Even A Grinch Can Build A Wall

    The quote was on my sister's fridge. It said, " I am doing a great work and I can't come down." --Nehemiah. The quote referred to an Andy Stanley sermon entitled "This One Thing." Nehemiah was rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and there were those who actively opposed him. They tried to trick him into stopping his project and coming down off the wall. Andy Stanley pointed out that we all have projects that we've been assigned. They differ, but our resolve and who we serve remain the same. My sister was deeply touched by the message. I thought it was interesting, but it didn't resonant with me...until this week.

Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he'll eat for life.

     My son is a high school senior. It is a transition year for both of us. He turned 18 so he began going to the doctor on his own and making more of his own decisions. Of course, there is the elephant in the room, we are waiting to hear from colleges. I have spent the last 6 months learning to hold my tongue and watching him do things his own way. I have used my health care knowledge to advocate for him in medical crises, gotten math tutors, encouraged him to make friends and corrected him when he needed it. I have been building my wall all along.
     There have been missed opportunities and projects. At times, I questioned my lack of status and earning potential. My ego has screamed for attention. Despite my doubts, I have been amazed at the priceless revelations that have fallen into my lap.
     I have questioned the Great Architect many times. Surely, I am not qualified for this work? Surely someone else would do a better job? The answer has been the same, consistent one: "This is your job and it will make you into the woman you were meant to be." It has done just that. Being a mother has made me a more humble and compassionate person. It allowed me to truly love without any guarantee of reciprocity. When my son was born, I had my own Christmas revelation. Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day; I am forever grateful and humbled.

Daniel's Shoes

     I stepped out of the van. I helped my 4 year old son and his precious cargo, a backpack brimming with  Legos, down the stairs.  We proceeded to the rental car counter. The clerk looked at me. " You look like you belong in a luxury BMW,"  he smiled.  I stood comfortably in my hiking boots and laughed, "No thanks, just give me the economy sedan that I reserved".

     The world will try to tell you who you are, good and bad, based on exteriors, economics and even fads. The story is not a new one.  In the Old Testament, The Book of Daniel tells the story of four young men who were plopped down in the middle of decadent Babylon. Their names are changed, rich foods are offered and a cultural re-education begins. Their situation is really no different than that of believers today. Like Daniel, we can maintain our stability if we do one thing:  Take off our shoes and stand on our own two feet.

     When I was a young woman working in Washington DC, I wore the same pair of black flats to my daytime office job and my nighttime waitress gig. The right sole had a hole. I took them to a cobbler on my lunch hour. He made them as good as new, polished them to an incredible luster and would not take my money.  I was touched and embarrassed by his kindness. In hindsight, I know he was respecting the fact that I was obviously always on my feet and working. He saw me when I took off my shoes.

     The English language is rife with shoe axioms:  Walk a mile in his shoes; If the shoe fits, wear it; Shoes make the man. There are flip flops that cost a few dollars and high heels  that cost thousands.  There are beautiful shoes that are truly works of art and shoes that keep our feet warm and dry.  I like shoes and I need them, but they need to be put in their place.  When we take off our shoes, we see our feet, those amazing, complex parts that give us balance and carry us through our lives. 

     Feet are similar to our private selves while shoes are like our public faces. We can wear elegant shoes and have crazy,bunion- topped feet  or even beautiful, smooth princess feet. We can act gracious in public, yet have a mean streak a mile wide or a wide open heart.  Oftentimes, others are unaware of our true heart, but God knows every dark crevice. Psalm 40 says," He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand." This metaphor highlights God's faithfulness.  Even with our faults, we have an identity:   We are sons and daughters of God.  We can live well in Babylon if we stand on faith. We know that this world is not our permanent home.

     Although modern society offers many good and beautiful things, sometimes it prefers appearance over substance.  Believers must make their own choices. There are infinite, creative ways to remember and reflect our true identities. I can turn off the cruelty of reality television. I can buy a homeless person a meal instead of walking by them. Instead of hoarding my good fortune, I can act from a place of gratitude and share what I have been given.  I CAN walk in Daniel's shoes. 

The Madonna and the Cafe

     It was time for dinner. It was our second night in Paris and we were looking for something simple. There it was...pizza! We walked into Da Vinci's and grabbed a table at the front. The proprietor was a congenial man in his late twenties or early thirties. Armed with his English, my French phrase book and an English menu, we ordered successfully: Pizza to share and a glass of  red wine for me.

Our Lady of Lourdes home in Utah

     The decor of the place is basic and modern. There are black tablecloths and touches of red. I glanced around the room. The restaurant was beginning to fill up. I was famished from walking around Paris. The pizza was really good and quite a bargain. As I drank my wine, I noticed something by the cash register. It was an altar to The Blessed Mother. Our hosts were Coptic Christians from Egypt.
      Suddenly, I knew that the holy card in my purse, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, was going to find a new home at Da Vinci's. It was fitting. The card was from my Aunt Mary's funeral. She was an avid traveler and a fervent believer. When I paid the bill, I gave the holy card to my waiter. He held it reverently, kissed it and put it right on the altar. I was deeply touched by his reaction.

The holy card I left in Paris was similar to this one

     On the way out, I stopped to joke with some Irish ladies that I had met earlier. The waiter came up and gave me a tiny plastic statue of Our Lady of Lourdes. I was delighted. My new friend and I could only speak fragments of each other's language, yet we connected on a deeper level: the heart. God's language is love; Mary embodies that love.  As we clear the debris from our hearts, there is no room for the tower of Babel. When I turned in that night, I put Our Lady on my nightstand and turned out the light. The Madonna glowed in the dark, just like the rosary beads of my childhood! I was across the ocean and away from home, but I was able to communicate with another soul on a level that defies words. I fell asleep feeling grateful and blessed. I wish you a season brimming with love and connection. Merry Christmas!

She glows in the dark! Here she is in my linen closet.

Unexpected Gifts

  

  

      He stood frozen in the hallway and gripped the Fed Ex envelope in his right hand.  His face was  expressionless and tight.  "They let me go, " he said.  I laid the plate gently on the table "What do you mean?," I sputtered. "I need to find a new job," he replied.  Suddenly, my stay at home mom gig seemed indulgent.  I had been a stay at home mom for thirteen years; I needed a job too. 

        Scholarship is one of my gifts. I was convinced that I would be an ambassador or a lawyer. I wanted my life to have value. I applied to various universities including Vanderbilt and Georgetown.  The Georgetown University School of Foreign Service was my ideal.  I waited. I hoped.  Much to my delight, I was offered a place in the class of 1984.

     My first professional job was working as a government editor. I worked in Washington, DC and Asia, traveled widely and met many people including my future husband, David.  When we married,  David was stationed at Fort Lewis, Washington.  The military was a core part of his identity. I knew that I could be happy in a variety of jobs, so I quit my editing job and moved to Washington State.  My husband wanted me to have a career of my own. I thought long and hard about my next move.

      I looked for a portable science career and settled on nursing.  Psychiatric, Medical Surgical, Obstetric and Geriatric nursing filled my days. My least favorite subject was Psychiatric Nursing. Years later, my background in this subject would prove handy, even priceless.

        When my husband got orders to Okinawa, I stayed behind to finish my degree and sit my RN (Registered Nurse) boards.  I was 3 months pregnant with my son Victor.  This boy would change my mind about staying home and crack my heart wide open. I stayed home with him during our two years in Japan.  When we returned to the States, I worked part time for a year and a half.  I would often rush from work to collect my son before the daycare closed. I felt like I was doing many things at once, and none of them well. 

     The deployment tempo increased when we moved to Fort Bragg, NC.  My husband traveled often and even deployed to Iraq.  I decided to stay home and give my son stability. Stay at home moms helped me time and time again. I put out judgment and received generosity in return. Much to my chagrin, I realized that these women created real, heartfelt change every day. We all have different lessons to learn. God knew my heart and He put me with people who nourished my growth.

     We continued to move. My resume grew older, and sadder. My son entered elementary school.  In fifth grade he came to me and said, "Mom, there's something wrong with me.  I have to spin the dial on my locker a certain number of times.  Sometimes I'm late for class. I need help".  I was concerned about my son, but deeply touched by his trust. He knew that nothing he could say would change my love for him. My nursing background helped me find a suitable practitioner.

      We did cognitive behavioral therapy (a retraining of behaviors and learning to sit with anxiety) at home. Gradually, he transitioned to taking full responsibility for his therapy and treatment. Now, my son has a toolbox of solutions at the ready. He is a bright, independent young man who is headed toward an engineering career.

     Selfless love and service can be catalysts for personal and spiritual growth. I believe that my challenges have made me more open to God's will for my life. Perhaps, gifts are not always the things that come most readily.  I still have gifts, but now I understand that when you step out of your comfort zone, you can uncover unexpected gifts. How we use these gifts determines our true value.

About Face

     First my left ear hurt. Perhaps a pimple in my ear? No. My ear grew to resemble a blush colored cauliflower.  Time to check in with the doctor.  The first antibiotic did nothing. After three days, I planned to go back and get something else. I got up, got dressed and looked in the mirror, my face was flush right and I had trouble closing my eye. I looked like a Picasso painting and not in a good way.What? Did I have a stroke? I set off for the doctor.  My eye was constantly watering; I had not anticipated how difficult it would be to drive.
     I had not had a stroke. I had Bell's Palsey.  My swollen ear and neck had clamped down on the nerves to the left side of my face. 80% of cases fully resolve, but I could only think about the 20% that did not. I got antivirals, antibiotics and prednisone. Prednisone made me feel like I was going to jump out of my skin or have a heart attack. I would take it and then go for a brisk hike around my neighborhood until it started to metabolize. Now, 5 weeks later, I have some residual stiffness but my face is back to normal. The physical transformation and temporary paralysis were both horrifying and thought provoking.
     Perhaps it is human nature, but I used to take my face and nerves for granted. God gave me green eyes and great teeth and they have been there everyday. I never thought of these things as gifts, but they are. It made me think about the many souls that deal with afflictions that are not temporary; this humbled me.

     The illness also made me realize that I need to slow down and ask for help when I need it.  Even the Creator of the universe rested on the 7th day! Why do I think I have to do everything myself? It's not independence. It's wanting to do things MY way. Hmmm. That is not as exciting as "independence", but I think it's true. So my husband cooked and my son drove and I laid on my bed and rested. I have had plenty of time to contemplate my tendency to "judge a book by its cover" and I am ready to turn the page. If I believe in the preeminence of the soul's beauty, it's time I cease my lip service and live my life from a deeper place. I believe that my numb face enervated the far corners of my heart and I am grateful. Peace to you.

The Communion Dress

        As soon as my eyes opened, I saw it.  It hovered over the chair like a billowy spring cloud. My First Communion dress was a puff of sheer perfection. The lines were simple but elegant. There were knife pleats, sheer sleeves and the merest hint of a ruffled skirt. To an eight year old, it was the very definition of a special occasion dress. My veil trailed on a hanger nearby. My mother had crafted it from a piece of her own wedding veil. It was an impressive halo of lace and netting.

First Holy Communion

      The day began with a Mass. The boys and girls were lined up in pairs, shortest to tallest. I have no memory of the homily, but I do remember receiving communion. I remember thinking that First Holy Communion was the holiest thing I had done up to that point. I was struck by the fact that Jesus Christ could be present to me, a little girl. The very idea of it made me feel honored.
     I am one of four girls, so going out to dinner was reserved for special events. My parents took me to a lovely Italian restaurant. I ordered lasagna. My Dad ordered one too many cocktails and was loud. He even interrupted the couple at the next table with his banter. My stomach started to hurt. I went to the bathroom. I thought I might be sick. My parents commented that I must be overtired from such a big day. I was not tired; I was mortified. As we left the restaurant, the couple from the next table were standing in the parking lot. My Dad told  the man, "Go ahead and kiss her" very loudly. My stomach hurt.
      At the end of the day, I thought that I took off my Communion dress, but I actually wore it for 44 more years. The dress changed materials. No longer diaphanous, it was heavy like wool, yet invisible to the naked eye. It acquired patches of Velcro where my Dad's shortcomings stuck. Last year, I finally took off the dress.
      I made time for spiritual reading and reflection a priority. I started asking myself difficult questions about faith and forgiveness. One day I was cleaning my house and I was thinking about my Dad, now deceased ten years. I found myself thinking about my Communion day, my dress, and lasagna. I sat down on the floor and wept. I wept for the little girl in white, but I also wept for the awkward drinking Dad. As an adult I understand that he had both substance abuse and learning challenges. He was not mean, but he could be selfish and childish.
     Here's what I know:  Jesus Christ comes for the girl in white AND the loud Dad. When the apostles asked Jesus how to pray, he gave them the Lord's prayer. It says "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." It does NOT say, forgive when it's easy and costs you nothing.
     None of us is perfect and our frailties vary. When I moved from simply feeling hurt to feeling for my Dad's inability to connect with others, I was astonished by the power of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not condone behavior, it brings it into the Light. A few days later, I sat in meditation. I thought about Dad, and suddenly, in my mind's eye, I saw the Communion dress. It floated upward into a dark blue night, shimmered, and then slowly dissolved into stars. That is the power of forgiveness.
   

    

The Rest is A Miracle

     I just finished my first week of 10K training. I followed it to the letter. I even did my long run in the snow. But my plan got derailed. I woke up with a sore shoulder.
     Yesterday was meant to be a weight training day, but I couldn't face it. I iced my shoulder. I took a nap. I read quietly. I took Motrin. When evening arrived I sank into an Epsom salt bath. When I awoke this morning, I felt achy, but the pain was gone. I went for a slow 2.5 miles.  A miracle! I had the best run I've had in months.

I understand the importance of rest, but I try to ignore it.

Mule deer intuitively know the importance of rest.

     Sometimes I see rest as a waste of time. I miss training and can't wait to get stronger. However, rest is crucial to success. If I listen to my body, it can heal and grow stronger. When I was in my twenties, I ran through pain all the time.  In my fifties, I simply don't have the resilience to push through pain. My need to rest is actually teaching me volumes.
     Modern life is chaotic. Everyone is busy. If we purposely put the brakes on activity and set aside time for quiet, the quality of life changes. New yoga students want to rush from pose to pose. Seasoned practitioners know that how you transition from pose to pose matters. The quality of your transition effects your health in between and your alignment in succeeding poses. It took me awhile to realize this, but my life is like this.
     When my husband lost his job, I was rushing from activity to activity. I was exhausted and there was little fruit to my labor. I didn't solve a thing. Finally we both slowed down and realized that this was a time for us to focus on our son and not our egos or careers. Miraculously, my husband found contract work and a meaningful part time job. Our worries are not gone, but we are relaxed and calm.
    If you are always rushing, if every time slot is scheduled, when can you hear God's words to your heart? You can't.  Carve out a space in your day for quiet. Rest in His presence. You can mull over a dilemma, read an inspirational book, look up something in the Bible, run or simply sit in nature. Transitions prepare you for your next destination.
     When you take a break from physical training your muscles build and rest. When you take a break from worldly concerns, your spirit builds and refreshes. Matthew 11:28-29 reminds me "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." When I am calm, I can hear the still, small voice. I am open to possibilities, and even, miracles. Be blessed.