A Quick Side Trip To Joy

This will be a short post again, now instead of one sick child I'm dealing with two and I'm not feeling fantastic myself. However, I wanted to share my morning passage as it was just so uplifting. As you know I went crazy about six months ago or so, and so joy, hope, peace . . . not in abundance in my house. But every morning I read this morning prayer that is like a dedication of my day, my time and my attention to God. Then I read a praise passage in the bible. A while back I looked up a whole bunch of them and wrote them on an index card. Each morning I look one up and read it. Even the darkest of my days I start with praise to God, it is just plain essential. Today the passage was Romans 15:7 but I kept reading and came to this:

Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. 

I needed that today, and of course God knew that. Not to say I was unhappy - though I've been trying to cut back on the magic pills and I can feel that anxiety slithering around in the back of my brain again - but just that joy, hope, and peace just feel too dangerous. Christmas day was extraordinary in our house this year. For starters, the priest at the church my son attends (Bee and I can't go, obviously, without any form of transport) came out. He was there to bless Bee and he brought two members of RCIA - who were just about two of the nicest people I have ever met. And this priest! First - priests and nuns are like rock stars to me (well, and writers. I'd need smelling salts if I ever met Stephen King or Judy Blume) so the fact that an actual priest was in my home was just so exciting. But this priest! He was so . . . exuberant. He simply radiated energy and joy and, according to my son, he is like that all the time. No wonder my son was willing to walk all that way for mass! So he comes over and blesses Bee. And let me tell you, she was happy and excited. I haven't heard her that vocal in AGES, seriously. She knew. Or maybe Father Mike's absolute joy and love just washed over her. I don't know. All I do know is that she was happy and so was I. Gosh, even Noah was and usually he is deep in the middle of moody teenage angst. But I tell you this because . . . it terrified me. To be that joyful, that hopeful, was frightening. The good days always are, because the bad days are so much worse, so much more of a fall.
Wow, I started this post two hours ago and only am just getting back to it. Apparently a sinus infection and sore throat are equivelant to the Black Plague to 16 year old boys. He keeps saying "Mom, I'm in so much pain, help me!" And I thought . . . didn't his dear friend and mentor give him a shillelagh for Christmas? Hmmm. It IS heavy . . . one good hit in just the right spot would knock him out for hours . . . but I decided against that particular form of pain relief.
Okay, so to make this quick because he'll need me again quite soon and the nurse should be coming for Bee at some point for her daily shot so I'll wrap this up. I'm pretty sure I had a point two hours ago and now I've just lost it. And I hear Noah growling so I must hurry. Joy is a good thing, a gift from God. Much like the child now beating on his bedroom wall crying "Moooooommmm. Moooommmm!"
Back again. Okay, joy is a gift. People that radiate joy like Father Mike are a blessing. And so, on Christmas Day, God was so very present in our apartment through the joy and love of Father Mike, Angie and Tom. Then, they handed us gifts and Christmas cards (which really excited me as I LOVE Christmas cards, I keep them year after year and I have tons of them) and found that they had blessed us even more. When my kids are better I must sit down and write each of them a letter but I do not think there are words to convey how we feel. But I will try. At first, my son and I balked at their kindness, we discussed the most tactful way of declining and returning the bulk of their kindness. We consulted Noah's sponsor/mentor and he told me that I needed to accept their kindness with gratitude and joy, that they would not have been so kind to us if they did not want to be. I felt selfish at the thought of allowing this, and we discussed it at length.
Oh good heavens, he's banging on his wall again. Okay - joy is good. Scary but good. It is a gift from God. Plus, there are people out there that have the gift for spreading joy just by their very presence and we were so blessed Christmas Day. Now I must finish because I have a shillelagh to find. . .

What The Dickens?!

The train is pulling into a train yard today - total chaos. My brain is going in a million different directions and the magic pills are only helping so much.
First things first - my Bee is very ill and not getting better. I know that we've been so blessed to have nearly 21 years already, but I suppose I am selfish and want more time. I'm not foolish enough to think I'll get another full year, I understand that. But I'm hoping for a few more months, maybe until I'm sane again. I don't think I could handle her passing in the best of times, right now during my unfortunate dip into the crazy pool, I think it would do me in. However, she had such a treat just a few days ago! We love the Beekman 1802 Boys and they wished her a Merry Christmas and even showed a painting she had done for them on their 24 hour live marathon! She was so cheered by that! And on Christmas day, Father Mike and some of the others from the church are going to come and bless her. The doctor is calling in a nurse for daily antibiotic shots. And today, my morning scripture was uplifting and hopeful and just perfectly timed:

James 5:13-15 Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven.

Second things - my crazy. You know, I think the most frustrating thing about the panic, the anxiety is that there is no logic to it. You can sit yourself down and think clearly, logically, and yet it makes not one whit of difference. Knowing that you are fixating on something foolishly does not help, thinking it through does not help. For example, I am anxious about my fridge, for starters. I am constantly afraid it is going to break down. Every time it turns off I find my heart racing, checking the clock, waiting till it turns on again. Now I didn't just fixate for no reason, the temp fluctuates, it began making a worrisome buzzing sound, it makes all manner of loud and scary noises. And also, if it broke down and our food went bad, I have no means to replace the food to feed Noah. That terrifies me. I also have panic attacks about the rest of the apartment. I can't use my dryer anymore because apparently the vent that runs through my bedroom ceiling must be broken somewhere because the condensation of the drying clothes has been leaking from the ceiling and also you can hear it dripping into the walls - the complex dismissed it, apparently it happens in several apartments. So now I hang all my clothes to dry and just fluff them in the dryer. About a year ago our floors developed hills and valleys practically overnight. Again, apparently something not to worry about. But I do. I worry that this place is going to fall apart and we will be homeless again. That thought terrifies me more than I can express. In fact, that was about the time I started getting the little cracks in my sanity. I have a friend that prays for my fridge every day. Isn't that lovely? She embraces my crazy and prays about my fridge just because.

Thirds - I'm 42 today. I've been watching old episodes of the British comedy "Are You Being Served" and in one episode a man tells Mrs. Slocombe that he wants to buy a dress. She asked the age range and he says younger forties (that'd be where I'm at) and Mrs. Slocombe tells Ms. Brahms to get something from the "younger middle age category". Younger MIDDLE AGE???? That's where I'm at now? Middle age? How did that happen? I was 19 just YESTERDAY. And now I'm middle aged. I don't mind, so much, it's just that I had so many hopes and dreams and it feels like it is too late for them now. Like I'm an apple that fell off the tree and rolled under a bush and now I'm just drying out and if anyone ever happens to find me I'll look like one of those carved dried apples that look like little old ladies and they'll toss me back down again and that will be that.

Fourth - I've been thinking about my "friends". The ones mentioned before. Last night I found myself crying over them. All of it hurt, the things they said, the way they just walked away, the awful phone call from one of them saying terrible things but, mostly, the fact that not one of them chose to defend me. Oh drama llama. I miss them and I find myself crying over them more often than I care to. I'm not angry, just so hurt and confused. Who CHOOSES to become ill in any way, mental or physical?? No one would choose to have their brain turn on them like this, to feel like this all the time! I didn't choose this.

Fifth - how could I be so blind, me - the lover of Dickens? Me, who can quote A Christmas Carol practically line for line? Last night Bee and I were watching Patrick Stewart's film version - much darker than our usual preferences (Mickey's Christmas Carol and A Muppet's Christmas Carol) but quite good. I looked over at our Advent wreath and thought about how upset I've been, not being able to get my kids or anyone else what  I'd like to buy them. Worrying about stuff. Stuff! I lit my "miracle candle" and said a prayer of thanksgiving for all the miracles, but especially the miracle of the birth of Christ. I thought about that for a long time. Because we aren't really just celebrating the birth of Christ. We are celebrating the love of God, the love that Jesus also has for us. That they both chose - chose freely and without hesitation - to make such sacrifices for us all. God knew that Jesus would suffer loneliness, pain, fear, so many terrible things. And Jesus understood that as well. And yet they both chose love anyway. Why one Earth am I worried about foolish things like what I can afford to purchase when I should be showing my love and care daily to my children, to the people around us. God authored a whole book just to tell me that, sent His Son to show me that, inspired Dickens to write about it in the most lyrical, moving story ever written. Stuff is just stuff. It comes, it goes, we don't really need stuff. We need God, Jesus, each other. I'm rambling, I know. It's just that I found myself staring at the screen, at Capt. Picard as Scrooge laughing and frolicking because he finally realized it - Christmas is a feeling. Christmas is every single day. Christmas comes to us even without trees, decorations, presents (come to think of it, Dr. Seuss had it, as well). Christmas is an attitude, one of gratitude, humility, love, charity, compassion and thanksgiving and it should rule our hearts daily. It is not a season, a particular day of the year, it is choice every single day to look at the people around us with love NO MATTER WHAT. No matter that they might be unkind to you, or rude. No matter that they might hurt you. No matter that you are tired and broken. No matter what because we are all beloved children of God - every single person you see is a beloved child of God and someone that God sent His son to suffer and die for. God had to watch all that, you know. As a parent I think about that, about God watching it all and standing by His choice to love us, watching with pride that Jesus daily made that same choice despite everything.

I may or may not post again before Christmas Day. If I don't I wish you a Merry Christmas and implore you to remember that Christmas is a daily act of love to everyone you meet, the whole year 'round. And I'll leave you with this, for comfort and inspiration, as it is one of my favorites. Remember as you read it that this is what God and Jesus offer you, and what they want you to offer to others - love and peace:

Matthew 11: 28-30 Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

God Loves You . . . Do you?

Today's post will be short - a change from my usual rambles. My neighbor is a lovely, hardworking divorced mother of two. Her children are kind, polite, and her eldest has a part time job in addition to completing his final year of high school. Her youngest makes a special effort to check up on our elderly neighbor and always has a sunny smile for everyone. Although I tend to keep to myself I have spoken with her on a number of occasions and like her very much. She is, like most of us struggling financially, utterly and completely weary. You can see it in her eyes, the distant idea that life was supposed to turn out differently. She has given me a ride to the store several times, and I can see that she offers kindness to anyone that needs it.
About a week ago she put a Christmas wreath on her door. I thought it was a lovely wreath, very festive, and reminded me that I needed to do the same. I couldn't afford to purchase one so I made a wreath from scraps of garland, tinsel and ornaments and hung it up. Standing outside I looked at mine, and then hers and had the thought that anyone looking at the two would clearly think mine looked terrible and clearly hand made and cheap. I wanted to take it down but didn't - after all, it was all I could afford and I'd done my best. It was made with hope, anyway, and that would have to be enough.
A few days later we had to call an ambulance for our elderly neighbor (that will go in another post as it, and another incident, clearly demonstrated to me that God had great timing). After the ambulance had taken her away we spoke for several minutes and she brought up our wreaths. She told me that after I put mine up she felt embarrassed to have hers up, she thought mine was so much nicer. I stared at her in astonishment for a moment and then I laughed till I cried while she looked at me a little worriedly.
Do you see what we do to ourselves??? WHY are we so hard on ourselves? Why can't we love ourselves? Why must we measure ourselves against others? Against our long ago dreams? We measure ourselves with faulty rulers, I assure you. The only measurement should be the love of God and I can promise you have it, fully and completely.

Psalm 139:14 I will give thanks to you because I have been so miraculously and amazingly made. You're works are miraculous and my soul is fully aware of this.

Psalm 136:26 Give thanks to the God of heaven, for his steadfast love lasts forever.

Humility - But It's Not What You Think.

     I didn't grow up with my mother. I have a few memories of her, but my parents divorced and my father took my brothers and I when I was four or five. The few memories I have of her are not great. My mother had mental health issues. I didn't understand how much she must have suffered and struggled until recently. I went to live with her briefly as a teenager but moved into my own apartment fairly quickly. My mother, because of her overwhelming guilt about the kind of mother she was - or wasn't - is very emotionally needy. I left my husband once, when my kids were very little, and she let us live with her for a very, very long six month (Yes, I went back to him. Yes, it was stupid.) We have maintained a phone relationship and I have always hoped that someday we might live closer so that we can develop a deeper relationship. I've really always wanted a mother, the kind that fit in with all of those daydreams as a child. As an adult I realize that is unrealistic and I'd just like to be friends, at least. We hadn't seen each other in ten years when she came down for a visit this summer. Time rushes past us and sometimes it passes like a whirling dervish. What I didn't expect when I opened the door was a little old lady in sensible shoes and clutching a little old lady handbag. We spent time talking, she got a chance to get to know my son. She had budgeted her money carefully for the trip with the intention of purchasing dinner for each of her children. Noah loves pizza so she insisted that we order pizza, her treat. After I ordered the pizza I told her how much it would be and she reached into her purse to pull out her change purse. It was . . . a shock . . . to see my little old lady of a mother hunched over her little change purse counting out change to give us this treat. She was so pleased to do it and she was smiling as she counted out her bills and coins. I don't know why the moment was such a moving experience for me, but I wanted to cry. For her, for the past, for everyone whose life is changed by mental illness and shoulder losses the rest of us cannot comprehend. For all the guilt she carries, for the belief - no matter what I say - that I resent her for the things that happened when I was a child. But I don't, I never did. I always knew that parents were just people with baggage doing the best they could. My mom just did the best she could. I've learned lately that sometimes just surviving the day, the night, and not succumbing to that seductive voice in the darkness that tells you to just let go is a monumental act of strength. I guess in that moment I saw my mother very clearly, as a little old lady clutching desperately the broken pieces of her soul, as a weary woman with a lot of tattered dreams she takes out sometimes and sighs over with longing and tears. As she was leaving she had trouble putting her shoes on. I got down on my knees and helped her. It was one of the most profound moments of my life, kneeling before my mother and putting her shoes on her feet. Although I'm used to caretaking (Bee will be 21 soon and I do everything from changing her diaper to reading to her) this was a different experience. It was humbling, a lesson in humility I never expected. I was so grateful for every single second on my knees helping my mother with her shoes.
     I think about that moment often. It was, perhaps, the most intimate experience I've ever had with my mother, with anyone. And for the second time in my life I found that a word I thought I understood was completely redefined: humility. When most people think of that word they associate it with humiliation but I'm not talking about the time I got up to sing in front of my entire junior high school in a white dress having finally, unbeknownst to me, gotten a visit from my "friend". Or singing at the county fair with a friend and from the second I got up on that stage I stood frozen and uttered not a sound, moved not an inch, just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi filled with laughing people. Or even the time my then five year old son mispronounced the word crocheting (think about it) in front of a group of little old ladies from a church group. Or, most humiliating of all, the time I stood like an "X" in front of the men's room door at the bookstore the first time my son used a public bathroom all by himself and, with my back to the door, called over my shoulder to the person I thought was my son opening the door "Wow, that took a while, did you need to poop?" and it turned out to be the most gorgeous man on the entire planet rather than my little son.
     I'm talking about something else. The dictionary defines the word humility as having a modest or low opinion of oneself. But the bible gives us a different definition. In fact, Jesus gives us an amazing example of humility in John 13: 3 - 17:

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" 

Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand." 

"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." 

Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." 

"Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and head as well!"

Jesus answered, "A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you." For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not everyone was clean. When he finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. "Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord', and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them."

     Jesus wasn't humiliated to get down on his hands and knees and wash the feet of others. It wasn't a humiliating experience, but one of love and giving, and a teaching moment for not just the disciples, but for all of us. Humility is not about having a low opinion of yourself, or doing something demeaning. Humility is about giving of yourself without a single thought of what you'll get out of it. It is true charity wrapped in absolute love and kindness, without selfishness or judgement.
     We are getting very close to Christmas and, as Dickens noted in A Christmas Carol, this is a time people feel a little more kindness toward one another:

". . . the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

     As I've grown older I've come to realize that Christmas is about humility. Not presents, not decorations, not shopping and sales. Those things are nice. But those things aren't what Christmas is all about. Christmas is about following the example of Christ with humility and extending that attitude to each day of the year. Because, to quote Dickens and A Christmas Carol again "Mankind was my business! The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

     When I was a kid the expression "Jesus is the reason for the season" was very popular. There were bookmarks, magnets, pins, buttons, shirts, posters, stickers, it was everywhere. And although it eventually grew a bit stale from overuse it was then, nevertheless, and continues to be, true.

Matthew 20:28 . . . just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve . . .