It's Been Awhile

I've been absent from the blogosphere for awhile now. Things at work took an unexpected turn and it has been rather chaotic.

This past week, we had a scare and came to the sad realization that life is short - especially for poodles. We have three dogs and we love them so much - they truly are members of our family. Caesar and Cleo, our two toy poodles, and Sophie, our labradoodle, are three of the sweetest, neediest and most unconditionally loving little creatures that I've ever known. Caesar, our oldest and our Alpha dog, is 14 1/2 years old, but he has always acted like a puppy; so it was a shock on Thursday morning when he had a terrible episode and stopped breathing. I ran into the bathroom, where R was taking a shower, sobbing and telling him that Caesar was dead. He hurried into some clothes and went into the other room with a blanket to wrap him up, and then called to me to tell me that Caesar was trying to stand up!

Caesar came around and began acting like his old self, but I had him at the vet's office as soon as the doors opened. After a day of tests, it was determined that he had an enlarged heart and that the episode he had suffered had been a TIA (a mini-stroke)! He's now on medication and hasn't had any more episodes, but it made me realize that the time will come when we won't have him around any more. I think that he realizes it, too. He has always been a very affectionate dog, but he has been especially cuddly since Thursday and, when I'm holding him and petting him, he kisses my hand and looks up at me with an expression in his eyes that tells me that he's savoring every moment, too.

Isn't that the way it always goes? We take the ones we love the most (human and canine) for granted, because we don't realize that the time may come when they won't be around. Never forget to tell the people you love how much they mean to you - and to take some time each day to scratch that puppy on its tummy.

I think that pets are just one of the ways that God lavishes unconditional love on us, and for that, I am truly thankful.

'Cause I'm a Mom

I had my first child in 1979. I was a mature 23 years old, married 3 1/2 years and I knew that I was completely competent and prepared for parenthood. When I announced the joyful news to my mother she responded, with a shellshocked look on her face, "You're too young." With an air of bravado, I replied, "How much can it cost to feed a baby?" Right then and there I proved her point.

After 35 hours of labor, culminating in an emergency C-section, I delivered a healthy, 9 pound 4 ounce baby girl. As I awoke from the anesthesia, I was handed this small, warm and slightly cranky human being and realized that I was now expected to know what to do with it. Oh, Mom. . .?

I remember being in complete awe of her, in love with her, but wondering: When will I feel like a mother? What IS that anyway? I found out a year later as I was rocking my baby, who was sick with a double ear infection and pneumonia, in the wee hours of the morning. As I hummed to her and tried to soothe her, I finally felt like a mom.

Within the next 4 years, two more little ones followed - a boy in 1981 and another girl in 1984. Then, as they say in the Olympics, the games began. I was immersed in getting the oldest one ready for kindergarten, changing diapers on the youngest and constantly entertaining the one in between. I'll confess that this became a point in my life where I felt that I was pretty much insignificant and my brain had turned to mush. I couldn't carry on a conversation without mentioning Bert & Ernie at some point. I was a step backward in the liberation of women - a stay-at-home mom. I dreaded the social interactions that were occasionally required of me as the wife of a junior executive; I crammed on the newspaper headlines before his work-related dinners and cocktal parties in the vain hope that I could carry on an adult conversation. Unfortunately, the only topic of conversation that came naturally for me was the response to the question, "How are the children?"

Years passed, little people grew and, finally, everyone was in school. I went back to work part time - as a substitute teacher at the school. More years passed - far too quickly as I look back, and we moved through braces, drivers' licenses, groundings and graduations. And then, all too soon, they were on their own.

I moved on, too. I went back to school, and then went to work in a job that I love, one that is suited to my abilities. I make a contribution. I am valued. So what about all those years of child-rearing? All the years of the sense that I lacked individuality and personhood - what about that?

My son, who used to pull up a chair and stand on it, watching as I cooked, is now a chef in Los Angeles. He hopes to start his own restaurant in the next year or two. My younger daughter, who used to play with my makeup, is now a successful sales rep for a cosmetics company, and is developing her own line of makeup.

Today I sat in church as my eldest served as liturgist, and I stood by her side as we served communion together. She is in grad school, working toward her master's degree in divinity. And it occurred to me at last: My life has not been about me. I have had the privilege and blessing of bringing three distinct individuals into this world and helping them grow to adulthood - to become the people that God destined them to be. Some of us are meant to be the nurturers and encouragers - the ones who stand on the sidelines and cheer. I am a vessel.

I'm a mom. And I can't think of any greater gift in all the world.

Move Over, June Cleaver

I'll confess. Life has been steamrolling right over the top of me lately. I've had anywhere from one to all three of our guest rooms occupied since the middle of December and the last folks left on Friday. I've been buried in details with family issues, work, volunteer stuff and just keeping up with the day to day stuff. Oh my goodness, but it makes my head spin. Sometimes I find myself wishing that my life was a little more June Cleaver-ish and a little less like a hamster doing double dutch on a wheel.

This past week was one such example. Our son spent a few days with us and then went with his friend, L, to her mother's home to learn Vietnamese cooking (he is a chef and he wanted to add Vietnamese cuisine to his repertoire). L's mom took him under her wing and taught him at her home in Hilton Head, and then ended the week's lessons by returning with them and cooking an amazing meal for us at our house. A survivor of the Vietnam War, she is a fascinating person who bears an uncanny resemblance to Yoko Ono and has an amazing way with food.

My son and his friend live in Los Angeles, and there is no end to the stories they can tell - my son, from the perspective of a new resident of the area, and L, as the former editor of an online magazine about Hollywood. My older daughter, a grad student in theological school, sat around the table with us as we listened to stories of a catfish trying to make its escape across the floor of the fish market, the nuances of Vietnamese cuisine, philosophies on relationships and how to make head cheese. Difficulties with language were acknowledged with laughter, we came away from the table as friends - and I realized that mothers the world over have the same dreams for their children. The Vietnamese expatriate, the editor, the chef, the theologian and the pastor's assistant sat around the table and truly enjoyed each other's company.

You never know who God will send into your life and you miss out if you're unwilling to open the door and invite them in. I'm thankful for the revolving door and even for the chaos that life throws at me, because it makes my life richer and lets me know that I'm alive.

June Cleaver knew pretty much how every day was going to go, and life seemed pretty orderly in her household. I'm sure that each day was placid and devoid of stress (how else would she have had time to dress up the way she did?). Life was predictable.

Oh, how mind-numbingly boring that would be.

Candles of Remembrance

I used to travel to Paris fairly often with R when he was with another company, and we always went to church on Sunday at Notre Dame. (Never mind that our French isn't very good and we aren't Catholic - we could still feel the connection with God as we sat in that beautiful, ancient building, listening to the musical cadence of the language as the mass took place). Afterward, we would go to one side of the cathedral where there was a huge bank of votive candles, and would light a candle of remembrance as we said a prayer for someone dear to us.

In the past three weeks I have celebrated my first Christmas without having our son at home with us, lost my mother 8 days later, then had a birthday the following week. And I've received several candles as gifts - one for Christmas and three for my birthday. As I sat down to have my devotional time this morning, I lit all of them and realized that each one holds a special significance. So I have decided that each day I will light a candle in remembrance of what each one represents.

The first is a delightful soy candle that smells like oatmeal raisin crumb cake - the sweet friend who gave it to me shares the midlife necessity of having to watch our weight and included a note that said that the candle would be a good way of enjoying a treat without the calories! So, I light this candle in remembrance that I must be mindful that my body is a gift from God and that I must care for it.

The second is a votive with a stained glass piece in front of it, bearing the message, "Bless You." I light this candle in remembrance that I must care for my soul in daily Bible study and prayer, and that I must never forget how blessed I am - and that I must be a blessing to others.

The third is a sweet-smelling candle in a beautiful holder that my daughter gave me for Christmas. As I light this candle I remember that I am blessed with a wonderful family and I will offer a prayer of thanksgiving for them as I also lift them in prayer.

The fourth is made of china and is in an intricate, snowflake shape. As I light this candle, I must remember that life is as fleeting as a snowflake, and that relationships are fragile and must be handled with care.

And so, I light these candles in remembrance of all in my life that is good, and I remember that I am blessed.

It's Snowing in Paris. . .

I'm sitting here tonight in a sort of melancholy mood. I suppose that isn't too unusual, given the fact that I buried my mother two days ago, and a couple of other personal challenges have presented themselves. I'm fighting the temptation to drift into a certifiable funk. I've been sitting idly at the computer, plugging different locations around the world into weather.com to see what the weather is like there. If that isn't a low point, I don't know what is.

But I'm fighting it.

As I was doing the dishes tonight, wallowing in a little puddle of self-pity, it occurred to me that I am not the only one going through "stuff." A good friend lost her sister yesterday; a sweet man on our staff has a wife who is facing surgery for breast cancer and another friend is going through chemo. I guess it's just human nature that, when we are beset by difficulties, we tend to focus only on the negatives, and we fail to look at the greater positives that are all around us. It's like looking at a dot drawn in the center of a sheet of paper and focusing on that instead of all the space around it.

These are light and momentary burdens and God is in control; so as I sit here in my kitchen, venting into my computer, focusing on my own little world, the Champs Elysee is blanketed in white, and the bare limbs of the chestnut trees stand in stark contrast as snow falls on the streets of Paris.

But it won't be long until spring.

Rest in Peace

My mom passed away and I just don't know how I feel.

I am an only child, and was much loved by my parents. My mother doted on me, cherished me, criticized me, pushed me and did all the things that parents do - at least those who love their kids and want them to turn out right.

Mom was a paradox. She was intelligent and attractive and I thought that there was nothing she couldn't do. She could quilt, crochet and sew anything, and she made the best jellies and apple butter you ever tasted. Yet there was always an underlying discontent in her soul and I don't think that she was ever truly happy; but she loved my dad, she loved me, she loved my husband and she absolutely adored our children.

In 2002 we learned that she had Alzheimer's disease and we watched her deteriorate before our very eyes. The mother who had loved me so much no longer recognized me; in fact, she reached the point where she hit and kicked at me when I came to visit because it just didn't make sense to her who I was or why I was there.

God gives us little gifts, though. On Tuesday, her caregiver (she lived in a personal care home) called and told me that Mom had suffered a seizure and that she suspected that she had pneumonia. I went over to see Mom; she was sitting on a sofa with an oxygen machine attached to her and I could see that she was very ill. She looked intently at me, then put one finger to her lips, kissed it, and blew it to me. That's the last real communication we had.

This afternoon, the caregiver called and said that Mom was declining rapidly and suggested that I gather the family together, which I did. Three hours after I arrived I was stroking her face and telling her how much I loved her when her breathing slowed, and then stopped. All I could say was, "She doesn't have Alzheimer's any more."

I know that she has reunited with my father and the rest of her family and that she is now standing in the presence of God. She is whole and she is sane and, at long last, she is happy.

Rest in peace Mom. I'll always love you and I look forward to the day when we will see each other again.

Auld Lang Syne

Here we are at the end of another year, a full decade since the fear and trepidation with which we approached "Y2K." New Year's Eve has always had an effect on me; it used to be that I hated it because it seemed that all the year's hard work was erased and it was time to start all over again. Now it's the chance to start all over again that gives me hope.

As I take stock of 2009 as it applied to my life, a lot of stuff happened - a lot of difficult stuff, sad stuff, painful stuff - but if I'm honest with myself, each "bad" thing revealed something good. Difficulty bred courage and ingenuity. Sadness and pain revealed the kindness and love that surrounded us and gave us cause to be thankful. Behind it all lay the reality that our lives and times are in the hands of the One who gives us courage, opens His arms to us and lavishes us with His love - both in the hard times and the good times.

As I face a new year, I step out in faith that the God who knows the number of the hairs on my head knows the number of my days and that, in His unfailing wisdom and love, He also knows the plans He has for me - and they are for good. I need only to listen, to trust and to obey.

I can't wait to see what He has in store.

Grace, peace and blessings to you in 2010.

Friends - Best Friends!

I was raised an Air Force brat, and my daddy used to try to ease the pain of moving by telling me, "You don't make friends - you only make acquaintances." I spent most of my life living by that; however, now that I'm in the second half of the game, I have to disagree. And maybe there was some truth to what Daddy said. I think that, when we're younger, we don't place as much value or put as much energy into friendship as we do when we get older - or realize what it really means.

I have a wonderful group of girlfriends. These are people who laugh with me, cry with me, empathize, sympathize and - when the occasion calls for it - set me straight. We are honest with each other, support each other, and love each other in a way that I, as an only child, can only imagine that sisters would do. They are an eclectic bunch, as different as night and day, but they are all precious to me.

One is so like me in some ways that it's positively scary, yet different in many other ways. This is the person who "gets" me more than anyone else and we have an uncanny way of reading each other's minds. She has an aura of childlike innocence combined with a sassy sense of humor, and the sweetest personality of anyone I've ever known.

Another is loud and brassy, opinionated and passionate about everything from her relationships to her work and anything else that is a part of her life. She can have you belly laughing one minute and crying the next; and she will storm the gates of hell for you in prayer when you have a need.

One has the tenderest and most compassionate heart of anyone I have ever known and will not only get up in the middle of the night to listen if you need her to, but she'll also pull out the Kleenex and cry with you. She will give of herself until there's nothing left to give, then she'll dig down deep and give some more.

The fourth is a woman with a past who has been redeemed by Christ and has the strongest faith of anyone I've ever met. She won't stop praying for someone until after they've been embalmed and will kick you in the fanny if she thinks you've given up, but she is funny, thoughtful and loves lavishly.

I know that these women would do anything for me and they know that I'd do anything for them, and I'm just so grateful that I have them in my life.

In the movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, Mrs. Threadgoode says to Evelyn, "I found out what the secret to life is: Friends. Best Friends." I have to agree.

Merry Christmas, Anyway!

A prevalent sentiment this year seems to be that we're just not feeling Christmas. I'll admit that I've shared in that sentiment, too; and I've decided that, if I'm not "feeling" it, it's nobody's fault but my own.

What are we seeking? Isn't it that warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment that Christmas engenders? Well, we can have that folks. It just doesn't come wrapped in paper or decorated with tinsel. We simply have to choose to celebrate. I'm not talking about denial or seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Things are tough right now - tougher than they have been in most of our lifetimes. People are out of work, the economy stinks and life is hectic. It's easy to get caught up in the negatives, but that's where we have to rearrange our priorities. In the immortal words of Roger Miller, "You can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd, but you can be happy if you've a mind to."

What is Christmas? It's the celebration of the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He came so that we may have life in abundance. We simply fail too often to accept the gift. He didn't say that we would have smooth sailing, carefree lives on this earth; He did say that we can have eternal life and that we can set our hearts on treasures that moth and rust cannot destroy and that thieves cannot steal.

I have a family and I am blessed with friends. I can rejoice that I have these precious people in my life to love and care for. It doesn't matter whether I can or cannot give material gifts; I can give them my time, a listening ear, a helping hand, an encouraging word. The more I share myself with others, the warmer the glow from inside, until I find that the fires are rekindled and, once again, it's Christmas. The more I choose to be joyful, the more joyful I feel - and it's contagious.

Merry Christmas, y'all - from my heart.