If they say no you can't-shock them

Interestingly the last one was recorded three times...

Mark tells us today about the the healing of the blind man on the road to Jericho.  Mark actually gave him a name - Bartimaeus.  Some many who were healed were  nameless.  This healing is so important all three synoptics record it.  He was in a hurry again...He was on the road to Jericho...an interesting town...the walls fell down...a prostitute hid spies and thereby saving her whole  family...It is on the way to Jerusalem.  His destination.  This is his last miracle recorded before the Passion.  And it involved of all things: blindness. 

I imagine that blindness would not have been my top choice for healings if I were a healer.  I think I would have driven out alot of demons into pigs.  I think I would have cured a lot of leprosy, given my own  susceptibility to horrid poison ivy and various rashes and skin disorders of all kinds.  And while it is not a healing miracle, I am sure I would changed a lot of water into wine.  Like maybe the whole sea of Galilee.  Just saying.  Apparently he made great wine.   But blindness had a special place in his heart.  I am  not sure he thought much about making a metaphorical point to the disciples that day.  He had Jerusalem on his mind.   I am not sure he thought much about making a point that an entire nation had missed seeing him. He knew they already had and he had Jerusalem on his mind.  I am not sure he thought much about trying to prophetically point out the Temple's spiritual blindness. They seemed to be a lost cause as all systems of power and establishment tend to be.  They usually have to collapse first before they begin to see.  Personally,  I think he just wanted Bartimeaus to see the trees. 

Bartimaeus apparently was just hanging out on the road to Jericho.  Just begging.  It is what the blind did.  They begged.  But he wasn't any ordinary blind person seeking healing. His name  meant son of a blind man. Kind of hard to live above a name like that.  I am sure he had been told over and over Jesus couldn't do it or wouldn't do it.  I am sure he had been told over and over, "Look dude it just ain't happening for you.  There are far other greater concerns Jesus has.  After all he is trying to get this whole messiah thing off the ground." In fact the crowd was rebuking them that day.   He had been blind his entire life.  Many artists render him as old.  What was old back then? 33?  At any rate, he could not see and had never seen and had been told over and over he would never see. 

Obviously, he did not believe that.  It is probably the most important point of the story.  He did not believe he was the person others told him was.  He did not define himself by others.  Apparently he yelled loud too.  Apparently just like my voice at ballgames, it could be heard over the masses. Apparently  he was trying to prove a point.  And I try to do that at ballgames too..you know prove a point...usually to the umpires but sometimes I have been known to get frustrated at the crowd.  Davis tells me just to be mad at them in my head and not say anything. He says actions speak louder in words and in baseball he has a point.

He demanded it,  "Jesus, son of David have mercy on me."  He said it more than  once. And often I wonder just how long did he wait on Jesus to come by?  Does it matter really how long you wait for your miracle? Does it matter really  how long you believe in your best self?  Does it matter really how long it takes to get to the other side just as long as you do?  And that is just what Bartimaeus did.  He stayed the course.  When everyone said he could not or it would not happen, he just shocked them.  He just shocked them.  It is the easiest way to prove who you really are.  Just shock them.  Faith in God probably does not get you very far if you don't have faith in yourself.

And Jesus moved by his faith did what Jesus did best...made him see....

I often wonder how often I give into the no.  I often wonder and pray I am teaching my son never  give in...just shock them.  You don't need to do anything else...just continue forward in the journey...Don't stop...Don't let them define you...Don't let the world say you can't...

JUST SHOCK THEM.

Grateful for seeing all the budding trees today...

Kathleen

PS I am also seriously considering linking this to the folks I know I have just plain shocked.  But I think that might lapse into that whole revenge thing.  But  I am thinking. 

You Do You

I just love Peter.  I really do.  He is so unashamedly human.  And he is so defensive.  And he is so ready to take on a fight even if it is with Jesus. He is so much like me I just laugh out loud when I re read his stories.  Apparently in today's gospel reading, Jesus was taking a day trip.  Don't you just love day trips?  I took one yesterday to Stratford Road.  Spent the morning at a garden (more next week on how it really all began and ended in a garden). 

So Jesus and company are on a day trip, I am sure Mark's gospel tells us where they were running off to, but to be honest I didn't read that far.  I pretty much stick to the daily gospel reading and don't delve much further.  I have found that keeps my head full enough and gives my heart more than enough to dwell on.  So I don't know where they were going, but I do know what happened on the trip.  This dude runs (the gospel says he ran...good to know...since rarely do I ever find myself running up to God...I am more the kind who waits for God to bop me on top of the head), and he asks Jesus a question.  Clearly this guy thought Jesus would have the answer given that  he chased him down and all.  Or maybe and I suspect this be the case, he was so hoping GOD would agree with his answer.  And why are like that?  Why do we assault God with our questions in prayer hoping he will agree with us?  It has been my experience that in those instances God rarely does.   Ann Lamott said, "It is safe to assume you have created God in your own image when God hates all the same people you do."  How true.  How true.

Another good point from today's lesson is this...the next time you ask God a question and demand an answer make sure you are ready to hear it.  Chances are if you are really honest, you are not.  So this dude wants to know what it takes to be saved?  I am guessing, judging from his response, he thought he was.  Funny thing about salvation...it is not just a moment in time.  And here is where my Wesley scholar friend could help explain that very complex theology but for today I am keeping it simple.  It is best to realize that every moment you are being saved again and again and it is best to keep in mind what exactly is saving you and from what you are being saved.  Clearly this dude was a little cloudy about the whole deal.  Personally, I am the kind of character that needs saving again and again and again and again...and generally speaking it is saving from myself that I need saving from and isn't it great that God specializes in just that.  Saving us from ourselves.  True be told we would pretty much would be lost permanently if left to our own devices...and thank God, God does not. 

Jesus had a lot of different answers about the question regarding salvation.  Usually the answers boiled down to two, maybe three things...PRAY...GIVE AWAY YOUR MONEY...BE KIND...It just really doesn't take a whole lot to please Jesus, but like alot of us most of the time, this dude got hung up on one of the three.  Mark tells he  prayed and was a pretty nice guy...his problem...he didn't want to give up his money.  Truth be told I am so glad Jesus has not asked me yet to give up my white blouses or nice Italian leather shoes or manicures because on days like today...I would probably run away grieving too...just like that dude...he ran away....I have often wondered did he ever come back?  I suspect he did.  We usually find our way back when we have made such a mess of things that we come running back.  And isn't neat how Jesus usually just says this..."OK...you have made a mess...Now clean it up and come inside and have milk and cookies."

What made me laugh out loud about this story in Mark's gospel (and by the way, I think next year we get to read John and I like that story so much more...), is Peter.  Peter always makes me laugh. I can always count on Peter for a good laugh.  Peter pretty much gets in Jesus's face and says, "Now look, why are you telling us this again?  We get it.  WE GAVE UP EVERYTHING TO FOLLOW YOU."  And here is where I think Jesus gives one of the best lessons..."Peter, I am not talking about you. This is not your highlight reel.  I am saving that for hurricanes, fishing disasters and early morning rooster calls." 

And here is an important life lesson to remember and write it down and say it to yourself every day....more than once if necessary...Rarely and I mean very rarely is it about you.  And never are some one's mistakes about you.  Never.  Jesus basically tells Peter..."Peter how about YOU do YOU and not worry about anyone else.  Believe me Peter that alone will keep your hands full." 

Praying that for at least the next eight hours I only try to do me...that is a job in itself...

Kathleen

The Way We Were (and need to be again)...

"Before we had stifled the cross into a symbol, before we have softened grace into a sentiment, before we had systematized power and the mystery of God's greatest revelation of Himself into a set a dogmas, were children..." - Rich Mullins

And we need to become children again...

And don't you remember when we were those kids?  We believed every stable was sacred because Christ had been born in a stable... and every star we saw shining in the night sky was that star...and every bush could burst into flames at any moment...and giants could be slayed with five little rocks...and there was always more than enough bread to share...always 12 loaves left over...and we loved hugs because Jesus did...and lilies were our favorite flower and we loved picking the flower heads right off and carrying them into the house to Mom...and the trees had hands to clap and the mountains had voices...and angels really sang and we could hear it and sing with right along...and love was irrepressible...and we cut and pasted for the sheer joy of it...and we made mud pies because He could make people see with just spit and mud...and we ran for the love of running and we laughed so hard till our sides hurt...and we got scared and we saw the world as a REAL place full of REAL dangers, with REAL beauty and REAL rights and wrongs...and we prayed powerful, profound prayers...

Prayers so direct and wonderfully candid and we are embarrassed now when we remember them...we knew they went straight to God and we gave in to faith...when we were little...we knew we could meet God and Jesus was in our hearts...and we didn't understand, but we do not understand it anymore now than we did then..and then we grew up and...

We became big and heavy with thinking and burdened with worry  and we gave into doubt and dreariness and we rose above our own understanding and we learned to be afraid of ourselves...

So if the we believe the cross (and thank God it is) to be more than symbol...if we believe God's grace is more than sentimentality (and it is)...and we if believe God is not the product of some human imagination (and God is not)... then what choice do we have but to become kids again...

To see every star as a promises already fulfilled...to see every stable as a temple...to see every flower as guarantees that we do not need to worry...to see the birds as evidence that all are needs are already met...to know we are beloved children of God...to run hard...to laugh long..to dance because God delights in dancing...to give ourselves over to faith...and we will have come home again to the God's Kingdom and we will know it is our home and we will know that God delights in us...and we will be those children once more...

"of such is the Kingdom of Heaven..."

Grateful today for Grace  in every moment...  in sharing jellybeans with little boys...in hugging boys after ballgames...in walking in gardens...and eating lunch outside...in the sunshine...in the blooming dogwoods...in the flowers that are dancing...in the trees clapping their hands...it is all grace...

Kathleen

Pray Me Home

When they drove up...you could almost see the prayers. Almost touch them.  As we porch sat, beach walked, WORD shared, talked, laughed (and blessed G.), cried, slept, ate, stretched, played, ate more, laughed more, colored, cut, pasted, ate more, laughed more, WORD shared more, sang, WORD shared more,  you could touch the prayers...and I never knew this till now...

you can be prayed home...you can be prayed home...and thank goodness friends will pray you home...mothers will pray you home...sisters will pray you home...stangers will pray you home and here's the rub...home might not be where you thought it was or used to be or want it to be...but thank God...

You can be prayed home...just make sure you realize when you get there...and stay for a bit...stay for a bit..

Laying on a song

We all brought something.  Well,  mostly I just waited for everyone to get there so I could eat. She came in carrying the Word under that bright blue sky kissed by sunshine. She came in carrying Pilates Mats and Mexican Trains and arms full of hugs for everyone.  She also had so tootsie pops and Twizzlers.   She came with a wounded eye, her sense of humor and her loving presence but mostly she brought the song.  She brought the song.

It was Sunday morning.  Our last morning of our women's fellowship retreat.  It was epic.  That all I can of thinkof to say.  It was epic. My son would be so proud of me using the word epic in the vernacular.  We were gathering for porch church and invited the couple across the street, but I think they thought we were going to have an offering, so they declined.  We were going to have an offering just not the kind where they scan your twenties.  (One of the many, many useful things I learned this weekend is that this is apparently a common practice at CVS at Christmas).

She brought the song.  She carried that song in her heart all the way from her roots in the mountains of NC.  I did not knowshe was a song carrier.  But I do now. 

My daddy was a member of a southern gospel quartet and he said when you laid on a song,  you gathered around the bed of the sick or depressed and you sang to them.  Those lovely soulful songs. Those old spirituals with very simple melodies and complex harmonies. He said it healed them. My dad said you sang loud and you sang with your heart.  He hoped you would sign all four verses. He also hoped you could carry a tune but he often said that God didn't really care if you could or not,  God just plain liked singing.  Very loud singing.  

My dad loved to sing.  He knew all the verses in the church hymnal and all the tunes.  He knew every single one of them.  You just never knew which words to which tune he might choose to sing.  You might be singing Precious Lord, Take My Hand and change in the middle to Just Closer Walk to Thee.  One time in church, he was leading the singing, and we started out signing Guide Me Thou O Great Jehovah, and somewhere along the third verse we started singing Saviour Like a Shepherd Lead Us. He made up some words. He sang lead with his quartet, so you can just imagine.  He said it was fine if you forgot words and just starting humming in the middle and pick up when the words came to you.  It didn't matter much to my dad as long as that song was sung well and loud, very loud with all your heart.  Daddy also had some very peculiar, strong feelings about what to do with hymnals but that is another story for another day.  Oh, I forgot to mention.  My dad was the worship leader in church when I was growing up.  Daddy would also make the congregation do repeats if we didn't sing loud or well enough.  He would stand up and say, "Church, we gotta redo that one."

At porch church Sunday morning, she brought her song and when it was all sung and done..we had laid on a song...I mean we had really laid on a song...The birds were singing, the clouds swaying, the sunshine bursting, the skies so blue it could pop.  It was a beautiful, glorious day. (And right here, right now, thanks to Dad I am humming the hymn- O Glorious Day).

She opened with song.  "Pass Me  Not O Gentle Saviour."  She brought the melody and the harmony.  I just brought loud. We nailed it .  We sung it so well the birds shut up.  The dogs quit barking.  The clouds swayed.  The sun shone brighter.  The wind applauded and the trees and flowers stood taller.  The ocean clapped with waves.  That's how good it was.  We nailed it.  We laid on a song.

 I am a daughter after her father's own heart and he taught me to sing loud.  I never did quite learn to sing as well or as pretty as Dad.  In fact, I can't carry a tune and sing very flat on any given occasion.  Daddy always wondered how he raised a tone deaf child.  I think the song carrier learned that when she said, "You sing loud."  It made me laugh so very, very hard.  Yep.  I sing loud.  Yep.  I sing all four verses even if I make them up.  Yep. Daddy would have been proud of  porch church and I  wish Daddy could have heard the song carrier and the others.  I wish he could have. 

The song carrier blessed me beyond measure at porch church, Sunday.  Jesus could not have passed us by that morning.  Nope. No way.  I am convinced God stood still that morning and said..."now that...that... is what I call laying on a song".  And I think all the angels in heaven stopped their singing just to hear the song carrier and the rest of us. I think the only thing they said was..."Yes and Amen! We can't wait for the song carrier and her friends to join us.  (Even the loud one). But we are thinking that for now...for now...the song carrier and her friends need to hang out on porches and every  once in a while lay on a song....lay on a song..."

Yes and amen my friends...be grateful for singing and always sing extra loud and always sing an extra verse or two..even if you are making it up as you go along....and never be afraid to sing on porches and invite the neighbors...

Kathleen

The most courageous thing you will ever do...and it will determine how you live...

Three words.  Just three.  And it will be the most courageous thing you will ever do...and it will determine how you live or not...

And they are hard words to say much less mean.  And only the courageous say them.  Only the people of character and strength and integrity ever utter those words.  Ever. Wars can be ended with those words.  Miracles happen with those words.  Life begins with these words.  The only words that ever, ever matter are the ones we live. 

Things didn't start off so well this morning.  Just did not.  And it is ok when your morning does not begin well as long as the day ends well. 

He has the mark of greatness and the humility that always underscores it.  He has integrity.  A character trait that has little value in today's culture.  He knows the miracle is not whether or not you fly in the air, but to walk gently on the earth.  Just walk.

He knows breathing always comes first. 

He knows that being your authentic self is the only way to really live.  Being someone else or atttempting to live up to someone's expectations or standards will always fail miserably.

He knows that we are all in this together for better or worse and shouldn't we just try to make it better.

He knows that living better always trumps living bitter.

He knows it is best to make friends with yourself, live in your own skin, fight your own demons intead of fighting everyone elses. 

He has learned to live fear from the terror of the ghosts of  the "what if's" and "if only's"

And he knows courage and he knows that the war we really fight is in our own souls...

He walks upright...he walks with humbly and he loves mercy...he loves mercy...

And he told me, "I am sorry..."

The three most powerful words in the English language are I am sorry...not I love you...for you can not even say love without being willing to say "I am sorry.." 
And yet we hardly ever utter them sincerely..ever..

But he does.  He does.  And he means it when he does.  He says the most powerful words on the planet...

And I will never forget.  And I am honored to know him. 

And those words cover a mulitude of sins...in fact...covers them all...

Thank you for challenging me and reminding me and blessing me and honoring me with the three most powerful words...

May we all never forget to say them....

All is grace and don't I have the coolest friends on the planet?

Kathleen

What I am WIlling to Do for Chocolate

To be very honest, I don't know if I go to get the eggs or just to see what obstacle will face me at the front door.  The eggs are to die for and I usually starting thinking about them the first of February.  And about the second week, I start planning my strategy on how to obtain these southern culinary delights.  If you have ever lived in Kernersville or have known anyone that has, you know exactly what I am talking about.  Once you have had one, you never forget. 

It is a small church in the middle of Kernersville.  I do not know anyone personally who attends there and come to think of it, that is very weird.  I probably know at least one person who attends every church Kernersville, either because I personally know you, my husband knows you or I have taken care of you or a family member or my daddy or mother in law knows you. Kernersville is just that kind of town. 

I have never gotten past the fellowship hall.  NEVER. I think they have a sanctuary but I am really not sure. And  I am starting to think they might sacrifice chickens or something in there or at least handle snakes.  The fellowship hall is your typical small church fellowship hall with a small church kitchen.  If you are from the South, you know what I am talking about.  And personally, my interactions make me think that perhaps the preacher should do just a little more preaching on that whole fellowship concept.  Just saying. 

It all begins Ash Wednesday.  The eggs.  Last year they made 80,000.  I was told this year it would be closer to 87,000.  These confections are about the size of your fist.  Two flavors: peanut butter or coconut.  Hand rolled.  Hand dipped.  Hand wrapped.  These eggs are so famous, they were featured on the cover of North Carolina State magazine last Easter. 

Easter is big in North Carolina, particularly Forsyth county.  The Moravians claim they celebrate it the best and the sunrise service at God's Acre can not be beat.  But nobody can beat these eggs.  Nobody.  I am told the recipe is a tightly guarded secret.  They can't tell you the recipe 'cuz then they would have to shoot you.  And shoot you they would, on the spot, without blinking an eye. Even my mother in law doesn't know the recipe and she knows every single secret worth sharing in Kernersville.  That woman amazes me.  I love  these eggs so much, I have seriously considered hiring my own Black Ops team to storm the building and steal the recipe for me. To be   perfectlyy honest though, I am not sure a Black Ops team would make in and out of the building without suffering mass causalities.  I know on a couple of occasions I didn't know if I was coming out alive. 

Getting to those eggs is something of Herculean feat.  And now that I think of it, Lent is the season of pain and suffering, and spiritual journeying, so maybe there is a metaphor here.  In my lifetime, I am guessing I purchased at least 250 dozen. At least

As soon as you hit the church parking lot you can smell the chocolate.  There is this lovely large wooden painted Easter Egg sign on the front lawn of the church that reads: Eggs are Here!.  Now that I think about it, that egg sign is bigger than the cross out front.  Just saying.

When they first starting making these eggs you could just drop by and buy them.  These really nice people put them in nice white bags and smiled at you.  Things have changed.  Boy have they changed. 

So about 10 years ago, I had made about three trips to buy eggs.  It was Maundy Thrus and  I needed a few more.  The Egg sign was still out.  I pulled into the church parking lot and walked in.  I could see about 50  boxes of eggs.  I asked if I could buy a dozen.  The keeper of the eggs said that they stopped selling eggs on Palm Sunday.  Oh.  I apologized and stared past her at those eggs. She reluctantly gave in and sold me a dozen but chastised me for being late.  She asked me if I realized it was Holy Week?  Yep. She did.  I am not sure of the liturgical significance of these chocolate covered eggs but apparently God does not want you to eat them during Holy Week.

So about 5 ears ago, I dropped by and asked to buy some eggs.  Now mind you, when you walk in, there are table after table of eggs in various preparation stages.  Thousands of eggs.  And the egg makers are hard at work making more.  They make eggs from 9 to 12 every day and wrap eggs from 1 to 4 every day except weekends. 

So I walk in and ask to buy 16 dozen eggs.  The egg lady said, "did you call your order in?"   I said, "No."  She said, "Well if you want more than a dozen you have to call your order in."   I said, "Can I give it to you now and I will come back?"  She said in a not very friendly voice, "No, I will sell you some today, just remember the rule for next year." OK. 

So next year, I call ahead and order about 14 dozen.  Left my order with the not so very nice phone person.  I show up that afternoon only to learn that if you call an order in...it won't be ready till the next day...but since I was there..they would make an exception.  But I was instructed very firmly, and not so nicely by the egg policewoman at the front door, not to drop in at the church fellowship hall without an appointment. I muttered under my breath, well can I come to pray?  Who heard of having to have permission to go to a church?  

So the next year, I call ahead and confirm my pick up day with the instructions that if I did not show up within 24 hours of ordering, my eggs would be returned to the general egg population.  And being so addicted to these eggs, you better believe I was there on time and I thought, this year, this year I will not be called out for some mysterious egg infraction.  And you are so not going to believe this.  I walk in, ask the egg Nazi for my order and she inquires, "did you fill out the on line form, because you are suppose to fill out the on line form for all large orders."  I told her I just called ahead to the church office and they did not inform of the web based ordering system.  She begrudgingly gave me eggs. Rolled her eyes at me. By the way, my egg order was sitting there with my name on it, ready for pick up.

So the following the year, I thought I am up to the test.  I am going to cover every base.  I called ahead.  I arranged my pickup time.  I place the online order.  I arrive at 1202pm.  The egg controller is about to lock the door.  Well, actually she locked the door as I was getting out of my car waving at her ( I was actually smiling and waving) and yes she was looking me dead in the eye.  She opens the door.  She informs me that egg pick up time is from 9 am to 12 noon and they break for lunch (in the fellowship hall with all the eggs) from 12 pm to 1 pm and then they re open for business. Oh. I told her I was not aware of the pick up times and I would just come back in an hour.  I need to mention here that pick up times were not mentioned on the web based order system, not on the larger than a small pasture ornament egg sign sitting right next to the cross on the church front lawn, and the sign on the fellowship hall door that listed operating hours was about 8 by 10 inches with 10 point font.  Seriously.  I needed my reading glasses just to read it.  Gave a whole new meaning to fine print.  She saw my hospice name tag and told me she would go ahead and give me my eggs but to remember next time.  And yes my eggs were in a bag with my name on them and I brought the correct cash. 

So the next year, I am determined to get this right.  Determined.  It is now become not so much about those eggs, but the fight to get them. I have turned this into some type of Lenten act of suffering.  Suffering over obtaining very large quantities of chocolate and peanut butter and coconut. Yep.   I am determined to make these people be nice to me. Need I mention not one has invited me to church yet?  Not that I would go, but I just find it odd.  I am a large volume, frequent, loyal customer.  So I call my egg order in, fill out the web based form, commit to a pick up time, literally drive by the night before pre arranged pick up to double check the fine print on the door.

I go in.  All dressed up in my adult clothes.  I have my pearls on.  My very nice Italian loafers.  My best white blouse and my favorite pink sweater.  My best spring lipstick. I request my pre-approved, prepaid, prearranged pick up order AND you are SO not going to believe this...She asked if I need bags for my 20 dozen eggs and did I want them separated?. Because if I wanted them separated and put in bags, she was going to have to count.  I stood there wondering didn't they have to be counted anyway?  I told her I guess I could carry them out in my arms, but it would take a few trips.  Reluctantly she throw them in a box.  And this time I couldn't resist.  I smiled my biggest southern smile and said "BLESS YOUR HEART."  Now any self respecting southerner knows that we only result to that phrase when we really want to say, "Are you @##$ing kidding me?"

So this year I was ready.  I was ready, but I was going to challenge the system just a bit.  I stopped by.  Yep.  I did a drive by.  I wanted an extra 3 dozen I had not prearranged prepaid order. I walk in at 135 pm.  I had cash.  I had a cross on today.  These egg people were sitting at the table wrapping eggs.  I am guessing they were surrounded by about 20,000.  She asks may I help you?  I said I would like to buy some eggs.  She asked the standard protocol of questions and when she learned I wanted extra, she turned to her egg buddies and said., "Can we sell her any eggs?"  They reluctantly said  "I guess so."  They filled my order and ask if I want bags.  I politely turned them down.  Been down that road before.  And then I asked, "So how many eggs did you make this year?" The answer 87000.  I said 87000.  She said yep.  And we are already starting a waiting list.  So you can't have anymore because we stopped taking orders yesterday.  I turned my biggest smile on and said, Bless your heart.  I guess I am just blessed beyond measure that you graciously gave me 36 of the 87000. 

So, I am all done egg hunting this year. I am seriously considering asking the egg lady if prehaps I could volunteer next year for the egg war effort.  I thought about offering a course on how to be nice or prehaps these are the most stressed church people I have ever met and need some relaxation techniques.  Or perhaps they are distantly related to my bad church date.  I do know one thing- those eggs are a slice of heaven if you have to go through hell to get one. 

I Say Grace

I think of her every year at this time.  I think of her at other times during the year too, but especially now when the Bradford pears are blooming, when the weather is warming, when the trees are budding.  And this evening I thought of her for a long time.  I remember the first day I met her like it was yesterday.  It was more about seven years ago to be exact.  I often wonder now if she knew how very, very scared I was.  I suspect she did.  I still wonder if she thought I was an air head.  I suspect she did. I wonder if she ever realized how very much she taught me, I suspect she did.  I wonder if she really liked my shoes, I suspect she did.   For the better part of two years I spent about hour to hour and half, twice a week, on her couch.   No, she wasn't my therapist. Not that I didn't or don't need one and truth be told, she probably thought, "this girl can be slightly on the crazy side."

And tonight I thought of her for a long time, and hope she is having a grand time and saving a place for me. 
The Daily Office reading today is from the gospel of Mark.  Personally, not my favorite read. Not the gospels, just Mark in particular.  Mark's Jesus is always in a hurry, warning people to keep their mouths shut and the disciples are portrayed less than favorably and the original text ends with the words, "And they were so afraid."  There is a lot of fear running around in Mark.  Mark's gospel was her favorite.  Her very favorite.  I am not sure but I think she had the entire text memorized.  She laughed at me when I told her I didn't like Mark.  She laughed hard.  She said, "you must not fish or like fish sandwiches."  She was right on both accounts. Not only did she like to fish, she loved fish sandwiches.

And tonight's text was about walking on water.  She told me once, "I just wonder exactly how long he let them struggle against the wind, just how long? Probably all night long.  I wonder if he sat right there up on the beach laughing his head off.  I wonder if he thought, Hmm..if y'all didn't get the whole feeding miracle thing, is there really any hope that you are going to get walking on water?  Probably not."  And then she laughed very hard and said, "You know they didn't get it, and not only that, he planned to pass them by till they starting calling ghost busters.  And I am thinking that's when he said, "gotcha ya', didn't I?"

I loved that woman.  She could make me  laugh like  no one else.  She gave the best hugs I have ever had, ever.  She told me not to be scared too...EVER.  She was the first hospice patient, I ever introduced myself as "I am going to be your nurse."  She was a nurse too.  She raised five children.  She loved Dewey's cake.  She could cook like nobody else.  She could sing.  And she could pray...man, could she ever pray.  I remember one day I was going to see her, and a Bradford pear split in two as I was driving under it. This huge limb fell on my car as I was driving and I kept going.  Didn't even stop.  I was telling her about it and she said, "Have you ever considered a slower pace?   You really don't have to rush all the time. You  might get killed.  Trees are famous for that you know."  Good point.

I will never, ever forget her last two weeks  here.  She had always met me at the door for every visit, till those last two weeks.  I called and she said, "Honey, I am just going to leave the door open and you just come on in and come on back to the bedroom."  I knew then it would not be long.   I cried the first time and every time after that I had to open the door and she wasn't standing there, waiting to give me a hug. Truth be told, every time I returned to my car to leave, I sobbed over my steering wheel.

She told me not to be afraid.  She told never, ever to worry.  She told me that forever she would watch over me and "that boy of yours" and that she "would always have my back."  (I am not quite sure why she wasn't going to watch over Vance, but that would be another story for another day).  She told it was the best thing about dying...She said "now I get to watch over you all and I get to make sure everybody I love is protected.  Now I get to be the angel watching and not waiting on the angel to watch me. I get to pray for all of you from the best seat in the house."   She said never, ever worry about your life so much that you forget to live.  She said never, ever worry about being hurt so much that you forget to love.  She said never, ever get so caught up in thinking about yourself that you can not think of anyone else.  She said never, ever let anybody steal your joy.  She said never, ever get so focused on the what ifs that you can't enjoy the now.  She said never, ever be too busy to pray, because you are always going to need it. 

She had her home going on the Thursday before Easter.  She died just like she lived- at peace, no worry, full of love, full of joy and enjoying that very last bite of fish...enjoying every bite.  And I suspect on many, many a day, she sits down and looks at Jesus and just laughs and laughs, and says, "exactly how long do you think she is going to struggle against that wind?"

Grateful for the woman who was the first to teach me to say, "I say Grace."

Kathleen

Praying at Panera and other worthy spiritual pursuits

Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.  Praise for the morning...

The Daily Office this morning began with that hymn.  One of my favorites.  I think because Cat Stevens recorded it and so did Simon and Garfunkle.  It also doesn't sound very churchy at all.  The melody is from an ancient Gaelic hymn, I think and I have always had a special place in my heart for Celts.  My last name is O'Brien.

I had just ordered my tea and paid for orange scone.  I do so love orange. Not the color, I think the color is tacky and I am going to be in quite a fashion crisis next year when my son attends Glenn High school.  I don't wear  orange well and it always reminds of incarceration.  I agree with Sandra Bullock's character in the Blind Side, "I don't care if you play football at UT, but I am not wearing that tacky orange."  I kind of said the same thing to my son  when he was choosing high schools.  I am not wearing that tacky orange.  I like the smell of orange and the taste of orange and the texture of orange.  Orange smells, well orange.  I even like the way it sounds but I don't want to wear it. 

I guess by now you can tell I have an emotional response to orange.  Back to Panera.
So I was curling up in the window, smelling my orange scone and oh, I had ordered orange tea and I opened the Daily Office on my Kindle.  Today's Office began with one of my favorite hymns.  You might or might not wonder why I pray at Panera.  To be transparently honest, it is that orange scone. Really.  Food, great shoes, white blouses  and a great manicure can motivate me to do things that would on any given day be impossible.  I am not sure, but I am fairly confident that God chose orange, shoes and Vivian(my nail salon) to motivate me to pray regularly.  I am the kind of pray-er that has to do whatever it takes to motivate me beyond, "Thank you", "Help!" and "Jesus, what the @#$!?".  Funny thing about emotional and physical triggers, they remind you.  They remind you. 

So, I open the Office, inhale orange, and hum my hymn.  And I had forgotten (since yesterday), that the office always begins with prayer of confession.  Yep. Every day. Every night.  Confession is really good for the soul...it keeps us honest.  God really doesn't need our confession, we do.
It begins:  "Most merciful Father, we have erred and lost our way like sheep..  We have followed our own devices..."
I stop...It is 9 am...and I have already since 9 pm last night (and really how lost could one get in 12 hours?  If you are sheep-like, like I am, pretty darn lost). So yesterday, while running around masquerading as a parent, I took my son to the ball field at 4 pm without food and  homework not completed.  He hadn't eaten since 1030.  I did manage to get a Gatorade (orange of course) in his bat bag.  I had not figured on the small detail that the game would begin at 630pm and not end until after 9pm.  I had not figured on the small detail that the only source of nutrition at this ball field was Snicker bars, peanuts, popcorn, 3 Muskateers and Skittles.  I had assumed his father would pack a cooler and his father had, I just became separated from it.  So when the game hit the seventh inning and it was 830 pm and he was brought in to pitch with bases loaded, tie ballgame, three men on and no outs, well I felt like the worst mom on the entire planet.  I seriously considered asking the umpire for a time out and running on the field with a candy bar.  And  I seriously considered asking his coach if he could stretch his warm up pitches to about 30 instead of 10 so I could throw him M&Ms.  At about 930 it ended, he drug himself off the field, a wee bit down over the lost (ok way down) and my usual HALT therapy was working, mainly because he was all 4.  Hungry, angry, lonely and tired.  Pitching is lonely.  And HALT only works when you can meet one of the four needs. Two at  the most.  It doesn't work when you need all four at once- then you SPIRAL.  So, I drove him home, had him drink 2 Carnation Instant Breakfast (so I could at least say I fed him something), put the last  hour of homework off til the am. Then I couldn't sleep for ruminating about the GAME and no dinner. 
He got up at 6 am, finished homework, (I feed him two pieces of cheese toast, a banana, strawberries, milk and juice - and yes I know he is not a camel and can not store food) and we went to school late.  I was overcompensating for yesterday's parenting failure.  I walk in to sign him into school and was asked the infamous question, "why are you late?"  Did you know that homeschooling is not an acceptable tardy excuse?  Who knew?  Did you know that receiving emergent nutrition to prevent malnourishment is not acceptable? Who knew? And the ballgame went very late is not an excuse either.  I think it might be in Division I, but then they all have tutors and the school sanctioned it.  I am not sure what constitutes an acceptable tardy excuse, so I lied.  Told the very nice lady that we were at the doctor.  Then she looked at my son and asked him why he was late.  Really!  She must have known I was lying, and she was trying to trap my son.  I just spoke very loud and very sharply...AT THE DOCTOR!!!.   I need to interject here, that in the last 10 school days,  he has had legitimate dentist appt, orthodontist appt and another legit dentist appt.  I am not sure but I think she might have become a tad bit suspicious.

So here I sit confessing lying before 9 am to God and crying over my inadequacies as a parent and lamenting why can't I have it together like all the other moms who pack nutrtious snacks, schedule perfectly, have clothes all washed and ironed, dinner planned for the week, the house clean, etc.  And then I look at my shoes.  My Italian loafers.  I love those shoes.  And then I think about the ballgame and begin ruminating on the ballgame with God, and then I actually ask God to help me fill out my brackets because I really want to beat Vance this year and then I say I am sorry for wanting to beat my husband and then I thank God for letting me find those great Italian shoes (10 bucks for Sesto Meucci- I know my girlfriend with the great shoes is very jealous) and then I apologize for thinking my girlfriend would covet my shoes, and then I think -"did I even feed the cat this week?", and then I thank God for my cat and then and I smell orange and then I see the sunlight dancing on my new Italian loafers and then I see my hands and my legs and feel my breath and then I begin to hum "Morning has broken...like the first morning...blackbird has spoken...like the first bird...Praise for the morning....Praise for the singing...Praise...and then this very lost sheep..gets found again...
 And I think that is the point of confession...it stills the mind...gets rid of all the clutter...so the mind and heart and soul can focus on what really matters...Gratitude..

I don't think God really cares if we confess to Him,  I do think God would be quite happy and quite satisfied if we just managed to say I am sorry to each other on a regular basis.  I really think that is all the confessing God expects.  But the church fathers and mothers in their infinite wisdom open the Daily Office with a confession...not because God needs it...because we do...

When we confess, we silence that inner critic.  When we confess and pour all of that clutter and ruminating and worry and free flowing anxiety to God...then we still...and then we can be grateful...and that gets us found.  Grace and naming graces always leads us home.  And I am always, always trying to get home.  Naming and praising what we are thankful for really is an antedote for "erring and following our own devices.."  When we concentrate on what is good and beautiful and lovely...there just isn't room any our heads and hearts for anything else...there just is not. 

With much gratitude for:

sons who forgive errant mothers who forget to pack dinner
orange scones that remind me to pray
the hands that made the orange scones
Italian loafers that remind me I have shoes at all and two strong legs to walk on..it could be otherwise...
my nails that remind me of my hands and that my hands can be used for good...and that my hands touch much good...holding tea cups with sweet smelling orange tea...eating orange scones...rubbing tired pitchers' shoulders...erasing tears...
big, fluffy, fat cats who run to meet me at the door, nap on top of my feet to keep them warm and chase stink bugs...
the singing spring birds....
the gorgeous sunrise...
Vivian who makes sure my nails are ready to conquer the world...
crisp, white, linen blouses that make me feel as if I can conquer the world...and I can...
The Book of Common Prayer for saving me and showing me the way again and again and again...
Sir Thomas Kramner who compiled it.
Cat Stevens...
Simon and Garfunkle...
Sheep...fluffy, white sheep...
And MARCH MADNESS and of course...BASEBALL...

Grace and peace,
Kathleen

RAOK REQUEST!!!

So my blogger friend Glennon over at momastery.com came up with the idea.  She has this amazing blog and all the readers are called Monkees (little monks).  I would go  on to explain more here but I am just going to steal her idea and give her credit for making me want to do this. I do not think Glennon would mind.  She envisions a world that love can and will change.  And my blogging friend Ann Voskamp, whose work I so often quote, I must credit her for showing me how to live ready and that all is good, all is good.   So here's my request for my very small circle of reader friends and I am so hoping you will share with all your friends and they will share with all their friends and it the RAOK just goes on and on. 

I have never met her mother but I know her daughter and I can imagine what her Mom must be like. 

 

Her daughter has learned how to live ready.  No one warns which days will forever change our lives. No one warns the morning the storm will descend. No one wakes us that morning and says, “This day will require you have an unwavering trust in the sovereignty of God."  You just have to live ready.  Her daughter knows how. 

Her daughter knows as Julian of Norwich said, "All will be well, all matter of things will be well."

Her daughter knows knows the answer to the questions St. Augustine asked, "If there is no God, why is there so much good?  If there is a God, why is there so much evil?" Her daughter knows not to focus on the second question more than the first.  Her daughter knows that "all of life points to the goodness of God."

Her daughter knows that prayer does not change things...prayer changes you so you can face the things....

Her daughter know it is best in this life to do two things and to do things consistently:  Love and stay prayed up.  Everything else is commentary.

 

My friend (the daughter), her mom is beginning a tough, tough journey.  Her mom was diagnosed with cancer.  Her mom is just like her daughter.  I just know.  So in honor of my friend and her mother I want everyone who reads this to do one RAOK on Friday.  Friday is the day they will learn what the journey is going to look like and what they are going to need for this journey.  I want all of us who know and love my friend and her mom and her family and those of us who don't to spread love in honor of them Friday.  Friday will be a tough day but it doesn't have to be an impossible day.  I want you to post here on Friday or your FB page or my friend's page each and every single RAOK done in their honor Friday.  I want them to be surrounded in love Friday...I want us to make the load lighter...None of us can walk the journey for them but we can make it easier.  We can make sure they have enough provisions for the journey.  We can be the light for the road. 

 

My friend, you don't have to worry, all of your friends those you know and those you don't, we got this.  We have your back.  Prayers and love will sustain you through the journey.  So you just focus on being a daughter and being with your mom.  We will keep you prayed up.

 

T\hanks to my blogger friends who gave me the idea.  Thanks to all of you who may read this and spread love on behalf of my friend and daughter.  And thanks to Mother Teresa who knew "no act of kindness no matter how small is ever wasted."

On participating in your own recovery

Yesterday I was masquerading as a responsible grown woman with a child and a career and a husband today.  I wore my pearls (they always make me feel grown up) and my best pink blouse.  It was 8:05 am.  I was attempting again to conquer my dental PTSD.  Dear reader you may think I am joking about my PTSD but if you only knew. 

I finished an assignment for school at 11 pm last pm that was due at like 12 MN and all my student reader friends can appreciate that.  I had taken my teenager to school at 7 am this am.  I had begun a load of laundry, taken a load out of the dryer and placed them nicely in my laundry basket.  Anyone who knows me well at all, knows this.  Vance and I almost divorced over laundry the first year we were married.  Apparently, I am lacking in the folding clothes department, especially underwear and socks.
My friend with the great shoes, she promised me once that if I ever became incapacitated to the point that I couldn't care for myself, she would clean out my underwear drawer.  Once I had to go to the hospital unexpectedly and she went to my house just to pack my underwear.  Seriously.  I have yet to fold a complete load of laundry since I first married but I do switch it from washer to dryer.  My friend at the baseball field thinks I am beyond spoiled.  I don't clean up after dinner either.  Vance does.  I lack loading dishwasher skills as well. I actually love, love, love my mother in  law and could kiss her everytime I see her for teaching Vance those skills. BUT
I do cook, clean, attempt to manage household schedule, work, go to school, do garden work, parent...so I can be a tad overwhelmed.

Back to 715 am.  I jump in the shower and decided since I was going to pretend to be an adult today I would shave my legs.  My husband thinks I am far too dangerous with a razor.  He thinks I shave too fast and he can't understand why I can't put the head of the razor on at all by myself.  Today, I was little fast if the gash across my shin is any indication. It wouldn't stop bleeding.  I just covered it with tissue.  Took extra time with my hair, pressed my blouse, threw my pearls on, drank my tea, made the bed and said my famous
HELP! prayer again, took my antibiotics and I was out the door by 745 am.
At 754 am, checked in with the receptionist.  I was pouring sweat.  My heart was pounding.  My hands were shaking and this was just a check up.  No procedure at all.  My blog friend at Momastery, she swears by Mitchum.  She is a profuse sweater too.  Today I wish I had bathed in it. I sit down.
At 755 am, my cell phone rings.  It is the Davis' dentist, who I might add is RIGHT NEXT DOOR.  I am sure they saw me walk by and thought, where is she going?  Jill, the receptionist and I are really good phone buddies.  She calls me 4 times at least before all of Davis' dental appointments and I always manage to miss the first one.  ALWAYS.  I had just made this appointment last week after his cleaning.  He need sealants.  It was for 800 am TODAY.  She asks, "Kathleen, I just SAW you walk by... where is Davis?"  I said the "HELP!" prayer again. She kindly said they would work him in after school.  No less than 12 text messages later...Davis finally understands (I think) to come home straight from school, do not stop, do not talk, do not visit, do not hang out.  Come straight home and I could probably travel at WARP factor 5 and get him there at 230pm. 

So there I sent in a dentist office, scheduling another dentist appointment that I had forgotten, about to see a dentist, that I would not need to see if I hadn't had dental PTSD, and saw him when the tooth first broke and I had it fixed at Thanksgiving.  I said the "HELP!"  prayer again.  Then I noticed.  Everyone was looking at me.  I just smiled and said, "I am in  a dental PTSD recovery plan and I  have fallen off the second step."  The second step is believing a God or a higher power as you conceive him can restore your sanity.

First, I am not making light of 12 step recovery plans and I applaud everyone who is recovering.  EVERY ONE OF YOU!  In case dear reader you are not familiar with the 12 step plan, it is a plan designed to help anyone who is struggling with dysfunctional behavior of any kind.  And yes,it is my opinion,  we are all a bit dysfunctional and yes we all need to be in a recovery plan.

Funny when you admit your helpless, when you admit your powerless, when you admit your are a tad bit crazy out loud to people, your own embarrassment, your own humiliation, your own inner critic that is screaming at you, well it shuts up.  And you feel empowered and you realize this very important thing...
YOU ARE OK.  You really are ok.  You learn that it is ok to fail, it is ok to screw up, it is ok not to be perfect (and we can't anyway-so why try) and you learn and this is so very, very important.  You learn that everyone is as scared, as worried, as concerned about looking foolish, as self critical as you are.  And the crazy stops.  Admitting you have possibly lost your way, need help and aren't as in control as you like to think, that makes crazy stop.

Personally I don't participate in my own recovery enough.  Personally I like to think I have it all together (and who does?), always have the right answer, always say the right thing (and who does?), am always on my best behavior, am always kind...well you get my point. I also think I wear great shoes,  great accessories,  have a great sense of fashion and color and they may be a tee tiny bit true. 

The inner critic and we all have one, and my mother thinks this is Satan incarnate, well the inner critic drives us crazy.  The inner critic never tells us the truth about who we are much less the truth about who we can be.  Only God does that.  God is never the voice or criticism, unless you happen to be selling doves for an exorbitant price at the local temple or not taking care of widows and orphans or praying really out loud in public or ignoring justice or not feeding the poor and hungry or visiting the sick or in prison, then God gets a wee bit pissed. 

And here's the thing:  our inner critic even criticizes us about the things God does care about.  And guess what that is not God either.  When we are kind to our children, when we our kind to our neighbor, when we care about Kony, when we care about people not having basic needs met, when we reach out just once to the needy...then God smiles.  Then Jesus smiles.  Jesus isn't really particular how we reach out either just as long as we aren't bottling all that love up and selling it for outrageous prices. 

Jesus is so pleased when you do just the ONE THING and not ALL THE THINGS his face bursts with pride and I imagine his looks over at God... and says, "See, I told you she could do it.  I told you when it counted she would make the big play.  I told you to bet on her."

And sometimes we give Peter and company a bad rap.  Sometimes we read about their antics and shake our head and say "Really?!?"  That makes the inner critic feel so much better.  But the inner critic is a lie.  It is a lie and as  my mother would say, "A lie straight out of the devil's mouth and into your ears."  Where I applaud Peter and company:   when they fell down, they asked for help and always, always got back up.  They didn't lay down and continue to let that inner critic live rent free in their heads.  They silenced that critic quite simply by admitting they were powerless and needed help. 

I have come to believe that Jesus expects far more failure from us that we ever expect from ourselves.  Jesus knows we are going to screw up.  And still everytime we hop back on that step he raises his fist in triumph.  He says, "You go girl...I know you got this."  Jesus was many things but never a perfectionist.  There is a mighty big difference from living a blameless life and BEING A PERFECTIONIST, a mighty big difference.

When we get that inner critic out our heads, something else happens to...   We no longer are consumed by what people MIGHT THINK, MIGHT DO, MIGHT SAY. WE BEGIN THEN to LIVE...WE BEGIN THEN TO PARTICIPATE IN OUR OWN RECOVERY...WE BEGIN THEN TO GROW UP...

Praying all my dear friends:  give God a chance to restore sanity...

Kathleen

What do you do with water?

   And they were all pointing to their moms, their dads, the teachers in the Sunday School and there was such a cloud of witnesses....And she asked, "What do you do with water?"......I waited for their answer...

She stepped out from behind a door and gave me the most enormous hug.  She had grown so lovely and so tall.  I am quite confident it was just yesterday she was 12.  She is and will be a lovely woman of grace and strength. 

And she posted one of my favorite verses..."may you be rooted and grounded in love.."  And just like yesterday she was just 3.  She is a lovely young woman too and full of grace...

And she will marry this year and I can remember her 3rd birthday and my husband remembers the day she was born and that had to be like just last week...And she is a lovely young woman who is so much wiser than her years...

And isn't amazing how quickly they grow in strength, wisdom and grace?  And how does that happen?  How do we grow children?

And she asked them that morning, "what do you do with water?"
They said..."You drink it..."
The cloud of witnesses all laughed and stretched their necks to see and smiled...One small one said..."You take a bath..."  And the cloud of witnesses laughed again...we all know how tough it is to get small ones to take baths and not so small ones for that matter...

But they knew...
Water is for drinking and bathing...

And maybe this how we grow children... with water...maybe this how they grow in wisdom and grace...maybe you bathe them and give them something to drink...

And he held both of them and bathed them water...the oldest first and then the baby...and he asked...will we love them?...will we play with them?...will we given them something to drink when they are thirsty?....

And I think this may be  how children grow and grow strong and grow in wisdom and grow in grace...

With water...the little ones knew...you drink it and you bathe with it...

It is not magic water...It is just plain holy water...and if we do these things...love, play and give them living water to drink when they are thirsty...maybe just maybe they grow strong, they grow in wisdom, they grow in grace...

And I made promises to those three young women and I was there...and I watched it work...and how blessed I am to watch children grow up and be wise, full of love and grace, and be so grounded in love...

And I wish them so well....I wish them to remember...and I know they will:

Remember your baptismal vows and keep them holy...Thankfully the spiritual life does not require perfection.  It just requires commitment and humility.  Grace fills in the rest.

And may you always dance...

Give faith a fighting chance....

You can trust in the provision of the moment...Grace always knows what we need...

Be grateful for your life even before you know how it is going to turn out...

Love needs very few words...the only words that matter are the ones we live...

Don't forget to pray...

You will do great things...I already know...

Grateful for all the small, young, half grown, nearly grown and grown children that have and are in my life....you bless and teach me more than you will ever know...

Kathleen

Keep Calm and Carry On and other Disaster Preparedness Tips

He was asleep.  Fast asleep on that cushion.  The boat was filling up with water and apparently if one is to believe Peter's reaction (and he was a fisherman-so I am assuming he had been in a storm or two), it was sinking.  The wind was blowing (and I am imaging quite cold). I am thinking Hurricane Hazel.   My image is of that scene in Perfect Storm when George Clooney drives the boat directly into the wave.  Of course, he drowns, but he showed no fear.

The Daily Office Gospel reading this morning tells that story again today and it made me think.  Which I guess would be the point, andI think the point was this, perspective.  And it is a funny thing about re-reading those stories over and over and over.   I suspect that is why the desert fathers and mothers recommended we read it again and again.  I suspect that is why Jesus walked into that desert for 40 days with only the WORD and a PRAYER to defend him and sustain him.  I suspect that is why St. Francis, St. Benedict, St. Ignatius, St. Augustine, Joan of Arc, Julian of Norwich, St. Teresa of Avila, Hus, Luther, Calvin, Wesley, Whitfield, every person who was enslaved in America, Jimmy Carter, Dr. King, Mother Teresa, your mother and your grandmother said over and over:  Read it.  There will come a day when the words written in red will speak truth to you, the dried ink on that page, the well worn pages will change you into who your ARE MEANT TO BE.  Read it,  everyday if possible.  But at least read it.  We think we know the stories by heart and we do BUT

the WRITTEN WORD has not always changed us into who we are meant to be.  Only re-reading, re-experiencing, only time, only God can do that.  And we do have to get in the boat to ride out the storm.  We do have to be willing to risk drowning to discover we aren't really going to drown at all.  

He was asleep.  He had a smile on his face.  He looked calm.  It was Christmas Day. 

I was thinking about my beef tenderloin and would my husband remember to get it out a precisely 4 pm to let it rest and come to room temperature and would he precisely at 430 pm remember to put it in a 500 degree oven with my very special meat thermometer.  My girlfriend with the great shoes, she can also cook.  I mean really cook.  She told me about the wonderful thermometer.  I had my family coming to dinner tonight and they were expecting PERFECT BEEF TENDERLOIN and PERFECT GRITS and JOY TO THE WORLD.   A lot of pressure for a simple, very neurotic, mess of woman, who at times charades as a nurse. I was just passing time at work that morning.  I had literally taken the shirt of my sister in law (who in case you are wondering is a SAINT), off her back the night before.  It was all glittery.  I felt like I was in an episode of Glee.  It said of all things:  PEACE. 

So, here I am wearing peace about to be told what peace really is...

I walk in his room.  Touch him gently.  It was 545 am.  I wanted to be the first to wish him Merry Christmas. He woke up.  He smiled.  I told him I was so very sad that he was having to spend the holidays on the cancer unit with a newly diagnosed leukemia and having to take gallons of chemotherapy.  You see chemotherapy for leukemia is a whole another level.  Chemotherapy for other cancer is bad, very bad.  But this, this is very, very, very bad  or so I thought.  He says:

"Honey, don't be sad.  I have been in far worse places and far worse situations than this on Christmas Day or any other day for that matter."  I said, "WORSE than chemotherapy for leukemia?"  He said, "YEP."  So I had to ask, "WHERE?"  He said, "Well, for about 4 years I played practical war games in Southeast Vietnam in a jungle. And that, that is a disaster.  Leukemia on Christmas is an inconvenience.  I learned to tell the difference between disaster and an inconvenience."    He went on to say,  "I stood by the grave of my 22 year old son.  Really couldn't understand how I could survive the Viet Cong and the fall of Da Nang and he is killed in the line of duty by a suicide bomber."  He went on to say, "Those are disasters.   I think I can take A LITTLE CHEMO."  He went on to say, "At some point in life, you have to realize what a disaster really is and prepare accordingly.  You have to stop saying, why me and saying why not?  You have to realize that you really can get through anything and even if it kills you it is not the worst thing."

So by now, beef tenderloin really didn't matter.  I really didn't care if it burned.  Grits didn't matter.  I suddenly did not feel as burdened by holiday preparations as I thought I was.  And my tears were falling all over him.  So in a very choked voice I had to ask, "How did you keep from going crazy?"  He said,

"I read. I read and I read and I read.  And I came to realize the WORDS were true and the worst thing is not being grateful."

He knew the secret.  He knew.  He knew how to survive the storm.  He knew no matter what he wasn't going to drown.

I thanked him.  I gave him a hug.  He hugged back.  I told him...well I don't know what I said.  I walked out of his room and sat down. Hard. Took pause.  HARD.  Reminded myself what really mattered was ALL OF THIS IS, ALL OF IT, THE GOOD, THE BAD is a GIFT.  I would do well to say THANKS and to remember.  Drowning isn't the worst thing.  Death isn't the worst thing.  Cancer isn't the worst thing. NOT SAYING THANKS, that is the worst thing and that simple act of trust, to say thank you in the storm...that...that one word is really all the disaster preparedness you need.  Really.  It is how you sleep through the storm.  It is how you throw water out of the boat.  It is how you face enemies.  It is how you say goodbye to loved ones.  It is  how you swim when you don't know how.  It is how you LIVE in spite of death lurking around the corner.  Because you know...you know...it is all worth it.  Every single minute of it. 

Grateful for being reminded how to survive disasters...May all of you dear, dear friends who must walk through hurricanes taking a nap in the corner of the boat....

Kathleen

Otherwise

He told me I have something to show you if you have them time.  He who has very limited time was asking I who had all the time if I had  time...

I will be very honest, today was not my best day ever.  I was a little more tired than usual.  I have a slightly swollen jaw.  It was a busier than usual day on our unit.  I was hungry and I did need to go to the bathroom.  Nursing is just like that especially on an oncology unit.  Some days are just better than others.  Some days you eat, some days you don't, some days you go to the bathroom, some days you don't.  Some days you literally do not sit down for 12 hours.

 Those of us who have been a nurse like forever, can walk into the hospital at the beginning of shift and tell by the energy in the air if it going to be one of those days or not.  We just can.  I have learned now not to dread those days so much because if I lean into them, if I slow down, if I give pause...well miracles happen.  And we all needed a miracle today. 

I didn't recognize him at first.  He was a shadow of his former self.  He was gaunt.  He was tired.  And they are always so very, very young.  I walked in his room to draw labs and change his dressing.  I asked how he was feeling today.  He said he  might go for a walk.  We laughed about the food.  He said, "you know I didn't come here for the 4 star accomadations, I came here to save my life. BUT does the bread have to taste that bad?"  He was suffering from treatment related anorexia and malnutrition.  I finished up rather quickly.  I really thought I had more important NURSE things to do.

And that's when he asked to show me something if I have the time...

So, I sat beside him on that bed.  I took the time that I thought I didn't have.  He pulls out his 4G phone.  He wants to show the video of his daughter taking her first steps.  He has saved this on his phone for a year.  He wanted me to see it.  She was beautiful little toddler with curly dark hair and dark eyes that sparkled and a laugh that would not stop.  And she was walking for the first time ever.  She was so proud.  How much larger the world becomes when you learn to walk.   He played it for me 3 times and I never tired looking at it with him.  He keeps it close by. 

He said "do you have time for one more, I know you are busy and all that but if you could...." He who had nothing to do but wait for limited time to pass, who had stared at the same four walls for thirty days, who couldn't eat, he thinks I might be too busy...

That's when I got choked up.  That's when the tears threatened.  That's when I am reminded time is all I have and I get to choose how to spend it.  Spending time actually redeems time as I was to learn today. 

So he shows me another video.  He had brought his only daughter a basketball goal and she had just learned to dunk.  She was quite the little player and  she laughed with every shot.  How she laughed.  She even gave her dad a high five. She is 2 years old.   We sat next to each other on that bed, two different cultures, two different age groups, male and female, sharing time. SHARING TIME.  We laughed, we learned that we were both born in Virginia in the same city.  His grandfather and my father worked at the Newport News Ship Yards.  He went to Hamptom High School.  It was not far from the street I was born on and had I stayed in Virginia I would have attended there as well. Time slowed for a few minutes.  I began to breathe, I began to settle, I found myself relaxed and not nearly as hungry and really could wait to go to the bathroom.

And I found myself humbled. Humbled beyond words.  That someone who has little time wanted to share their time with me who has lots of time.  That someone would choose to spend time with me when he could have so easily shared it with someone else or not shared at all.  I am sure it felt good to show  videos of the lovely daughter.  BUT it was me who was blessed.  Me who was given the gift.  You see, I was reminded once again....I CAN NOT NOT HAVE THE TIME to sit on the edge of the bed, to look at pictures, to laugh, to share the moment with the ones who have limited time.  

I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise.
I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might
have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the
birchwood. All morning I did the work I love.

At noon I lay down with my mate.  It might have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together at a table with silvercandlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day, just like today.  But one day.  I know it will be otherwise. Jan Kenyon

Grateful for the chance to sit on the edge of that bed...it could have been otherwise.

Kathleen

The Man in the Mirror

I have a palliative care nurse friend who I love, deeply respect and miss not seeing everyday.  She and I used to talk about why working with the dying was so important to us.  It is the stories.  I miss hospice nursing, it was the best work I ever did.  I miss my hospice nurse friends.  They are some of the most remarkable people I know.  I miss the patients and their families.  THEY are the MOST REMARKABLE people I know and raise courage to another level. 

My friend and I loved to share stories.  Some made us very sad.  Some gave us pause.  And some just made us laugh.  Dying is a natural part of live.  It is the greatest adventure you ever take.  God is asking you to trust Him completely and fall into his arms even when you aren't sure they are there.  They are. They are.  Our bodies die but our souls do not.  Death can not steal our souls.  Death can not steal love.  Love is eternal and is in our hearts forever.  Love never stops at death. Never.  Hope begins at death.  It is at death's door we begin to see another place to go...a good place...a safe place...a place without pain and suffering and war and evil....We glimpse that place when we journey with our loved ones through death. 

Her name was Mary.  I loved me some Mary.  I loved me some Mary.  She had a brain tumor.  She lived alone.  She had a wicked sense of humor and a very grounded spirituality.  I was visiting her one day and asked her how things were going.  She said "fine, except for that man in the mirror."  She was taking high dose decadron and beginning to hallucinate a little so I wasn't concerned, especially since she seemed to recognize the man in the mirror.  I asked her who the man in the mirror was.  She said without batting an eye, "Jesus- he shows up every time I go in there."  Now being the very therapeutic nurse that I am, I asked  "So how do you feel about that?"  Without batting an eye she said, "It scares the hell out of me.  What do you think?  How would you like Jesus staring at you all night long?"  Here's where  I burst out laughing.  Mary said "it is not funny!"  I told her I was sorry, it was just the way she said it.  I asked her if I could cover the mirror up.  She said no, "He might forget who I am."   Good point.  I asked, "Do you talk to him?"  She said, "Hell, yes.  I tell him he is scaring me and unless he is coming tonight to limit his visits to daylight hours and only at 11 am after I have had my coffee."  OK, I was bent over double laughing now.  Mary asked "'what is  so blame funny?"  "Oh Mary, oh Mary," I said.  "I love it you being completely real with Jesus and he should wait to visit after morning coffee 'cause we know what a grouch you are."   Mary said, "Damn straight."  Then she said, "But I am scared.  I am scared."  I said, "What about?"  She said "the dying doesn't bother me, it is where I am going."  Just had to try my therapeutic technique one more time and I asked, "Mary are you afraid your going to hell?"  She said, "Hell no I ain't afraid of hell.  I been in hell for the last 6 months with my cancer.  I figure I am moving up.  Also Jesus and I got a real understanding.  He understands my grouchy side and I understand his surprise side.  You see I am just afraid that something I really like here might not be in heaven and what if I don't recognize no one? or I don't like my house or something."   "Honey, I think that all works out.  I really do."  She said, "Well, I ain't singing in no choir." 

She declined very quickly after our talk.  Which is common.  She was finishing up some business.  She wanted me to understand what dying really was like and that she really did see Jesus.  She died about 5 days later in her home with the mirror looking straight at her.  She saw Jesus right up to the end.  I never did.  But I tried.  I could feel an unusual peace though.  And the one thing I regret...I never asked her what Jesus looked like.  As many people who have told me they see Jesus, I have never asked. 

Because I think Jesus comes to us as we are...
If you are coffee drinking, late sleeper...He shows up about 11 am with a cup of  Starbucks to share.  
If you are an early riser and a pacer...He paces with you. 
If you are  a kid and just love stories...He comes gets up in bed with you and tells a story. 
If you are rocking in your chair sipping tea, He is in the next rocker...
If you are standing outside looking at the sunrise...well He loves sunrises....
If you sing in the shower...He is singing right along with you...
And if you can't stand, walk or move or even open your eyes, he comes in very, very quiet like and blows his breath over you so you can feel His peace...

How do I know these things...Well I have been there and people have described it to me while it was happening...I know He comes...I have seen too many times not to know that He always show up to lead his sheep home to the Father... He always comes back for the one.  It is the one that Jesus loves.  And you know what...

WE ARE ALL THE ONE

He comes back for each of us just as we are and carries us home.

Be reminded and hopeful and joyful my friends that when you see endings coming...look for new beginnings...look for Jesus in the mirror...look for Jesus in the sunrise..look for Jesus to be right next to you...holding your hand walking you through the next, best part...being with Him and the Father....

Lent is for Life,

Kathleen