you are mine

the grief spiral

Grief spirals in its healing-
sometimes it spirals up-
some times it spirals down-
sometimes it spirals in the same spot-
and I hit the spot of pain every time- whether I'm going up or down or staying in the same spot-
and sometimes it hurts like hell and sometimes it's an ant bite-

but "I've learned to kiss the waves that throw me up against the Rock of Ages" (Spurgeon)- I have learned that regardless, He is.

1996

1996: "it was the best of times- it was the worst of times..."

that was 20 years ago, y'all. I understand the amazement with which my elders marvel at the passage of time- so much can happen in such a short amount of time.

What's awesome about the passage of THIS particular two decades is how technology has connected us- without the internet, my husband and I would not have been able to connect and get to know each other.  Without the internet, I would not be able to connect with my high school friends. And because of this connection through micro-fibers and over the miles, we were able to come together in Birmingham and re-unite after 20 years. We talked about the Present, we talked about the Future... and we dared to talk about the Past.

I posted a picture of us on Facebook at noon.  Throughout the afternoon, my phone lit up with notifications of "comments" and "likes" like it was Christmas or the Fourth of July. One comment in particular made me catch my breath: "I know it's already been said, but it really does seem like Erin should be there." Erin died in May 1994- the end of our sophmore year in high school. She and I had argued two days before her death in a car accident... I was in shock for a long time...
We had mentioned Erin here and there- Erin: the raven-haired beauty, unique, loud, lovely... she walked to the beat of her own drummer... which one did not do in 7th grade... but she did...

That evening at dinner, I don't know what spurred my friend to it, but she excused herself and returned to the table. A few minutes later, the hostess approached our table with a chair and sat it between us.

I looked up at the hostess: was this a blast from the past? Should I know who this girl is? What was the surprise?

I looked down at the chair. I looked at my friend. She was looking at her hands. "for Erin?" I breathed.

She nodded.

Did I say the curse word or did I just think it? And I silently eye-balled everyone around the table and glanced at the chair intermintently and mouthed "for Erin." And I lost it. Right there in a Mexican restruant in Birmingham, AL. I cried. I cried for all the time I lost in high school. I cried for all the pain I had bottled up. And we held hands and wept.

22 years after her death... 20 years after we graduated from high school. We cried.

As I drove back home alone, I wept. For the fact that I have such a special group of friends... some I have known since 3rd grade. I do not take that for granted. 

And I cried for a new revelation about grief:

What's misunderstood about grief is that greiving can take a long time. For me there are some tragedies that I can't "get over." Tragedy marks you. It can lead you down rabbit holes and you never come up for air. Or those rabbit holes lead you to Jesus... depends on the path you take at the cross roads.

What I've learned about grief is:
Don't be afraid to feel

don't be afraid of what people will say

don't be afraid to ask for help

God never said it would be an easy ride... only that He would be with us along the way...

for Erin:

why does it matter? a missive to mothers (and fathers) (even the fur-babies)

So I've been working all weekend catching up on laundry. And cleaning. And re-cleaning. And cleaning again. The cycle makes me think of the quote about the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and to expect different results.

A friend even asked the question on Facebook recently about why did it make sense to clean a house just for it to get messy again. 

Stay-at-home moms, working moms, fur-baby moms, I've been hearing you all talk about mommy guilt (I exclude you, men, at this point, because I've not heard you talk about daddy-guilt... is that a thing?) - and you've heard me talk about my mommy guilt: am I doing enough? I know that I'm screwing it up... [fyi, I know that I am.... and did our moms go through this? talk about a hamster wheel I want to get off of... I hate this feeling]. 

Okay so, follow me down this rabbit hole- I'm washing clothes for the boys' first days of schools and I'm labeling school supplies and I'm thinking about this new school year - my 13th as a school-based Speech-Language Pathologist - and I'm thinking about my caseload: I have a stash of dress shirts that my boys don't need because there was a gaggle last year who did not have dress shirts for awards day and they had a hard time with it.... and how I bought extra pencils and folders and tissue for my kids because they are not able to provide their own supplies.... and I'm thinking about those babies who will come to school without breakfast (and how I need to get a stash of snacks for those kids who even miss breakfast at school)... and I think about how I constantly refer to Maslow's hierarchy of needs when it comes to kids being ready to learn...

http://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

When you look at the model, the first level is biological and physiological needs: food, water, shelter, clothing. The second level is safety needs. The third is love and a sense of belonging. The forth level is esteem needs. And the fifth level is self-actualization. Maslow's theory is that a person cannot reach his full potential if his basic  needs are not met.

So while I feel like my cleaning and house keeping and going to the job goes without any recognition and is meaningless, it's quite the contrary... my children cannot realize that they are grateful for my contributions. But they would be fully aware if those contributions were absent. Kids who come to school without clean clothes face ridicule from others - when they are hungry, they cannot concentrate to learn.

So, mommas (and daddies) get off that hamster wheel of mommy guilt and feeling that what you do does not matter. It does matter.

the answer lies in the woman at the well

I had the privilege of having a small high school reunion in Birmingham with my best friends from high school.  We have been through hell-fire these last 20 years (and while we were in high school) and found so much grace and hope and love still after all this time. It was a beautiful reunion.

We had so much to catch up on, but the national events were heavy on our minds. So much to the point where we would comment how kind people were being to each other and to us, taking our picture to commemorate the occasion.

So Sunday morning, we were eating breakfast at the hotel. The lady serving us seemed a bit weary so we went out of our way to say "thank you!" and make jokes with her. After a plate of eggs and sausage, I wanted something sweet, so I went over to the cereal. I could not find a dish nor could the lady standing next to me- she was older than me, my grandmother's age; a  black lady smartly dressed and with a cane. She spoke to me: "do you have any idea where the plates are?"

I said, "I am lookin' for the same thing."

Another person nearby directed us back across the expanse of the dining area.

Before I could offer, this lady said, "get me a plate, would ya?"

I said, "Of course! Do you want a plate or a bowl?"

"no matter!" she declared.

And off I went. I was smiling to myself. Heath's grandmother passed earlier this year. And my grandmother lives 6 hours from me. I found myself thoroughly enjoying being bossed around a grandmother-figure.
I returned with a bowl and she said, "Thank you so much! Thank you so much for your kindness!"
and I thought- that was no kindness really- I was right there- it'd been stupid of me not to get a dish for her as well. But the encounter did give me a warm and fuzzy feeling.

On the way home, I was praying about these national events: the massacre at the gay club in Orlando, the shooting death of two black men by police officers and the killing of 5 police officers in Dallas.

It's so awful how we are all at each other throats and dividing our lives down different lines. And I'm wondering what my part in all of this is.... and I remember the recent sermons about the Woman at the Well....

John 4: 1-9 New International Version (NIV) (bible gateway)

Now Jesus learned that the Pharisees had heard that he was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John— although in fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. So he left Judea and went back once more to Galilee.

Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon.

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

Right there- see what Jesus did right there? He called out her worth. He said, "hey, can I have a drink of water?" And she said, "uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh, whaaaaaaa? Dude, I'm a Samaritan and you are a Jew- why are you even talking to me?" She could have said, "Uhm, I'm Black and you are White- why are you talking to me?" In my case a black lady asked me for a plate and I could have said, "But don't all the Black people hate all the White people right now?" (for the record, I don't believe that- just making a point here). This elderly black lady recognized my worth in that moment. 

Jesus took a chance and interacted with this woman and showed her her worth. Further in the passage, her life is changed by His crossing that cultural boundary and simply speaking to her.

Do we have chance encounters like this? Are there moments where we can be intentional in our day to day encounters? We will have to look for these opportunities. I think it's a practical first step. The second step? I'm not sure what that is... but I'm looking!

USS Alabama

during our vacation, we spent a day at Orange Beach and drove through Mobile on the way to Hattiesburg. We were able to catch a glimpse of the USS Alabama... Heath shared the story that his grandfather was rescued by the USS Alabama from the war in the Pacific (WW2 if I remember correctly). He was one of 3 in his unit who survived. And we marvelled at the fact that none of us would be together (much less exist with Heath and the boys) if it had not been for the crew on that ship and whatever it took to get his grandfather on to that ship. I love how the Lord has our lives in His hands to such an extent that He goes way before and way behind us. And if He holds these major life events in our hands, then He holds the seemingly mundane. May we find ourselves aware of His hand in the ordinary moments of our lives as well as the extraordinary.

i figured it out

I finally figured out why it's so painful to watch kids grows up:

we remember the confusion and fear at unknown experiences.

we remember all the unrealistic expectations. 

we remember not knowing which way to go.

we remember feeling ugly and awkward and sweaty.

And I so wish I could save you from all that.

But I can't. I can help you find Jesus. and I can show you Love. And the rest? God's already built into your DNA.