Safe

 

My Dad

Our eyes meet
and there is a knowing,
more like a belonging.
It transcends all that has ever happened or will.
It is my heart crying, Daddy!

One day, when I was small I was sitting on Dad's lap.
I felt so close to him and I remember saying to him,
"Dad, I hope I die before you."
He became so overcome with a grief, Daddy-like anger.
"NO! Don't even say that!"
Years later the reality of his leaving me, once again brings me grief.
He speaks of dieing and I find myself wanting to say,
"NO! Don't even say that!"

Generosity

Many months ago our church leadership asked if the membership might consider increasing our donations by 1% because some programs would have to be cut otherwise. Terry and I were able to do that and, I think, thankfully. But as time went on I began to feel proud of the amount we were able to give. I began to wish people knew how much we gave. (I'm embarassed to admit)
It has been a very vulnerable year for me. Since Mom died this person who does not cry any more has not really stopped. Add to that the ups and downs of 2 new babies (definite ups), one miscarriage(we thought), our dog getting killed and all that went with that, finding out the miscarriage had not happened (wonderful joy), Dad's heart attack. Other things I can't mention. We knew we needed to get away by ourselves. We noticed Michael Card, one of my favorite Christian singers was doing the devotions at a retreat center called Glen Eyrie, down in Colorado Springs. It was a marriage retreat. Just the ticket we thought but wondered if we should spend the money before we knew how our taxes would work out. Tickets were cheap and we took the plunge.
Dad had his heart attack on Monday and the retreat started on Saturday. He was recovering fine so we went. I didn't realize how fragile I was. I began to get a hint of it when Terry and I walked into the greeting area of the center. We were welcomed lovingly and invited to eat some wonderful snacks. I teared up just from that loving treatment. When we read in our packets I found out we were in group 5, Michael Card's group. And then a coupon fell out that gave us a free Chai at the bookstore. (I love chai tea!) I started crying when I read the coupon. It's hard to explain, but I knew it was God's provision, God's generosity for me.
That was only the beginning. I had prayed on the airplane, "God, I can't pray lately. I have no joy, no praise within me. Help me pray in your Spirit again." On the first morning devotion the young man leading spent the time on prayer. He was also the music leader and his devotions were so uplifting. Music is so healing to my soul.
The couple who lead some of the classes spoke on healing, sabbath (ceasing) and finding time for renewal. They had dealt with burn out personally and were so loving and grace filled.
Michael Card spent much of his class time teaching about the "radical reversal" that Jesus taught. For example, the religious leaders of that time taught and believed that it was about, if you do good, you will be blessed and many of Jesus parables were about grace for those who had not met the standards of the religious establishment of the day. In spite of wrong actions, Jesus extended grace to them and was hard on the religious leaders. I sat listening to this message of grace despite out failings and I began to think about not paying my tithing this month. Right before we left we strambled to find money to pay our taxes. In the end, we barely had enough. When I looked over our finances I realized we had not payed tithing. I was so disappointed in myself. Sitting there listening about "radical reversal" I realized that the amount of money we had spent on this retreat equaled the amount we usually spent on tithing. Instead of feeling guilty, I realized God was saying to me, "This month, I'm giving to you." Talk about radical reversal! I felt completely at peace and extremely blessed by God's generosity.
In our small group we shared with couples who had been deeply wounded. Some of their issues were our issues as well. Some had lost spouses, children and others so dear to them. We all had differing theologies but we shared together as brothers and sisters.
In one of sessions Michael talked about how the miracles of Jesus were not really the miracles. I realized the "miracles" of the chai tea, michael in my group, the prayer devotion, my perfect group were not really the miracle. The miracle was that God was aware of my needs, my pain, my fragile nature, my need for healing. God was not giving me those gifts. God was giving me Himself. And that is the only gift that really matters.

If Toilets Could Talk

There are certain inantimate objects that have been in our lives as a family for a very long time. If they could talk, they could tell so much history - even things that we have forgotten ourselves. For example, the toilets we have frequented over and over again while traveling or visiting our favorite spots. I was reminded of this when I went skiing this week. A walk into the oldest bathroom at Discovery is like a walk down memory lane. I love this old wooden place with the far too tiny stalls to contain all your ski paraphenalia. The walls of that toilet kind of shake up and down when I enter and I think it's because of one time when I was squeezed in there with Jamie. It was during his very early years of skiing. He was always so anxious to keep up with everyone. I think about K or first grade. I reminded him when we got to the ski hill that he should go to the bathroom right away so that he wouldn't have to stop later. In fact, 2 or three times I said I thought he should try because he had the habit of waiting too long. NO, he wanted to get on that mountain!
OK, fine. (Why do Mothers even ask? Just telling and taking is better!)
The first run he wets through everything. Ticket bought, a whole day ahead. I was really frustrated and angry. He and I went to that little stall. I took off my bibs and proceeded to roll up the legs, hike up the suspenders and, of course, remove his wet clothes. Huffing and grumbling and probably mouthing him a lesson on listening to me next time, I just about had him situated for a warm day of skiing when he said, repentantly, "Mom?"
Owley, "What!"
"I'm so glad I'm not an orphan."
Hugs. Moist eyes. (mine.)
Yes, I wonder what other stories that toilet could tell?

warmth

I don't think I would have crawled up beside her in the bed if Diane had not invited me. "Go lay beside her. It helps." I had gone home for a few days when Mom was in rehab. Susan was with her when she had her second stroke. She called Diane and then me. We hurriedly left to be there. Some people think comas are so terrible but, for me, it was what kept me sane. To be able to feel the warmth of her body. To put my arm around her waist and lay my head on her shoulder. During that time I still had her.
Tonight we drove past the Cardwell cemetary. My irrational mind thought of her cold body there by herself. I cried most of the way home. It didn't matter that she isn't really there. Nothing sane made sense. I just wanted her back. My Mother who had always held and hugged me. The one it was safe to lean against. The one whose hand I could hold without feeling uncomfortable. The one who made me feel warm inside and out.
I remembered how it felt in the hospice room as she was dieing. Watching her breathe while we talked, laughed, ate. It felt like we were children again. The comfort of knowing she was there even though we were ignoring her as she worked somewhere in the house. And then she took her last breath. The warmth left her body so quickly. I think it was Diane who said, "If you're going to touch her do better do it now because parts of her are already cold." It sounds kind of callace now but at the time it was kind. I felt her arms and legs and they were cold and I couldn't stand to be there with her longer. She wasn't there anymore. Not at all.
I said to Terry tonight, "I think God should allow us a good warm, long hug once in awhile. He could make it that way if He wanted to." I drove home feeling empty. Longing. For her warmth.
I will hold Terry extra long tonight. I will hug Dad longer. I will do things with those I love more often. I will put aside things that are so unimportant. I will believe deep within my being that someday Mom and I will hug again, that she is thinking of me, missing me too. I will believe in a good God who knows what is best. I will believe that Mom is safe, full of joy and warm.