We think we are only connected through family genetics; yet, I'm convinced that we are all intertwined with each other to help one another, to teach, to learn; coming together for some greater purpose. Perhaps it is for us to learn some lesson in our own lives or for us to be the example to others. Even the people we happen to stand near the checkout lanes in our grocery stores are somehow associated with us. How often have you found yourselves engaging in conversation with a stranger, and sometimes there is a common thread. Before you know it, someone you've just met is telling you their most intimate secrets. Often I have thought to myself, I can't believe they're telling me this; yet, over time I have come to think of this encounter, if you will, in a different light. There's always a common thread in people, and I think God has intentionally put people in front of us for some reason. Maybe that day you needed to hear something you were looking for or perhaps in weeks ahead, that particular encounter might be useful. We never quite know until it happens, do we? Thus begins my story of Dibby, a friend to Chrissy through the circumstances of her chemotherapy treatments, their commonality of traveling their journey with cancer. A friend that I know was brought to us and to Chrissy from a force that was beyond our understanding. She is never far from my thoughts, and recently I decided to write of her because Dibby, who has passed on to her new life, is being honored this weekend during the Ballwin Days for her countless efforts in volunteering for our community.
It all began while Chrissy was going to her chemo treatments, and a dear young friend named Emily, was documenting my sister's journey through photographs. It was sort of a college assignment, but Emily insisted this wasn't about a school project; rather, she wanted to give Chrissy something, perhaps something for her kids to remember her, for Chrissy to document this tumultuous, raw journey of living with cancer, showing her emotions to others. Emily would photograph Chrissy at home, visits to the doctor and during her chemo treatments. I was there the day that Emily looked across the chemo room and saw a lady resting her eyes, with the sunlight beaming behind her. It was a picturesque photo opportunity, but how do you approach a stranger, wanting to click a moment in time, that perhaps they are escaping from some of the pain of this process. Chrissy felt it would be an excellent photo as well, and told Emily she would ask this woman if it was okay to photograph her. From that moment on, Chrissy and Dibby became friends. Dibby was in her mid to late 70's, mother of five, lived in the Ballwin area, had a passion for golf and embraced Chrissy as if she was one of her own. Immediately, the bond began and strangely enough, Chrissy saw a striking similiarity to our own mother through their personalities. Dibby was a welcoming spirit, somewhat sassy and sported around clothes that were youthful and fashionable........much like our own mom. She listened intently to Chrissy's cancer journey, when she herself was dealing with her own problems and challenges.
This brings me to a week or so after Chrissy's memorial service, as I was reading through the pages of our guest book, knowing full well I didn't see or talk to everyone, and I wanted to see who was there. For some reason, I looked through our two books three or four times, perhaps trying to heal. Seeing the names of people who were there with us gave me comfort. I happened to run across Dibby's name during my third time through reading one of the books. I couldn't believe I didn't see her name before! I couldn't believe she was there, knowing from Chrissy how ill she was, still trying to fight this cancer. She listed her name and address, and I felt the need to write her, telling her how much she meant to my sister. There was some hesitation to send this card as I knew she, herself, was going through some difficult times. After caring for Chrissy and being with her through her illness; there was some hesitation on my part not to get involved emotionally. I had just said goodbye to my sister. How could I connect with another person whom I knew was facing her own mortality? It didn't take me long to realize the push I felt from my sister to send her a note. I even found myself yelling out, "Enough already, I'll do it!" Within two days of sending this card, I received two letters in the mail: one from her son and another from her daughter-in-law. I held my breath, wondering if they were going to tell me that she had died. It was so moving to hear, that while Dibby was ill in the hospital, my card had come at the perfect time. While she lay fighting for her own life, my letter talking about Chrissy and her relationship, had lifted her spirits. Her last time out was at my sister's memorial service. They went on to say that another daughter-in-law had worked with my husband in one of the Special School District buildings. They also told me that another son was in our Holy Infant Parish. They too, knew the impact Chrissy had made on Dibby as well, and had hoped to meet us someday. Dibby had struggled in the following week, but she amazingly turned a new corner, and they were encouraged that she would come home again. I spoke on the phone to one of her daughters and soon after I talked with Dibby herself. Although our conversation was brief; I was glad I made that phone call......I felt Chrissy wanted me to talk with her, and it was not mine to question why.
A couple months after that encounter, I received a call from my sister, Sue, who works for hospice. Her first words on the other end of the line were, "You'll never guess who I met and admitted today." My first question to her was, "Is it someone in the family?" She responded, "No." Don't tell me Dibby.
"Yes, how did you know?" Of course, I didn't want this to be Dibby's outcome, but how could I question Chrissy's intervention with my family to meet Dibby's family in all of this. Isn't it amazing of all the hospice entities in the St. Louis area, and Dibby's family happens to contact the one that my sister works for and the admitting nurse happens to be my sister. My sister had been with Dibby's family for a couple of hours before someone inquired about the bracelet my sister was wearing having to do with epilepsy support, support for Frankie's cause, a cause Chrissy held dear to her heart. One word led to another, and the question was asked by one of Dibby's daughters, "Did you know Chrissy?" You can't help but feel a sense of tingling after hearing this story knowing the odds of one family meeting another that were connected through this cancer journey.
All of us are joined through the heart in some fashion or other. We don't always like some of the people we meet; perhaps they're abrasive, intrusive, psychotic, annoying or wonderful. Either way, all souls help us mature into the people we were created to be. Our souls have to grow so that on that day, that day when we meet our creator, we can show our God that we are who we are because we endured, we cared, we did and we said "yes". We said yes by listening, we said yes by doing, we said yes by crying with, we said yes by loving, we said yes by doing for another before ourselves. Her dear friend, Dibby, said yes to my sister, so that my sister could endure and embrace the days ahead.
We travel this earth with angels: some are right in front of us while others are disguised.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day and Memories
When my dad passed on to his new life, I had just turned twelve years old. He died of a brain tumor, and many of those experiences during his illness are still vivid in my mind, but I also remember a time when he was strong, a leader of the family, disciplined and full of surprises with his humor and traditions. He was a hard-working man, father of five, educated through a technical high school, and he was a marine during his enlisted years. Some of my memories of him are him giving me piggy back rides, coming home from his job sweaty and tired; yet, still greeting me with big hugs and kisses. I still remember seeing him drink a beer after a long hot day, letting us take a sip or two. He was somewhat of an Archie Bunker type, for those of you who watched All in the Family; he had his limitations about people. He held strong to his convictions and you never questioned his authority. I remember him mowing the lawn or doing a house project as well as hearing his voice with strict rules and being somewhat of a dictator. Anyone who lived in his house better follow the rules or consequences were given. Back in those days, spankings were the norm, and you never heard of a parent being reported to DFS (Division of Family Services) for a parent "abusing" their child. Dad worked hard, employed by Union Electric, always providing for his family and I've come to learn as a parent the reason for some of his actions. Sometimes you do the best with what you know and what you have learned yourself. None of us can claim to be perfect. Sometimes we live life, trying to teach our kids, not always knowing if it's the best, but we have to trust our gut. Much of what's in our gut comes from above and from the past, and generally we roll with the punches and hope for the best.
With my personality, I was very sensitive, often a cryer at the drop of a hat, so his strong demeanor and old school ways often frightened me. I learned to always please through my behavior and doing well in school, and in my mind if I did what I was told and I didn't get into trouble, then I wouldn't get punished. That alone motivated me to stay out of trouble and follow the rules. I also remember him being affectionate towards my mom, laughing along with the family and getting a kick out of a prank or two in our household. I think we are who we are with all the experiences we have, and I loved my dad, and he did the very best with what he knew. Over the years, talking with my siblings and my mom, I came to learn that he felt inadequate as a parent and would often read books about how to do it better. I have to respect a man who may not admit his faults, but would in his own way try to improve himself as a dad. You have to admire that in a man, a husband, a father; someone who knows their faults, but still attempts to make it better. Years after his death and still recently, I have read the birthday, anniversary and Valentine's Cards from him to my mom, and without a doubt, he truly loved and cherished my mom. That, too, is another reason I can't help but love my dad for loving my mother.
On this Father's Day, I also recall the memories of all of us kids performing for him. It was not only a treat for him and our extended family who came over for the barbecues, but it was so much fun planning, performing and surprising our dad on Father's Day with our renditions of short plays, jokes and singing performances. Chrissy was much too young in those days to be involved, but I remember many a years waiting for directions from my older sisters and brother as to my part in the Meyer performances. There was a joke that I told about what dogs say.....the punch line included something like "roof" instead of "woof", but I can see myself sitting like a dog and falling over. What's so vivid in my mind are the smiles on my dad and mom's faces as they watched in delight. You could see their pride beaming over their children they had raised, performing for their pleasure, and perhaps seeing the positive results of their direction. Without a doubt there was entertainment, humor and laughter in our house, and part of that is because of my dad along with my mom. Storytelling was always a part of our traditional gatherings, and I loved listening to the family stories of days passed. Most importantly, I recall how my dad kept the family in daily routine, even when mom was sick in the hospital for long periods of time. He never wavered, he never showed his fears and I always felt that he was my protector.
On this Father's Day, I appreciate my husband and the wonderful father he is to our children, and I love reminiscing about my own dad. He was a dad with many stories still untold, a strong righteous man; a man who loved his family. He is a part of who I am today, and I am grateful for each and every one of those experiences.
The best gift a father can give to his children is to love their mother
With my personality, I was very sensitive, often a cryer at the drop of a hat, so his strong demeanor and old school ways often frightened me. I learned to always please through my behavior and doing well in school, and in my mind if I did what I was told and I didn't get into trouble, then I wouldn't get punished. That alone motivated me to stay out of trouble and follow the rules. I also remember him being affectionate towards my mom, laughing along with the family and getting a kick out of a prank or two in our household. I think we are who we are with all the experiences we have, and I loved my dad, and he did the very best with what he knew. Over the years, talking with my siblings and my mom, I came to learn that he felt inadequate as a parent and would often read books about how to do it better. I have to respect a man who may not admit his faults, but would in his own way try to improve himself as a dad. You have to admire that in a man, a husband, a father; someone who knows their faults, but still attempts to make it better. Years after his death and still recently, I have read the birthday, anniversary and Valentine's Cards from him to my mom, and without a doubt, he truly loved and cherished my mom. That, too, is another reason I can't help but love my dad for loving my mother.
On this Father's Day, I also recall the memories of all of us kids performing for him. It was not only a treat for him and our extended family who came over for the barbecues, but it was so much fun planning, performing and surprising our dad on Father's Day with our renditions of short plays, jokes and singing performances. Chrissy was much too young in those days to be involved, but I remember many a years waiting for directions from my older sisters and brother as to my part in the Meyer performances. There was a joke that I told about what dogs say.....the punch line included something like "roof" instead of "woof", but I can see myself sitting like a dog and falling over. What's so vivid in my mind are the smiles on my dad and mom's faces as they watched in delight. You could see their pride beaming over their children they had raised, performing for their pleasure, and perhaps seeing the positive results of their direction. Without a doubt there was entertainment, humor and laughter in our house, and part of that is because of my dad along with my mom. Storytelling was always a part of our traditional gatherings, and I loved listening to the family stories of days passed. Most importantly, I recall how my dad kept the family in daily routine, even when mom was sick in the hospital for long periods of time. He never wavered, he never showed his fears and I always felt that he was my protector.
On this Father's Day, I appreciate my husband and the wonderful father he is to our children, and I love reminiscing about my own dad. He was a dad with many stories still untold, a strong righteous man; a man who loved his family. He is a part of who I am today, and I am grateful for each and every one of those experiences.
The best gift a father can give to his children is to love their mother
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Riding the Storm
This morning when the thunderstorms blew in, I decided to venture out to my garage, pull up a lawn chair and watch the rains come. Our family has always loved the storms. Probably not always the smartest move, but when huge thunder and lightening storms hit, we are not taking cover. We are almost magnetized by the light of the storm and the sounds of the blistering winds and crackling rain. We love to look at the multifude of lights, and while most might take cover, we look it squarely in the face. There is a peacefulness in all the sights and sounds. If you want to delve further, I have found myself thinking of God, and thanking Him for the waters that give growth and cleansing to our earth, washing away the dirt, cooling the surface.
My son, Luke, has always been enthralled with thunderstorms and natural disasters, especially tornados. He does have a fascination with tsunamis and hurricanes, but his passion is the tornado, and he could tell you every type of tornado that exists. The other day he talked of when he grows up, he wants to follow the tornados. I had to chuckle to myself, as we all have aspirations for our children, but a storm chaser never entered my mind. If that's what he chooses, and it's an honest, exciting profession, then so be it. Insane but exciting, I suppose someone has to do it. All I want for my children is for them to be happy, follow their passions in life and become honest citizens of this great country of ours. My husband and I have questioned his love of the weather, not in a bad way, but why the fascination with natural disasters? It never dawned on me how much I am fascinated by them as well. Perhaps it's genetic. Is that even possible? There is so much I have learned about myself through my children; discovering my strengths, weaknesses and even my deepest fears.
Thinking back during my childhood years, I remember a birthday party at my house. Mom was attending to the party, making everything just right. She was dressed in her cool dress with the leather boots and a frilly white or pink apron. My heart-shaped birthday cake was sitting on a pedestal cake tray that turned with some sort of music. My birthday was three day after Valentine's Day so generally the heart cake was always a staple at my birthday parties. Nothing but the best for her kids was Betty's way. Mom wanted to be a Mrs. Clever type when it came to entertaining and the food that was prepared. It always had to be perfect. It was a perfect day for a birthday party. Something tells me I was in kindergarten, but I could have been older. The rains eventually came, and there I was on our carport while everyone else was scrambling to take cover inside the house. We didn't have a garage in those days, but a roof that covered part of our driveway that we called a carport. You don't hear that word carport much anymore, do you? There I was, staring out at the lightening and thunder. Some of our guests were crying and horrified, but I loved it! It didn't occur to me to be frightened, even at that age of six or seven. I like when the storms rumble in and the rains increase from sprinkles to showers to a down pour and people run for cover frantically, sometimes laughing. Watching the other kids seemed confusing for me because in my eyes, the rains were safe, and I knew they wouldn't last forever. Now, don't get me wrong, when we have those immense loud, almost house shaking kind of storms, those can freak me out, but I'm talking a little lightening, thundering and heavy showers. I welcome them, and it's sort of how life is, isn't it.
We can be fearful of the storms in our life, but they are inevitible, just as the rains and storms in nature. We have to face them, walking or running, but we have to face them, and in the end, when all is said and done.....it's for an ultimate purpose. I have learned that most of all during this journey of breathing life, riding the storms. Think of the storms in your own life. If you avoid them, they're still going to surface if we don't face them head on. I am not encouraging anyone to stand under a tree or row a boat during a thunderstorm, but I am encouraging myself and you to look at your own life, with family and friends and complete strangers, and see your part in the storms that are presented. I continue to see the rainbows as well as the lightening and damaging winds through all of life's ups and downs. I hope you will, too.
"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
Isaiah 54:10
My son, Luke, has always been enthralled with thunderstorms and natural disasters, especially tornados. He does have a fascination with tsunamis and hurricanes, but his passion is the tornado, and he could tell you every type of tornado that exists. The other day he talked of when he grows up, he wants to follow the tornados. I had to chuckle to myself, as we all have aspirations for our children, but a storm chaser never entered my mind. If that's what he chooses, and it's an honest, exciting profession, then so be it. Insane but exciting, I suppose someone has to do it. All I want for my children is for them to be happy, follow their passions in life and become honest citizens of this great country of ours. My husband and I have questioned his love of the weather, not in a bad way, but why the fascination with natural disasters? It never dawned on me how much I am fascinated by them as well. Perhaps it's genetic. Is that even possible? There is so much I have learned about myself through my children; discovering my strengths, weaknesses and even my deepest fears.
Thinking back during my childhood years, I remember a birthday party at my house. Mom was attending to the party, making everything just right. She was dressed in her cool dress with the leather boots and a frilly white or pink apron. My heart-shaped birthday cake was sitting on a pedestal cake tray that turned with some sort of music. My birthday was three day after Valentine's Day so generally the heart cake was always a staple at my birthday parties. Nothing but the best for her kids was Betty's way. Mom wanted to be a Mrs. Clever type when it came to entertaining and the food that was prepared. It always had to be perfect. It was a perfect day for a birthday party. Something tells me I was in kindergarten, but I could have been older. The rains eventually came, and there I was on our carport while everyone else was scrambling to take cover inside the house. We didn't have a garage in those days, but a roof that covered part of our driveway that we called a carport. You don't hear that word carport much anymore, do you? There I was, staring out at the lightening and thunder. Some of our guests were crying and horrified, but I loved it! It didn't occur to me to be frightened, even at that age of six or seven. I like when the storms rumble in and the rains increase from sprinkles to showers to a down pour and people run for cover frantically, sometimes laughing. Watching the other kids seemed confusing for me because in my eyes, the rains were safe, and I knew they wouldn't last forever. Now, don't get me wrong, when we have those immense loud, almost house shaking kind of storms, those can freak me out, but I'm talking a little lightening, thundering and heavy showers. I welcome them, and it's sort of how life is, isn't it.
We can be fearful of the storms in our life, but they are inevitible, just as the rains and storms in nature. We have to face them, walking or running, but we have to face them, and in the end, when all is said and done.....it's for an ultimate purpose. I have learned that most of all during this journey of breathing life, riding the storms. Think of the storms in your own life. If you avoid them, they're still going to surface if we don't face them head on. I am not encouraging anyone to stand under a tree or row a boat during a thunderstorm, but I am encouraging myself and you to look at your own life, with family and friends and complete strangers, and see your part in the storms that are presented. I continue to see the rainbows as well as the lightening and damaging winds through all of life's ups and downs. I hope you will, too.
"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
Isaiah 54:10
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Remembering Tickle Time
One of our favorite past times as kids was to soothe each other at night by "tickling" each others arms. "Tickle my arm, please, please, please?????" That phrase rings in my head like it was yesterday. Tickling to Chrissy and me meant light soothing fingertips across the limbs. It was relaxing during the sleepless nights, and many a nights Chrissy and I took turns comforting each other. That's what sisters do, other than quarrel over clothes and/or chores, we also helped each other. No one could ever take the place of two sisters chatting quietly late at night, while each of us took our turns comforting the other. As the older sister, though, I would always want her to go first; that way I could weasel out of my turn. Sad, but true, I was scheming the plot before it all went down. With all that gentle tickling, it could easily put you to sleep. You know what I'm saying? I can almost hear the frustration in her young voice as I would pretend to be sleeping after ten minutes or so. For five minutes she would gently shake me, at first whispering, "It's your turn now, Barbie...... Barbie," and then it progressively got louder and more annoying; my body still lying motionless. We slept in a trundle bed in those days, and I was on the top bed, and she slept below me on the lower bed with my arm dangling over the side. Before I knew it, she would threaten to yell for mom, then the gig was up. I had to take my turn tickling her arm, but I swear I was able to shorten the minutes as the older sister who insisted my time was accurate. It warms my heart to think about such simple times. Back then, life seemed carefree because there was so much to think about: school, friends, televison, parties. It really was so simple then.......and we grew up, and life became more complicated.
It's amazing what comes out of your mouth when you're trying to cope. As I layed next to Chrissy in her final days, not always knowing what to say or do to comfort her, I would pray. Pray for her, pray for us to accept, pray for hope. None of us really knew what was best, but we tried, and that's all one can do in those circumstances. Many times I felt the strength of Job or the Holy Spirit entering my body, whatever you might think takes over your body when you know it's not you doing it, or atleast I felt that way. All sorts of thoughts race through your mind as what to say or do for someone who is dying. Sometimes humor helps, story telling, tears, hugs and even comforting thoughts. As I was lying next to her, the thought of those tickle nights in our childhood beds came to mind, and I recall whispering to her one morning as her eyes showed discomfort, feeling the pain. "Sissy, guess what, I am going to tickle your arm first, it's my turn.....close your eyes now and relax."
On that morning in December of uncertainty, never knowing if I would see my sister's eyes sparkle again, let alone smile, I saw the biggest sheepish grin beam across her face......teeth and all. She didn't have to ask or beg as we always did when we were younger. She had remembered our treasured time together, and now it was my turn to tickle first. I can't imagine what was happening in her world, knowing her days were numbered. I will cherish and remember that moment forever in my life, subtle glimpses of her earthly presence...............as it was to happen the following morning that she passed on to her new life.
Family: It's about loving, sharing, and connecting
It's amazing what comes out of your mouth when you're trying to cope. As I layed next to Chrissy in her final days, not always knowing what to say or do to comfort her, I would pray. Pray for her, pray for us to accept, pray for hope. None of us really knew what was best, but we tried, and that's all one can do in those circumstances. Many times I felt the strength of Job or the Holy Spirit entering my body, whatever you might think takes over your body when you know it's not you doing it, or atleast I felt that way. All sorts of thoughts race through your mind as what to say or do for someone who is dying. Sometimes humor helps, story telling, tears, hugs and even comforting thoughts. As I was lying next to her, the thought of those tickle nights in our childhood beds came to mind, and I recall whispering to her one morning as her eyes showed discomfort, feeling the pain. "Sissy, guess what, I am going to tickle your arm first, it's my turn.....close your eyes now and relax."
On that morning in December of uncertainty, never knowing if I would see my sister's eyes sparkle again, let alone smile, I saw the biggest sheepish grin beam across her face......teeth and all. She didn't have to ask or beg as we always did when we were younger. She had remembered our treasured time together, and now it was my turn to tickle first. I can't imagine what was happening in her world, knowing her days were numbered. I will cherish and remember that moment forever in my life, subtle glimpses of her earthly presence...............as it was to happen the following morning that she passed on to her new life.
Family: It's about loving, sharing, and connecting
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Powerful Life, Thankful Life
Do you realize the difference you can make in other people's lives: with your friends, your neighbors, your own family and yes, even strangers? That could mean in a positive or negative way, and so many times we miss that opportunity because we're not paying attention, and we have so much power to make positive changes for others. Chrissy and I used to talk about what we would do after our kids were grown and they were all in school. We always wondered if we were doing the mom thing right. When your parent isn't there to ask, you find yourself always wondering that question. We shared our interests and passions while watching our kids play together, mostly feeling inadequacies about ourselves. Not knowing how we were going to change the world, how we were going to make a difference, that was our underlying struggle. Her deepest joy was to work with children with special needs as well as with typical students. Often, she would share her stories of volunteering at her kids' school, and I could see how much she loved helping students, having friendly conversations, being real with them. I knew how she made a difference for some of those students, who may not have been able to share with their own teacher or their parents. She had also established her charity called RAISE, Inc., which helped support epilepsy research, but that was put to the back burner when she became ill. I thought it was a huge accomplishemnt on her part, but she never took much credit for what she had done to make that happen. I was so very proud of her and the hard work it took to put that charity in action, even though short lived. That alone was God working through her. Awhile back, she worked for Special School District for a short period dealing with students who had various challenges. She did her hair styling and worked in a medical office, but she never felt she was completely satisfied with her latter career choices. Her passion was to become a teacher if she were to choose a career. She did eventually go back to school, but she didn't acquire her teaching degree because raising her own children without distractions was more important to her as it was to me. I am not a powerhouse of a woman who can juggle it all, but I give credit to those who try to work outside the home and keep their kids and house in order. I also respect the moms who stay home, and make the budget work with one income and keep their sanity. Well, I keep my sanity most of the time, but perhaps Marty may have a different version.
My fondest memories of my mom were greeting me after school, not usually with a snack at hand, but when she was able, asking me about my day. There was a sense of security knowing she was always there for us. She seemed so strong and resilient and beautiful. I admired what she had done and was doing for me. I am not critisizing working moms by no means, but I miss the days when most moms were at home, not working outside the home. In this day and age, raising my kids as a stay at home mom, I generally felt in the minority. Whenever I went to a social gatherings and women,especially, would ask what I do for a living. Their "deer in a head lights" look gave way to their thoughts about my answer when I told them I stayed home with the kids. There was usually a pause and an overwhelming respectful answer of "Oh, that's so admirable........" or I got the short version, "oh", then they awkwardly walked away. Please understand when I say that some comments were genuine, but other times, it was not. I'm a whiz at reading people's social cues, and I could see the ones who were dumbfounded by my choice to stay home rather than work outside the home.
Recently, I got into my car, turned on the radio and heard, "Are you living a fruitful life, a powerful life, a knowledgeable life and a thankful life?" Ironically, a friend of mine and I were just discussing that very same question in our own lives. I listened intently to the message as I knew God wanted me to hear it at that moment. Those cues and messages are there all the time for us. Sometimes we may wonder if God is listening or cares what we need, and He does, and He reaches out to us with His answers through the radio, through friends and family, through nature, and other ways. We don't always realize it, but it's there. So that evening I listened to the radio, thinking about the many conversations Chrissy and I had talking about our dreams, our passions, our kids and spouses. Our life is here to be lived, and we have to choose to live it. God gives us the power in so many ways, and I think that power comes in time, living life, making choices, seeing our blessings, accepting God's graces. Those blessings come in small packages sometimes, and if we are to realize how powerful our life is, we must open our eyes and hearts to what is being said to us. All sorts of messages come our way, and for Chrissy, she continued to grow, listen, learn and hope.
I am so very thankful for the life I have lived and am living. We encounter bumps in the road, but we also feel the wind in our hair on a sunny day and so much more. If we have a fruitful life, a knowledgeable life, a powerful life and a thankful life.......we will have a purposeful life. My life with my sister, Chrissy, was purposeful, and I am forever grateful to our creator for her being a part of my life.
Life can only take place in the present moment. If we lose the present moment, we lose life.
By Buddha
My fondest memories of my mom were greeting me after school, not usually with a snack at hand, but when she was able, asking me about my day. There was a sense of security knowing she was always there for us. She seemed so strong and resilient and beautiful. I admired what she had done and was doing for me. I am not critisizing working moms by no means, but I miss the days when most moms were at home, not working outside the home. In this day and age, raising my kids as a stay at home mom, I generally felt in the minority. Whenever I went to a social gatherings and women,especially, would ask what I do for a living. Their "deer in a head lights" look gave way to their thoughts about my answer when I told them I stayed home with the kids. There was usually a pause and an overwhelming respectful answer of "Oh, that's so admirable........" or I got the short version, "oh", then they awkwardly walked away. Please understand when I say that some comments were genuine, but other times, it was not. I'm a whiz at reading people's social cues, and I could see the ones who were dumbfounded by my choice to stay home rather than work outside the home.
Recently, I got into my car, turned on the radio and heard, "Are you living a fruitful life, a powerful life, a knowledgeable life and a thankful life?" Ironically, a friend of mine and I were just discussing that very same question in our own lives. I listened intently to the message as I knew God wanted me to hear it at that moment. Those cues and messages are there all the time for us. Sometimes we may wonder if God is listening or cares what we need, and He does, and He reaches out to us with His answers through the radio, through friends and family, through nature, and other ways. We don't always realize it, but it's there. So that evening I listened to the radio, thinking about the many conversations Chrissy and I had talking about our dreams, our passions, our kids and spouses. Our life is here to be lived, and we have to choose to live it. God gives us the power in so many ways, and I think that power comes in time, living life, making choices, seeing our blessings, accepting God's graces. Those blessings come in small packages sometimes, and if we are to realize how powerful our life is, we must open our eyes and hearts to what is being said to us. All sorts of messages come our way, and for Chrissy, she continued to grow, listen, learn and hope.
I am so very thankful for the life I have lived and am living. We encounter bumps in the road, but we also feel the wind in our hair on a sunny day and so much more. If we have a fruitful life, a knowledgeable life, a powerful life and a thankful life.......we will have a purposeful life. My life with my sister, Chrissy, was purposeful, and I am forever grateful to our creator for her being a part of my life.
Life can only take place in the present moment. If we lose the present moment, we lose life.
By Buddha
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Are You Living With Purpose?
Each day, each hour, each minute, each step doesn't go without thinking of my sister, her family, and what it is I need to do in my lifetime to honor her, help her kids, to help Frank. Better yet, I hope I'm living my life dedicated to doing good, living with purpose, doing what I am meant to do. No one can make this grief better, but we can learn to live with purpose in our own actions, helping others, which will hopefully lead us to a joyful content place in our lives. I don't exactly know what it is that God wants for me, but each day I pray for guidance. Perhaps each day is different as to what I am to do or accomplish. Maybe I'm doing it, but I seem to want more answers most of the time. I listen to that voice inside me that I tend to ignore at times, but I know that's where I need to listen......that's where I'll find those answers. Those around me may not understand my actions, but for now, I need to follow that voice if I am to heal. My daily prayer is this: "Lord, what is Your desire for my life? Please show me Your plan, and make Your will absolutely clear so I can do it."
As I live these days without talking to Chrissy, asking her advice about kids, friendships, marriage, laughing aloud about anything; I wonder how I can live in this new way, not being able to do that the way I used to. I seek my answers through the heart because that's where she lies, within my heart. That's where I've been these past six months: praying, reevaluating my own life, prioritizing where I want to be, doing for her family, being with my kids and husband, hoping I'm doing the best I can. That's all any of us can do, trying the best that we can. Somedays it's easier than others, but I keep trying for my husband, for my kids, for her kids, for God. I cannot replace her, no one can, but when I think about what they're missing, it tears at my heart strings when watching Frankie and Maria. Like squinting through a dense fog, I am trying to see the blessings that are happening, and I am learning........slowly. Some days, taking two steps forward and one step back, my journey unfolds. I wonder if God is thinking, when is she ever going to understand, to believe, without any questions or doubts that an ultimate purpose is happening right now. I suppose He has to keep showing me everyday, and I look for them....those signs....I never stop looking for them. This new way of living is not easy, and I do it kicking and literally screaming at times. Sometimes when I shut the rest of the world out, there is such peace, feeling that divine energy around me. I suppose I could choose to do nothing and put these thoughts aside, living my life as before, but then what have I learned? In my heart of hearts, I think it would haunt me down the road if I haven't changed from this traumatic experience. It's a fact of life......people die, tragedies happen, relationships fizzle, priorites change, emotions run wild.....we must learn to live with them or not live at all. As painful as it can be, especially when seeing the faces of her children without their mother, I tell myself to face it head on. Their pain is so visible, yet I also see their relentless desire for happiness. That alone motivates me to live with purpose. I see their eyes as they search for her in me, and I say to myself, I must live with purpose. So it is up to me, us, her family and friends to be there for them.....guiding them to a day when perhaps they can smile again after hearing stories of their mom.
In this journey, some have stayed through various ways, but life happens, busyness takes over and some have drifted away. I've seen this happen before after the deaths of my parents. People gather in support at the beginning, but then there's people you'll never hear from or see again. They say the infamous comment, "Call me if you need anything." Rather than say that, say I'm sorry and then do. Maybe out of site out of mind sets in or awkwardness.....or perhaps their own lives get too busy. I'm not sure what it is. It's a choice, though, whether consciously or not....it is always a choice. As my life unfolds, I continue to ask myself that question, "Am I living with purpose?" What questions are you or should you be asking of yourselves? Are you living with purpose?
Your soul mission is your reason for being, your life purpose. It's your calling in life--who you feel called to be, what you feel called to do. Mission is an energy that flows through you--a drive, voice, or passion that you cannot ignore... It's what you know in your heart you must live if you are to experience inner peace and harmony.
By Alan Seale
As I live these days without talking to Chrissy, asking her advice about kids, friendships, marriage, laughing aloud about anything; I wonder how I can live in this new way, not being able to do that the way I used to. I seek my answers through the heart because that's where she lies, within my heart. That's where I've been these past six months: praying, reevaluating my own life, prioritizing where I want to be, doing for her family, being with my kids and husband, hoping I'm doing the best I can. That's all any of us can do, trying the best that we can. Somedays it's easier than others, but I keep trying for my husband, for my kids, for her kids, for God. I cannot replace her, no one can, but when I think about what they're missing, it tears at my heart strings when watching Frankie and Maria. Like squinting through a dense fog, I am trying to see the blessings that are happening, and I am learning........slowly. Some days, taking two steps forward and one step back, my journey unfolds. I wonder if God is thinking, when is she ever going to understand, to believe, without any questions or doubts that an ultimate purpose is happening right now. I suppose He has to keep showing me everyday, and I look for them....those signs....I never stop looking for them. This new way of living is not easy, and I do it kicking and literally screaming at times. Sometimes when I shut the rest of the world out, there is such peace, feeling that divine energy around me. I suppose I could choose to do nothing and put these thoughts aside, living my life as before, but then what have I learned? In my heart of hearts, I think it would haunt me down the road if I haven't changed from this traumatic experience. It's a fact of life......people die, tragedies happen, relationships fizzle, priorites change, emotions run wild.....we must learn to live with them or not live at all. As painful as it can be, especially when seeing the faces of her children without their mother, I tell myself to face it head on. Their pain is so visible, yet I also see their relentless desire for happiness. That alone motivates me to live with purpose. I see their eyes as they search for her in me, and I say to myself, I must live with purpose. So it is up to me, us, her family and friends to be there for them.....guiding them to a day when perhaps they can smile again after hearing stories of their mom.
In this journey, some have stayed through various ways, but life happens, busyness takes over and some have drifted away. I've seen this happen before after the deaths of my parents. People gather in support at the beginning, but then there's people you'll never hear from or see again. They say the infamous comment, "Call me if you need anything." Rather than say that, say I'm sorry and then do. Maybe out of site out of mind sets in or awkwardness.....or perhaps their own lives get too busy. I'm not sure what it is. It's a choice, though, whether consciously or not....it is always a choice. As my life unfolds, I continue to ask myself that question, "Am I living with purpose?" What questions are you or should you be asking of yourselves? Are you living with purpose?
Your soul mission is your reason for being, your life purpose. It's your calling in life--who you feel called to be, what you feel called to do. Mission is an energy that flows through you--a drive, voice, or passion that you cannot ignore... It's what you know in your heart you must live if you are to experience inner peace and harmony.
By Alan Seale
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Memorial Days
Memorial days of past, I think of all the BBQ's that I have spent with family and/or friends. Remembering all the good times playing darts, washers, cards and more recently "ladder jack". My family refers to this game as "monkey balls" which makes it even more enjoyable as we laugh through our crudeness and hope for brighter days. Also, wishing my sister, Chrissy, could be sitting beside me eating a plate of all our special family foods, but it was not meant to be.
My intention for this site is not of a political nature; rather, one of keeping it real about my journey here. Mostly inspired by my sister's death and the loved ones that have passed on before me. As this weekend brought about many thoughts of them, not because they were all veterans, but how they influenced my life. That spurred another emotion that all people of this country should say a prayer, have a positive thought or action in honor of our veterans who have fought, protected and upheld our constitution......ultimately sacrificing their lives. All Americans should respect our veterans and soldiers, especially the ones who have died in the line of duty. I did grow up with the influence of the Democratic Party, but I wouldn't call myself a strong political figure of any party these days, but I am steadfast when it comes to remembering our fallen soldiers. You don't have to be at a special ceremony, but perhaps saying a prayer for them, donating to our veterans' funds, hanging an American flag and at the very least saying "thank you" when you pass a person in uniform.
As I was leaving our campgrounds on Monday, enjoying the long weekend, I heard shots being fired, and at first I was curious to the sounds, thinking it may be someone hunting in the area. It then occurred to me that perhaps it might be related to Memorial weekend, which I came to learn that there was a ceremony happening in honor of all the fallen soldiers of Alton. It shouldn't matter your views of the wars past or present because anyone who is enjoying a BBQ or worshiping at your own church or attending the university of your choice or buying the clothes you want to wear or walking the streets of this United States in freedom should ask themselves these questions: Would I be able to do this if it were not for the efforts of past and present soldiers who served this country to give me all these opportunities? Would I want to stare down the barrel of a gun or walk anxiously awaiting a bomb that could explode at my feet at any time? What would life be like without the efforts of our enlisted men and women? Many times I've heard it said, "I have the right to.......". (you fill in the blank) I pause and think, would we have these rights if efforts of our soldiers fell short? One could argue the cause of our past conflicts or wars, but many of these soldiers did it with patriotism and honor. I am so grateful for all those people who have enlisted or have been drafted, but ultimately they were here to protect and afford me the rights and privileges of this country. It's not a perfect country by no means, but I honor the Americans who have protected me so that I am able to write the words I choose on this website without being penalized. Yes, all those who complain and write negative thoughts about this country.....it is your right because of the efforts of our soldiers. It's not because of the representatives, senators and presidents. They, too, are doing what they do, good or bad, because of our fallen soldiers. We don't have to like or even accept what laws are being enforced, but as Americans, we have the right to profess our complaints or support because of their efforts. So on this Tuesday after Memorial weekend, I want to profess my support for all those dads and moms, students, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who have protected and upheld my rights to do whatever it is that I do. Thank you, thank you, and thank you some more.
I will never forget my family who have passed on to their new lives. My life is forever different and new as I have come to learn. My life is also different because of our veterans who have gone before me; fighting for my rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
"The last of the human freedoms is to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances."
By Victor Frank
The best quote is on a plaque in the cemetary at Normandy.
"Men, not much older than boys, gave up all of their tomorrow's for your today. It is your responsibility to them to make this a world worth dying for.".
That says it all.
My intention for this site is not of a political nature; rather, one of keeping it real about my journey here. Mostly inspired by my sister's death and the loved ones that have passed on before me. As this weekend brought about many thoughts of them, not because they were all veterans, but how they influenced my life. That spurred another emotion that all people of this country should say a prayer, have a positive thought or action in honor of our veterans who have fought, protected and upheld our constitution......ultimately sacrificing their lives. All Americans should respect our veterans and soldiers, especially the ones who have died in the line of duty. I did grow up with the influence of the Democratic Party, but I wouldn't call myself a strong political figure of any party these days, but I am steadfast when it comes to remembering our fallen soldiers. You don't have to be at a special ceremony, but perhaps saying a prayer for them, donating to our veterans' funds, hanging an American flag and at the very least saying "thank you" when you pass a person in uniform.
As I was leaving our campgrounds on Monday, enjoying the long weekend, I heard shots being fired, and at first I was curious to the sounds, thinking it may be someone hunting in the area. It then occurred to me that perhaps it might be related to Memorial weekend, which I came to learn that there was a ceremony happening in honor of all the fallen soldiers of Alton. It shouldn't matter your views of the wars past or present because anyone who is enjoying a BBQ or worshiping at your own church or attending the university of your choice or buying the clothes you want to wear or walking the streets of this United States in freedom should ask themselves these questions: Would I be able to do this if it were not for the efforts of past and present soldiers who served this country to give me all these opportunities? Would I want to stare down the barrel of a gun or walk anxiously awaiting a bomb that could explode at my feet at any time? What would life be like without the efforts of our enlisted men and women? Many times I've heard it said, "I have the right to.......". (you fill in the blank) I pause and think, would we have these rights if efforts of our soldiers fell short? One could argue the cause of our past conflicts or wars, but many of these soldiers did it with patriotism and honor. I am so grateful for all those people who have enlisted or have been drafted, but ultimately they were here to protect and afford me the rights and privileges of this country. It's not a perfect country by no means, but I honor the Americans who have protected me so that I am able to write the words I choose on this website without being penalized. Yes, all those who complain and write negative thoughts about this country.....it is your right because of the efforts of our soldiers. It's not because of the representatives, senators and presidents. They, too, are doing what they do, good or bad, because of our fallen soldiers. We don't have to like or even accept what laws are being enforced, but as Americans, we have the right to profess our complaints or support because of their efforts. So on this Tuesday after Memorial weekend, I want to profess my support for all those dads and moms, students, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who have protected and upheld my rights to do whatever it is that I do. Thank you, thank you, and thank you some more.
I will never forget my family who have passed on to their new lives. My life is forever different and new as I have come to learn. My life is also different because of our veterans who have gone before me; fighting for my rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
"The last of the human freedoms is to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances."
By Victor Frank
The best quote is on a plaque in the cemetary at Normandy.
"Men, not much older than boys, gave up all of their tomorrow's for your today. It is your responsibility to them to make this a world worth dying for.".
That says it all.
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