Julia..............
One of those people in my life that just makes me grateful to know her.
Tomorrow is Veteran's day. A day when we celebrate heroes.
To me, she is one.
She is indeed a veteran, but her heroics are not connected to that time of her life that she served in the military.
The one heroic part of her connected to her military time is that as a young girl , a little mixed up and hurt by some things in her childhood, she made a choice. A choice to remove herself from the life that had hurt her, and to walk into a new life of discipline and order , and to start a new life for herself. I never really told her how proud I was of her to make that choice and to restart her life. It is time she knows that.
She always just 'got to me' , something about her sincerity just always got deep into my spirit. One thing that made her a hero to me is a drive to church one night. I was furious at my husband and ranting about the injustices of life with him..... lol..... she stopped me in mid sentence and said, " do you know how ugly you are when you frown like that? When you smile you are so pretty. No matter how mad you are, just smile as you are talking about the problem, because your pretty face should never look like it looks right now"....... I was the older friend, I was the one that was supposed to be showing her the facts of life, and the way to live 'right'. But with that one sentence said with such love to me, she changed my life. It ha been 30 years since that night and yet everytime I get really mad, and rant... I hear her. I try to stop contorting my face into that twist of anger. I don't always pull it off, mind you, but dang it I try! Not a sermon , not a song, not a movie, nothing in my life ever really impacted me like those words did. I have told her many times that those words she said that night never left me, and gave me a life lesson to remember (beauty comes in a simple smile ), but I think I need to tell her again.
When her young marriage ended and left her with two very active young boys..... she hung in there. She worked hard, tried to do her best and had enough sense to ask for advise and more importantly prayer when she needed it. She had some hard times , but she loved those boys with her whole heart. She was given a good husband the second time around, and I am grateful for that. But life in a blended family is hard, and her ex didnt help much with his agenda to use the kids as pawns or possessions to be fought over instead of trying to help her raise them in a good way without pulling them in different directions. She is my hero for never punching his lights out, because to be honest I might have in her place ! Dont get me wrong , she is human, she wanted to.. but she didnt!
Four years ago she became another kind of hero to me. One that I never ever want to become. I walked into a funeral home to stand beside her , as she looked down into a casket with her precious , beautiful marine son laying in it. She will tell you she was a mess. She will tell you that she is no hero..... but she was standing...... she was standing....... I dont know how , but she was standing. Kids aren't supposed to die at 20 years old, and they are sure not supposed to die in the streets of a land across an ocean. I watched her caress her sons face for hours as people passed..... each moment holding my breath waiting for her to collapse. But she didnt. A day later I watched a flag be placed in her lap, and to me, that was the epitome of bravery. She was my hero that day and I am sure , she was her son's hero as well.
Today she showed me her heroics again. It is the marine corp birthday. I have thought of her and her precious son all day. I have see sawed between sadness and anger and worry for her, and so many other emotions. I planned the tribute I would pay to her son tomorrow for Veterans day, what picture would I post, what words would I say to show how much his sacrifice and her strength have meant to me........ All my love was pouring out to her, without her even knowing it as far as I know. We kinda have this understanding that she is not quite stable yet..... not quite ready to get a call from weepy me..... I dont call on days like this. I just pray for her and think about her son. But a van pulled up....... a woman got out and she had flowers to deliver. I assumed they were for my daughter from her boyfriend , or one of my other kids........ but my name was on the card. The card said simply " To brighten your day Love, Julia"
How did she know my day needed to be brightened? I guess Heroes just know....
I love you Julia. You amaze me.
TJ 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
perspective........
Since it was a fairly warm day, I did what I usually do when depression tries to grab hold of my spirit. I headed outside to lay and capture the warmth of the sun before fall and winter really decended
.
I was really so close to giving into total depression that I laid down and just closed my eyes, and tried to just fall asleep and shut down my mind. But my mind did not want to shut down..... people that fight depression seem to always find a way to blame every trouble on themselves. This child is suffering because I did something wrong..... this person died becaue i did not pray right...... this friend's heart is broken because I did not share the right word of encouragement..... that is how the mind attacks you. In one day every good thing in my life disappeared and all I could see was the dry , brown, dying landscape of my back yard, as a perfect picture of all my imagined failures. Surely nothing could live there, thrive there, be blessed there.... not in that brown yard or not in my life. And surely no one could look at my life and see anything else but dry , brown , useless clay.
Then the whispers started..... " open your eyes"
And I did ...... and this is what I saw.....
I don't have a fancy camera..... I couldnt pick up the ants scurrying around in this skyscraper of green. I couldnt pick up the fluttering of little bug happily flying around this oasis of life, but they were there... oblivious to the desert around them. When I looked out my backdoor I would have bet any amount of money that there was not one blade of grass growing in that sea of brown...... but to those little bugs, there were huge cities where they were going about their business , happily enjoying the warm sun.
"That's your life" , the whisper said..... "Sometimes the big picture looks very bleak, very barren.... but I see from all angles, all perspectives. I see the patches of green, past triumphs, future happiness, and blessings every day even when you do not"
My day changed totally just looking at things from a bugs eye view. Instead of focusing on the bad things that were going on, I started thinking about all the good things going on right in the midst of the seeming desert. The big bad turn of events in one childs life gave way to the really good things that are still in place, and all the things that will be with prayer and support. The failures that had blown so large in my mind started being replaced by all the blessings in my life.... and like those ants, I started enjoying the tall buildings of green that surrounded me, I started seeing that even if it is just a small patch of life , if I stay in the memory of those blessings during the drought time, then life is good........ really good.
TJ 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Mike........
Funny how days go. I write a blog about thanksgiving and then something makes me sad .... I write a blog about roads and then the path of my own mind takes silly turns and twists.
The news announced that Sparky Anderson had died. He was the manager of our home town Reds and took us to two world series championships. I am sad for the loss of this man, but sad as a stranger is sad for a public figure.
But what my mind did upon hearing those word was to twist around the block in a heartbeat of time, and remember my friend Mike. Our senior year of school, skipping school to go downtown to see the Reds return victorious from their second championship............ oh the people! Man I had never seen so many people in my whole life.... every street in Cincinnati looked like it was an ocean, swaying and moving like a million ants were walking together, but it was people .. everywhere. We had such a good time, looking at the crowds, laughing at our 'grown up' ability to go downtown and hang with the crowds. We had such a good time!
But 16 years ago my friend Mike ended his life. What is spoken of on the news almost nightly now, was hush hush and quiet then. A homosexual man struggling to believe that a God could love him, that people would accept him, hiding all his hurts and insecurities inside bottles bought off the shelves of liquor stores. Multiplied in strength by pills that well meaning doctors doled out to shush the voices of shame and confusion that screamed inside his head. He had told me once that now he had found God and accepted Him as His Savior that he would be 'good', be all that people told him he needed to be. He would abstain from men....... he would abstain from alcohol, he would abstain from medicine that he abused and he would live for God. The problem is that those well meaning people who told him that love for God was enough, never told him how to actually make all those promises happen for him. How loving God would suddenly make him not be attracted to men. How the shame of that attraction would make him feel more shameful than ever and in turn have to return to those things that silenced the pain and shame....... words were thrown at him about what God expected but never words that shared the Power of how to actually make it happen.
He said that if he ever felt like he was going to return to alcohol and drugs to silence the shame, he was afraid He would renounce his God and lose Him forever, and so if the draw to the chemicals overtook him, he said he would end his life before he renounced God, and hope that God would take him into heaven , even with his flaws , understanding that his death would be his last act of love to God, done to show that he refused to be in the place where a drug and alcohol hazed brain might cause him to renounce Jesus as His Savior.
Today as I hear about the death of sports legend, my mind goes instead to a boy....... a real life honest to goodness sweetheart of a boy, who had one day of the most fun ever, laughing and cheering for a team that won the hearts of a city in 1976....... and my heart is heavy thinking of the years following where that boy grew into a man, but never lost the hurt , the feeling of being not good enough, the pain, the shame, and all the things that people and their words and their judgement weighed him down with. I miss my friend . I wanted to grow old with him , sharing stories and memories and laughs and faith and tears with. I want to be able to pick up the phone today and say , omg , remember the day the Reds won? Remember how we picked our way through the people and loudness and craziness of the downtown gathering? But I cant. I will never be able to again. And that stinks.
I miss you Mike. You were always good enough for me............ I wish so many voices had not convinced you that you werent good enough for God.
TJ
2010
The news announced that Sparky Anderson had died. He was the manager of our home town Reds and took us to two world series championships. I am sad for the loss of this man, but sad as a stranger is sad for a public figure.
But what my mind did upon hearing those word was to twist around the block in a heartbeat of time, and remember my friend Mike. Our senior year of school, skipping school to go downtown to see the Reds return victorious from their second championship............ oh the people! Man I had never seen so many people in my whole life.... every street in Cincinnati looked like it was an ocean, swaying and moving like a million ants were walking together, but it was people .. everywhere. We had such a good time, looking at the crowds, laughing at our 'grown up' ability to go downtown and hang with the crowds. We had such a good time!
But 16 years ago my friend Mike ended his life. What is spoken of on the news almost nightly now, was hush hush and quiet then. A homosexual man struggling to believe that a God could love him, that people would accept him, hiding all his hurts and insecurities inside bottles bought off the shelves of liquor stores. Multiplied in strength by pills that well meaning doctors doled out to shush the voices of shame and confusion that screamed inside his head. He had told me once that now he had found God and accepted Him as His Savior that he would be 'good', be all that people told him he needed to be. He would abstain from men....... he would abstain from alcohol, he would abstain from medicine that he abused and he would live for God. The problem is that those well meaning people who told him that love for God was enough, never told him how to actually make all those promises happen for him. How loving God would suddenly make him not be attracted to men. How the shame of that attraction would make him feel more shameful than ever and in turn have to return to those things that silenced the pain and shame....... words were thrown at him about what God expected but never words that shared the Power of how to actually make it happen.
He said that if he ever felt like he was going to return to alcohol and drugs to silence the shame, he was afraid He would renounce his God and lose Him forever, and so if the draw to the chemicals overtook him, he said he would end his life before he renounced God, and hope that God would take him into heaven , even with his flaws , understanding that his death would be his last act of love to God, done to show that he refused to be in the place where a drug and alcohol hazed brain might cause him to renounce Jesus as His Savior.
Today as I hear about the death of sports legend, my mind goes instead to a boy....... a real life honest to goodness sweetheart of a boy, who had one day of the most fun ever, laughing and cheering for a team that won the hearts of a city in 1976....... and my heart is heavy thinking of the years following where that boy grew into a man, but never lost the hurt , the feeling of being not good enough, the pain, the shame, and all the things that people and their words and their judgement weighed him down with. I miss my friend . I wanted to grow old with him , sharing stories and memories and laughs and faith and tears with. I want to be able to pick up the phone today and say , omg , remember the day the Reds won? Remember how we picked our way through the people and loudness and craziness of the downtown gathering? But I cant. I will never be able to again. And that stinks.
I miss you Mike. You were always good enough for me............ I wish so many voices had not convinced you that you werent good enough for God.
TJ
2010
how simple roads can become a pilgrimage of thanksgiving....
For most people in my town, the streets surrounding the complex of the VA hospital, Childrens Hospital and University Hospital, are just pavements leading to destinations. Just gray roads that serve one purpose, to allow a traveler to get from point A to point B.
But to me? These roads are always , and I mean ALWAYS, a journey of remembrance. Sad, funny, happy, scary, and unbelievable things happened in the buildings that line up along the streets that I drive upon.
The street that leads to the Hospital that housed the Aids clinic that I traveled to weekly for years, watching the tubes of blood being drawn, waiting for results that would show a good report ........ watching the sad faces of the nurses as they studied the crazy lady who believed miracles still happen.... and the day that the results came back negative...... NEGATIVE! after three years of positives...... the faces of the nurses now looking at the mom who never gave up hope and now had the results that said her child didn't need to come back there ever again, because a disease that is 'irreversible" just disappeared from the bloodstream of a child that should have had a death sentence.
Around the curve to the building where a young foster mom went to pick up a new born baby whose mother was being led out another door in handcuffs, taken back to her prison cell as soon as she was safely through the birth of her child. The road leads around another bend where the parking garage stands, where that same foster mom took that baby and hurridly got him dressed in pretty 'welcome home' clothes while sitting in her car. What a day of sadness for a mom who would never know her child, but a day of fun for a foster mom dressing a real life doll to take home to love and pass along for hugs from eager sisters and brothers who were waiting for the new arrival.
Back up the street to the MRI building where a 2 year old little girl was lain, asleep with the aid of medicine to find out why her little leg and arm did not seem to know what to do, how to move, how to bend and strongly allow the little girl to walk and run like she should. Sadness to hear that a stroke that occured before her birth had caused these limbs to be limp and useless. Up the road the building where two years of physical therapy came twice a week , tiring times for the little girl and her busy mom. But today 17 years later I drive by those two buildings and laugh at those results knowing that the same little girl can walk, run , dance and move with no remnants of any of those early years of Physical therapy.
My face turns up at the tallest tower building and remember my friend Linda and I pacing, talking , praying and waiting for her little girl to come out of one of many many heart surgeries, I look up and remember how tiny the 8 year old seemed , how completey white her face was, her fingertips blue with the eerie blue around her lips..... I remember thinking this is recovery? But when the doctors have shut the blood flow down for so long to do all the repair that is needed it takes a long time for the skin and nailbeds to look like they are supposed to look. My friend, such a precious woman, but with no relationship or even knowledge of the ONE who made her, had enough sense to know if her little girl's life was on the line, in this one last ditch effort to finally fix her heart, call someone who knew Him , the One who made the little girl. " come and do what ever it is you do " , she said to me , " because I dont know God but I know you do and I know He listens" Through the prayers we shared over her little one, she came to know Him in a way most people never do, truly with total trust even with no 'book learnin' about Him. Just simple faith that He listens to those He knows. That building is extra special to me, for the childs healthy recovery and for a friend who found Him before her own young death.
Oh around another corner, here comes the Emergency Room...... with nine boys the trips there are numerous! Not to say only the boys ended there, but they sure had the majority rule on trips! The 2 year old with a broken leg ( who knew slides could break legs) , the broken wrist, the broken hand......... the stitches, the major league home run ball hit through my sons mouth...... so many trips to the ER and yet , no major life long injuries and no deaths. For a mom who made so many trips there , that is a cause for great thanksgiving.
Oh my gosh in the top floor of that tower stands the NICU unit. Neonatal Intensive Care..... one of the scariest places on earth. Little human beings so tiny that you can not believe they are real. Their skin is like wax paper, so frail that you know if you breath hard on them it will just flake away. Hissing machines that breath for them, needles stuck in so many places with tubes and tubing that it seems they are held together with wires and tubes. There are no faces in this place..... only masks, which means no smiles, just eyes that show the sadness or hope, or in the case of some parent, devastation. I remember picking up my 2 pound son, finally , at 3 and a half months old...... a whopping almost 4 pounds by then. He was so stiff like a plastic doll, his little body being used to only laying flat for so long in that plastic box that held his life....... and thinking how can he survive at all ? I stare up at that tower 21 years later and the smile of thanksgiving that breaks across my face is for the memory of that same child , this morning towering over me at 6'4" , healthy, happy, productive and filled with a love for me that I still cant quite understand. How did that little frail human become so strong and so filled with love? Miracles, miracles that started in the scariest place on earth.
That building over there....... the surgical unit where my 16 month old struggled to come back to life after the medicine meant to keep her asleep during surgery , almost kept her asleep for eternity....... such a long day waiting to hear if she would ever wake up.... fear that when she did she might never be herself again, and yet 16 years later she is healthy with no side effects or memories of that scary day.
AWWWW the smokers hut , where even the non smokers gathered to keep warm, needing to be with other parents in the middle of the night, when the rest of the city slept, not knowing that we gathered there, stealing away from our kids rooms to catch our breath, cry together, share our stories and just breath for a minute..... some of us knowing we would take our children home with stitches and tubes, but others knowing they were here until they would leave alone, while their children left in the back of a long black car..... the instant friendship and fellowship of scared , confused, angry parents, who still were in shock that this huge complex would become such a big part of our lives....... there were good times there in the wee hours of the mornings, and some of the faces of those parents are still etched deeply in my mind.... but again, I remember those nights with thanksgiving because the children I had in those hospital beds all came home healthy and well.
I know these buildings from the outside , in.... the tunnels, the elevators, the parking garages, the cafeterias, the blood labs, the surgical units , I could take you through blindfolded, and yet every single child I entered with is alive and well..... how could these streets be anything but a pilgrimage of extreme thankfullness! Of humble gratitude? Of remembering a God who walked with me and touched each child I carried in and out of there?
These buildings hold more history for my family than most buildings in town. Without the healing touch of the doctors and nurses, without the encouragement of the staff, without the prayers whispered and shouted, my house would have been so very different.
So no matter how many time I drive down these streets, it is never ordinary. It is never done without thought, never in a state of mindlessness.......... instead it is always a pilgrimage of thanksgiving. Alway every building is gazed at with a feeling of awe, of humble joy, of a remembrance that the ONE who made me gave me so much in every building I pass.
TJ
2010
But to me? These roads are always , and I mean ALWAYS, a journey of remembrance. Sad, funny, happy, scary, and unbelievable things happened in the buildings that line up along the streets that I drive upon.
The street that leads to the Hospital that housed the Aids clinic that I traveled to weekly for years, watching the tubes of blood being drawn, waiting for results that would show a good report ........ watching the sad faces of the nurses as they studied the crazy lady who believed miracles still happen.... and the day that the results came back negative...... NEGATIVE! after three years of positives...... the faces of the nurses now looking at the mom who never gave up hope and now had the results that said her child didn't need to come back there ever again, because a disease that is 'irreversible" just disappeared from the bloodstream of a child that should have had a death sentence.
Around the curve to the building where a young foster mom went to pick up a new born baby whose mother was being led out another door in handcuffs, taken back to her prison cell as soon as she was safely through the birth of her child. The road leads around another bend where the parking garage stands, where that same foster mom took that baby and hurridly got him dressed in pretty 'welcome home' clothes while sitting in her car. What a day of sadness for a mom who would never know her child, but a day of fun for a foster mom dressing a real life doll to take home to love and pass along for hugs from eager sisters and brothers who were waiting for the new arrival.
Back up the street to the MRI building where a 2 year old little girl was lain, asleep with the aid of medicine to find out why her little leg and arm did not seem to know what to do, how to move, how to bend and strongly allow the little girl to walk and run like she should. Sadness to hear that a stroke that occured before her birth had caused these limbs to be limp and useless. Up the road the building where two years of physical therapy came twice a week , tiring times for the little girl and her busy mom. But today 17 years later I drive by those two buildings and laugh at those results knowing that the same little girl can walk, run , dance and move with no remnants of any of those early years of Physical therapy.
My face turns up at the tallest tower building and remember my friend Linda and I pacing, talking , praying and waiting for her little girl to come out of one of many many heart surgeries, I look up and remember how tiny the 8 year old seemed , how completey white her face was, her fingertips blue with the eerie blue around her lips..... I remember thinking this is recovery? But when the doctors have shut the blood flow down for so long to do all the repair that is needed it takes a long time for the skin and nailbeds to look like they are supposed to look. My friend, such a precious woman, but with no relationship or even knowledge of the ONE who made her, had enough sense to know if her little girl's life was on the line, in this one last ditch effort to finally fix her heart, call someone who knew Him , the One who made the little girl. " come and do what ever it is you do " , she said to me , " because I dont know God but I know you do and I know He listens" Through the prayers we shared over her little one, she came to know Him in a way most people never do, truly with total trust even with no 'book learnin' about Him. Just simple faith that He listens to those He knows. That building is extra special to me, for the childs healthy recovery and for a friend who found Him before her own young death.
Oh around another corner, here comes the Emergency Room...... with nine boys the trips there are numerous! Not to say only the boys ended there, but they sure had the majority rule on trips! The 2 year old with a broken leg ( who knew slides could break legs) , the broken wrist, the broken hand......... the stitches, the major league home run ball hit through my sons mouth...... so many trips to the ER and yet , no major life long injuries and no deaths. For a mom who made so many trips there , that is a cause for great thanksgiving.
Oh my gosh in the top floor of that tower stands the NICU unit. Neonatal Intensive Care..... one of the scariest places on earth. Little human beings so tiny that you can not believe they are real. Their skin is like wax paper, so frail that you know if you breath hard on them it will just flake away. Hissing machines that breath for them, needles stuck in so many places with tubes and tubing that it seems they are held together with wires and tubes. There are no faces in this place..... only masks, which means no smiles, just eyes that show the sadness or hope, or in the case of some parent, devastation. I remember picking up my 2 pound son, finally , at 3 and a half months old...... a whopping almost 4 pounds by then. He was so stiff like a plastic doll, his little body being used to only laying flat for so long in that plastic box that held his life....... and thinking how can he survive at all ? I stare up at that tower 21 years later and the smile of thanksgiving that breaks across my face is for the memory of that same child , this morning towering over me at 6'4" , healthy, happy, productive and filled with a love for me that I still cant quite understand. How did that little frail human become so strong and so filled with love? Miracles, miracles that started in the scariest place on earth.
That building over there....... the surgical unit where my 16 month old struggled to come back to life after the medicine meant to keep her asleep during surgery , almost kept her asleep for eternity....... such a long day waiting to hear if she would ever wake up.... fear that when she did she might never be herself again, and yet 16 years later she is healthy with no side effects or memories of that scary day.
AWWWW the smokers hut , where even the non smokers gathered to keep warm, needing to be with other parents in the middle of the night, when the rest of the city slept, not knowing that we gathered there, stealing away from our kids rooms to catch our breath, cry together, share our stories and just breath for a minute..... some of us knowing we would take our children home with stitches and tubes, but others knowing they were here until they would leave alone, while their children left in the back of a long black car..... the instant friendship and fellowship of scared , confused, angry parents, who still were in shock that this huge complex would become such a big part of our lives....... there were good times there in the wee hours of the mornings, and some of the faces of those parents are still etched deeply in my mind.... but again, I remember those nights with thanksgiving because the children I had in those hospital beds all came home healthy and well.
I know these buildings from the outside , in.... the tunnels, the elevators, the parking garages, the cafeterias, the blood labs, the surgical units , I could take you through blindfolded, and yet every single child I entered with is alive and well..... how could these streets be anything but a pilgrimage of extreme thankfullness! Of humble gratitude? Of remembering a God who walked with me and touched each child I carried in and out of there?
These buildings hold more history for my family than most buildings in town. Without the healing touch of the doctors and nurses, without the encouragement of the staff, without the prayers whispered and shouted, my house would have been so very different.
So no matter how many time I drive down these streets, it is never ordinary. It is never done without thought, never in a state of mindlessness.......... instead it is always a pilgrimage of thanksgiving. Alway every building is gazed at with a feeling of awe, of humble joy, of a remembrance that the ONE who made me gave me so much in every building I pass.
TJ
2010
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