Maybe I should be worried - I've been thinking of my mother and her last weeks lately. No idea what's triggered it. Maybe I feel like the 'mother' part of me is going, going, gone with the advancing ages of my children? Maybe my life here in her house has taken a very Eunice and Jim turn?
I remember the night Dad died. Mother called me around 10 pm to say 'Daddy is very sick and I can't get him out of the bathroom.' Not because he was hogging up his time limit, but because she was, by then, pretty much crippled from arthritis and couldn't support his weight. I told her to call 911, I would meet them at the hospital and David would come get her. She bumped down the stairs on her bottom to open the door for the paramedics and they had to carry her back up. Throughout those hours she sat beside him in her wheelchair, holding his hand. At various times he had private conversations with David and I, saying goodbye and thank you for being a good son and daughter, giving mother into our care. When the time came and Dad began to fly away mother didn't cry. She watched stoically, holding his hand tightly. Then she pushed herself up out of her wheelchair, laid her hands on him and prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for their marriage. I don't think I have ever been so proud of being Eunice's daughter. When I brought her home we lay in her bed, weeping. "What am I going to do without him?" she kept asking.
The answer came a month later. Aunt Martha had moved out of the downstairs apartment, we renovated it for mother and planned to move into the upstairs to take care of her. Our thoughts were that somewhere down the line we'd sell and get a bigger house for all of us. When I took mother on a tour of her new apartment she said, "Well now, I've lost everything. My husband, my home and my independence." I came in the morning for my daily visit and found her sitting in her green chair by the window. She was gazing out at the familiar scene. She turned and smiled at me. "Daddy was here. He said it was ok to come. Do you think I was hallucinating?" "No," I said, "I think he really did speak to you. I'm sure he's waiting for you."
From that moment on she didn't have another sad day. She quietly went about her business.
She developed what I thought was a cold. I made the doctor treat her. 'Rest' was all they would say. It wasn't a cold, of course, it was congestive heart failure that had been coming on for years. The only reason she had lived this long was because of Dad. "Bring her to the ER" said the doctor. I couldn't believe it. I wheeled her in and we had to sit in the waiting room. She kept smiling at a point in the far corner. We finally got to a booth in the ER, undressed, comfortable on a gurney if that's possible, waiting for tests and more doctors. I was reading a book when mother said, "Oh look, there's Daddy." We looked up the hallway in front of us, maybe 30 feet away. A short man stood in profile, wearing the shabby brown tweed coat Dad was buried in, scuffed brown shoes, his arms folded akimbo as was his usual, a thin line mouth expression. He rocked back and forth exactly like Dad did. Mother and I looked at one another, and when we looked back the man was gone. Now you tell me.....
The next week was mother's last. I sat by her bed almost 24/7. Her friends came to say goodbye, sing hymns, pray with her. They brought their children who loved 'Granny the Cookie Lady'. She and I shared the secrets of her life, things I had suspected but didn't know for sure. People from the 40s and their peccadilloes, the stray baby, the children gone wrong. Saintly behavior, grace in the face of disaster. I fastened a picture of Dad in his wedding suit on her tubing so she could see it without moving. One day when I came she said, "He's here, you know." and smiled her young girl's 'I know a secret' smile. She was getting younger by the hour. I was amazed. One would think a dying woman would get older, but no, she was going back, back in their lives together.
On the day she died, I apologized for being such a brat of a kid and she said, "I loved being your mother." I will never receive a gift as precious as that from my dying mother. As they took her up to hospice I put Dad's picture in her hand and she breathed her last holding on to him. Do I think he was there? You bet. She stopped struggling which she had been doing for the last week and with a gentle sigh, drifted away.
I saw her several times over the next month. I had a waking dream where she showed me heaven and answered questions I posed to her. I wrote this all down as it was appearing to me and have that paper framed in my home. One night, about 3 months later, I felt her presence beside my bed, leaning over me, tenderly. She said, "Its time for me to go. You'll be just fine. In motherhood is your salvation." And I have never again felt her presence. I do meet her in dreams when I need her as has happened several times, too many to be coincidence.
And here I am, right now, wanting my mother. Maybe she'll come to me tonight in my dreams?
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Thankfulness
Today's the day! Brianna and I have been planning the menu for days, not that it takes too much thought. We're pretty traditional. We know what we like. Normally she's just in it for the turkey but this year she's asked for cheesy mashed potatoes and corn. Okay with me. We had breakfast together, then Dave put his famous orange turkey together and in to cook for it's 5 hours.
Brianna and I will plan our Black Friday journey. We go out at 5 am to Walmart and KMart, then breakfast at Panara. Then sleep all day.
Memories of the past - Mother put the turkey on early, Dad took me to a park. We'd feed the ducks, he'd take pictures, I'd have to go to the bathroom so he'd hold me over a hidden pile of leaves in the woods. I always had to go to the bathroom. Dinner was a big deal. Brother would put away prodigious amounts of food, sister was always serene, I was the wild card - didn't eat much, didn't like side dishes, was too ADHD to do well in a group, I'd get feisty, knock something over. Mother never seemed to mind. To her, that was life in a loving family. We were who we were.
Dinners at Granny's house or Aunt Jess's - quiet, dark houses, 'be on your best behavior Martha Jeanne', foods that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, knick knacks that drove my mother insane that I might decided to play with them and break them, fragile, formal dishes and heavy silverware, linen cloth and napkins, paper thin aperitif glasses always full of crandberry juice which was yucky. BUT - in a circle of people who loved me, had some special treats for me, told wonderful stories about the Old Country. I was part of something bigger than I.
As a young married, dinner at David's house, Thanksgiving was also his mother's birthday, I was assigned a seat next to Aunt Kate who was the relative who was 'difficult' to them (I liked her) and Dave's father, an old Navy man. First I got my finger stuck in the tiny handle of a teacup, He looked at me and said, "What's the matter with you?" and yanked my finger out. Then Jan told me the dishes belonged to her grandmother and 'not a piece has been broken'. Gulp. Then, Art would carve at the table and give you the piece he wanted you to have, not the piece I wanted and he put it on my plate with these words from the military, "Take what you want, but eat what you take." Gulp again. When the kids came along it was my Granny's house all over again - stressed that someone would break something.
There was the year we decided not to go to their house and to make our own. I have a photo of my mother and I holding that turkey and smiling. It's one of my favorite pictures.
I find myself very thankful this year for all the usual things. But in particular, for the worst event that happened to me in the last three years. I've finally gotten to the point where I can see the reason and thank God for it. Yay! 3 years ago I walked into a restaurant in November, slipped and sprained hip, arm, leg and foot. I had to retire from my career, use a cane or walker for a year, go through a prolonged and nasty lawsuit, lose our life savings. We went from okay, to barely squeaking by. Had a breakdown.
2012 - Ah!! I see. The settlement, although small and not at all what I thought it would be, is a nice nest egg, and emergency fund for disasters. And we've had them. I hadn't realized then that I was really at the end of my career. Times change, especially in education and I wasn't up to rolling with them. I have a job now as substitute special ed assistant that lets me be home when I need to be, and when I'm working, it's terrific. I love the kids and have met some superlative teachers. The money isn't much but it buys food and emergencies. And I'm home for Brianna, otherwise she wouldn't be able to join any teams at school.
So I'm thankful for enlightenment most of all.
Brianna and I will plan our Black Friday journey. We go out at 5 am to Walmart and KMart, then breakfast at Panara. Then sleep all day.
Memories of the past - Mother put the turkey on early, Dad took me to a park. We'd feed the ducks, he'd take pictures, I'd have to go to the bathroom so he'd hold me over a hidden pile of leaves in the woods. I always had to go to the bathroom. Dinner was a big deal. Brother would put away prodigious amounts of food, sister was always serene, I was the wild card - didn't eat much, didn't like side dishes, was too ADHD to do well in a group, I'd get feisty, knock something over. Mother never seemed to mind. To her, that was life in a loving family. We were who we were.
Dinners at Granny's house or Aunt Jess's - quiet, dark houses, 'be on your best behavior Martha Jeanne', foods that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, knick knacks that drove my mother insane that I might decided to play with them and break them, fragile, formal dishes and heavy silverware, linen cloth and napkins, paper thin aperitif glasses always full of crandberry juice which was yucky. BUT - in a circle of people who loved me, had some special treats for me, told wonderful stories about the Old Country. I was part of something bigger than I.
As a young married, dinner at David's house, Thanksgiving was also his mother's birthday, I was assigned a seat next to Aunt Kate who was the relative who was 'difficult' to them (I liked her) and Dave's father, an old Navy man. First I got my finger stuck in the tiny handle of a teacup, He looked at me and said, "What's the matter with you?" and yanked my finger out. Then Jan told me the dishes belonged to her grandmother and 'not a piece has been broken'. Gulp. Then, Art would carve at the table and give you the piece he wanted you to have, not the piece I wanted and he put it on my plate with these words from the military, "Take what you want, but eat what you take." Gulp again. When the kids came along it was my Granny's house all over again - stressed that someone would break something.
There was the year we decided not to go to their house and to make our own. I have a photo of my mother and I holding that turkey and smiling. It's one of my favorite pictures.
I find myself very thankful this year for all the usual things. But in particular, for the worst event that happened to me in the last three years. I've finally gotten to the point where I can see the reason and thank God for it. Yay! 3 years ago I walked into a restaurant in November, slipped and sprained hip, arm, leg and foot. I had to retire from my career, use a cane or walker for a year, go through a prolonged and nasty lawsuit, lose our life savings. We went from okay, to barely squeaking by. Had a breakdown.
2012 - Ah!! I see. The settlement, although small and not at all what I thought it would be, is a nice nest egg, and emergency fund for disasters. And we've had them. I hadn't realized then that I was really at the end of my career. Times change, especially in education and I wasn't up to rolling with them. I have a job now as substitute special ed assistant that lets me be home when I need to be, and when I'm working, it's terrific. I love the kids and have met some superlative teachers. The money isn't much but it buys food and emergencies. And I'm home for Brianna, otherwise she wouldn't be able to join any teams at school.
So I'm thankful for enlightenment most of all.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Holiday Dinners
Breathes there a child who hasn't had to live through holiday dinners with the extended family? Waiting for dinner while the grown ups socialized, that one relative nobody really wants to invite but, hey, what are you going to do, picking at your dinner while the grown ups ate and socialized, wilting with boredome while the grownups yakked away after dinner, tried to find something to do for the rest of the night but there wasn't much so you got in trouble in one way or another and mother sighed on the way home, "Next time we're leaving you home!" ("Good").
Oh, was that just me?
My earliest memories are of my aunt and uncle's house. It was a beautiful old carriage house, soft lighting, dark wood. I was the baby so everybody was nice to me. Aunt and Uncle were friendly. Granny and PopPop seemed old to me but couldn't have been but 65-70. My parents were laid back and understood that a kid was a kid. For some unaccountable reason, Aunt gave me a pop gun. Okay, she never had children so I guess Auntie took a wild guess and thought an inquisitive little chipmunk like me would enjoy a pop gun. I was enjoying it and imagine that within five minutes of having it everyone was sorry the thing had come into the house. Hey, I thought, my PopPop likes good fun! I'll pretend to shoot him and he'll laugh. He was, by this time, a little weak with ill health, not always catching on quickly. Granny protected and cared for him stringently. I snuck up behind him, put the gun to his ear and let fly. The cork flew out, hit him above the ear, making a loud POP. He screamed, not knowing what to think, I remember him wobbling, people came rushing. I stepped back to observe the action. "Gee, what's with him?" Aunt grabbed the gun away, Granny helped her husband into a quiet room to recover, my mother took me by the hand to walk around outside while she explained my poor choice. And the memory embedded itself in my brain for the rest of my life.
I remember looong dinners at Granny and PopPop's house in Philadelphia. I only ate bread and turkey, not all that other stuff. Mashed turnips? No thank you, only I wasn't that polite. Then Granny would give me the lecture about how when she was a girl all they had to eat was dirt and they liked it... Then turning upside down on my chair from boredom, trying not to break the fragile china with the heavy silverware.
And this is what I've got to ask mother when I get to heaven - why on earth didn't you bring toys or something for me? I mean, you knew what I was like. A doll for goodness sakes?
Christmas dinners, while presents were piled under the tree and you had to wait through drinks and appetizers, sit through a boring dinner, then sit through after dinner talk which was dumb stuff, finally get released to get to the reason why you came, other than mother making you. Same thing for my girls at Nana's house - wait, wait, wait, blah blah blah. (I brought toys for them however).
Christmas and Easter dinners here in this house when my girls were young? It was my parents house then and it was wonderful. Dad had a way of making everything magic, sometimes literally. He was a magician among other things. There would be art materials and toys bought just for that occasion, and a Swedish angel candle - you know them, you light the four candles, the angels at the top go around from the heat and ring little bells? Highlight of dinner at Granny's - playing with fire. A dinner served that was child friendly. No mashed turnips.
It's Thanksgiving in a few days and Dave and I are planning our meal. It will be just the four of us as usual. The other two families live hours away. We've asked Brianna to help plan the food so we can be sure she'll eat it. Em will make her famous squash soup. Brianna has no way of understanding how important these feast days are, even though its just us, same old kitchen, same old food.
Holiday meals are when memories are shared, we get to listen to old stories, of grandma and grandpa's childhoods, how mommy was when she was young, you see family dynamics with the popular relatives and the ones you had to reluctantly invite (thank God we don't have one of those. We like all our relatives). We see how the old folks are treated, respected or not. You learn table manners, discretion, how to behave in someone else's home. You see china and stem ware, linen tablecloths and cloth napkins.
Who knew so much went in to holidays at Grandma's?
Oh, was that just me?
My earliest memories are of my aunt and uncle's house. It was a beautiful old carriage house, soft lighting, dark wood. I was the baby so everybody was nice to me. Aunt and Uncle were friendly. Granny and PopPop seemed old to me but couldn't have been but 65-70. My parents were laid back and understood that a kid was a kid. For some unaccountable reason, Aunt gave me a pop gun. Okay, she never had children so I guess Auntie took a wild guess and thought an inquisitive little chipmunk like me would enjoy a pop gun. I was enjoying it and imagine that within five minutes of having it everyone was sorry the thing had come into the house. Hey, I thought, my PopPop likes good fun! I'll pretend to shoot him and he'll laugh. He was, by this time, a little weak with ill health, not always catching on quickly. Granny protected and cared for him stringently. I snuck up behind him, put the gun to his ear and let fly. The cork flew out, hit him above the ear, making a loud POP. He screamed, not knowing what to think, I remember him wobbling, people came rushing. I stepped back to observe the action. "Gee, what's with him?" Aunt grabbed the gun away, Granny helped her husband into a quiet room to recover, my mother took me by the hand to walk around outside while she explained my poor choice. And the memory embedded itself in my brain for the rest of my life.
I remember looong dinners at Granny and PopPop's house in Philadelphia. I only ate bread and turkey, not all that other stuff. Mashed turnips? No thank you, only I wasn't that polite. Then Granny would give me the lecture about how when she was a girl all they had to eat was dirt and they liked it... Then turning upside down on my chair from boredom, trying not to break the fragile china with the heavy silverware.
And this is what I've got to ask mother when I get to heaven - why on earth didn't you bring toys or something for me? I mean, you knew what I was like. A doll for goodness sakes?
Christmas dinners, while presents were piled under the tree and you had to wait through drinks and appetizers, sit through a boring dinner, then sit through after dinner talk which was dumb stuff, finally get released to get to the reason why you came, other than mother making you. Same thing for my girls at Nana's house - wait, wait, wait, blah blah blah. (I brought toys for them however).
Christmas and Easter dinners here in this house when my girls were young? It was my parents house then and it was wonderful. Dad had a way of making everything magic, sometimes literally. He was a magician among other things. There would be art materials and toys bought just for that occasion, and a Swedish angel candle - you know them, you light the four candles, the angels at the top go around from the heat and ring little bells? Highlight of dinner at Granny's - playing with fire. A dinner served that was child friendly. No mashed turnips.
It's Thanksgiving in a few days and Dave and I are planning our meal. It will be just the four of us as usual. The other two families live hours away. We've asked Brianna to help plan the food so we can be sure she'll eat it. Em will make her famous squash soup. Brianna has no way of understanding how important these feast days are, even though its just us, same old kitchen, same old food.
Holiday meals are when memories are shared, we get to listen to old stories, of grandma and grandpa's childhoods, how mommy was when she was young, you see family dynamics with the popular relatives and the ones you had to reluctantly invite (thank God we don't have one of those. We like all our relatives). We see how the old folks are treated, respected or not. You learn table manners, discretion, how to behave in someone else's home. You see china and stem ware, linen tablecloths and cloth napkins.
Who knew so much went in to holidays at Grandma's?
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Christmas Letters
Holiday time again! Shopping for gifts nobody really needs, stressing over whether you got an even number of presents for everyone, trying to find parking, and Christmas cards!
(Okay, that was a mean rant. I'm not a Scrooge. Really, Christmas is one of my favorite holidays).
Sending Christmas cards is always a dilemma for me. When I was a kid and more concerned with presents, I do remember receiving dozens of cards and they weren't the ones that are mass printed. My parents picked out each and every one, as did our friends. They meant something. Mother would tie a string of yarn across the fireplace and display our cards all season. Every time I looked at that display I remembered how many people thought of us all year.
As a young married, we received and sent the mass printed, boxed cards. They came from everybody in our sphere of knowledge - the doctor, Acme store, pastor, our government Representative, plus friends and family. I continued my mother's idea of a display over the living room archway. By this time mom and dad were in this apartment and they put theirs in a decorated Christmas basket. (David made me a copy when we moved in here).
In the 90s we began to receive this new phenomenon - the Christmas letter. I'm sure they were around before that, but no one in our circle, except missionaries, sent them. We weren't so busy up until then and we communicated with people. Didn't need a run down of their lives since last we met. I liked them. TV shows made fun of them and Dear Abby was full of dismissive letters about them. How the writers probably lied to make themselves look better. My question was this - if they didn't have a good year, or if nothing happened, why would they go to the trouble to make up, print and mail a fake letter? I still don't believe that one.
The formula was the same for everyone we knew - Dear ________ (fill in the name). Followed by some well crafted religious statement to set the tone - "Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, the Savior who came as a babe but grew up to die on the cross so we could have our sins forgiven ...." The letter would go on to list each and every possible detail of that person's life. And I mean every one. Two pages of things I would never think to ask or ever want to know. "John has been suffering from bloating for weeks but we found out it was an allergy to nuts the dog has been limping and we've given him antacids Mary Sue has had a real struggle with math this year and her legs itch Grandma's hearing has really gone downhill our beloved dog Alice died this year Ray tried basketball but was so bad at it he got thrown off the team..." Last paragraph, another super religious statement and maybe the words to a hymn. I scratch my head and wonder, why would they think anyone would want to know this insider information? Filters, anyone?
Okay, I'm being judgemental. Forgive me. I can, because I wrote a lot of those letters myself. In those days it was important to follow the straight and narrow and not make waves. I cringe when I remember. Oh Martha Jeanne, where was your good sense and creativity?
These days, I simple adore Christmas letters! They've become as original as their families of origin. One dear friend who is with the Lord this year sent photo cards every year. Her children have children and we still got those cards. One year a family we knew had a horrendous year and their letter spelled it out in painful, intimate detail. We got a letter written in round labyrinth shape, and a poem letter. One written from the perspective of the family cat. One with a photo included of a grandchild seconds from the birth canal.
I love them all. I love to know what's been going on in every body's life. I hope I do a good job and they like to get ours.
Now, about Christmas cards. They're expensive. And stamps - out of sight. We've gone through some very difficult financial years (haven't come too far since then, sadly) but we always found money for cards. I would promise myself that this year, no. Can't afford it. Then cards would come to me. "Oh, I have to send this one a card, and she would wonder what happened if we didn't send her one, and it would be an insult to forget so and so." We once sent a card to a friend who never replied and we never got the cards back. Turns out he had been dead for 10 years and his son, in whose home he had lived, just never bothered to tell us.
I agonize over the right cards. Not paintings of the Christmas story, not trite little sayings, not secular images - after all, it is my religious holiday. Something sacred but still creative. And we always manage. I take my choices very seriously.
So you'll probably get a card from Dave and Martha, and a letter. I hope it suits and you find it interesting but not cloying. We'll try to keep the intimate details to a minimum.
(Okay, that was a mean rant. I'm not a Scrooge. Really, Christmas is one of my favorite holidays).
Sending Christmas cards is always a dilemma for me. When I was a kid and more concerned with presents, I do remember receiving dozens of cards and they weren't the ones that are mass printed. My parents picked out each and every one, as did our friends. They meant something. Mother would tie a string of yarn across the fireplace and display our cards all season. Every time I looked at that display I remembered how many people thought of us all year.
As a young married, we received and sent the mass printed, boxed cards. They came from everybody in our sphere of knowledge - the doctor, Acme store, pastor, our government Representative, plus friends and family. I continued my mother's idea of a display over the living room archway. By this time mom and dad were in this apartment and they put theirs in a decorated Christmas basket. (David made me a copy when we moved in here).
In the 90s we began to receive this new phenomenon - the Christmas letter. I'm sure they were around before that, but no one in our circle, except missionaries, sent them. We weren't so busy up until then and we communicated with people. Didn't need a run down of their lives since last we met. I liked them. TV shows made fun of them and Dear Abby was full of dismissive letters about them. How the writers probably lied to make themselves look better. My question was this - if they didn't have a good year, or if nothing happened, why would they go to the trouble to make up, print and mail a fake letter? I still don't believe that one.
The formula was the same for everyone we knew - Dear ________ (fill in the name). Followed by some well crafted religious statement to set the tone - "Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ, the Savior who came as a babe but grew up to die on the cross so we could have our sins forgiven ...." The letter would go on to list each and every possible detail of that person's life. And I mean every one. Two pages of things I would never think to ask or ever want to know. "John has been suffering from bloating for weeks but we found out it was an allergy to nuts the dog has been limping and we've given him antacids Mary Sue has had a real struggle with math this year and her legs itch Grandma's hearing has really gone downhill our beloved dog Alice died this year Ray tried basketball but was so bad at it he got thrown off the team..." Last paragraph, another super religious statement and maybe the words to a hymn. I scratch my head and wonder, why would they think anyone would want to know this insider information? Filters, anyone?
Okay, I'm being judgemental. Forgive me. I can, because I wrote a lot of those letters myself. In those days it was important to follow the straight and narrow and not make waves. I cringe when I remember. Oh Martha Jeanne, where was your good sense and creativity?
These days, I simple adore Christmas letters! They've become as original as their families of origin. One dear friend who is with the Lord this year sent photo cards every year. Her children have children and we still got those cards. One year a family we knew had a horrendous year and their letter spelled it out in painful, intimate detail. We got a letter written in round labyrinth shape, and a poem letter. One written from the perspective of the family cat. One with a photo included of a grandchild seconds from the birth canal.
I love them all. I love to know what's been going on in every body's life. I hope I do a good job and they like to get ours.
Now, about Christmas cards. They're expensive. And stamps - out of sight. We've gone through some very difficult financial years (haven't come too far since then, sadly) but we always found money for cards. I would promise myself that this year, no. Can't afford it. Then cards would come to me. "Oh, I have to send this one a card, and she would wonder what happened if we didn't send her one, and it would be an insult to forget so and so." We once sent a card to a friend who never replied and we never got the cards back. Turns out he had been dead for 10 years and his son, in whose home he had lived, just never bothered to tell us.
I agonize over the right cards. Not paintings of the Christmas story, not trite little sayings, not secular images - after all, it is my religious holiday. Something sacred but still creative. And we always manage. I take my choices very seriously.
So you'll probably get a card from Dave and Martha, and a letter. I hope it suits and you find it interesting but not cloying. We'll try to keep the intimate details to a minimum.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Christ Returning
I'm not putting anyone else down. This is my perspective and everyone else has a right to theirs. So my blog - indulge me.
No, I don't want Jesus to return because I don't like the president. I don't want Him to return because of 'the gays' or Ellen 'Degeneret'. I don't want Him to come back to punish the pro choice advocates.
My pastor preaches about His imminent return. "Be ready!" Humm.. how be ready and why? If He comes to take me out of this world, this world and all it's sin and despair will drop away. Why would I need to pray more, behave better or read more scripture?
I have friends who won't send their daughters to college because there's no point. Jesus is just going to come back and women won't need jobs. They should raise children to look forward to Jesus' return. (head scratch).
There are end times conferences, books by the million (Left Behind series), endless classes - 'Are We in The End Times?' Plotting the clues like an astrologer. Divisions and even age old arguments over how He'll come, when He'll come, who will go when He comes. Secretly rejoicing in the misfortune of those who will be left. (Come on, even though it's de rigour to add 'of course it's so sad' you know you're wiping your brow and saying, 'whew! Got in!)
Personally, I'm not 'ready'. I can live with gay marriage, abortion, Rosie O'Donnell, women having the vote and working, people behaving badly. In my worst times of depression I wanted to be out of pain, but not out of the world. I know my parents wanted to "see Jesus face to face!' but in my mind, He doesn't really have a face, I'm going to be essence as will God, Jesus and my loved ones, and with the world gone, am I going to have human emotions of eagerness?
I'd rather work to make my corner of the world a better place. To work on myself to be a light to the hopeless. And when He comes, He comes. And I hope the idea of only 'true' Christians going up is wrong and we all go up.
No, I don't want Jesus to return because I don't like the president. I don't want Him to return because of 'the gays' or Ellen 'Degeneret'. I don't want Him to come back to punish the pro choice advocates.
My pastor preaches about His imminent return. "Be ready!" Humm.. how be ready and why? If He comes to take me out of this world, this world and all it's sin and despair will drop away. Why would I need to pray more, behave better or read more scripture?
I have friends who won't send their daughters to college because there's no point. Jesus is just going to come back and women won't need jobs. They should raise children to look forward to Jesus' return. (head scratch).
There are end times conferences, books by the million (Left Behind series), endless classes - 'Are We in The End Times?' Plotting the clues like an astrologer. Divisions and even age old arguments over how He'll come, when He'll come, who will go when He comes. Secretly rejoicing in the misfortune of those who will be left. (Come on, even though it's de rigour to add 'of course it's so sad' you know you're wiping your brow and saying, 'whew! Got in!)
Personally, I'm not 'ready'. I can live with gay marriage, abortion, Rosie O'Donnell, women having the vote and working, people behaving badly. In my worst times of depression I wanted to be out of pain, but not out of the world. I know my parents wanted to "see Jesus face to face!' but in my mind, He doesn't really have a face, I'm going to be essence as will God, Jesus and my loved ones, and with the world gone, am I going to have human emotions of eagerness?
I'd rather work to make my corner of the world a better place. To work on myself to be a light to the hopeless. And when He comes, He comes. And I hope the idea of only 'true' Christians going up is wrong and we all go up.
The Yoga Mama
I did my first yoga yesterday. I am so glad there were no cameras there. "Put your hands up, squat, twist your arms around, bend one leg over the other, hold..." Yikes! The only thing that saved me were the other women in the room who were hopping on one foot and letting out "oofs" and "ouches".
I was attending a lecture by a young lady who had come through a terrible life circumstance and, finding her way out, found relief through the practice of yoga. She was sharing her journey with us. Her early life was my story, of feeling the odd child out, low self esteem, afraid of social situations. Yes, my old friends, I was, although I hid it by helping the hostess or jumping into the caterer's kitchen. Tears came to my eyes as I listened to this woman and wouldn't you know it, I had cleaned out my purse and had no tissues. Our life situations eventually diverged, she into some dark stuff, mine into quiet desperation. Both of us found healing by different paths, but healing none the less.
She talked about energy coming from the sun above, and up from the earth below. Sun and earth are life. Without them we do not live. We straightened our spines and aliened our bodies so the 'chi' could flow unimpeded from head to toe. We raised our arms and looked upwards to receive the light that was flowing down. We squatted down (ow ow ow), closed our eyes and breathed deeply fixing a wish in our minds that we would like accomplished in our lives. She spoke about getting rid of life distractions like TV and self medicating substances.
One thought that went through my head was, "This is the thing my church has warned against. Giving entrance to evil spirits. A useless practice that hippies and hippies do instead of knowing the living God."
And then I thought, wait, everything I've done so far has a correlation to my faith practice.
Could it possibly be that we're talking about the same thing from different viewpoints using different words?
As a Christian I do believe life comes from 'above', from God. I do believe His Holy Spirit flows through me if I open myself up to Its power. Aliening my spine is a health practice, not mumbo jumbo. When I pray I can't help raising my arms and touching my heart, it makes me breath deeply (which is also a health practice). I kneel to pray and through prayer I lift my needs to God, fixing them in my mind, expecting my needs to be met. Is cutting down my TV time a bad thing? Is my Christian faith the stuff of hippies and evil spirits?
I think that in a lot of life we're speaking the same language, using different motions. Its the blind men and the elephant, each touching a different part and thinking that part was the whole. If I believe God is all, over us, around us, through us (like the chi) then I have to believe people are more alike than different and their ways of expressing God their part of the whole.
I liked the yoga. Felt good when I got home. More energy. So we'll see.
I was attending a lecture by a young lady who had come through a terrible life circumstance and, finding her way out, found relief through the practice of yoga. She was sharing her journey with us. Her early life was my story, of feeling the odd child out, low self esteem, afraid of social situations. Yes, my old friends, I was, although I hid it by helping the hostess or jumping into the caterer's kitchen. Tears came to my eyes as I listened to this woman and wouldn't you know it, I had cleaned out my purse and had no tissues. Our life situations eventually diverged, she into some dark stuff, mine into quiet desperation. Both of us found healing by different paths, but healing none the less.
She talked about energy coming from the sun above, and up from the earth below. Sun and earth are life. Without them we do not live. We straightened our spines and aliened our bodies so the 'chi' could flow unimpeded from head to toe. We raised our arms and looked upwards to receive the light that was flowing down. We squatted down (ow ow ow), closed our eyes and breathed deeply fixing a wish in our minds that we would like accomplished in our lives. She spoke about getting rid of life distractions like TV and self medicating substances.
One thought that went through my head was, "This is the thing my church has warned against. Giving entrance to evil spirits. A useless practice that hippies and hippies do instead of knowing the living God."
And then I thought, wait, everything I've done so far has a correlation to my faith practice.
Could it possibly be that we're talking about the same thing from different viewpoints using different words?
As a Christian I do believe life comes from 'above', from God. I do believe His Holy Spirit flows through me if I open myself up to Its power. Aliening my spine is a health practice, not mumbo jumbo. When I pray I can't help raising my arms and touching my heart, it makes me breath deeply (which is also a health practice). I kneel to pray and through prayer I lift my needs to God, fixing them in my mind, expecting my needs to be met. Is cutting down my TV time a bad thing? Is my Christian faith the stuff of hippies and evil spirits?
I think that in a lot of life we're speaking the same language, using different motions. Its the blind men and the elephant, each touching a different part and thinking that part was the whole. If I believe God is all, over us, around us, through us (like the chi) then I have to believe people are more alike than different and their ways of expressing God their part of the whole.
I liked the yoga. Felt good when I got home. More energy. So we'll see.
The Election
Whew! It's finally over. President Obama has won a second term by popular acclaim. But it's been a terrible road getting to election day. I can't think of another situation that brings out such rancor in people who are normally of such good will.
I've had difficulty these 4 years of Obama's tenure trying to respect the man and office but not liking some of the policies that were coming out of the white house. I love his style, I love his wry approach, he is a disciplined man, his wife is strong and he has raised two lovely daughters. I sense, however, that his inexperience has gotten in his way big time. He didn't come to the office through business, political family or wealth. There's no training to be the leader of the free world. You get noticed, you are approached with an offer, you are groomed for a few years and you do what your party handlers tell you to do. They don't run a person for office unless he's able to do the job as they want it done.
- Nixon couldn't get elected if he had a nomination from God Himself, yet, he was. (Humm, maybe it was God Himself who nominated him?)
-John Kennedy didn't want the job, but his father was in too deep and forced his sons to comply. If Kennedy had continued to retirement we have no guarantee that he would have been a great president. It was only his death that catapulted him into political sainthood.
-Ronald Regan was an actor, not a politician. He was chosen and groomed for the job because of his acting and PR skills. And despite claims of sainthood by conservatives, he did a fair but not great job. He did what his party paid him to do.
-Poor George Bush was a failed businessman who was selected precisely because he knew nothing and would accept a shadow president to run things. (his brother Jeb was approached first and he turned them down).He was a christian, which the party needed for their conservative base. So a whole legend was written about his converstion at a Billy Graham crusade, witnessing to soldiers, praying over a sick bed. Then he got feisty and thought he could really do the job and a campaign to slap him down was started in the name of the dreaded liberals. His second term was bought for him and he was warned to behave, and he did. Good old folksy George.
-Barach was smooth, smart and the right ethnic configuration for the agenda and so was brought along for just this period in history.
It's no accident of fate that these men who had no experience were run for president. The powers that be want an obedient servant, not a thinker.
And here we are in 2012, electing a president. I can't begin to understand the viciousness that's been spewed out about Barach Obama. Accusations of being a muslim (why would he keep it a secret? It's no crime to be one, and why would he affiliate with the Baptist church way before thinking of public office?), of being an illegal alien, of redecorating the white house in muslim colors, wearing a ring inscribed with arabic prayers... and much much more.
Over and over, we've been told that 'true' Christians shouldn't vote for him because he sanctions abortion and gay marriage. I was told that by voting for him I was putting myself in serious jeopardy with God. And no amount of reasonable discussion made a dent in those people's minds. They want someone to hang their discontent on and the president seems like a good hook.
I have a theory. I think that when a person has emotional or mental issues, it's so painful that they'll look for somewhere else to hang their depression and anger. Can't do that to a person they know, but can do it to a celebrity or petty cause that won't face them every day. Its called 'transference'. Hating a president is an emotional tool to let off steam. It happened to George Bush. And I haven't got a single doubt that had Romney been chosen to win (predetermined?) there would have been something that these disgruntled, unbalanced people would fasten onto. Probably his faith. Or his wealth.
And something I've noticed is that when a person gets so over reactive to a political figure or a cause it's not just politics. This extreme need to control comes out in every other area of life - marriage, parenthood, friendships and work.
So it occurs to me that I have to get ahold of myself and not be too hard on those who hold these rabid reactions toward political and religious figures. There's more at work than politics. And as God has forgiven me my screeds and over reactions I need to be patient with others.
I've had difficulty these 4 years of Obama's tenure trying to respect the man and office but not liking some of the policies that were coming out of the white house. I love his style, I love his wry approach, he is a disciplined man, his wife is strong and he has raised two lovely daughters. I sense, however, that his inexperience has gotten in his way big time. He didn't come to the office through business, political family or wealth. There's no training to be the leader of the free world. You get noticed, you are approached with an offer, you are groomed for a few years and you do what your party handlers tell you to do. They don't run a person for office unless he's able to do the job as they want it done.
- Nixon couldn't get elected if he had a nomination from God Himself, yet, he was. (Humm, maybe it was God Himself who nominated him?)
-John Kennedy didn't want the job, but his father was in too deep and forced his sons to comply. If Kennedy had continued to retirement we have no guarantee that he would have been a great president. It was only his death that catapulted him into political sainthood.
-Ronald Regan was an actor, not a politician. He was chosen and groomed for the job because of his acting and PR skills. And despite claims of sainthood by conservatives, he did a fair but not great job. He did what his party paid him to do.
-Poor George Bush was a failed businessman who was selected precisely because he knew nothing and would accept a shadow president to run things. (his brother Jeb was approached first and he turned them down).He was a christian, which the party needed for their conservative base. So a whole legend was written about his converstion at a Billy Graham crusade, witnessing to soldiers, praying over a sick bed. Then he got feisty and thought he could really do the job and a campaign to slap him down was started in the name of the dreaded liberals. His second term was bought for him and he was warned to behave, and he did. Good old folksy George.
-Barach was smooth, smart and the right ethnic configuration for the agenda and so was brought along for just this period in history.
It's no accident of fate that these men who had no experience were run for president. The powers that be want an obedient servant, not a thinker.
And here we are in 2012, electing a president. I can't begin to understand the viciousness that's been spewed out about Barach Obama. Accusations of being a muslim (why would he keep it a secret? It's no crime to be one, and why would he affiliate with the Baptist church way before thinking of public office?), of being an illegal alien, of redecorating the white house in muslim colors, wearing a ring inscribed with arabic prayers... and much much more.
Over and over, we've been told that 'true' Christians shouldn't vote for him because he sanctions abortion and gay marriage. I was told that by voting for him I was putting myself in serious jeopardy with God. And no amount of reasonable discussion made a dent in those people's minds. They want someone to hang their discontent on and the president seems like a good hook.
I have a theory. I think that when a person has emotional or mental issues, it's so painful that they'll look for somewhere else to hang their depression and anger. Can't do that to a person they know, but can do it to a celebrity or petty cause that won't face them every day. Its called 'transference'. Hating a president is an emotional tool to let off steam. It happened to George Bush. And I haven't got a single doubt that had Romney been chosen to win (predetermined?) there would have been something that these disgruntled, unbalanced people would fasten onto. Probably his faith. Or his wealth.
And something I've noticed is that when a person gets so over reactive to a political figure or a cause it's not just politics. This extreme need to control comes out in every other area of life - marriage, parenthood, friendships and work.
So it occurs to me that I have to get ahold of myself and not be too hard on those who hold these rabid reactions toward political and religious figures. There's more at work than politics. And as God has forgiven me my screeds and over reactions I need to be patient with others.
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