While eating my juicy peach last night, it reminded me of a woman I loved and respected as a child, admired as a teen and honored as an adult as I write about one of my most cherished aunts, my Aunt Marie. She was a selfless soul, admired and loved by all in our family. She was the sister to my grandma on mom's side of the family. A few peach trees were scattered in her side yard, sap running along the bark, and many a dreams have crept into my sleep with visions of her house. Seeing her canning peaches, and ohhhh, did they taste so good.....so sweet, that with each bite you wanted to take yet another and then some more. Aunt Marie had that grandma-type smile, always busy in the kitchen or around the house, never raising her voice, but sometimes shooting us a look when we misbehaved. Delightful memories of parties past....Christmas time and January birthdays. There was also an ominous feeling lurking about her home. Perhaps the spirits of her family, our family, a house where generations lived and slept, still hovered about the place. Either way, I loved spending time there but never alone. Chrissy and I both agreed it was not a good idea to be in that house alone, but with Aunt Marie's gentle smile there, we were treated like queens and adventure was around every nook and cranny and we felt comfortable. One of the mysteries that walked in that house was my great uncle, Frank, aka: Toots, an Elmer Fudd looking character, who sort of gave us the willies. We've heard stories that he was an enlisted man and did work in the post office for a brief time, but we may never know the total truth about that one. There's many a tale to be told about this man who wore "open toed" shoes, unlike the ones we're familiar with, these shoes had the tops literally cut out, he had a thumb the width of a walnut shell, he chewed tobacco and spit it in the same HiC can for all of my early years spent there. He also played the game of solitaire at 4:30 every morning, and he talked sort of like the renound character voice of Walter Brennan. His story is a separate entry on another day, and Chrissy and I used to laugh hysterically at his off the wall behavior.
Never once would you hear our Aunt Marie complain, not even when we trashed her house during Christmas holidays and January birthdays. She intrigued me when I was young as she appeared as an ordinary thin, elderly nice lady with white, wavy hair which was sort of combed and/or pinned towards the back of her head. Some of her holiday food traditions was making Rice Krispy Treats, sugared dates and Brach's Chocolate Stars. I remember sitting on her bed as she applied her makeup simply; yet, it was a face powder in a white and yellow box, that yelled out "mature woman". She usually had an apron tied around her waiste, except when she was socializing or going to church. She did her laundry til the day she died with a self-rolling old fashioned washing machine, and she did not dry her clothes in an electric clothes dryer; rather, she hung out her laundry to dry in the outside weathering elements. Aunt Marie was a woman to be admired; yet, there was so little I really knew about her. I wish I would have asked more questions, but I was of an age when I was more self-centered, and I suppose I thought she would always be around. She was a permanent figure in our family whom we thought life's brutal hand would never touch. She never married, but her true love was a man named Duke. We all knew it, but it was never really discussed in those days. I'm sure there's more to that story that we'll never know, but my version is that she chose to care for her brothers, being the devoted sister rather than make a life of her own. More than that, though, she cared for generations of children, none of them being her own biological children, but she treated them as such. Chrissy and I were some of the luckiest of that generation who were put in her care for a sleepover or weekend stay. We loved to explore her old house in Baden that held so many mysteries and stories. It's ancestry goes way back to a time when it was once was a neighborhood grocery store, a confectionary of sorts, where many of that area purchased their daily foods. So much to tell and not sure where to begin.
Aunt Marie lived in the city of Baden on a street called Harlen or Canaan. Not sure which one, but both those of those streets ring a bell. I'm sure some family lived on both of those streets at some time or other. The street isn't of importance, but how she lived is, because she was a saint in my book. Her house was modest but clean and every corner held a story, some heard of and some we'll never know. Chrissy and I used to spend many a nights at her house, it was such a thrill as she would spoil and give into every one of our whims. Some weekends we would walk to Mount Carmel Church, where my mom, and many aunts and uncles attended themselves as children. We walked there because Aunt Marie didn't drive a car. Perhaps my grandparents and their parents attended that church, too, but I'm not sure. Those are some of the stories I don't know about, and maybe never will. Where they attended school and for how long is anyone's guess. My grandparent's generation was different as we all know. Most of them didn't attend high school, but they were lucky to finish through the eigth grade in those days as times were different. Many of them were needed to work and bring income into their larger families. I don't know where the aunts fell in age, but I'm guessing Aunt Maria may have been older than the other sisters....and there were other brothers, too, besides Frank (aka: Toots). I think there were brothers named Jake and a Mickey. The only memories I have of Jake are these long fingernails while he was alive and seeing his body laid out at the funeral parlor. That memory is clear as a bell in my mind because he was probably the first dead person I saw in a funeral home. To this day, I attending funeral parlors still gives me the willies and at times I can hardly catch my breath when stepping into one of those places. That was a horrible experience as a little girl, and when my time comes, I will choose a memorial of some kind vs the visitation. Everyone has their own beliefs and traditions, so a funeral parlor will not be in my plans, probably because of my own experiences with some of the family as well as with my dad. Mickey was a great uncle whom I never met. Stories were told of his shady demise that probably only a few know of, and those few have died. He was found dead on railroad tracks. Some say it was a train that killed him while others have professed he was beaten to death. Amazing how some skeletons stay in the closet, secrets we'll never know because they weren't talked about back then. The other siblings that I know of included my grandma, Lou, and great aunts, Helen and Ann. There could have been more, but I'm not sure. All I know is that Aunt Marie overshadowed it all because she was a giving, kind soul who never thought about herself.
To this day, peaches remind me of my lovely Aunt Marie and all of her goodness. The word "witchkong" often came out of her mouth when she couldn't remember a particular word. You will not find that word in the dictionary, but it was her very own word, and both Chrissy and I would laugh everytime we heard it. She met her mortality with the beast.....the beast in my mind is the cancer which was embedded in her throat, but she never let the beast diminish her good nature. It ravished her body as the beast is capable of doing, but it could never destroy her spirit. She was a religious woman who adored her maker, one who never smoked, would occasionally have an alcoholic beverage socially, enjoyed her simple life, but she lived with a profound glory.....she too had met the beast. It was on my birthday back in the mid 80's that I was standing near her casket wishing this didn't happen. There are no rules or "for sures" in this life. Life isn't always fair or the way it's supposed to be, but she learned to cope with it, and she made a difference in my life. She lived completely real, and if I recall, I would like to finish up with one of her infamous quotes. I don't know when or why I heard her say it, but it has stuck in my mind all these years along with her gentle heart, her warm hugs and her loving ways.
"If you can't say something nice about somebody, don't say anything at all"
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Her Dear Friend, Dibby
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.
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.
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
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