I have had a strong pull for a place to keep up with what goes on in my life. I think with Mom’s Alzheimers and the paranoia that comes with that as the child of a person with the dreaded disease, the times I see my memory not doing what it should be doing, I’m afraid not to write things down. I’ve told myself many times in my life, sometimes daily, to pull up my darn bootstraps and move on. There’s just so much going on in life right now, for all of us, and I think even at my lowest low I could sort of suck it up if you will, reach down and pull up my bootstraps, dust myself off and get through it. Yes, as I get older I find that it takes a little longer to find them (like it takes a little longer arms to read:). Yes, I believe I have different pairs. I have the ones that are all pretty and sparkly for those days when things are grand, when life is right, and I don’t have to pull as hard on those so they never get as worn. There are others in the mix as well, the athletic ones for those days of running in 20 directions, the prim ones (still in the box I think… oh yeah, where is that box) for those days of trying to look professional, but my favorite ones are the ones that are old and worn and weathered… like me sometimes, most of the time. They’re distressed but strong for the years of wear and they show the signs of the most stories. No matter what day, what’s going on, I can always find some of my bootstraps through the help of the Father who made me and I treasure them all.
Don’t carry someone else’s suitcase.
Earlier this week, I was struggling. I had allowed myself to be hurt. I had wallowed in it, cried about it, and I had felt defeated. I moaned and complained about it to my closest friends, and maybe a daughter or two, and was as sick of hearing it myself as they were because I had allowed it to happen before by the same set of circumstances.
The funny thing is a lot of people who hurt don’t even know they did it; the sad thing is lot of people know they do and maybe find a little joy in it. What a sad thought that someone finds pleasure in bringing someone else sadness or hurt… whew.
But let’s go back to “I allowed.” They didn’t have the power and strength to hurt me, I gave it to them. Again, I, I, I… I went to bed that night thinking about the saying, “Don’t let your key to happiness be in someone else’s pocket” and asking myself why I continued to allow it to happen because it was the same scenario over and over again. I prayed, cried some more, and prayed. I thought to myself how I was 53 years old and was letting someone whose immaturity in self and in Christ become ‘my’ issue and I asked God to take that from me. Those things are so not me and life is too doggone short to carry that suitcase on what I hope is a long journey ahead. Travel light, travel light, travel light (thank you Max Lucado).
The following morning, I think I was between sleep and waking, and it immediately came to mind again, and it felt like a literal shrugging of the shoulders as the heavy rock of hurt from the day before fell to the ground. It felt so literal I even laid in bed for a few minutes wondering if I had been dreaming. I woke up with a lightness as if the suitcase had been emptied but filled with the weightlessness from forgiveness, a different feeling that I’d experienced in a long time.
I am getting up in years, yes, the silver tinsel verifies that, but I can honestly say in all 53 thus far, through high school, working in an office for 27 years, and dealing with every kind of client and person there is, I can count on one hand (and remember, there are only five fingers), the times someone has really hurt me or been mean to me or caused me not to like them very much, this recent scenario being on that hand. In fact, there are so few of them that I can see their faces in a flash and I sort of laugh about it now and the insignificance those moments carry in my life at this point. Sure, we all have people along the way that throw in a little pebble into the suitcase, but they’re lost in the shuffle of life and you move on, they usually fall between the cracks and you forget about it before it barely started (like the lady who jumped in front of you in the grocery store line .. and lady, you had 13 items, I counted them). Anyway, I’m talking about rock sharers and boulder bearers. But what a blessing to realize my one hand is all I need to count on for those situations, it could be both hands and feet and I know people who need them all!
Some people have the gift of song, art, woodwork, and I can’t do any of those things, but I am thankful for the gift of gab and of tolerance… I can adapt to, love on, give until I can’t give anymore, and tolerate every personality known to man, and I sort of like the challenge of breaking down the person whose wall is made of big rocks (like my mailman… I’m on a mission from heaven to get through to that mailman, to get one smile before I leave this earth, but that’s a story for another day:). But my parents were that way and I thank God every day my children appear to be that way. I may not have passed down how to carry a tune but I hope I passed down a tender heart… sorry kids, it can be a little too soft at times but I promise you’ll be thankful later:)
When you’r
e hurt and YOU’RE carrying the rocks in the suitcase, sit it down, dump them on the side of the road, or better yet, hand it back to them, “Carry your own suitcase and if you need any help getting rid of those rocks, I know Someone who can help with that.”
Where we started…
The Lord’s been working on my heart a lot, I mean a lot, lately and I am so grateful! I’ve tried to get back to my mornings with Him but I will admit that being still is not something I do easily in the mornings. It’s when my brain is racing at full speed, probably slightly stimulated by those five cups of coffee, but the computer and work and the phone and Facebook keep whispering in my ear, “Come hither, just for a second…”. Ugg, it’s hard to escape! But I’m working on it.
This morning, I read and drifted and read and drifted, and finally just stopped. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and something (or Someone) told me to go drive. I do that occasionally at sunrise but it’s been a while since I took the time so I just grabbed the keys thinking what have I got to lose. As I drove my usual routes, I would turn one way and see the sun was doing something great over on another road, but I’d get there and it was hidden behind the trees. Good gracious, you’d think I’d have the timing down pat by now on where to be when. But I’d then see it coming up over another set of trees thinking I could get there at just the right time, I’d race there, and again, it was hidden. I just couldn’t see it the way I wanted to see it. I did this so many times, while the neighbors think I’m stalking them, on so many roads, and began to get frustrated. I decided to head back home praying as I drove, “God, show me what You want me to see.”
Then, as I passed the very place I started, His magnificence took my breath. I pulled over… finally, stillness and silence and tears. The two women out walking probably thought I was having a breakdown but I just pointed at the sunrise as they stopped to look too, as if they’d not seen it before that moment although they’d been walking right beside it. As they eventually walked on, I sat and imagined the warmth of that sun, that Son, all the way to my bones and let me tell you, it felt good. My spirit and heart and soul and body needed that.
The realization came to me that this is so like me, maybe like some of you, chasing what I think He wants me to see or do, where I think is best, chasing MY vision, when in fact, it’s not about me or us at all. What He wants us to see is often right in front of us and we fly past it seeking more, seeking better, thinking “nah, that’s not it, it’s up ahead surely…” when often we’re right where He wants us to be.
Just a morning drive can do wonders….
Coming back home, this is what I see in our fields behind the house… a great ending to a great drive.
My Baby Revelation…
So random, I know. Chase just walked in from having been to Gamestop to get more Xbox “toys.” He was excited in that 16 year old boy kind of way (where you have to find the spark between the mumbles) and was telling me what all these things did and why he “had” to have them. As he was looking down at them, I had what should not be a revelation moment…. he’s almost gone. School starts next week so this summer is gone and I have one more summer with him before graduation. He looked up at me and said, “Why are you crying now?” Ha…ha….ha. I’m not crying, are you kidding me?!
Anyway, I told him this year was so important for him and he said he knew and he’d been thinking about it (what every Mama wants to hear). He said he was “this close” and only had one hump to go over to get from X miles per hour pitching to X miles per hour pitching. Of course the Mama side of me thought “I was thinking more like academics, you know math, history, science, but hey, at least he’s thinking.” So I asked him what he felt was the one thing and he went on to explain it to me in great detail, got up and demonstrated it, and I did actually comprehend for a few moments. I told him that after Christmas, we’d need to start talking about colleges to visit in the spring and summer and he told me he already knew which schools he wanted to check out. He even went on to tell me if this happens and he goes here or there, this will happen, and if this happens, yada, yada, and I was overtaken with a thank you Jesus kind of moment. He’s thinking about his future! And I’m thinking about him being gone.
I told Chase that he may as well be prepared because I would probably cry for ten months starting around next August 24th and he laughed… if he only knew. I swore I’d not be one of those Mamas but I lied, I can see it now, I lied.
In the rear view mirror…
On my heart this morning… probably hormones, my new crutch for everything I do that’s crazy.
I was sitting at an Eastern basketball game last night with my oldest girl, Caroline, who is now 24 and who was 8 like yesterday. But she mentioned how much she’d give to play one more game and a wave washed over me that reminded me of probably the saddest day of my children’s school years. For those with little ones, bear with me. For those who have been there, well, you’ve been there.
It was 2008 and it was the last game my oldest daughter played a sport in high school. It wasn’t the sport of basketball that mattered, she’d played almost everything, but this particular night was the “last” game of the “last” sport, and that hit me as she was running up and down the court. I began to cry. I almost had to go out but I realized I couldn’t, I might miss a moment. We’d watched this girl, and our other two, play something on a field or court since five years old and I realized her Mama would never see her do this again.
When my babies started kindergarten, I was so excited for them, I didn’t cry. When my girls graduated, I was so excited for them, I didn’t cry. In fact, I worried something was wrong with me. But to me, those events were doors opening and I loved it! This was different. It was the door closing on something that had consumed our lives since being old enough to hold a ball.
I have many friends with little ones involved in anything and everything and to you I say, I’d give my last dollar to be in the middle of where you are, to have all three of mine playing at three fields at the same time again, LOL, yes, I would, as would the Bald Eagle.
I have one baby left, my big tall baby boy, and life becomes measured by seasons. I have just three seasons left at EA…. just three seasons. They’ll have to bring me a darn oxygen tank to the last game of the last season with this one.
So the next time you’re washing that dirty uniform, hang on to it for a few seconds and be thankful. Next time you’re cleaning the mud out of your car and off your seats, remember it’s the car carrying memories of this crazy time you.. will…miss, be thankful. Next time you’re driving through McDonald’s on the way to a game, and feeling horribly guilty about it, be thankful you can. Next time you want to run down “that” coach in the parking lot (and yes, you’ll probably have one you feel that way about), remember that good or bad, he or she is the tool to help teach your children who they do or do not want to be when they grow up. Next time you go to bed mentally and physically exhausted, say a prayer of thanks for one more inning, one more quarter, one more match, one more recital, one more competition. And the next time you’re driving to that one…more…practice,…or one…more…game, look in the rear view mirror, let your view warm your heart, and be thankful. You are blessed.
All I know is I better live long enough to have me a darn little grandbaby ball team. 🙂
Dear Zoya
On Monday, I had an appointment with an elderly couple in Hillsborough who was selling their home. I knew before I got there they had lost their daughter recently. Judy, the realtor, had had to reschedule their appointment with me a couple of times because they simply could not get the house ready and then when they were ready, I was going out of town. Judy said she just felt this was one she wanted to wait for me to do so they scheduled it for when I got back. I drove there not knowing what to expect and I prayed as I do before every appointment that God would show me what He wants me to see, give me the words He wants me to say….
I got there and the door opened to a little plump short woman with a very strong Russian accent. She was sweeping and saying something about the dust – it took me a while into this visit to pick up on what all she was saying. Her husband was sitting in the den reading a book and shortly after I arrived, he laid back on the couch barely opening his eyes.
As I often do when the owners are home, I asked Zoya why they were selling their house and she started to tell me that they had lost their daughter recently and she began to cry. I touched her hand and told her how sorry I was. I asked her her daughter’s name, which was Elaine, and how old she was. 43. I asked her how she’d passed away and Zoya said she’d had cancer for five years. Zoya added that Elaine had three children but their son-in-law was very controlling and would not let them see the grandchildren…. I was speechless. I asked her why and she said he told them they reminded him too much of Elaine. BS if you ask me. Anyway, I learned they had left their life in New Mexico to move to Hillsborough to take care of their daughter all these years and now, he’d taken away their grandchildren, so they are moving to Washington to help her sister take care of her husband who is also ill. My heart was so heavy. She finally tried to shoo away her tears and said she knew I wasn’t there to listen to her story, which I assured her I’d listen as long as she wanted to share, but she went back to sweeping.
I began to shoot the house and steered clear of the den because the man, who was big in stature with gray hair, like a gray haired Russian bear, when I finally had to shoot the den. I asked him delicately if he could possibly move into another room and I’d go quickly and he gruffly said, “no.” You could have heard crickets in the room. I looked at him, he glared at me, I looked at Zoya who shrugged her shoulders. I asked him if he really didn’t want to move to which he replied, “I not want to sell this house.” Again, crickets. We then had a quick stare off while I said a quick prayer and the only thing that came out was, “Well, if you don’t want to sell this house, you stay there, I’ll include you in the pictures, and we’ll tell buyers you come with the house. That’ll run them off!” He reluctantly grinned, got up, went in the bedroom, and shut the door.
As I was finishing the house, Zoya piddled and followed along behind me. At one point, she sat down and asked me if I knew the Bible. While I will never know it as well as I should, I said yes ma’am. She asked me if I knew the story of Jesus in the garden and His knowing He was going to die and asking God if He could be spared. I told her I did but she went on to describe the story specifically about Jesus crying out and God sending an angel. In the midst of this, mind you, Mr. Gruffy Bear came out of the bedroom and fussed at Zoya in Russian and I think he told her to quit her blabbering. She shooed him away and off he went back to the bedroom. Anyway, she then said through her tears that she’d cried out to God to send her 100 angels, even 1,000 angels, and that she then simply asked that He would just send her one angel a day to get her through this struggle. She then looked at me through wet eyes and said she believed I was the angel God had sent her that day. Even typing this, I have to take a moment…..
After a moment of 1,000 thoughts, many of which included life is too short, why am I so stressed, I’m here for a reason, what do I do… and the list goes on, I laid down my camera and as I did, it was like He lifted and laid down with it all the menial stuff I’d been carrying like a stone off my chest. I walked over and knelt down in front of Zoya and told her that every time I have an appointment whether it’s with a baby, a bride, or even a house, I pray that God will show me what He wants me to see, tell me what He wants me to say… and that I had prayed that prayer on the way to see her and while I wasn’t sure about being the angel part, I did believe I was there for a reason, as much for me as for her. We cried and hugged and cried some more.
I finished that house, eventually, but left there not wanting to leave there. I still see that little woman standing at the door waving goodbye. Little does she know the impact she had on me that day… I just pray for her and yes, that of Mr. Gruffy Bear, in the months ahead. I can only imagine…
Heartbreak….
This morning as I let my tall baby boy (almost 16) out in the car rider circle at school, I watched him walk up that sidewalk and it took all I had to not run after him for one more hug. I cried and cried after I pulled off. I cried as my heart ached with the love I have for him, for the fear I have of something ever happening to him in my lifetime. I cried remembering seeing his face the first time to seeing his face light up when he realized he was taller than me. And I cried…. for Dez’ Mom, for his Dad and siblings, his family and friends, but as a Mom, I cried for his Mom seeing that sweet face in all those moments too and aching for just one more. My son is about to start driving…. how it could be any one of us.
Yesterday, for some reason none of us will never understand, a young man lost his life, a life not yet lived, a life just blooming. A senseless accident and no amount of rehashing or worrying about or wondering about will bring him back. As I am sure most of us have done in our small and amazing community, I have wondered how a Mama and a Daddy wake up another day, how they put one foot in front of the other, how they get through another hour. I in no way proclaim to understand their pain, it is simply not possible not having ever lost a child. I mean I know in my heart of heart that God’s grace does get us through but even as a child of God, I won’t deny that I’m afraid I would struggle in the darkness to find it. I won’t ever stop knowing it’s there but how distant it seems when we don’t understand… when it simply doesn’t make sense. I’ve never met Dez’ Mom or Dad but my heart literally aches for them and I pray they are able to feel God’s arms around them through the outpouring of prayers and love around them. I pray for them to get through another hour, another day….
There was a young man who also survived the accident, the second such accident he’s survived in less than 18 months. It’s easy to think he must have a reason for being here and I believe that he does… but it’s hard to imagine the pain he must feel having been laughing and being a teenager with friends whose smiles were there in a moment and gone in another. My heart aches for him too. My heart aches for his parents who never want another call like that, who must want to keep him at home for a long time to come, who are afraid every time he goes down the driveway. My heart and prayers are with them as well and with this young man, and I pray for God’s healing hands on his heart.
And I am humbled and amazed, although I shouldn’t be, by the notes and comments and emails that have come from other high schools, competitors, those who have never met these boys, but who have said their schools and teams are praying for the families, for the EA family as a whole. Now there’s God’s grace….
Finding My Bootstraps... 