All Hallow: Everything Belongs To Him

 [caption id="attachment_572" align="aligncenter" width="712"] All Hallow: Everything Belongs To Him / Article and Photo by Kelly Brewer[/caption]

Sugar Rush Weekend 

For a little over a decade now, I’ve referred to the days surrounding Halloween as “Sugar Rush Weekend” not only for the inevitable  *plastic pumpkins overflowing with fun-sized candy, but also for the two regulation birthday cakes due after the last car trunk or house has been visited.

Today is Halloween. All Saints Eve

Twenty-one years ago, my son was born on All Saints Day. (Tomorrow)

Thirteen years ago, my daughter was born on All Souls’ Day. (Two days from now) 

This holiday season has long been on our family radar for more than costume parties and pumpkins. I named my children with purpose and the significance of the days they were born are of special  interest to me, too. 

Somewhere along the line, I had a fuzzy misconception that All Saints and All Souls days, as well as  Dia de los Muertos  must serve primarily for ancestor worship. 

Thanks to the pace and depth afforded by homeschooling, with its invitation to dive deep into curious realms,  combined with time to grow spiritually and to internalize what freedom in Christ really means,  my understanding of these days transformed over time; indeed all of my days have.  

Now, I look on this season as a very unique space in my year to celebrate the life I have been given,  the lives I have been entrusted with, and all the  lives that have invested in me. 

That the three day run also involves enough sugar to make a batch of Mexican sugar skulls  is just the brand of irony I enjoy. 

But I’m not here to defend a holiday, its history or the way it is celebrated (or not celebrated.) 

 I’m here to tell you about the funeral I attended yesterday. 

Worth The Living

My childhood Sunday School teacher passed away rather suddenly last week. At age 71,  and after overcoming a lifetime of chronic illness, I think we all expected she'd just go on forever. We do that with people, don't we? Until we are abruptly reminded. 

And so, the news took us all by surprise. Most of us hadn't even known she was battling more illness. She wouldn't have let on. She never did. She was resilient and faced life's shadows with determined joy. 

An entire lifetime - probably two- passed from the era when she taught our little Caravan group at church. On one occasion at least, we bumped into each other at random in the town I lived in when I was married. I want to say it actually happened twice, though, at the same little backwater bbq joint. 

It’s one of those lesser mentioned  losses when somebody dies. We can no longer check our memories against theirs for accuracy. 

We wish we would’ve paid closer attention. 

We reconnected when I moved back home following my divorce, and stayed in touch more consistently then, thanks in large part to social media (even though we now lived only a few miles apart) 

She ordered several copies of one of my books. I dropped them by her work one day and got the chance to hug her neck. She asked about me with genuine care and when I signed her books, I knew she was proud of me. She told me as much, but I felt it emanating from her, too. 

 I’m grateful for those small moments of reclaimed time with this lady who had loved me as a child and continued to support me all these years later.

With each loss, we inherit the sorrow of wishing there had been more time; of wishing we had been better stewards. 

We wish we could’ve known how little time was left.

If only we had known… then we would’ve… but it matters not.  We don’t have more time.  We won’t. 

Ties That Bind

I slipped into the funeral home’s little chapel on the first stanza of  “Because He Lives”

Momma was saving a seat for me. Familiar, somber faces from my childhood flashed a smile of acknowledgement across the aisle. 

“…Because He lives

All fear is gone…” 

After the music, the preacher shared collected memories of our departed friend. We laughed at those recognizable traits we’d all grown to love about her. We were reminded anew of the extent of our loss.  Her laughter and tenacity now only accessible through memories. 

During this eulogy, I learned tiny new details about my teacher.  They were unsurprising and just what you’d expect:  little stories I wish that I had known sooner.  Not because they would change anything, only because I could have appreciated those things about her,  with her.

Each new revelation aligned seamlessly with her character. Of course, she had a special capacity for children on the spectrum. Of course, she carried care packages in her car for homeless and hurting people.

But also, with a cruel twist of timing, I recognized many of her characteristics align with my own tendencies. 

Were they directly related? Had I become like her in certain ways because of her influence? We can no longer compare notes on this side of Heaven. We missed the opportunity to ride around town handing out snacks together. But I recognize this, we shared a common faith and a willingness to be transformed by it.

Indeed, it is the common denominator of all those familiar faces from yesterday. 

 The preacher talked about peace and a hopeful eternity. Mrs. Jackie had both. And she wanted the same for everyone she knew. 

“In Christ Alone” played and then, on this, our own asynchronistic day of the dead,  we stood in reverence as her earthly shell passed us by in a box. 

“...What heights of love, what depths of peace

When fears are stilled, when strivings cease..."

Gemstones And Gravesides

Those of us who knew Mrs. Jackie from the same church long ago congregated at the back of the chapel for a few moments. We shared memories of the ways she made us feel loved. I wasn’t the only student whose art she supported all these years later. 

When we lose someone, we are left to celebrate their life without their presence. Like a gemstone glinting light at different angles, we bring our stories together, hoping to catch one more glimpse of their reflection.

I looked at these beloved faces, all these lives that have invested in my own.  A couple who also taught me as a child; my friend’s dad who endured many sleepover shenanigans without losing his patience- ever.  My own momma.  

All these memories. So much love.

Yet, we will bury each other. 

We  will meet again and again in chapels and at gravesides. We know it,  despite our repeated protest that we must stop meeting like this. 

We will pass around memories,  stored away all these years like so much bread and wine. 

It will be bittersweet. We know this, too. Like sugar skulls and lime. 

We will wish we could remember the stories just right. 

We will wish there had been more time. 

And we will wish they could be back with us, to see all this beautiful glinting light they've left behind . 

But look! They are here now, and so are you. 

Whatever your beliefs about this holiday, this is the day that the Lord has made,  and He has made his light to shine on us.

For some, this day will be the last and only day left.

So then, while we have the time, let us make the most of our living and let us let our  light shine. 

Trick or Treat, Smell My Footnotes  

* As a Christian homeschooling family, we grew through many seasons of understanding and interpretation of this controversial holiday. Over the years, we have abstained altogether, attended alternative church harvest events out of conviction, attended church harvest events out of convenience, attended community parties and entered chili competitions, gone old fashioned trick or treating in costume and one year, we even bought the kids a full bag of the candy of their choice in exchange for staying home. I’m too old a dog to engage in debate and wish you safe passage on your high horse if any of this twists your hanky. Please do not make me draw correlations between Jesus and trick or treat... ("Behold, I stand at the door and knock..." )

**Watching Coco with my daughter when she was younger also deepened my appreciation for the reverence intended by these marked days, regardless of the way some express it.   

 

But Now, HD : The Gift of Cataracts (part 2)

  

New Vision 

In Part 1, "Was Blind: The Gift of Cataracts"  I had just been handed an application for financing double cataract surgery.

Rather than pretending to build up suspense (because most of my readers are related to me and already know what happened) I’ll skip directly to the end: I was approved for the financing. I had both surgeries. And they worked! 

I can see clearly now. 

Almost too clearly. 

Let me explain. 

After surgery, everything was brand new. I was suddenly more aware of how bad my vision had become. Or, maybe, now that the threat was behind me, I could allow myself to admit I had been going blind.  

Sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between suppressing what we fear is true and waiting for more evidence to surface. More often,  they’re comorbid conditions requiring both patience and courage. 

After the first surgery, a large, shamrock-shaped cataract was removed from my left eye. :: insert Irish eyes punchline here::  

My vision was instantly clearer, but I would close my ‘good eye’ for a stark reminder of how bad things had been. 

Looking through my unrepaired eye made me deeply appreciative. And, letting my weird self show through for a moment, a small part of me (a very small part) wanted to keep my eyes like that forever. One eye to see with and one eye to always remember. 

I never wanted to forget the awe of being healed or lose sight of due gratitude.    

Writ Large 

All of a sudden, I could see things around me with a clarity that was almost inconvenient. How long had we been living with that stain on the wall? Was everyone really okay just leaving these splatters near the stove? How long had our house been this messy?! Why had no one said anything? 

When I no longer needed to leave for work extra early to navigate oncoming traffic, I started to realize how long I’d been making accommodations for living with low vision. 

Getting to work on time instead of early meant different traffic patterns, fewer open parking spaces and less time to grab coffee en route to my desk. It meant not having to sit with my nose pressed to the computer screen to see my work. 

I had never actually seen the art in our office, but I thought I had. There were details and patterns I didn’t know I was missing out on. Sometimes, the new tiny details completely changed my understanding of the picture, writ large. 

Me, Myself and Eyesight 

I could see myself better, too. Physically and metaphysically, I had new spots, lines and wrinkles. Processing all the changes, big and small brought new awareness mingled with  “about-time-she-admits-it” allowances.  

“I wouldn’t have pulled into the turn lane that quickly a month ago”  

 As I go through ordinary life  now, I often hear myself pointing out new realizations or confessions. 

Around each corner, every day, there are extraordinary reasons for gratitude. 

Amazing 

Though I had stopped driving at night (for the most part) before my surgery, stopping driving altogether was never an option for me. Single-parent life demands adapted abilities over disabilities as a general rule. Our vocabulary doesn’t include “can’t. It can’t ;) There are things to be done and only one person to do them. 

However, my vocabulary did change. Without a hint of exaggeration, words like “disability”, “accessibility” and “blind” became part of my regular communication. 

Prior to my surgeries, those terms belonged to me as much as a white cane or seeing eye dog, which is to say, not at all. I never imagined I would need them. 

Just as going through a domestic disturbance forced me to confront words like “abuse” & “violence”, it is still uncomfortable to use words that feel extreme. 

Comes an accusing hiss: “Blind? Isn’t that a little extreme?”  “ Accessibility? Aren’t you being dramatic?” and “What will you tell those who won’t regain sight ?” 

But I’ve found, and continue to find, that the very words I hide from are the words I most need to speak. 

I can only share my own story, like one struck and glowing match: 

Afraid and in the dark, I learned so much.  In places of solitude, I wasn't left alone.  In my doubt, hope surprised me. 

I was going blind, but now I can see.    

Be My Eyes 

I love people, I like to help others, and I realize that sharing my story is only a small and limited way to offer light. 

A more practical way to help blind and low-vision people is through the free app called Be My Eyes, available for Apple and Android devices. Be My Eyes allows blind and low-vision users to make video calls to sighted individuals for help with visual activities. Whether reading a food label in the grocery store or helping coordinate outfit colors before work, you really can bring light into dark places. https://www.bemyeyes.com/

Was Blind: The Gift of Cataracts (part 1)

 

Doctor, My Eyes… 

“You are only a few numbers from losing your driver’s license  ” 

My ophthalmologist was addressing my concerns about having  surgery. 

“I’m worried I’ll have this surgery but find cataracts aren’t the cause. I’ll be making a lifelong choice for glasses.”  I explained. 

He gently took the reins of the conversation. His answer, both figurative and literal, was resolved: “Oh, it is the cataracts. We’ll take them out and you’ll see. 

“I respect your expertise… “ I meant it “I just don’t understand why the cataract specialist didn’t operate at the beginning of all this.” 

“Because you’re young and there’s a bigger chance of retinal detachment when you’re young. But, it’s still a very small likelihood” he was completely convinced  “you’ll need readers, yes, but how are you seeing without using glasses now?“  

His smile elicited a mental touche’ from my place in the oversized exam chair.  I smiled back and took the financing information from his hands. 

I’d  devoted a lot of time and energy to finding other possible causes after cataract surgery had been ruled out.  

Previously, doctors detected cataracts but felt other factors should be explored. So, they sent me through a battery of diagnostics from ophthalmology to neurology.

For the past two years, I had chased down every cause and cure imaginable - and some beyond imagination. 

But, my inability to judge depth perception and oncoming traffic was very real, and getting progressively worse. 

And now,  I had come full circle, back to a cataract diagnosis, but this time with surgery not only recommended but urgently emphasized. 

An Unexpected Birthday Present (flashback)

I failed my first eye exam on my 40th birthday.  I’d started to notice that my vision wasn’t only blurry when looking at slides from the old overhead projector in my massage therapy classes, but also when I was reading the text book, then pretty soon,  outside the class; when driving and trying to read labels in the grocery store. 

I hadn't expected an eye chart in hieroglyphics. I had expected a pricey eyeglass prescription and a few jokes about getting older. But the exam was harder than reading and there was no joking. In fact, the tone grew rather serious. 

I began to suspect things were worse than anticipated  when no lens could help  me see the chart “in English”.  I was certain of it when the ophthalmologist gently patted my arm and explained the referral process. The gesture was at once comforting and terrifying. Shocks of stark realization patted down with genuine motherly concern,  like the back of a crying baby. 

“I can’t help you” the pat seemed to say “but here’s the name of someone I hope can” 

 I wondered how many patients she’d patted into reality over the years. 

Afterwards, I sat in my car in the eye center parking lot for a long time. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Everything was supposed to be fixed today. Splurging on the full-price appointment (no health insurance) and inevitably the expensive glasses was to have been a sort of birthday present to myself (with a nod to all single moms and other parents who stand their own needs at the back of the line when necessary)  Instead I got arm pats and a cataract specialist referral . 

Shooting  In The Dark  

It was the first long car-sit in a season of long car-sits. I was plunged underwater and walking upside down. 

I misplaced the information to make the referral appointment for awhile.  Though it looked like a lost scrap of paper and a healthy dose of procrastination, I know now it had to be a deep, subconscious hesitation.  If plotted on one of my beloved “cycle of change” charts, it would fall under “Denial”. 

The time it took me to find the number and make that first call was time necessary to screw up my courage. I didn’t know what the journey would look like (I was going blind, after all) but, it had already started out as an over-the-mountain-not-through-it sort of trek. There’d be no turning back, plenty of forks in the path and, as always, at least one dragon to conquer before ‘The End’

At the appointment, the cataract specialist saw cataracts but said they weren’t far enough along to warrant surgery. She referred me to a retina specialist. The retina specialist didn’t see what he looks for in troubled eyes. He assured me I didn’t want him to. 

Though I was grateful he did not issue a hard to live with diagnosis,  I proceeded for a long while without any diagnosis at all. I bounced between more eye specialists, an optometrist and my family doctor who thought we may need to test for Multiple Sclerosis. 

Look For The Helpers  (and be a helper, too) 

My hero’s journey ended - at least for a time - when the money bag was emptied and the specialists ran out of eye tests to perform. You should know of the many generous people who stepped in then, to help me without expectation of having their money or kindness repaid. It was unclear where to direct their generosity. I was unsure which diagnostic path to choose.

One lady, a long-distanced online friend, herself an ophthalmologist, offered funds meant for her work in third world countries. She was unable to use what she had set aside due to the unforeseen travel restrictions during 2020's  "national emergency". She still wanted to use the money to bring sight- and hope- into people’s life; my life.

I hadn’t known she was an eye specialist before then. I didn’t know about her mission work.

If finding you have a friend that regularly restores sight to weak eyes doesn’t flood your heart with joy, you’ve probably never been blind - or thereabouts.  

But, I could not shoot at question marks with money meant to help others see.  There weren't a lack of tests, rather there were way too many.   

Looking For A Reason  

I started to do my own research. I used the  process of elimination, starting with treatments that were free or low cost to try. 

Some vision trouble stems from neck misalignment, so I began to see a chiropractor and had my atlas reset. 

Another possibility was nutrient deficits, so I took a medley of supplements and juiced beets ‘til my kitchen looked like a murder scene. 

One possibility that kept resurfacing was convergence, so I did eye exercises, juggled scarves and used a Brock string, amongst other things. There were eye patches and a veritable smorgasbord of eye drops.  I even attempted sound therapies suggested by one alternative medicine guy that required a level of looking silly I was uncomfortable with (but tried anyway, in my room, after the kids were well asleep) 

When desperate for answers, we lower the bar for absurdity.  In perplexity, our pride learns to bend the knee. 

I Can See Clearly Now

Consider me, in the argument for easy absurdity, reporting to work as Roy Orbison.

During one of the last eye tests before my funds ran low, I experienced a glimmer of hope; a pinprick to be exact.  

For the first time in over a year, I could see clearly through the pinhole in a specialty lens. 

It wasn't much (literally), but by hope's standards, it was more than enough. I was amazed. 

Bartimaeus came to mind, and those stories of old where men once blind could suddenly see.  It felt miraculous -  truly,  textbook miraculous.

I had forgotten what crisp, clear vision is like. Somewhere along the line, I 'd stopped believing it was possible.

I immediately ordered a pair of pinhole glasses, and despite their unappealing aesthetic,  wore them everywhere I could, including work. My only regret was there was no safe way to drive in them. 

Groping in the Dark  

One thing about trying to figure stuff out on our own is knowing whether or not we’re on the right trail. Hope is good trail mix, but we crave the sustenance of confirmation.  Whether to keep trying one approach a little longer before attempting a new one becomes an epic catch-22 . What if I stop a day or drop shy of what is needed ?

Had I found the right cause ?  I doubled down on tracking exercises but only saw improvement when wearing the glasses. If my vision seemed to improve one day, it would be worse the next. I would set about trying to figure out what had caused the difference. Diet? Sleep? Caffeine intake? Lighting? 

No doubt, my search history from then is wild and random poetry: “low vision /symptoms // better on cloudy days” 

As my vision worsened, so too, my sense of detachment and despair. It is often true that people  with a diminished capacity in one sense will find their other senses sharpened. Many people without clear sight have unique musical abilities; a heightened sense of hearing and touch. This is a remarkable gift of adaptation which allows a person to thrive in environments  that are  not naturally accommodating to them. 

But it is not an instant, standard-issue gift. Those with growing cataracts or starting to go a little hard of hearing inhabit a staticky world with no time to adjust our antenna.

Good things take time.  Finding good after significant loss or life change takes even more time. 

I'll unpack more from the unlikely Gift of Cataracts in part 2 ... {stay tuned} 

ThoughtStrings: Suicide By Sincerity

Suicide By Sincerity 

There is a way to die 

Slowly

And all alone: 

Be sincere 

Now wait

For the noose

Of misunderstandings 

Cunning pulls the trigger

Planting  

Evidence everywhere 

Choosing to live with sincerity, I am misunderstood, or sometimes,  more painful, purposely maligned. 

Understanding these consequences,  still, I press on.  

ThoughtStrings: We Are Lighthouses

DEEP SEA  SLEEPER

 

Yes, we are lighthouses

Shining hope and direction for those

Tossed at sea 

 

But there is a time

To turn out the light

And go to sleep 

 

wolves

 I think I know now 

The answer - at least in part:

I have not wanted it to be true 

I have wanted who I thought I knew

To be the real you. 

~~ 

Wanting a true friend

One who stays, 

Sells everything to buy the field 

Doesn't just walk away 

~~

There have been so many wolves in this house 

Grandma, what big mistakes I've made.

God Hates Divorce, Not Divorced People

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What God Hates  

God hates divorce, not divorced people.  God loves people.

Let's pause right here because that is the entirety of what I have to say, but my word count is supposed to be a bit higher. As words multiply, truth grows muffled. So please, if I may, I’d just like to remind you today: 

God hates divorce, not divorced people. God loves people.

Statements like this tend to provoke argumentative replies from certain camps. 

To follow  “God hates  -name any sin- . ”   with a declaration of His love provokes a panic as if we’ve just turkey-dropped permission slips with God’s forged signature to all humanity. 

Scenarios of affairs and abandoned families spring to the virile imaginations of many a worried mind. There’s real concern we’re gonna make God mad. 

Imaginary scenarios are… imaginary.  If someone is looking for validation to do or be a thing, that thing is, in all reality, already an inevitability.

Sought affirmation will be found in fortune cookie or flip of  coin if a mind is so inclined. 

Shake an 8 Ball enough times and you’ll get the answer you want.

 If a person is looking for loopholes, somewhere deep down, they’ve already decided.

Maybe for good reasons like safety, but indeed, perhaps they are just being selfish. 

Here we make the imaginative folks a little nervous again:  God loves self-justifying,  pleasure seeking people; even you and me. 

He doesn’t justify all choices but He does love all people.

Even your ex. 

Sometimes, that love looks like a natural consequence to our self-gratifying choices; confines that grow and refine us.

At other times, His love is the strength to endure hardships created by selfishness - whether other people’ s or our own.  

So, for the record, this is not a permission slip. It’s a love letter.

One more time now, because it is true: 

God hates divorce, not divorced people. God loves people.

God Is Not Mad At You 

God is not mad at divorced people when they cry “Uncle!” and throw in the towel.

Think about the attributes of an eternal, all knowing God. He saw it coming. 

 In most divorces, the dam breach was already leaking long before vows were exchanged.

Infinite wisdom understood the inevitability of a break long before you did. He saw the debris strewn beach of your aftermath life - and hated it, but He doesn't hate you. 

We often project our bad experiences with authority on to God.

Growing up with a harsh and abusive parent or teacher may lead us to expect cosmic retribution when things don’t go according to plan in our adult lives. We feel God is angry with us for falling short, but we are told He knew we would … and loved us anyway.  (via John) 

God’s anger is directed at the destruction, not you. 

God Loves You 

When life is splintered by storm gales, it is easy to wonder how love would allow us to endure such pain.  Wouldn’t love have stopped this in its tracks? 

A love that doesn’t allow us to choose, isn’t love. It’s imprisonment. 

A good test whenever love is in question: " Am I free to choose ? " 

Love warns us the fruit is toxic but we take a bite anyway; it’s in our DNA. 

Love is a doppler radar, forecasting the coming days. 

Love issues warnings and ways to stay safe.

Love helps evacuate. 

Love won’t say ‘I told you so’ to those who didn’t listen. 

Love holds a torch guiding us to shore and walks beside us in the wreckage, salvaging remnants from what love wasn’t. 

Love holds the nails and hands us the hammer as we begin to rebuild. 

Love never fails. 

Even when marriages do.  

One last time for good measure now:

God hates divorce, not divorced people.
God loves people.

… and that’s a good thing.

ThoughtStrings: An Introduction

For years I have been keeping notes on my phone and scrawled-on paper fragments in a scattered collection of what I refer to as  ' ThoughtStrings ' 

I've often said that someday, I'll knit them together into a patchwork story quilt or two... which has been my reason for jotting stuff down in the first place... I want to come back, preferably at a more-quiet-less-busy time to think more on these breeze-strewn strands. 

Sometimes, when I pick one up, I have no idea what I was thinking, or why. 

Other times, I smile as I think back on the versions of me I have been, or cry (just a little!) over where I'll never go again. 

Each time, I am grateful that I stopped long enough to take a snapshot with my pen. 

Going forward,  I'll be sharing those old coat pocket scraps, tagged ' ThoughtStrings '  with or without commentary.

 If transparency and vulnerability are essential ingredients to courageous writing, here's looking at me (in fragments) : 

Untitled, two entries on yellow legal paper

Undated

Folded, tucked behind the legal pad in my default padfolio

Why: explaining identity (apparently)

 { 1 }

I don't know who I am anymore

I know the right answers:

Child of God

In Christ 

Redeemed

So much gratitude for all that and more yet

I still don't know myself. 

Don't recognize me

We aren't really friends - she and me - but not from animosity

Simply unfamiliarity 

Some of her old ways didn't work for us

And I don't know what to do with their remains

Like so many other projects:

• Making a quilt
• Crochet
• Collage 

All junk now

Piling up

Heavy stacks of magazines 

With no words I can use

 { 2 }

Time is ticking 

And I've already lost 

Wasted 

So much 

I can't make some things happen faster

Tomorrow remains indefinite

Unknown 

And Unleashable  

 

Commentary: 

(1) While I feel a little more familiar with who I am becoming, I still remain a casual acquaintance with myself... as if I quick-glanced the blueprint but neglected to take notes on specific measurements. (2) I'm not sure this was in relation to anything specific, but Rye's deep desire for 'step-dad' activities, like picnics in the park and taking an inevitable dog for walks, before she 'ages out' of such things comes to mind, as do house repairs and finances in general. 

 

Transparency: Finding Balance Between True and Kind

 [caption id="attachment_266" align="aligncenter" width="533"] Transparency: Finding Balance Between True and Kind[/caption]

Best Laid Plans 

When I first talked with the editors here @Patheos about what I hoped to say from this little cubby hole, I imagined a place where, despite the anxious climate of Earth, we would, to cite the Deep Magic, focus on “what-so-ever things are lovely, good and true, whatever is noble and of a good report…” while connecting friends who find themselves navigating similar waters. 

I imagined bringing hope to someone knee-deep in divorce proceedings, or  comforting the anxious mind of a parent, mid-custody battle.  I wanted to cheer on the homeschooling mom or the back-to-work mom, or the mom whose nest is suddenly too empty. All waters I’ve baled from my own canoe. 

I wanted to use things I had been through to remind others they aren’t alone. 

I still want to. 

I’ve just been working on my tightrope skills. 

How do I say  “I left a bad situation ” without implying the other party was a bad person (or people) ? 

How do I say “This behavior was unacceptable.” without condemning the one(s) who misbehaved? 

And how do I share victories without sounding like a braggart to those in a bind ? 

That’s where I’ve been trying to find my footing lately: finding balance between what has been true and what is kind. 

It has caused me lockjaw

It’s Okay To Say IDK 

I tend towards the fallacy that if I don’t have a thing completely figured out, I have nothing of value to offer.  That is to say, I think I need to be a quantum mechanics professor  before I’m qualified to explain basic math. Which is to further say, I tend to equate value with the ability to explain. I forget that sometimes all we really need is good company.

 Thus, my recent weeks wrestling with writer’s block, attempting to put “sermonizing’ into a headlock. I don’t want to be preachy. I don’t want to be finger-pointy. 

Filling in blanks with explanations or excuses where none exist is a disservice, whether those explanations are for someone else's motivations, my own lack of thoughtfulness or my best guess at what God and Providence are up to.

Good guesses are still just guesses. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“I don’t know why they seem to be getting away with it.”

“I don’t know why God allows such things.” 

Perhaps I never will.  A harder truth is this: sometimes I won’t like the answers I find.

In those moments, it's not the answers I need, but a friend.

How much better to say “I don’t know” than to ad lib.  It is more true. It is more kind. 

Searching for answers rather than defending hypotheses creates space to work on these puzzles together. It frees my arms to embrace whatever the truth turns out to be, or to accept there will be things I won’t understand this side of Eternity. 

*Even so, joy. 

To Each His Own  

As I resist the urge to fill in blanks with my best guesses, it is clear that my story is the only one that belongs to me. I can mention people who’ve crossed my path and the effect their choices had on me, but I can only speak for my own responses. Look how the rocks they threw made an altar or a much needed wall. Let me tell you how those darkest nights helped me see the Light. Listen to how I learned what love is by experiencing what it isn’t. 

I am the only one who can tell my story,  so I  am the best person to ask about my motivation in telling it. If my aim is encouragement, must a map of my enemy’s warts be unfolded ?  If encouragement is scarce, perhaps I am  processing something yet unhealed. There are healthy (but different) venues for that. 

This simplifies things a little, but can also leave me with little to say. 

Counterbalance

Counterbalance between true and kind involves taking ownership of my own role in a situation, to the full extent I am aware of the parts I played. 

“I left a bad situation… that I knew better than getting into in the first place.” 

“This  behavior was unacceptable… I could have  addressed it sooner - or more directly.” 

"I should have said no."

I must clean up behind the pets that are mine. 

When I remember my need for gentleness and grace, I am more apt to offer it to others.

Extending compassion when someone was less than their best self comes more abundantly if I offer grace as I'd like to receive it. 

I want to be known by more than my worst days. I must acknowledge Imago Dei in others. 

Forward Movement

My inclination to avoid retractions and apologies comes from eating shoe leather and giant slices of crow too many times in the past. 

Whether strong opinions upended, wrong understandings made clear or the simple act of growing up, I’m a walking biome of change. 

We’re vastly different planets, shaped like you and me. Our climates are different, our seasons are not always aligned.  

The laws of gravity in  my curious world keep everything revolving around me. You are the center of gravity in the universe of you. 

I keep my balance by remembering I’m not the same as I was even one rotation ago, nothing is. 

Rooms I have wept in have been torn down. I am learning and learning (and learning)  to forgive. 

We keep moving forward and, hopefully, on. 

Boundaries Are Kind

Not long ago, I got up early on a perfectly-good-for-sleeping-in Saturday-morning and took my daughter to learn about snakes at  a local nature park. She loves snakes!

Before hiking the woody trail in search of Slytherin friends, we viewed a slideshow about identifying snakes. 

A disturbing trend emerged: many non-venomous snakes look so similar to venomous snakes, one has to get within strike-zone to tell the difference. Non-venomous snakes adapt their natural patterns to look like venomous snakes to keep predators away. 

Venomous or not, snakes prefer to be admired from afar. 

Many people have distinctive patterns, too. Whether born that way  or adapted to survive,  it is okay - and even wise - to keep a healthy distance from toxic patterns. 

No Fault Nature 

A python meets a mouse, gives him a hug then has him in for dinner. 

We may feel for the mouse, but we don't fault a snake for doing what snakes do.  See also: lions and tigers and bears (Oh, my!) 

Humans, too. 

It is the nature of some things to be unpleasant, like conflicts and jellyfish stings. 

It is in the nature of mankind to be selfish, especially in the midst of unpleasant things. 

Balancing what is kind with what has been true, telling only my story without adding guesses and taking the nature of venomous humans in stride, I bear this profundity in mind: “It is what it is. “ 

And it will be whatever I make of it.  So, let me be kind. 

 

 

* Even So, Joy is the title of a book by my friend about the loss of her infant daughter

 

AT YOUR SERVICE: At My Service

AT MY SERVICE

At my service
what will be true 
of my service ? 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Daddy

DADDY

He gave me his vocabulary 
Verbatim
To believe in life’s possibilities 
And dare to trust
That God is good.

Taught me to seek Wisdom 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Momma

MOMMA

She knows the recipe
Has the address
Remembers the time of my birth 

And she always

Always

Always

Believes that I have worth.

AT YOUR SERVICE: Apple Red Happiness (A True Story)

APPLE RED HAPPINESS  (A True Story) 

She left their Christmas dinner 
To see a man in bed

In her pocket was an apple 
Crisp and Christmas red

“I miss the crunch of apples”

the quadriplegic said 

So she brought him joy and peeled it 
And saw that he was fed 

 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Family

FAMILY

In looking back
I hope you’ll find

Even those 

who failed you miserably 

Were doing the best they could
At that time

AT YOUR SERVICE: Housekeeping

HOUSEKEEPING

With mop or broom 
Cleaning our room 
Bent by the work
of workdays
I see (and very much appreciate) 

You

AT YOUR SERVICE: Pain

PAIN

For high contrast
And hidden springs of strength 
Unearthed

For showing me what real love is 
And isn't 
Pain, you’re of great worth 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Ride Share Rescue

RIDE SHARE RESCUE

I am watching for the silver Jetta
one minute, eight seconds away...
~
Kicking snow from my boots, to the driver
“Downtown, please - Hilton Garden Inn" 

~
At least for tonight, I am rescued
from rage and his next DUI
~

AT YOUR SERVICE: Teachers

TEACHERS

I followed my teacher
And last night’s assignment 
Into the quiet hall

Braced for shame
I found instead
My dignity in tact 

She didn't laugh

Her voice was kind

She let me try again 

 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Collectibles

COLLECTIBLES

There was a week
Last year in May
When inclement weather fell 
On gov'ment holiday

Trash bins in town 

Uncollected for days 
  ... and days 
       ... and days

And days. 

We will never 
Take our collectors for granted 

Again. 

AT YOUR SERVICE: My Country Tis Of Thee

MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE

For twenty some odd years now
Since they were very young 
My children spot the uniforms
Extend their hand and say:

“Thank you for serving our country”

AT YOUR SERVICE: Customer Services

 CUSTOMER SERVICES

My parents remember full service gas 
Fuel pumped by an attendant

I grew up 

in a cashier land o'plenty 

What if 
Eventually 

We do for ourselves 
Every job taken for granted?

AT YOUR SERVICE: Service Industry

SERVICE INDUSTRY

The service field is sown with seeds of industry.

Serve us industry 

In the
Service Infantry 

Of the
Service Industry 

To serve is to see 

Serve is Ministry

AT YOUR SERVICE: New Tires

NEW TIRES

Tire repair:

Needed

Car warranty: 

Exceeded

Good coffee:

Well-Heated

In the Lobby
I’m seated

You fix and finance everything

I return home 

Less defeated

AT YOUR SERVICE: Tow Truck Tag Along

TOW TRUCK TAG ALONG

This week, two flat tires
Both 

passenger side
I am going nowhere, fast 

This. Week. 

Hours in wait at Circle K 

Before my help arrives

I do not ...

... will not 

    ... cannot 

complain 

Even if I had my own tow truck

I wouldn’t know how to use it.

From the cab

I wave goodbye 

to new filling station friends

and promptly ask 

to hear 

my driver's entire life story. 

AT YOUR SERVICE: Roadside

ROADSIDE

The young man is polite

No older than my son

He is fixing the first of two flats in my week

No umbrella

No complaint

He will not accept a tip

AT YOUR SERVICE: MidNight McService (No Sugar)

MidNight McSERVICE (No Sugar)

The closing crew, hours ahead of schedule 
Have started cleaning up
Too soon

We stragglers still need coffee 
And fries
We know not to ask for ice cream

“Medium Americano, please”
“And a large unsweet tea”
“extra ice if you don’t mind...no sugar”
I re-emphasize

This far South,

‘Sweet’ is all that translates

and syrup is always pre-supposed

The first sip of tea is crisp
and cold, my coffee delivered hot, without excuses.
I am deeply grateful

Behind me, a bag gulps to life
in the hands of a young man taking out the trash 

Everyone here just wants to go home

I cram the receipt and straw paper into my pocket
instead of the yawning can

Stepping into the night, convinced this small act will translate:
“Thank you, have a good night
Godspeed you home”

AT YOUR SERVICE: Circle K

CIRCLE K

‘Twenty on pump five...’
‘...and all this...’ 

I say

Spreading a buffet of caffeinated ambition
and bad nutrition
In array

:: grinning embarrassment ::

“ ...and I’d just like to thank you for both my breakfast
and lunch today.”

Her genuine smile covers my shame

‘This will get you through’ she says
‘that’s all anybody is ever tryin’ to do. 
Have a good day, now’

I went out and did just that 
Understanding somehow, 

Her day would be good now, too.

AT YOUR SERVICE: SIRI-ously

SIRI-ously

“What time is it ?”
I ask again

Without judgement 

From the bed
Where I flung you in haste

You state
I am currently (only) 

Eight minutes late.

(Again)

AT YOUR SERVICE: Barista

BARISTA

I’ll take mine black 

Strong as He-Man 

And talking back

Bulleted with bold espresso 

Misspell my name

on your largest to-go

AT YOUR SERVICE: Music

MUSIC

You help me remember
You help me forget
You help me kick these blues

AT YOUR SERVICE: Red Light

RED LIGHT

I don’t always appreciate you 
But when I do:
You allow me to use GPS 
Adjust the station
Nod at my neighbor 
Grab a quick bite of my fast-cooling food

AT YOUR SERVICE: Podcast (There and Back Again)

PODCAST (There and Back Again) 

Past piles of laundry 

And dishes unwashed 
Into my car
Cold
Idling

Mornings so fast

We’re all running late

You’re listening to
The Daily Commute

Our host: the sun 
Peeking over horizons

Day so slow 

We're all run down 

The trudge back home 
Resumes

So much unfinished 

Awaits

Commute time unending  

Horizons reversed

But I’m never lonely

Oh, look

A new episode

Co-host: the moon

AT YOUR SERVICE: Tall Man on Aisle 10

TALL MAN ON AISLE 10

To the tall man on Aisle Ten
Who helped me reach
the Holy Grail
Cleverly disguised as the last box of marshmallow cereal:

I thank you.

Not because I return home
a hero
It is unlikely they’ll even say ‘Thanks’

But, tomorrow is Saturday 

I don’t have to work

I’ll sleep with no set alarms

for an extra ten minutes  (or even quite more)

Thanks to you and self-served lucky charms.

AT YOUR SERVICE: Norman, Door Man

NORMAN, DOOR MAN

Kind sir,

It may actually surprise you,
To hear

how many people

Do NOT

hold the door for a lady

...nor her stroller full of baby.