For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

My son is a senior in high school. This next weekend is his senior prom. He has been elected to the prom court and tonight I am overwhelmed with sorrow as I think that his father will not be here to witness this great milestone in my son’s life.

As I sat, wallowing in my self-pity, this verse in Jeremiah came to mind. God has far more planned for my son than I can imagine or envision. God has plans for my son that includes hope and a bright future, despite the “hand he has been dealt:” So tonight I celebrate who my son is—who he has become and who he will be.

He is the living legacy of his father. He is loved by everyone and has a special spirit that causes others to be at ease with him and themselves. He has a strong moral fiber which I, as his mother, am so very proud of. He is a natural musician and uses his talent to serve. He is a “normal” teenager, who, under abnormal circumstances has risen to become an exceptional human being. Sometimes, I look at him and am saddened that he no longer has an earthy father to share his life memories with, but am forever grateful that he has many strong men in his life who are more than willing to stand-in and represent his father, not take the place of, but to simply represent.

Life is hard, but my son is a perfect example of how overcoming is not only a possibility, but required to continue into a life of hope and a future filled with promise. Whatever God has for him, he will meet the challenge with the confidence and conviction that is his birthright. Whether he is crowned prom king on Saturday night is of little significance to us, he deserves much more than a silly earthly crown and will indeed receive such.

THIS I know for sure…

To Simply Exist

It's not enough to simply exist. Somewhere a choice must be made to actually stand for something. When I think about life in general, I wonder what it is that my life stands for? What can my children point to as the “point” of my living?

My son graduates from high school in just a few weeks. It seems like yesterday that I walked down that aisle and received my high school diploma. I thought I had the world by the tail. I was in love, going to college and knew most everything there was to know (at least that’s what I thought). The reality was that I had little to NO knowledge of life in general. I didn’t know you could marry the love of your life and it not be forever and though this has been my biggest heartache, life, in general, has been good to me. I have a job that I love, a family close by for support, some of the very best friends God could give a person and the hope that the next chapter in my life will be as amazing as the first.

I do have hopes and dreams—even at 44 years old. I hope to make a difference. I hope that I can build on the foundation laid by my husband and me; continue to raise my sons to be successful and happy adults and create a “chapter two” that is full of hope and promise.

Leo Buscaglia recommends this alternative to “simply existing”:
“May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of personkind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely?”

We have opportunities every day to enrich another’s life. We have life experiences, thoughts, advice and views others could not only benefit from, but find joy within. Simply existing is to waste your life experience to horde what life has taught you as only your own. It is only with sharing and creating community within our lives that we are able to live fully.

It is my desire to “stand” for hope; for the ability to take life and not only exist, but flourish. Am I there yet? No—not even close. Do I expect to arrive there---Yes, I really do. I want my children to know that life may be difficult, even unbearable at times; but that God, through His strength and love can embrace us and guide us to a far greater existence than we could ever imagine. As my son graduates, my wish for him is to NOT simply exist, but to thrive.

This I know for sure.

Two Posts--One Day --Senseless!

I conducted a poetry workshop within my classroom today. It was successful, as lessons go,—my students were so engaged that they didn’t even want to go to band—they wanted to continue to write. Tonight, I found myself watching Oprah on TIVO—and I found myself encompassed in my very own poetry workshop lesson of the day. Oh, a victim of my own instruction---trying to make sense of something so utterly "Senseless"

Senseless

How many will join our ranks?

I am sitting

At home

Watching Oprah and learning of a man

Named Ken Granda

Father of three

Shot

In the hallway of Virginia Tech

Needless….senseless.

I knew something was wrong

He didn’t call me back

He was brilliant

How is his wife?

Children?

Three children…

He was a wonderful father..

Hearts are broken

Children without a father

What do we do?

It is surreal…

We can’t move forward…

We can’t make arrangements

We can move forward until

They release

The body

Release the body

“Our sense of grief can not be compared to your own…”

No, it can not.

Grief

Can not be compared….

I Hate Guns!

I will admit that the recent happenings at Virginia Tech have aggravated my feelings in this area. You see, a former student lost his life a few years ago to the fact that firearms were readily available to him. Now, we find ourselves reading about a college student with a semi-automatic handgun who had the capability of killing over 30 young people in one fell swoop --- in a heartbeat the lives of the Virginia Tech students and families will never be the same-innocence has been stolen from them. Security is gone. I can’t imagine the pain that the parents of these children must endure—it is truly senseless. The loss of my husband was great, but I comprehend and acknowledge that the loss of a child is the greatest loss of all.

I am unwavering in my stance regarding guns. There are very FEW absolutes in my life—this happens to be the ONE that is steadfast. Is this harsh--perhaps, but I will not waver---I will not back down---nor would I ever stand in the way of your “right” to own a gun, especially for hunting (though I have zero tolerance for semi-automatic anything). But if I am aware one is present in your home, my child would NOT be allowed to visit you. See, I am under no illusion that my child, who is capable of conquering any extremely complicated video game, could figure out how to open a “locked” gun cabinet if he so desired and curiosity; well, it is within every child’s nature.

At the end of the day, I believe in the potential of life from conception to death—it is a part of who I am. I can’t explain it any better than to tell you that---ALL life has promise. It doesn’t end at conception and it certainly doesn’t end with making horrific decisions. Do I KNOW that at moments in time, this doesn’t make sense, YES, but I still am willing to hold true to the fact that life is precious no matter what---and guns---seem to only accelerate the ability to take it away.

This I know for sure.

When Will I Learn?

Don and I never played the “popular in the school district” game and sometimes our kids suffered; however, in the past, Don was actually here to “oversee” the kids sporting activities. When my youngest son received word of the baseball team he was to be on this summer, I took exception with the fact that he seemed to be on a team coached by someone outside our community. As a single mother, I was hoping that he would be on a team coached by a role-model from our own community with which he could “connect”. Selfishly, I wanted to be able to car-pool with parents I knew well and be able to count on their support.

As always, I took things into my own hands and emailed the head of the youth league my concerns. As I was reading his response, my 11-year-old was looking over my shoulder and asked “Mom, why are you emailing Mr. L?”. I told him and, of course, he was APPALED. He said to me “Mom, we will deal with the hand we are dealt. I DO NOT want any special treatment.” So, I sent another email to Mr. L (who, most likely, thinks I am a nut case by now) that we would simply stay with the original team my son was assigned to.

The next day I received the team roster. Though I do not know the coach, the son of our “spiritual development pastor” at our church was on the team (my son already has great admiration for this man) and also the father of another man who was friends with my husband.

WHEN WILL I LEARN? When will I “GET” that God is truly in control of our lives and those of our children? I long to, one day, have the faith of my 11-year-old son and embrace the “hand I have been dealt”.

This I KNOW for sure…

DUMA!

My 11-year-old son and I love to watch movies together. We watch all kinds of movies, but have noticed that in many of the movies we watch together a parent dies. This could have been the way it was in movies we watch before, but we seem to be more keenly aware of this plot line now. With all we have been through you might think this to be horribly difficult to watch, but it really isn’t. Instead, it has opened dialogue between my son and me and has, in fact, assisted the healing process.

This weekend we watched the movie DUMA. DUMA was listed on my brother, Evan’s website as his favorite movie of the year. Now, Evan usually likes those artsy movies where, when I leave, I am left wondering what it was all about. Even with that in mind, we decided to take a chance and give this movie a try since it was about a South African boy who befriends a cheetah (who doesn’t fall in love with a cheetah cub). I am so glad that we did.

This is a lovely movie about friendship and the legacy of a father as the boy, Xan, goes on a journey to return his beloved cheetah back to its rightful home. The scenery is breathtaking and will make you want to hop on the nearest jet to South Africa to experience the “wild”. There are many poignant quotations in the movie, but one that really stands out is when Xan tells his new friend, Ripkuna, that his father died. Ripkuna articulates, “People go when they are ready to go, not when you are. We are all just travelers on the same river, grandparents, parents, sons and daughters. We all have our time on the river. We do what we can before we disappear”. How true.

Another moving scene is at the end of the movie when Xan expresses that his father will live on within him. At this point my son looked over at me and said, “That’s where dad lives on—in me.” Yes, yes he does.

This I know for sure.

48 Hours!

Life circumstances certainly change us. For 25 years I shared life with someone. We went through wonderful times and dark ones. We supported each other through health and sickness. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell him or share with him and then our lives were forever changed in an instant. I preface my recounting of the events of the past 48 hours with this information because I believe it will shed light on my actions.

This weekend I found a lump on my breast. Now, I am usually a quick-to-react person, but for some reason I didn’t wish to borrow trouble and made an appointment with my doctor for Monday afternoon. I chose NOT to share this information with anyone except a close friend (who happens to have a nursing background) and my mother (because I needed some family medical history).

Following my visit with Dr. Walton a mammogram and ultrasound was ordered for first thing Tuesday morning. At the time, I was unsure if this was because she knew I was anxious or because she had serious health concerns. It is interesting the thoughts that went through my mind during this personal crisis.

That evening I mentally put my life in order. I knew my will was incomplete and needed to be filed. I even thought through how I would want to handle a crisis if, in fact, I heard the “c” word the next day. What surprised me was how pragmatic I became. My life became a laundry list of “things to do”. When it came down to it, my biggest concern was with my children. I never once shed a tear.

I spent the better part of the evening in a prayer-like state. I scoured scripture that might provide strength. John 14:1 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. I had that---peace, yet I still didn’t want to burden anyone else until I knew for sure what was going on. At first this seemed a selfless act, as I found later, that was not the case.

Following the tests on Tuesday morning, I went home and waited. It was storming outside – appropriate, I thought. Several hours later the physician’s assistant called with the outcome of the tests.

“The results are negative. There is no mass; it is most likely an enlarged lymph node.” I heard her say with a confidence that calmed me.

“Could you repeat that,” I replied and she obliged. As I hung up the phone, a great sense of relief engulfed me—then the tears started. Why now? I thought.

Now, I was able to share with friends and family the happenings of the past 48 hours. They were not exactly elated that I had not told them. One friend even said that I had robbed her of the opportunity to support me. How fortunate I am to have such love in my life.

I lived a lifetime these past 48 hours. I learned that I could face life situations alone (though I am never totally alone) and still derive strength from my faith. I learned that though I can go through crisis alone, there is no need to. God has placed a wonderful, support system in my life for a reason. I learned a great deal about myself and my ability to find peace in the midst of a pending storm.

48 hours can change your life—just ask me. It can also define it.

This I know for sure.

The Search is On!

I am an avid reader. I enjoy every aspect of reading and especially enjoy the way what I read affects what and how I write. I pride myself on viewing the world through a writer’s eye—not that I am an accomplished writer, but I have this egocentric need for validation in this area. This fact was significant in my decision to begin to blog.

Though I enjoy the process of writing, I have come to the realization this practice of blogging has NOTHING to do with good writing and everything to do with searching for some meaning to what has happened in my life. With every stroke of the keyboard I find a new piece to the puzzle.

Words appear to have a universal connection. You see, pain is not exclusive to young widows. Working through life’s heartache is not limited to those who have lost a spouse.

So as I search for meaning through writing this blog, I drag the lot of you around with me. We climb to the heights of enlightenment and plunge to the depths of despair – collectively. I may not even know you, but we share the same journey to find meaning to the life we lead.

This I know for sure.

When I Don't Know for Sure!

So how long can one keep up the charade of having it all together? How long can one pretend to know things for sure? Because tonight----I don’t know much. I have little together and life seem to be in several stages of disarray. I am pulled in more directions than Gumby. Overwhelmed would be a gross understatement of how I feel as I sit here at my computer. It is in these times when I cry out---where I am the most vulnerable.

Sometimes I cry out and all I hear---is silence. Sometimes I cry out and I have unbelievable support---that I am unable to acknowledge and sometimes I cry out and find the hand of the Father where it has been all along – steadying my walk caressing my face and calming my spirit.

That “hand” can come in many forms. It can be a song, a poem, a phone call even a thought. It can be a friend stopping by on her way for a walk or an earthy father calling simply to say that he loves you. In order to experience the “hand of the Father” you must reach for it and embrace it. Action is required on your part.

I don’t know who Willerd A. Petterson is. I have actually never heard of him, but a fellow widower posted this beautiful poem on a website tonight and it became the “hand of the Father” in my life.

Slow Me Down, Lord

Slow me down, Lord

Ease the pounding of my heart

by the quieting of my mind.

Steady my hurried pace with a vision

of the eternal reach of time.

Give me, amid the confusion of the day,

the calmness of the everlasting hills.

Break the tensions of my nerves

and muscles with the soothing;

music of the singing streams

that live in my memory.

Help me to know the magical,

restoring power of sleep.

Teach me the art of taking

minute vacations---

of slowing down to look at a flower,

to chat with a friend,

to pat a dog,

to read a few lines from a good book.

Slow me down, Lord,

and inspire me to send my roots deep

into the soil of life's enduring values

that I may grow toward the stars

of my greater destiny.

At a moment in time when there is little I know for sure, the one thing I DO know is that the hand of the Father waits to be clasped within mine.

This I know for sure.

Dateline----MY LIFE!!

I just watched Dateline and the special “Football Wives” (see: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032600/ ) Now, I am not usually condescending or even sarcastic (ok, I am sarcastic but…), PLEASE GIVE ME A BREAK. As I watched these women with their husbands, I found myself yelling at the television and thinking “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM???” I know I come at this topic from a totally different viewpoint, but let me put things into perspective for you. LADIES, IS YOUR HUSBAND BREATHING IN AND OUT---IS HE LIEING IN BED WITH YOU IN THE EVENING???? THEN PLEASE STOP YOUR SNIVILING ABOUT A STINKING BALLGAME AND GROW UP!!!!

Now granted, I never had a husband who was so into sports that he had a room dedicated to the Fighting Illini---HOWEVER, I did have a husband, who like many in this report, worked hard during the week and was a fabulous father and husband, but when the Illini came on, he was lost in the moment. OK---for 2 to 3 hours a week he was unavailable to me---SO WHAT????

I found these women to be---well---whimpy. I would venture to guess, if the truth were told; these men, for the most part, take care of the kids while the wife ventures to the latest Talbot’s sale or Ann Taylor Loft promotion. These wives should be thanking their lucky stars that they #1 have husbands at all and #2 have husbands who OBVIOUSLY love and adore them. Have these ungrateful women give me a call. I am sure that within a few minutes I can put things into perspective for them. Do I sound a bit bitter---well of course I do, I would give my right arm to have my husband sitting in my living room—cheering on his sports team and paying little attention to me—knowing that within a few hours he would be sharing life with me again.

I guess my point is that LIVE IS SHORT. Make sure what you think is important---really is….

This I know for sure..

Flowers on His Grave....and Healing

Wednesday of this week was incredibly busy for me. It is on these days I tend to add tasks to my “to do list” because I just work better under pressure. I know it sounds crazy, but I become more focused and I seem to accomplish more. So, after school, along with the five other errands I needed to complete, I went to the cemetery to replace the flowers on Don’s grave. I drove up to his stone, got out of the car, glanced at my father-in-law’s monument (who died less than a year after Don), I said a prayer then grabbed the flower containers from both stones to take to the florist to be refilled. When I arrived at the florist, I told the designer what I wanted in each container. It was as if I were picking out a new centerpiece for my dining room table. I was very “matter of fact” - devoid of much emotion; yet, I seemed compelled to complete the task perfectly.

When I got back in my car, I realized that I had just accomplished an undertaking that a few months ago was so emotionally ridden that I was unable to drive out of the parking lot for 20 minutes until I finished weeping. It was in that moment I realized I was experiencing healing. I actually smiled on the inside on my way home, knowing that Don would be very proud of the progress I have made. He would love the fact that I have been able to move to a new home, keep my church commitments, be a mother to the boys, maintain a semblance of dignity and begin to live again. He would be proud that the boys are excelling in their pursuits and that they are content and even happy.

Next week, I will go pick up the finished arrangements and take them back to adorn the monument marking the life of a great man. The actual physical stone deserves to be maintained in his honor, but the stone in the cemetery is not my husband’s legacy. The heritage of love and integrity he left for his family is a more appropriate monument to Don's life.

This I know for sure.

The Real Me!

Ever look into the mirror and wonder whom the stranger is staring back at you? Usually this is after a major life event or traumatic experience. Life seems to create in us this quandary as to who we are and what our purpose should become.

I have always been an independent, stable woman with a career I love and a zest for life and living. However, when I look in the mirror I no longer see that woman. Oh I get glimpses of her here and there, but the general essence of who I was is veiled. It isn’t that I am a totally different person; it is that those aspects of who I am, which I found familiar, seem absent. I find this disheartening, or should I?

Just because the person staring back at me in the mirror is unfamiliar, doesn’t mean she is unwelcome. It simply means I need to become comfortable with her again. I need to explore what makes her tick—how she lives, makes decisions---how she loves and how she takes on life.

We evolve and change constantly. Life events and circumstances influence this change. I am not the same person I was before I was a mother. That experience molded me. I am not the same person I was before I experienced great loss, that event has shaped who I have become.

As I work through this process of re-acquaintance, I am not sure if I become more content with who I am or if it is that I begin to understand myself better and thus begin to accept and even become fond of this “new me”. I believe it becomes a choice.

I refuse to lose my sense of self. I refuse to allow this unfamiliarity to create within me insecurities that are cause for rash decisions or a sense of uncertainty. On the contrary, I embrace this new person and realize she is a collection of her experiences both past and present and is being fashioned to move forward into the “chapter two” of her life with a newfound appreciation for the outcome of life’s experiences.

This I know for sure…..mostly!

Snow Day and a Confession!

I may be telling stories out of the “teacher’s lounge”, but it is a little known fact that teachers love snow days as much as, perhaps more than, the students. It is the one time I sit, eyes glued to the bottom of the television screen hoping to see my school name scroll across. When it finally does, I find myself doing one big happy dance (on the inside of course as to not scare the children). I grab the phone; make the call to the next teacher on the phone tree, grinning at the giddy sounds on the other end of the phone. I feel like the florists delivery boy on Valentine’s Day.

I always have great plans for the snow day. I am determined to clean out the study, get my tax information together, launder the sheets on all the beds, work on the storage room and….well, you get the idea. I make lists and have the best intentions.

Then, I sit at the computer to “quickly” check my email. As I look over at the nearby comfortable couch, I eye the remote control which seems to call to me. I hear it say, “What about all those television shows you have TIVO’d and what about the Lifetime movies you never get to watch? Are you sure you want to be productive today. I have much more fun things planned for us.” So, my determination disappears and I grasp the remote control sternly in my hand, sit myself on the couch and---I am not sure where time goes from there.

The next thing I know it is 3:30—the regular time I get home from work. That is a benchmark time for me. There is certain melancholy when I discover it is already 3:30 and I haven’t accomplished---ANYTHING. Wait one minute; I HAVE completed five Sudoku puzzles, read five magazines and watched hours of meaningless television.

What have I gained? Perhaps nothing except that I have REGAINED my sense of wasting time, an art many “grown ups” have abdicated to their teenagers. I have come to the realization that I am capable of frittering away time and have absolutely nothing worthwhile to show for it. I will admit, I am proud of myself. There are not many adults who can boldly stand and say “I wasted a whole, entire day”. There you have it - my confession. They say it is good for the soul.

This I know for sure.

Joy from Sorrow

I know you might get tired of me bringing up Henri Nouwen, but I simply can't believe how much his words resonate to where I am on a daily basis. I receive his Daily Meditations and they are always inspirational or cause me to think or, well, both. If you are interested you can also sign up to receive them: http://www.henrinouwen.org/home/free_eletters/?m=1011221485028&p=oi They are taciturn (Rosanne will appreciate that-since she is the queen of verbosity) for those of us with a bit of an attention problem (like my entire family and most of my friends—LOL).

I was in the middle of composing a blog about the close relationship between joy and sorrow. The basic premise was that in order to experience true joy, you would have to also understand sorrow. I remembered that this topic was addressed in an early January Daily Meditation and sure enough---I found it. Nothing I have ever written has come close to explaining my feelings on this topic than the words from Henri Nauwen as follows:

“Joy and sorrow are never separated. When our hearts rejoice at a spectacular view, we may miss our friends who cannot see it, and when we are overwhelmed with grief, we may discover what true friendship is all about. Joy is hidden in sorrow and sorrow in joy. If we try to avoid sorrow at all costs, we may never taste joy, and if we are suspicious of ecstasy, agony can never reach us either. Joy and sorrow are the parents of our spiritual growth.” –Henri Nouwen-

Now, do I long to feel sorrow so I can also experience joy? NO! of course not, but I do acknowledge the connection. It is said that love is the universal language, but I am not sure that is the case. Unfortunately, there are people who may never experience true, undying love in their lifetime, but everyone will experience sorrow and pain. Perhaps these emotions are more universal then we would like to admit. The other side of this coin is that, the greater your capacity to feel the pain and work through it, the greater your capacity to absolutely experience joy. Though pain is not something I desire to experience, I concede that through sorrow I have the ability to recognize and experience joy more completely for I have endured the opposite.

This I know for sure…

Brush With Greatness!!

I have been a member and contributor on the Young Widow Bulletin Board since a few months after Don passed away. It has been a lifeline, as well as an opportunity to communicate with and meet other widows and widowers who share the same journey. It is through this venue I have met and developed friendships with some amazing individuals. Recently, a member of the bulletin board contacted me regarding a thread to which I had contributed. One that she found particularly interesting. Seems she is writing an article for a well-known weekly publication on the topic and wanted to interview me for the article.

Along with the email, she sent a link to her web site to authenticate her interest.
( http://www.jackiemitchard.com/index2.htm ). With a click of my mouse, her web site came up and I immediately recognized her, Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of Deep End of the Ocean, Oprah’s first “Book Club Book”. I was excited and a bit timid (I know, hard to believe) that this famous author would be interested in anything I had to say. Jacquelyn and I began communicating via email a couple times a day for several weeks. We’d share tidbits about family, “the widow experience”, and life in general. We often would send one or two line blurbs, but at other times it would take paragraphs to express our thoughts. I have to say that I felt a connection with her right away.

Last week I received an email from Jackie stating that she was going to be in Bloomington with her son (he was auditioning for musical theatre at Illinois Wesleyan) and wanted to know if we could get together for lunch. I couldn’t have been more excited to meet someone. Not only to bask in her literary knowledge, but also to meet, in person, this new friend I had made. I anxiously responded that I would love to meet with her whenever she was available.

While sitting in Biaggi’s with a very special friend awaiting Jackie’s entrance, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t even nervous—excited, but not nervous. When she walked into the restaurant her presence was sensed in the room—she had a strong, confident persona. I gave her a hug and she sat down. I introduced her to my friend, and we began to talk right away. It was a comfortable exchange. We spoke freely about our history and life story. She was a widow at a young age, so conversation logically turned in that direction. There we sat, the three of us with this shared experience of loss and an instant bond was created. It still amazes me how collective life experiences create immediate friendships.

We listened as Jackie shared her life journey from widowhood to remarriage; how she had survived as a single parent and successfully blended and created her current family (seven children—wow!!). She was honest about the difficulties, struggles and ultimate triumphs of creating her “chapter two”.

We discussed her life as a writer. I was interested in how she researched books, how long it took to write, and in her writing processes. Jackie shared the plot of her next book due out this summer and of the young adult book to be released at the end of this month. She brought copies of her new book, Cage of Stars and a copy of Deep End of the Ocean, to autograph for me. They will be books I will treasure. As we sat enjoying each other's company, it seemed like we were simply old friends meeting to “catch up”.

Jackie spoke of the cheerleader competition that was being held at the college where her son was auditioning. She told of the girls sitting in the front of the building speaking, as teenagers do—about whatever it is teenagers converse about. As she relayed the girls’ conversation to us, it was as if we were listening to them ourselves. It is this writer’s eye that makes Jacquelyn’s writing resonate. She sees the world through the eyes of a writer. Conversations and life activities surround us on a daily basis. We pay little attention to them, yet to a writer each incident is significant---an opportunity for expression. I made a mental note to share this with my students.

Was this a chance connection with a famous author? I don’t think so. I do believe Jacquelyn Mitchard was one of those brought into my life to dance with me (see blog entry: http://mfisteach.blogspot.com/2006/08/lord-of-dance.html ) and I with her; partners on a journey of shared experiences, yet living diverse lives. I am thankful for those who continually are symbols of hope; those who exemplify that through pain, joy can be found—Jacquelyn Mitchard is one such beacon.

This I know for sure.

What Defines Me?

I am so different than I was even 10 years ago. I am not the reactionary—I don’t jump to conclusions (as much)—I also lack a bit of the passion those traits encompass, but have gained a sense of discernment. Different qualities define who I am now. I have grown and hopefully learned.

What defines me?

I am first and foremost a mother.
My children define me—
not by what they do, but when they think for themselves, come into their faith or simply say “I love you mom”.

I am a daughter.
Family defines me--
not necessarily by birth, but by the heritage I embrace with such pride.

I am a friend.
My friendships define me—
not because they chose to share life with me, but because the character they exude reflects my uncanny ability to surround myself with exceptional friends.

I am an educator.
My students define me—
not by getting good grades, but by thinking outside the box, creating a beautiful piece of writing or simply being better members of our community.

I am a Christian.
My faith defines me—
not because of what tenants of my religion dictate, but the day in and day out walk which causes this world to hold the hope I long for

I am a widow.
Loss has defined me--
not because of mourning, but because of the strength gained, the capacity to empathize and the assurance that there is more.

I am a woman.
Life defines me—
not because I live it perfectly, but because I long to live it fearlessly.

This I know for sure.

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn

Throughout the course of my life I have sat through more church sermons than most would deem healthy. My father is a minister, both grandfathers were ministers, my uncle is a minister, my brother is a minister and at the same time I lived in a parsonage for 19 years influenced by a multitude of evangelists and missionaries. The fact that I don’t walk around expounding the three-point sermon should be amazing to most.

Funny thing is, I don’t remember many of the sermons I heard growing up---granted I might have been passing notes to my best friend or the cute boy behind me in the pew during that portion of the service, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't remember many sermons. One thing I do remember is eating Sunday dinner at my best friend’s house and sitting through some wonderful discussions following the morning message. My best friend’s father was a man of few words. I don’t remember hearing him talk all that much, but he always had great dialogue about the sermon. I am NOT talking about “pastor stew” where you pick apart a sermon or what the pastor was wearing. I am talking about truly intellectual discussions of Biblical truths and their application, or discourse extending the main points of the message. These were times I loved to simply sit and listen.

We do have a tendency to hear what we want to hear while sitting in a church pew and often skew scripture to fit our circumstances. To quote my brother, Evan, “I think we have to always be careful not to apply Scripture to our lives, but to apply our lives to Scripture.” I hope that is what I am doing with this post. I wish to clarify the way my life applies to a particular passage of scripture.

I was sitting in my home church this past Sunday listening to another great sermon. My pastor’s text was from the Beatitudes, particularly Matthew 5:4, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted”. The sermon pointed to the fact that most likely this passage was referring to the repentant or those who grieve for other sin’s, but not necessarily for those of us who mourn the loss of a loved one—because what is there to be blessed about? There was even a video of a couple who lost a child to SIDS. The video ended with the couple explaining how they blamed God for their loss. That was it—video over.

Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t that I don’t agree with my pastor’s interpretation of this scripture because I most certainly do, but with strong conviction I additionally believe this scripture DOES speak volumes to those of us who have lost a loved one. The Beatitudes speak to injustice---loss is unjust plain and simple. It is a scripture of hope for those who grieve.

I am sure it is difficult to look at those of us who have lost a great deal in earthly terms and consider us to be “blessed”. If we are to discount this fact then how is God honored through our suffering? Where is the evidence of His work if we, in fact, continue to play the “blame game” with God and not embrace the fact that we live in a world where death is inevitable and loss is equally unavoidable? How much more then should we embrace the blessedness of our plight and be willing to find our solace within the circumstance? What about Isaiah 61:1-3 especially verse 3 where we are assured “beauty..for ashes..gladness instead of mourning”, or my very favorite Psalm 30:11 “You turned my mourning into dancing”? Instead of allowing these times to break our spirit and steal our faith these times of great loss become one of life’s defining moments. It is one of the only times we can completely know that God is, beyond doubt, all we need.

I have not come to this realization overnight. It has, and will continue to be, a process. Strength is found in the realization that God is greater than our circumstances—he does transcend our condition to create within us a “blessed” state. So, do I believe “blessed are those who mourn”? You bet I do.

This I know for sure.

Most Favored 2006

Following family tradition (http://www.evanandjulia.blogspot.com) I find it necessary to create Marsha’s Most Favored Awards 2006—not that anyone really cares what I think, but it gives me a place to chronicle a year’s worth of favorites.

Favorite Movie – Little Miss Sunshine
This may just be the place I am in, but I laughed hysterically at this movie. I might have been the only one in the theatre doing so, but I totally enjoyed this movie. The acting was phenomenal. My favorite quote in the movie…
Richard: Sarcasm is the refuge of losers.
Frank: [Sarcastically] really?
Richard: Sarcasm is losers trying to bring winners down to their level.
Frank: [Sarcastically] Thank you for opening my eyes to what a loser I am!

Books: This was the year of nonfiction reading for me.

Favorite Literary Work of 2006: The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
I will have to admit that the number of grief books I have read in the past year would number in the---well, lots. However, this book is written by an award winning author who simply has a love affair with words and though I didn’t always find her experience the same as mine, I found the essence of the writing to be extremely familiar.

Best Book Read in 2006 not published in 2006: Turn My Mourning into Dancing – Finding Hope in Hard Times by Henri Nouwen
Whatever “hard times” your life may bring; Nouwen, in his infinite wisdom and gift of prose, speaks to the very heart of learning to heal and find hope. My favorite quote from this book: “To heal is to let the Holy Spirit call me to dance, to believe again, even amid my pain God will orchestrate and guide my life.” WOW~

Most Surprising Book that I Enjoyed—Even Loved: The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
I am neither a Democrat, nor a liberal-though have been accused of being a closet liberal; however, this book was surprisingly well written and more thought-provoking than I expected. When it was chosen by my bookclub to read, I was less than excited. I couldn't have been more surprised. Obama sure does have his thumb on the pulse of America and the reforms needed to move us from the place in which we reside to one of hope. If you don’t want to be challenged to think—don’t read this one.

Television: On to the more intellectual aspects of things favored:

Best Television All-Around: Boston Legal
This show is a spin-off of another all-time favorite of mine, The Practice. Boston Legal is like watching The Practice on steroids. Though he doesn’t know it yet, I am going to marry James Spader (Alan Shore character) I find his intellect and wit to be tremendously attractive. LOL! William Shatner (Denny Crane character) is the epitome of politically incorrect in a tremendously correct way. Best quote from the show:
Denny Crane: Now, Alan, if all else fails and you think you've lost... pretend you've won! Works for our president.
What a hoot!

Biggest Surprise on Television: Heroes
Though I have never been a comic fan or even taken with the fantasy genre, this show captivates me. I find the characters engaging and the storylines refreshing original. Besides all of that—it is just plain fun.

Music: This one is tough. If you looked at my ipod playlist you would sign me up as a true music schizophrenic. Music is one of the most vital gifts in my life. I will give it a whirl as to what I have enjoyed this year.

Best Album All-Around: Wherever You Are: Third Day
I know this choice comes from the place I am in my life. The songs on this album have been my constant companion the past year. I am especially connected to the songs The Sun is Shining and Love Heals Your Heart, but the message of hope from pain in the lyrics on this album have been a cornerstone to my personal healing.

Others that deserve mention:
The Frey: How to Save a Life- Grey’s Anatomy has done wonders for this band.
Chris Daughtry: Daughtry- post-American Idol—awesome! This album takes me back to the rock of my youth. LOL
As for Praise Music, I have to acquiesce that most of it is lame; however, I have enjoyed Lincoln Brewster: Let Praises Ring. I love this album probably because of its strong guitar overtures. What can I say; I am a sucker for the guitar player. He does Here I am to Worship as a guitar solo that is amazing. Then there is Jeremy Camp: Beyond Measure; All American-Rejects: Move Along; and Nickleback: All the Right Reasons (lead singer, Chad Kroeger can sing to me ANYTIME)

That's about it for the general favorites of 2006. All in all, it was a good year: one of hope, redefining moments and coming to terms with life in general.

This I know for sure...

SCUBA and Life!

Well I did it!! This weekend I completed my SCUBA training and became a certified open water diver. It was a great experience-one I will never forget. I completed the class work over the past few weeks and then spent two intensive days of training in Florida to receive the certification. This is a big “chapter two” thing for me. I have always loved the water and believed I would enjoy the SCUBA experience. I was NOT disappointed.

As I collapsed from exhaustion following the first day of training, I was reminded of the miracle of the wonderful mixture of nitrogen and oxygen in the air we breathe. There were times during my training that I was amazed at the fact that I was truly breathing under the water. This experience reminded me that when difficult times arise in our lives we often are at the point where we feel we can’t breathe. We aren’t sure where the next breath will come from and we are in need of some breathing apparatus to assist us.

One of the “skills” I had to pass for certification was to take the regulator out of my mouth—let go of it—wait 15 seconds, find it and replace it. Fifteen seconds seemed like a lifetime. The inability to breathe was such a defenseless feeling. The impulse to panic was difficult to fight. When I finally was allowed to grasped that regulator and plunged it into my mouth to begin breathing again, I felt an immeasurable feeling of relief.

When we face difficult times that leave us with the feeling of breathlessness, there is always a lifeline (regulator) for us to grasp. It may not be evident at first and we may have to feel around for it, but it is there. It could be in the form of a great friendship, a spiritual awakening, a song, or simply becoming aware of our own inner strength. The encouraging aspect of this analogy is that there is no need to remain in a state of despair. The assistance we long for is right there for us to grab on to—but—we have to be willing to do so—to grab for it—hold onto it—and use it to become living, breathing people again.

As for my SCUBA escapades, I am sure there will be more. As for life, I long to not only identify, but rely on the “regulators” in my life. What’s more, I long to be that lifeline for others.
This I know for sure…

My Own Independence Day!

I made an amazing realization today. My faith is truly my own. It is not based on my heritage, nor on the tenants of my “religion”, but is based on the spiritual struggles of my life and what God, himself, has chosen to attest to me. This realization came to me after reading a post on the young widow electronic bulletin board to which I credit much of my ability to heal. There was a post by someone questioning thier faith and the "plan" of God through their grief---so very understandable. It was following reading his post that I realized what I believed had come full circle. I finally wear my faith as a comfortable robe or favorite pair of sweatpants.

I was fortunate to be raised in a very A-typical “Nazarene” parsonage—where questioning was not only supported, but encouraged—where finding your faith was more that mere words, but an actual process to complete. I am here today to say that though the process is far from complete, it is much more defined. It is not the faith of my father, in fact, though the foundation may look the same the "ins and outs" may look terribly different. I own what I believe—I have possession of it. It is what God himself has revealed to me about MY life and MY circumstances and how I am to live.

There is tremendous freedom in that. My faith is not based on what others do, but on what I do with the values God has revealed to me. My integrity holds true because it is based in what I believe. Then, even though I am not perfect—God’s amazing GRACE covers me. OK—now my “Nazarene” friends get a bit nervous and my “Baptist” brothers and sisters say “AMEN”, but I do believe we totally underestimate the GRACE that God provides. It covers our lives, our decisions and our sacred choices.

This I know for sure….