On Losing Beth

So, I lost one of my dearest friends to cancer in October and I really didn’t want to write about it because, well, if you’ve read this blog at all, you know I am no stranger to tragedy. And heartache. And I really didn’t want to write one more post about another tragic heartache.

But, I find myself so angry. All. The. Time.

I am trying to get myself in the Christmas spirit; I bought my tree and a beautiful wreath. I’m trying to decorate and start my baking. All things I love…yet, I don’t see any point in it. Why bother? Things that held joy make me mad or worse, apathetic.

I am mad at the season; at people; at God. I ran out of church last week after yet another message telling me that I have not, because I ask not. Or I am asking wrong. Or God just doesn’t want to bless me right now. And, by the way, your back is messed up because you’re not repentant to God.

Okaay.

It is really, really difficult to hear that God doesn’t love me because I am a sinner, when the whole point of my Bible says that God loves me because I am a sinner. I am a sinner. And why doesn’t grace apply to me? Why? Why does the American Church keep telling me I’m not good enough for God?

And I know it seems like I am digressing, but I’m not. It all seems to be one big package, at least in my mind. Because after I ran out of church and was driving myself home, I kept asking God why am I here? Why did He take Beth instead of me?

Why?

It’s a tough place to be when you think you don’t matter. When you think (because you have been repeatedly told and/or shown) that you don’t matter; when everything is pointless; when the simple joys of life evade you; it’s tough.

You see, Beth and I used to talk about things such as these. Our friendship was intentional and purposeful and I could say these things without her recoiling in horror, or worse, placating me with platitudes. She got it. She understood. And she could tell me when I was being overindulgent or lend that hand when I was cut deep.

I am cut deep and she is not here. And, it just makes me so sad. There is a hole a mile wide in my heart and how will it ever be filled again?

Beth gave real friendship. I can’t remember a time, in 20+ years of knowing her ever feeling as if I didn’t matter to her. She was never cruel. Or jealous the way our sex can be. She never talked behind my back. Well, she did, but it was with positive words about me.

That is so rare, right?

In my anger and sadness I have 86’d some people right out of my life and I’m feeling pretty good about it, too. Why and how did I let these people who don’t see me and care for me into my life? I am good natured and easy going and allow people their faults, as I want them to allow me mine. But some people see that as weakness. And because they see me as weak, they treat me in ways that aren’t always nice. They pick on me and strut around like the school yard bullies they really are. What a waste. This behavior is beneath them, but more than that, it makes me realize what a gift Beth was; what a blessing her friendship to me has been all these years.

And it makes me want to be intentional with friends who do treat me well; who would never stoop to such lows; who are nice, not mean. Simple really.

But I know I can’t fill that mile wide hole with friends and think everything is going to be okay. I can’t replace Beth with a new friend. There is no way…she is irreplaceable.

Have I said how much it hurts?

At her funeral, my Gaslight family was there. That is where I know Beth from, a theatre I worked at for ten years. And these people are home to me. They grabbed me and hugged me and let me cry on their shoulders. These people weren’t just work friends…we were so in and out of each other’s lives; we had get togethers, and parties, and weddings, and babies, and shared our lives in one big dysfunctional family. Another in our family has lost his wife to cancer and now we will gather for another funeral this weekend. So, we also grieve together. But, it was great to be among these people again. It was great to belong again. It was great to know that I mattered and that I had a place among them.

I think we all have that need to matter; to have purpose. When that is shaken and questioned, it rocks us to our cores. I Googled ‘what do you do when you feel like you don’t matter’ this week and found a blog by Scott Ginsburg and he says, “Moments of non-mattering are positive reflections of your inherent desire to make the world better…Look: I’ve been there. Inconsequentiality is a bitch. It’s a form of spiritual bankruptcy that feels like an earthquake to your heart. The good news, it’s also a wakeup call that mattering is like oxygen to your soul, and your tank is just a little low right now.”*  He had some good tips…get rid of the people who make you feel invisible…done! And take responsibility for feeling like you don’t matter. Ouch. But, okay.

I’m sure this too will pass…I will rebound as I usually do. But missing Beth is going to take a lot out of me. It has taken a lot out of me. I have screamed at the top of my lungs on more than one occasion and have cried myself to sleep on several others. I found a Peanuts ornament I bought back in July and sank to my knees. Beth loved Peanuts.

I think the best way to end is to just tell you again how cool a person my Bethy was…and to tell you how much I hurt and how much I miss her and how much my world has changed.

And, I think of my son. How did he do it? How did he get through losing Phil? And Aaron? And Stephen? How did he do it without losing his mind? I am in awe of him.

Simply in awe.

*http://www.hellomynameisblog.com/2010/11/what-to-do-when-you-feel-like-you-dont.html

On The Christian Church’s Obsession with Youth and Families

I heard on a long drive the other day that 50% of the church is made up of people 34 years old and younger. So, math whiz that I am, I deduced then, that 50% of the church is also made up of people that are 34 years old and older.

I also read my Bible on a fairly regular basis and have noted that Jesus never, ever, singled out one group of people over another. He preached to everyone. “Everyone who has ears, let them hear.” Matt 13:9.

Everyone.

The Bible is also full of stories of God working through people of all ages. David was a young boy when he was anointed King. Moses was in his eighties when God first spoke to him.  Abraham and Sarah were in their nineties when Isaac was born; Mary was a teen when she was called to be the mother of Jesus. Paul was middle aged.

By today’s standards, I do believe Moses, Abraham and Sarah, and probably Paul, would have been out of luck. They would have been patted on the head and pushed aside. Or, offered the chair straightening ministry if they really wanted to serve.

Why?

Because the Christian church of today caters, almost exclusively, to the young. Young people and young families. Not all churches, but most. And these churches don’t know what to do with anyone else. So, by the stats above, 50% of the people attending church are left out.

And I wonder why? When the Bible doesn’t teach that, why are Christian churches putting such a focus on youth?

I’ve heard that a large percentage of Christians make their profession of Christ in their youth. I’ve also heard that a large percentage of Christians leave the church when they are no longer young.

Could this be the key?

We live in a culture of youth obsession anyway, and it is sad (and worrisome) to me that the church has jumped on that bandwagon. We are called to be different from this world, not adopt its ways to further our congregations.

So, if we cater to the youth and to young families, they are then under the belief that church is about them. The worship music is loud and resembles a rock concert; there are endless activities for them; whole services are carved out for ‘the family’; whole buildings are built just for them. And yes, Jesus is preached, but to have a whole church catered just for them can give them a false sense of their place within the church. They truly believe it’s all about them. That church is there to serve them, not the other way around.

And anyone who is not in that demographic, is not worthy. Or shouldn’t be there. Or is told to go with the flow. Or, told that maybe they need to go find a different church. And that is a problem.  Because once you start dividing up the people that come to your church into those you think need to be served and those who don’t, well, you’re no longer a Bible serving church. You’re a self-serving church. And, I know, I know, everyone else is doing it, so it must be a “Christian” thing, but it’s not.

So, let’s get back to those who leave the church when they are no longer young. Could it be because they have had the rug pulled out from under them? They have been catered to all their young lives and then, they are put out to pasture. They suddenly don’t matter to the church anymore and if you’ve believed that Jesus only loves the young and the young families, then, well, why would you stay? You are no longer loved. Your perfectly catered to world no longer exists or makes sense.

My Bible is pretty clear that Jesus and his disciples served and preached to everyone. Young, old, married, single, rich, poor. It doesn't say to cater to the young. It doesn't say people with kids matter more than anyone else.

Moses didn’t say, “Let only the young and young families go” he said, “Let my people go”. (Emphasis mine)

John 3:16 doesn’t say, “For God so loved the youth and the young families that He gave His only begotten son that if only they believe in Him they will not perish but have eternal life.” Nope. It says, “For God so loved the world…” (Emphasis again mine) And ‘the world’ means everyone in it. Young , and the not young anymore.

The purpose of the church is to preach God’s Word to us, all of us.  It is to get the believers, all the believers, ready for when God calls on us to His purpose. By only focusing on the young or young families, the church is not serving their purpose. And by turning to the world to get people in the door, they are not trusting the perfect Word of God that is sharper than any two edged sword.

You want to reach the young and the young families? Unflinchingly preach the Word of God. It’s not  your job to decide who can come and who matters. Preach God’s Word and let Him take care of the ears it falls on.

You want people to stay? Unflinchingly preach the Word of God and thus equip them as you are told to do. Let Him take care of the ears the Word falls on.

Jesus’ ministry wasn’t for the young. It was for sinners. And we come in all ages.

On My Latest Trip Around the Sun

So, I’m 51 today and as I look back, as I tend to do on the milestone of my Birthday, I think what a good year it was. Yeah, a pretty, darn good year.

Here are some of the good things that happened this past year:

1.      I had my gallbladder removed. I hadn’t realized how badly I was suffering with that, until it was removed and then, Wow! What a difference. Pain free. And the drugs made my back not hurt for two whole weeks. It was good.

2.      I finished my book and started sending it out to literary agents and publishers. Re-editing my book took forever as I kept writing new sections or completely re-writing others, but, finally, it was done. And although I haven’t gotten an agent or a publisher yet, I’ve gotten some great feedback and encouragement from both.

3.      I got a job. After taking two years off, (that really only should have been one), I found a job that I love. My boss is great, the work is challenging, I work from home and set my own schedule, and, most importantly, I learned a lot about myself in the process.

4.      Ireland. The mission trip I took this summer was an amazing time. I fell in love with Ireland and her people and long for it in ways that surprise me. We had a Sunday picnic on the lush grounds of Muckross House that was so beautiful, so relaxing, and so full of fellowship, that in times of stress I think on it and that wonderful feeling of contentment comes flooding over me.

5.      My relationship with God has deepened. I joined a home fellowship, I attended the spring Women’s Bible study on Tuesday mornings, I signed up to serve in a few ministries, and, surprise! When you feed the Spirit, the relationship you have with God deepens. And I have met some truly amazing people. Bonus!

As great as the year has been, there have been a few downers as well, and they are worth mentioning, if only to see how I have grown through them.

1.      I’m still single. This one has been difficult as I dated a few people who ultimately moved on to others. And that part I am okay with…here’s why: I’m not going to be rushed in to anything. A friend set me up with a really nice guy who had lost his wife two years ago. And he was ready, like right now, to move on. I recognized he hadn’t dealt with his grief and pulled back a little, and bam. Three months later he was married to someone else. “That could have been you,” my friend said. “Thank God it’s not me!” I answered. They are now separated and his words of, “I can’t believe I found love again so soon!” haunt him. Cuz, it wasn't love. It was 'thank god I'm no longer alone'.  It’s hard to wait for the right person, but I am determined to do so and to not let my singleness or loneliness make me make a decision I will regret. The only thing worse than being single is being married to the wrong guy. And please stop thinking that because I am single, anybody is better than nothing. So. Not. True.

2.      My back. Enough said.

3.      Christmas. I love Christmas, but my family seems to put such an ugly spin on it that each year it gets harder and harder to find the simple joy of it. Presents are banished as being a pain, get togethers are a chore (for them), and the singleness thing gets to me while I try to pretend it doesn’t. I am determined not to succumb to any of this nonsense this year.

4.      Watching my son struggle. It was a year of mourning Phil and mourn he did. And while that is a good thing, it was hard for this Momma to watch. He is stronger for it and he is starting to move forward again, but oh, gut wrenching to watch him go through it.

5.      My Mom's fall and subsequent brain surgery. Really, enough said.

So, all in all, my year has been good and God has blessed me in many, many ways. As my next trip around the sun begins, I am excited for the promises it holds. I think of the practical things I want to do (new carpet for the house!) and the not so practical (a trip to Alaska!). But more than anything, I want to make a difference for God. I want to deepen existing friendships. I want to be more kind. I want to not sweat the small stuff. I want to be gracious when faced with a difficult person. I want to drive without involuntarily screeching, “Are you kidding me?!” I want my friends to not be sick.

I want Timber to not be such a hound.

Well, we can’t have everything. 

On Tomorrow

Tomorrow never comes.

It is always today.

Always.

As I come down from the absolutely stress and anxiety filled last two weeks, these thoughts keep filtering through my mind.

Today.  This day. This moment.

We, as a culture, always seem to put off until tomorrow what could, and probably should, be done today.

Why do we do that?

Why do we have such a hard time with today?

The Bible tells us that, ‘today is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it’.

But we don’t. We seem to have a really, really, hard time with today. We hate Mondays. We hate Sundays because the next day is Monday. And we hate Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, because they aren’t Friday. We cling to tomorrow for its promise of what we could possibly maybe do.

Yet, it is always today.

Why do we put off taking care of ourselves until tomorrow? Our health is so very important, yet we eat like there is no consequence. What we put in our mouth today becomes our health, or lack thereof. We eat that slice of cheesecake or mound of chocolate chip cookies or bag of chips, or 3 slices of pizza because we foolishly believe we will eat better tomorrow. We have been taught to see food as a reward or as comfort instead of fuel. So, we reward ourselves with a 2000 calorie dinner because we’ve had a bad day. Or we down a gallon of ice cream to comfort ourselves from the harshness of the world. And, then, tomorrow, that word again, tomorrow, we will do better.

Same with exercise. The couch feels like a friend at the end of a long hard day.  Exercise is hard and taxing and we just don’t have the energy today. Tomorrow, we will. We’ll do it tomorrow.

Same with our dreams. How many dreams have you put on hold until tomorrow?

What about that broken relationship? You’ll call them tomorrow, right?

Tomorrow is the best day; it holds the best part of ourselves, doesn’t it? The healthy us. The better eating us. The fixer of broken relationships us. The us that pursues our dreams. 

And in our pursuit of tomorrow, we forget about today.

When everything happened with my Mom, and for a very short synopsis, what happened was she fell and hit her head, twisting her ankle in the process and thought she was fine. And by all accounts she was fine. The people that were with her when it happened sat with her and ate lunch with her for 45 minutes after the fall. She was fine. I saw her four or five times after the fall and she brushed off all questions and concerns. Until, two weeks after she fell, when her right side was hanging limp and she wasn’t quite herself. Six hours after seeing her primary care doctor, she was being wheeled into an OR for emergency brain surgery. Oh, and she had a fractured ankle.

In those moments, tomorrow vanishes like a vapor.

The day after surgery my Mom was crushed. Not because of what happened, but because the concept of today, and how many she has wasted the last few years, settled in on her. She put everything off until tomorrow.

And tomorrow has left her high and dry, without a forwarding address.  

And, now, she is paying for it.

Because the very real concept that she may not be able to do the things she has put off, is a harsh reality. She hasn’t taken care of herself and has filled her belly with sugar and the chemical processed junk that passes as food.  She has put off traveling. She has put off exercising. She has put off new hobbies and old friends. Her cousin in New York called and asked when she is coming for a visit and it reduced her to tears. She may never get back there again.

And I get it, I really do, the concept of tomorrow. Today really does seem to ask a lot from us, but it is tomorrow that twists it around.  We see the exercise routine or that idea of eating better and tomorrow asks us, “Are you going to be able to do this forever?” Um, heck no, why even try? I’ll never be able to keep this up forever. When you're going through a miserable time, tomorrow makes you think that you will never get through the misery. 

Today only asks, “Can you do this today?” Sure. One day is easy. 

As the Pollyanna daughter, I believe my Mom can change things. I believe if she puts her mind to it, she can start believing in the power of today. She has learned that tomorrow isn’t her friend. And after taking a day or two to mourn what is lost, she can start to build a life that is lived in this day. Not in a faraway day that never gets here.

So, make your plans, but remember the strength and power that is in today.

It is always today.

Always.

On Robin Williams

The world seems to be falling apart. There are wars, horrible, horrible wars. Christian children are being beheaded in Iraq. Syrians are being crucified…yes, crucified. Girls are being kidnapped by the hundreds in the Nigeria. Ebola is killing people in what will probably become a worldwide epidemic.                                                                                                                          
But what has brought me to tears? To utter sadness?

Robin Williams dying.

He has died of self-inflicted asphyxia. Self-inflicted. The words stun me.

And why I am sad is wrapped up in memories. Memories of him, his work, his uber talent. Memories of where I was when I first saw Mork; of those moments in a darkened theatre watching ‘The World According to Garp’ and seeing that he was so much more than a kinetic comedian. Of watching ‘Good Will Hunting’ and not seeing Robin Williams at all. Enjoying with my young son “Aladdin” and being amazed over and over again at his free flowing Genie.

Where do I begin to find out why I feel so incredibly sad?

It must begin with my love of movies; of storytelling in any form, really, but of my certain love of movies. Watching stories unfold and when it is done well, you are enveloped in the universe that is created and you are totally involved.

This one time, at gymnastics camp, all the camp counselors were wearing name badges with weird names like “Han” or “Obi Wan” on them and there was a buzz about the movie the names came from. I was doubtful and when my coach said we would see it on the way home (we were in Oklahoma and were going to stay at his relatives house in Texas on the way home) well, I said no. Like, forget it. I’m not going to go see some stupid Sci Fi movie. Well, he dragged me and the rest of the girls to this movie where we stood in line in the hot Texas sun and barely found seats together and it was crowded and loud and being a mouthy thing at the time I consistently voiced my displeasure. And then the movie started. And I was there…like R2 and C3PO scurried across the laser blasts and I was 100% there on that ship and I didn’t know what droids were or what the Empire was, but I did by the time it was over. It was story telling at its absolute finest.

There are so many movies that just tell a beautiful story. I just saw for the first time “Lost in Translation” and ohmygoodness what a poignant slice of life. Bill Murray is painfully good. Some of the moments are shot with such a casual eye you almost feel as if you are in the room with these people.

There are also so many movies that are just downright funny. “When Harry Met Sally” is one of the best movies ever made. Its way of telling stories within a story and the way it captures men and women is perfection. Other movies have been trying to imitate it for twenty five years. They need to stop. It can’t be done.

And when you love a movie, you love the actors who bring that story to life.

My Mom would tell me about the actors and actresses that she liked and we would watch movies together. She introduced me to Fred and Ginger and Gene and Judy and Jimmy and Clark and Doris.

I remember crying when Fred Astaire died. Jimmy Stewart, too. I love these people I’ve never met. I love them for their impeccable story-telling and their commitment to their craft.

I remember being very sad when Heath Ledger died. And Phillip Seymour Hoffman. And Paul Walker.

But with Robin Williams, it feels as if I have lost a dear friend.

I can’t pick just one Robin Williams movie…it’s impossible. It’s more of the great body of work he gave us. There are moments he gave us that are a part of our vernacular. We say things in our everyday lives because he said them first, because he made them hilarious or poignant. If you ever say them, people will nod knowingly. (“He can be taught!”; “Madonna, Madonna,”; “Hellllloooo!”)

That he was hurting to the point he felt he needed to end his life is what gets me. I hurt that he hurt that much. I hurt now for those he left behind. I can barely think of his wife and kids. Or Whoopi Goldberg and Billy Crystal.

Some people close to me right now are struggling with depression. It is an ugly thing and the struggle is real. I see the despair in their eyes and I hurt and panic a little for them. My biggest fear is that it will get them and they will go away.

The ones who have gone away haunt me. My beloved friend Darren…I found out a year or so after it happened and I wracked myself with guilt and questions. Why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t I call him when we moved back from Connecticut? Could I have done something? Did he know I loved him truly like a little brother? There are times oh these twenty years later when I just want to talk to him. Just hear him say he loves me and that everything will be okay. To hug me and kiss me on the forehead like he used to do.  Why did he do it? Didn’t he know I loved him? And why wasn’t that love enough?

I, too, have had bouts, but my happy-go-luckiness pulls me out fairly quickly. I am easily pleased, as my son likes to say, and can be happy at the Ritz or in a sleeping bag on a mountain floor. Tomorrow is another day, is something I say frequently because my hope is not in myself or in the world, but in God. That hope makes it easy to be happy wherever you happen to be in life. Life is like a roller-coaster with its twists and turns and ups and downs, but the one constant for me is Him. At the highest peak or the lowest valley I am with Him. I will follow Him anywhere. He will never leave me or forsake me and please know there were times in my life where I had to repeat that over and over in order to just be able to get out of bed in the morning.

People will fail you. Life will kick you mercilessly. Our minds will betray us. Our emotions will lead us into places we should never be. But the God of all hope is always there for each of us. Me, who believes, and you, who may not. Because here’s the thing…you may not believe in Him, but He believes in you.

And know this, too. I am here for you. If you are struggling with depression, please don’t put on a happy face for me. I will not judge you or turn from you. I am here to listen or to talk or to get you to someone who can help you more than I can. Because there is help out there. You are not alone.

As sad as I am right now, I am so glad that we have Robin Williams’ movies to ease our pain. We can go to youtube and watch clips of his comedy. We can recount our favorite part or bit. We can strive to be as generous as he was…his heart was for the homeless and for challenged athletes and many more organizations we know nothing about.

We can hug each other tight and tell people we love them and not drive like we own the road. We can put down our phones and interact face to face. We can chat with and be kind to strangers. We can talk to people whose clothes are not color coordinated. We can see beyond our facades and really get to know each other.

You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.   Robin Williams as Patch Adams.

God bless you, Mr. Williams. Thank you for sharing yourself with us for all these years. I will miss you.

On Electronic Communication

                                                               

I traveled last week on a work trip and I noticed more than ever before people’s habits with their phones. People are glued to them. Non-stop. If they have a spare moment, boom, they are scrolling. I noted that not many people were actually talking on them, but instead, had their noses in them.

One Mom was traveling with two daughters and the daughters wanted her attention; they were asking questions about the airport and the airplane, but they were ignored by the Mom. Completely ignored. She was so engrossed in her phone, they could have walked away and she would have never known it. I glanced at her phone to see what was so important, but she was only on an entertainment site. Really? Some celebrity is more valuable than your sweet daughters?

And this happened over and over and over again. Entire families were sitting together and each had their face in a phone. People walking and scrolling. Juggling rolling suitcases, computer bags, lunch, and looking at their phone. Any electrical outlet had people flocked around it. I thought a fight was going to break out in the Philly airport when the flights started getting cancelled; people needed that charge. Needed it.

These gadgets that were supposed to bring us closer together, well, are they really doing that? The obsession of looking connected; because, I’m sorry, I really believe most people are just trying to do that…look connected.  Connected = popular. At least that is what the TV commercials tell us. I glanced at a lot of screens and not to judge, but you’re in the middle of a crowded airport and you’re looking at an article on the price of rice in China? What are you trying to prove?

But that is our culture now. We are obsessed. We can’t be calm. We can’t be without some sort of distraction.

And I wonder why that is?

Why are we so afraid to be alone with our own thoughts?

My work laptop is configured not to be able to log onto public wifi for security concerns, so for the week, I was without Internet. I had my phone, and although I have the capability to use the Internet, it never seems to look right and I can’t see it all on the screen anyway, so I was out of touch.

And what I realized, what I remembered is this; I really like face to face communication. I miss face to face communication.

A text or an email is necessary in our world today, but my goodness, it is satisfying to be able to look into someone’s face as they tell you a story. One of my co-workers is from Alaska and it was great watching him talk about the place he lives. There is a stream within walking distance from his house where he fishes almost daily and his freezer is full of the meat he hunts; elk, moose, bear. His fiancé loves to fish and right before he came to training they went fishing for Halibut.

Another guy was a retired NYC cop. Watching his face cloud over as he spoke of 9/11; his words faded and his gaze drifted to a window. You can’t get that from a text.

It is easy to hide behind our screens…we don’t have to deal with the other person. We don’t have to look them in the eye and feel their emotion or perhaps deal with their bad breath or egad, come up with a response on the spot. We may fumble our words or feel awkward or laugh too loud or, I don’t know, be human in the presence of another human.

I’ve noticed that I am giggly and awkward with someone. My stomach feels funny and I seem to be outside myself. I kick myself after an encounter, “did I really say that? do that?” or “why didn’t I say such and such!?”  And that is the beauty of being face to face. Sure, it’s easier to sit behind a screen and take your time typing out the perfect response or quip. But, I don’t believe life was meant to be lived that way.

I guess I am just too old fashioned; I want that awkward human encounter.

I have had many conversations with my friends about how electronic communication has all but ruined dating. It just doesn’t exist anymore. One of my girlfriends had a whole relationship without ever meeting the guy. How is that even possible? A guy friend went on what he thought was a date, but then, wasn’t sure. Was it a date or was it hanging out? He showed me her texts…I would have thought it was a date. But, no. It’s so much harder to figure out if someone likes you over a screen. Is the person flirting with me or am I just reading it that way?

One of my friends was lamenting this after her own ‘was it a date or wasn’t it’ encounter and I said how much I like it when the guy you kind of like just calls you. He’s gotten your phone number somehow and you answer the phone and it is him and your stomach does a flip flop. She stared blankly at me. “I’ve never experienced that.”

She mentioned that things like that don’t happen anymore…it is old fashioned.

As I said, I am old fashioned. I want the phone call. I want to be taken on a date. Not “hanging out”. No ambiguity. A date. He has a plan; he tells you the plan and asks if you want to join him. On a phone call or face to face, but he ASKS YOU. He doesn’t ask your screen, he asks you.

And I get it. I have enough guy friends to know it is difficult to ask someone out. So I may lob the ball in your court by saying, “hey, we should go do such and such sometime”.  But I like being the girl. And this girl wants a relationship in the real world, not an electronic one.

Yes, I realize when I don’t know the person that well I email and text. But as I get to know them, that type of communication is replaced by actually seeing them. That should be the goal. Electronic communication should move you to face to face interactions. It is a tool; not a lifestyle. And if you are more comfortable having a relationship with your screen, well, that speaks volumes.

Of course, one of the biggest problems with electronic communication is the rudeness of it all. We hide behind this 3” devise and think the world no longer sees us. We are like a child who covers his eyes and says, “Can’t see me!”

Yes, we see you. We see your behavior. We see how you ignore; how you goad; how you insult.

We see you.

I think of the Mom at the airport and how she was teaching her daughters that ignoring those around you is okay. That it is okay to put something, anything, before those in front of you.

We are in relationships with our phones. We give them our time and attention. We lavish them and cradle and coddle them. We think they are everything.

Folks, it’s a portable computer.

It doesn’t have life.

It doesn’t give life.

You will not fade away if you don’t have it in your hand 24/7.

In fact, may I suggest you are fading away by having it in your hand 24/7?

Put them down. Talk to the people before you.

Don’t think for a minute because you text someone you have a relationship with them. 

It is a false connection.

Your phone cannot give you love or a hug. 

It is an inanimate object. 

Treat it accordingly.

On Getting a Job

For fifteen years, I worked as a claims adjuster. It was an exciting job; a tedious job; a super stressful job; and a job that paid very, very well.

As an adjuster, you had to be one part investigator, one part negotiator, one part inspector, one part hand holder, one part diplomat, one part legal eagle, one part report writer, one part contract specialist, well, you get the idea. You had to be a LOT of things in one. And everyone depended on you for everything from checks to rental cars to hotels to explanations to decisions to just someone to vent at because every customer that called me had something horrible happen to them. Car accidents, dog bites, fires, thefts, water leaks, slip and falls, deaths, bee stings, cows, you name it, I’ve had a claim for it.

The stress of this job comes at you from all angles and even if you have handled something really well, there is someone (a claimant, a body shop, a manager) who will step right up and say you handled it poorly. And that was just how it was. For fifteen years.

So, long about year fourteen and a half, I had had enough. Like enough. It had been a regular Tuesday and I had just gotten off the phone with a claimant who wanted me to know that I had handled their claim so well, they wanted to switch to our insurance. Now, that’s a good day, right?

Well, no. Because right after I hung up, the agent for the insured who was at fault called me and berated me for ten minutes straight. He was mean and vicious and called me incompetent because I had found our customer at fault. Never mind that our customer had ran a red light when the other driver had a green arrow. Never mind that two independent witnesses gave their statements to the police. Never mind that our customer was cited for several violations. Never mind.

When I hung up with that call I said out loud. “Enough.” It was involuntary, but that was the switch. Enough was enough. My stress induced rashes, stomach aches, headaches, and plain old exhaustion were visible signs that my body had had enough, too.

I had been praying for another job and as I prayed at that moment, I felt the nudging to just quit. Over the next nine months or so, I saved and saved and put things in to place to quit without another job in place. Because, that was the way I felt the Lord was leading me to go. It scared me and I certainly didn’t understand, but faith has to come with action, and I knew somehow that He would take care of me.

When the time came, I told my dear co-worker and we tried to figure out the best time for me to put in my notice. The dilemma was real. We were so busy that both our pendings (open active files) were in the 90’s. I implored her to take at least one vacation before I left, because they would work her even harder once I did leave.

Looking back, I remember the absolute relief and giddiness I felt when I called my demon boss and told him I was leaving. Relief. Joy.  Exhaustion.

Freedom.

That was two years and two months and one day ago.

And today, I was hired for a fantastic position with a company that by all accounts looks to be solid and a place I could be with for the next twenty or so years.

I actually interviewed for this job back in August and I did absolutely great until they gave me a test at the end of the interview. Now, it was 3pm and I had not eaten since 7am, which for me, is a bad, bad combo. I don’t do well without food in my system and the first thing that goes is my mind. The test had math on it and, well, I was an English major for a reason. I was completely embarrassed and wrote a little note that I must have gotten too used to the computer doing my calculations for me and that I was clearly rusty.

When I didn’t get the job, I asked why and yes, it was because I bombed the math.

I was crushed.

Then, in December, they called and wanted to interview me again. I was over the moon! But, the next day they called and said that the position was in Phoenix and asked if I could move in the next two weeks. I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to make it work.

So, last Friday I saw they had just posted for the position here in Tucson. I emailed the man I had interviewed with and today, he called and offered me the position. No interview. No test. And for more money than they offered in August.

When I hung up the phone I shouted in absolute joy, then collapsed in a heap of tears.

The last two years have been wonderful, truly wonderful. They have been scary as I have watched my money dwindle down to nothing and have had to make the decision to take money out of my IRA. I have cut my own hair, gone without any new clothes or shoes, and have been unable to support others as I normally would. My tithes have been a pittance. My house is clear evidence that I have had no income from the peeling paint on the fascia to the pool that is in dire need of a new Kreepy.

Through it all though, I have had peace. I knew that quitting was the absolute right thing to do. It was necessary. I wanted a different life and I went to the One who could give it to me. Trusting Him was excruciating at times. I thought I would be out of work for 6 months, tops.

 

But, God is just so, so, so, so, good.

I think of everything I’ve done, and everything I didn’t do. It was everything and nothing like I thought it would be. It was thrilling and lonely and brave.

And I don’t regret a minute of it.

On A Year of Grief

Phil has been gone a year. (I wrote of that horrible day in my post On Death and Dying. You can read it under the May 2013 tab to the right) The grief and pain of his passing has dimmed only slightly for me. It is all so fresh; the phone call from Michael, the agonizing days leading up to the funeral, the funeral itself.  

It was as you would imagine it would be when you bury a beautiful young man of 24. I arrived early to support Michael and as I walked in, he nodded toward the chapel. I entered and saw the open casket. I walked through the empty room, flashing back to when my Dad laid in this same room two years before. And then, there was Phil. Laying perfectly relaxed with that sly smile on his lips, dressed in his favorite band tee and jeans. “Oh, Phil,” I wailed to the empty room. “Honey, get up, please, please get up!” How can this be happening? The question reverberated through my mind repeatedly. The un-realness of it all.

The visions of the day haunt me still. The parade of friends standing in disbelief over his open casket with tears streaming down their faces; his co-workers from the Abbey staring in silence; his long time girl friend with whom he had just parted, being supported by her friends. One young man standing before the coffin alone, crying with bewildered disbelief on his face. His words echoed mine. “Why doesn’t he just get up?” he sobbed. The chapel was filled with continual sobbing as Michael and Phil’s music played in the background.

For me, watching my son (and Nick) wracked with sobs for two plus hours, well, it was excruciating. He and Nick were huddled together in the front row. Of those who spoke during the service, many spoke directly to Michael, giving him encouragement to continue on, to continue with their music. Afterward, I marveled at how people would go from Phil’s parents, to the coffin, and then to Michael. The line in front of him was as long as the one in front of Phil’s parents. Some he cried with, some he couldn’t even lift his head to look at them. They spoke words to him trying to console him, but he was inconsolable. 

We, the mothers, clung to each other. Nick’s Mom and I cried complicated tears; our boys are the ones remaining, yet we are inexplicably tied to and share in the grief with Phil’s Mom, and Aaron’s Mom, and Stephen’s Mom. Because, you love your children’s friends as your own…you just do. Aaron’s Dad stood before Michael caressing Michael’s head, kissing him. My heart broke at the tenderness. Aaron’s Mom and I clung to each other crying down each other’s neck.

And then there was Phil’s Mom, burying her son on Mother’s Day, hugging me tightly, whispering words of encouragement for my grief. “No, no,” I whispered back, “I should be comforting you.” “Oh, but you are,” came her reply. Heart. Broken.

The sadness of all this crept up on me last week. I had been counseling Michael about the day, and we talked about how he could handle it being that he is alone in Seattle. (And a quick aside to the evilness of the airlines…why does it cost so much to fly anywhere these days?!) I was worried about him, forgetting that I have my own grief in my attempts to take care of his.

My grief is for sweet, sweet Phil, for missing his happy-go-luckiness; for his parents, for Michael, for Nick. For the friends who still post on his Facebook page. For the last year where I have seen Michael move away and suffer alone as he tried to cope and understand the loss of his brother from another mother.  A year that has seen me delve into the complexities of grief and learn that once again, how Michael and I process it is so vastly different.

He had been wracked with nightmares; unable to sleep for fear of what he would see when he closed his eyes, and this left him gaunt and on edge. I finally found a book that stated some people do have horrid nightmares of trying to get to the person and then dreaming again and again of their death, while others dream of bliss with the person who has died, only to wake up to the emptiness of their departure. That is me. After Jon died I would have dreams as if he was still alive and healthy. We would be living our life and then, oh, I would wake up. It seemed a daily renewal of his death. Both are coping mechanisms as our sub-conscious tries to deal with what is before us…neither is a picnic…and learning of them helped us both.

Michael’s music has been pushed aside. At first, he wrote multiple songs, went to LA to have them recorded, then a band heard his tracks and wanted him to be their lead singer. All such wonderful things, but guilt and sadness kept him from moving forward. He has thrown himself into a full time 9-6 job which leaves him no time to do music. The pain of it is acute, of course, getting everything him and Phil ever dreamed of together. He will eventually figure out how to do it without Phil. How to enjoy what is happening without having to leave to go cry in the alley, as he did when he was in that recording studio. A year is not enough time to deal with it all; how do you move forward when, quite frankly, you don’t want to? How do you enjoy good things without the guilt?

My grief is tied to Michael, of course, but I have my own as well. My first trip to the Abbey was difficult. I had gone with friends but was overwhelmed at the fact that Phil wasn’t there. Our waitress had known him and we cried a little together as we remembered him. I asked her to bring me his favorite beer and even though I am not a drinker, I toasted him and enjoyed my few sips.

I’ve had a few instances of thinking I see him in a crowd…another grief mechanism that is painful. One day on my way to church, I was cruising up Camino Seco and saw someone who looked just like Phil…it was all I could do not to pull over and throw my arms around his neck. “We thought you were gone!” I’d say, without missing a beat. “Come on, I’ll drive you home!”

If you’ve ever lost anyone, it seems plausible. It really, really does. Because you have day dreams and visions of it all being just a terrible mistake and your brain believes it could really happen. If they suddenly walked in the door (or sat up in the chapel) you wouldn’t be angry at all because you would just be so relieved and thankful that they are here! A party would be thrown and you would be so, so thankful. In that split second when you think you see them, oh it is pure joy. And then, the harsh reality sets in, and sadly, you remember that they have died. As painful as this is, it inches you toward healing.

Because, one day, you realize, of course, that they are truly not coming back. The daydreams that this is all a mistake don’t seem as plausible. That they are gone and you are without them seems to suddenly sink in. And that is a good day. And a bad day. It’s a good day, because it signals another part of the journey of grief, and it’s one you want to embrace. You are starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and you understand that the pain you feel will always be with you, but the nightmares and dreams will subside and you will start to remember them without the devastating pain.

And it’s a bad day because you truly realize the finality of their departure and you realize you have to let go of the grief that is keeping you attached to them. If you stop grieving, you think, you will stop loving them. But, this is not true at all. The daily grief ceases and in its place the ability to move forward with your memories.

Life awaits. A simple truth and a hard truth because you, the one grieving, dictate its outcome. If you are grieving your spouse, have you rushed into another relationship to ease the pain and loneliness? Or have you gone through the painful road to do the hard work that is there? If you have lost your best friend, have you self-medicated yourself with alcohol or drugs or endless hours of television? Or have you talked with people and felt the pain the absence brings? Because, eventually, you do get through it, and your life will reflect how you handled it.

Michael has been incredibly wise through all this. He hasn’t rushed himself. He hasn’t self-medicated with relationships that are purely so he won’t have to feel the sting of Phil’s absence. He has felt the sting. When I was grieving Jon, someone told me that grief is a privilege of love and I can’t tell you how much that soothed my soul. I have shared this with Michael and he has embraced it. He truly desires to one day be able to let someone else in, and he thankfully understands that he has to heal to be able to do that. And that clinging to someone who is gone is not the answer.

As much grief as I have gone through, I’d like to say it gets easier, but no. The only thing that really happens is I know what to expect. I recognize the stages as I go through them, but, I still have to go through them. My view has always been to be as healthy as possible on the other side. The down side of grief and loss is the very practical idea of closing yourself off. You can do face time with people, but you don’t ever let them in. But, I can’t live that way. I don’t want to. Death is a part of life. Grief is a part of life. And their sting is horrible, but I won't let that sting take away the joy of love. Without love and without relationships, life just isn’t worth living.

As I continue to pray for a Godly man to come into my life, I am confident that I will be able to give a 100% to him. I’ve done the hard work. I am not looking to someone to fill the void that Jon has left. I am looking to build a new life with someone. And that is how you honor the person who is gone. Jon would be hopping mad if I just replaced him and Phil would be equally mad if Michael withdrew and never let himself find another friend or let his grief overtake his music. We honor them not by “moving on”, but by taking the life that was lost and adopting their legacy as our own. Jon’s sense of adventure and Phil’s kindness need to live on in me. But the point is; We need to live.

So, Phil honey, I miss you so much. I miss your happy face. I miss your presence in our life. I miss the friendship you gave Michael. I miss your goodness. You were the friendliest friendly and I will always love you.

Yes, I will always love you.

On The Worldly Church

Here are a few things that may shock a few Christians...

There are no cliques in heaven. There are no special areas for Christians who were married or worked a ministry at church. Teaching pastors don’t get ushered to the head of the line with a spot light on them. That person you don’t like at church? How will you react to them when you see them in heaven? Let’s hope not the same way as when you see them in church. 

Why? Well...

Heaven hurts about your clique. Heaven grieves that you are using marriage as a way to look down on those who are single (or divorced). Heaven is saddened by the fact that you use your position in ministry to treat people with disdain. Heaven weeps when a teaching pastor separates himself from the flock and instead surrounds himself with an entourage. Heaven is heartbroken when you gossip in the coffee bar before service starts.

As Christians, we are supposed to live repentant lives. Our sin should break our hearts, but the world has crept into our churches and what once would have been troubling behavior, is now the norm. We’ve adopted the worldly view of “well, I have a really good reason for doing what I’m doing” and the ever popular “it’s not my fault”. The world makes excuses. The world does not take responsibility for its actions and sadly, the church is following suit.

So, we live with our boyfriends or girlfriends, view porn, gossip, exclude people, curse, have affairs, divorce without cause, show our dislike for others, use crude language, ignore the poor, steal, use our position within the church to dismiss people, judge, and so many other worldly behaviors there truly just isn’t enough space.

And we do it all because we think we are okay. “Everybody gossips,” you’ll say to yourself. But, a gossip never sees the damage he or she does to the person they are gossiping about, and if you think the object of your gossip doesn’t know you are gossiping about them, oh how wrong you are. The gossip just feels the superiority high that gossip gives them. They are accepted by the other people in church they gossip with and get props for doing it, so in their mind, there is nothing wrong with it. The feelings of the person they gossip about are of no concern.

That is how sin works. It is deceptive. It is simple. It speaks to our pride and insecurities and tells us we are okay having sex with a computer. There is no one being hurt here. We’ll be able to have a healthy relationship with those around us, it doesn’t matter. What goes into your mind doesn’t come out in your life. No one will know.  Go ahead.

Sin is silky smooth when it tells us to hate that person and treat them with disdain. Never mind that we don’t really know them. They irritate or annoy us, right? Show them how you feel with your not so subtle way of ignoring them. Or smile at them when they approach and then hold your breath and hope someone doesn’t mention a bunch of you are going to dinner, because my goodness, dinner would be ruined if they joined in. It’s all about you and how you feel. As long as your little world doesn’t have discomfort, it’s okay.

The lies of sin keep us entrapped in our justifications. I mean, come on! Those homeless ‘people’ are an eye sore, really. They have no business clogging our medians or our downtown. If they just stopped mooching off us tax paying citizens and went and got a job then they wouldn’t be homeless anymore. It’s their choice to be where they are, after all.

And I get it. Our churches are no longer holy sanctuaries, but are more like worldly high schools. We all want to belong and be included. We even have 'campuses'. And we become people who think we are the ‘cool’ kids looking down on those we deem ‘uncool’.  We make big deals of ourselves because we’ve belonged to the church for a long time and know all the right families and work in ministry and know all the right people. We pick and choose who we feel belongs and those who we feel don’t and then treat them accordingly. We laugh louder in the sanctuary and hold court so others will notice how much we belong. And we feel perfectly justified doing it.

And although we may know that so and so are living together, or you know who is addicted to porn, or that group over there are vicious gossips, we don’t say anything, because it’s so, well, normal.

So, since we are right and okay and justified in our sin, we have no need to repent. Repent from what? We aren’t doing anything wrong. Sin no longer breaks our hearts and in our refusal to see our sin, the heart we break is Gods. Repentance is a deep sorrow for a wrongdoing that brings on change, and we seem to be missing the sorrow that brings the change.  Where is the painful understanding that our behavior is hurting not only other people, but Jesus Himself?

On this, the holiest week for Christians, we keep Jesus nailed on the cross with our unrepentant sin and the casual attitude we have adopted for it. We tell Him our sin doesn’t matter. It is inconsequential. We praise His name and continue doing the very things that hung Him there. Is this why He says of some, “Away from me, I never knew you?”

And repentance really isn’t spoken about in the church any more. Another worldly component that has snuck in is our not wanting to offend anyone. We don’t want to make people feel badly about the sin in their lives. It may be spoken about in a message, say about sexual immorality, but nine times out of ten, the pastor will finish by saying Jesus loves you and therefore doesn’t condemn you.  Which is true, but I can’t help but feel we are leading them right up to a way to get out of the strangle hold of whatever sin entraps them and instead, leading them around it, down the garden path. We seem to forget that He said, "Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more".

Because to repent, we must tackle our sin, and in tackling our sin, we have to go through the tough stuff. We have to confront ourselves and that can be scary business. Why do we gossip? Why do we watch porn? Why do we live with each other outside of marriage? Why do we ignore people we judge to be beneath us? Why do we judge? Why do we steal? Why?

If we tip-toe around repentance and not do the hard work required to eradicate sin from our lives, it will keep us entangled and away from the Jesus we are claiming to follow. That deep rooted sin in our life is keeping us from experiencing a deep relationship with the Savior of the World. It is again saying that the work of the cross meant nothing.

So, if we are keeping that sin in our lives…and I’m not speaking of a mistake or a stumble…I’m talking about a habit of porn or a lifestyle of living together outside of marriage or gossip and disdain as a way of life for us…if we are keeping that sin in our life, if we are making up excuses and keeping it close, Jesus is still hanging, broken and bloody, on the cross.

And the joy of the cross is that He came down, right? The next chapter is the glorious one…He rose. He conquered death! Our confessed sins went down with Him into the grave and when He walked out of that tomb, we are free from them forever.

That is why we rejoice on Easter Sunday. Halleluiah!