Maker, "Is this my last heartbeat? How about THIS one? This?"

You make it through a whole day, then fall to your knees, thanking God for the gift of one more smile from your husband.  One more "I love you" from the kids.  One more hug.  Just one more chance. You relish it, and cherish it, and treasure it in your heart.

But still you wait.  Because lurking in the dark quiet of your mind is the reality of your mortality.  Your pulse feels more like a ticking time bomb some days than a reassurance of good health. Your doctor already told you that the one organ that's been beating since you were just a wee speck in your mother's womb is failing.  It can't be trusted, and this is the hardest thing to make peace with.  Your own body has betrayed you!

Doctors can explain how and why your heart malfunctions the way it does, but unless they have felt the fear and abandonment of having their own heart fail them, they can't truly understand.

That's what Heart Sisters do.

I can't fathom 42 million women living with heart disease.  (Although it is true.)  What I CAN fathom is Carrie and Wanda and Erica and Georgia.  I think of Stephanie, Eileen and Sherry.  I remember sharing what a Sudden Cardiac Arrest felt like with Sue, and I remember discussing AICD shocks with a different Sue, and Julie.  I am saddened by the fear in Carol's eyes, Vicki's eyes, and the eyes of every new sister.  I appreciate what these ladies go through.  I know that the story above is their story. With a few modifications, it's all of our story.

Heart Sisters are women living with heart disease.  We are women living beyond the fear and doubt and emptiness of a "body gone bad".  We hold each other up.  We cry together, and pray with and for each other.  We help each other find a new normal.

 

The thing about my son's graduation is....

Isaac just graduated from high school, and I feel a certain kind of way about that.  However, I can't really pinpoint what way it is that I feel.  Mostly I feel inadequate.

Don't get me wrong, I try to be a good Mom.  I strive to be a great Mom on occasion, but I still feel like my parenting is unfinished, lacking, and incomplete.  It becomes painfully clear HOW many ways I am failing when it comes to my child graduating.

I remember being pregnant with Isaac, and giving birth to him.  He's my 3rd son, so I knew how to care for a baby.  I was completely capable of changing his diapers and singing to him, feeding him and reading to him.  I just loved him (still do!)  And it wasn't too long before he got a little sister, then another, and a brother, and another sister. I wasn't really thinking too hard about raising my toddlers, I just tried to help them become kind and compassionate people.  No hitting, don't spit, don't pee on other people's stuff, you know, the basics.

From the moment of his birth, Isaac has been busy! He moved fast!  To this day, he thinks fast, he writes long detailed scenarios in his mind then plays them out with swords and sticks and heroes and bad guys. He remembers EVERYTHING he reads.  He's a big hugger, and doesn't stop hugging until he hears bones crack. (Which really helps his wrestling career.)  His childhood was a whirlwind of stories and stitches and amazing adventures! He is a fantastic guy who works hard to overcome life's challenges, and to make the world around him a more loving place.  He's the guy that makes others feel welcome and safe.

And I am his inadequate mother.

It happens every time one of mine gets ready to go off into the big wide world.  The questions arise.  Did I teach him all he needs to know?  I meant to teach him how to iron. Have I been too soft on him?  Too hard?  He's so caring and so trusting!  Have I made him an easy mark?  Should I have prepared him better for a cruel world? Is it my shortcoming to let him believe in people and trust them?  The realization that I can't protect him is overwhelming! Have I taught him how to demand that his dates treat him with respect?  Would he know what to do if she doesn't?  Will he be taken advantage of? Did we ever talk about how to handle money?  Will his heart get broken?  Will he always be my little baby?  Will I always be able to see that little boy in the Super Isaac Man costume in his eyes?  Will he be okay without me?

He will.

I can't stop him from making mistakes and bad judgements. I can't go everywhere with him and make him do his homework and be responsible and turn in his time sheet and brush his teeth.  I can only be here for him and love him.  I can nag him and be his Mom, like I always have, and be supportive.  Since I truly love him, I can let him fail.  And when he does, it will hurt, but I can wait by patiently, praying like a monk in a monastery, waiting for him to come around.  I may be inadequate, but I can pray.  

I can pray he won't make monumentally bad life-destroying choices.  I can pray he won't enjoy drinking so much that he spends his life locked in a bottle. I can pray that he gets so busy enjoying life that he doesn't have time to discover the pain of addiction.  I can pray and pray and pray that in all of those ways that I have been completely inadequate at meeting his needs JESUS will be there to fill in the gap.  I can pray that he will seek his Creator's input in the choices he makes and the directions he goes.  I'll also pray that I can accept whatever that path may be, and that it's not MY path to choose for him.  It never was!  I can pray that he be filled with the Holy Spirit, and that he never loses his trust in people, even when a few let him down.  I pray that he will always be exactly who he is.  Nothing less than God's very own child!

I pray he knows this.

If I have taught him this, he has everything he needs.