Think Pink

The Hardest Year

I said goodbye to another friend today.  I suppose the argument could be made that saying goodbye to a seventy-year-old friend is more palatable than saying goodbye to a thirty-year-old friend. Except it isn't.  Friendship isn't aware of age or how much life was enjoyed, it only knows that someone is missing.  It would take long and long, and would only diminish with words the special friend that Dave was to me.

To finish the year saying goodbye to my friend is apropos of what it seems has filled my year.  In fact December has seemed a microcosm of all that has happened.  I'll give you a picture:

Two wonderful birthdays and an anniversary, a free vacation in a condo and Christmas juxtaposed with Natalie's birthday, my father's birthday and the anniversary of his death, the anniversary of my friend Mylette's death, the diagnosis and very fast demise of Dave.

See what I mean?  There is good, so much good, and the good is absolutely undeniable, and yet the bad keeps sneaking and crushing my spirit.  I have spent my time this year struggling to balance Truth with the reality of this world.  I have cried, begged and thrown things and simply lain still, too broken to fight anymore.  I am drawing to the close of what I look back on as my hardest year.

I don't throw around terms like that lightly.  I have had some years of note before.  There was the cancer year.  The year I had two children - not at the same time. That year was also, incidentally, the year my father died.  Years past have seen major career changes, financial hardship and yet this year did something down in the core of me that given the choice, I would have lived the entirety of my life, happily, having not experienced.

Ironically, my theme at the outset of this year was "Ready Now" based on a song with lyrics that say "I'm ready now...do what you will." I thought I was ready.  Little did I know what shape readiness takes, what it requires.  What sort of surrender is involved. But the year progressed and God has stretched me, refined me, deepened me in ways that have left permanent scars on my heart.

I thank the hunky hubby for bringing to my attention a quote by CS Lewis that seems to have answered some of my eternal questioning:

“God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality.  He knew it already.  It was I who didn’t.”

And perhaps this is so.  I certainly have learned many things of myself, both admirable and ugly, that I would not have imagined in any other year.  December has been a month of deep introspection, of sudden and copious tears, of humor, of heartache and of healing.  As it draws to a close I find myself quietly hopeful about the new year that unfolds in front of.  One for which God has already revealed a brand new theme.

The end of the service today ended with the speculation  of what would Dave say to us, were he given the opportunity to say one thing more.  I am blessed to have the time to say what I may never get the chance to again now.

To my friends: You have brought more to my life then your leaving, whether late or soon, could ever take away.  You have enriched me, lent the color, the depth, the laughter and unexpected gifts that complement my daily life in ways that I never realize are missing, until they are not there.  Thank you for being the color and the music.

To my children: You are my everyday miracle. My magnum opus.  Thank you for every grey hair, every stretch mark, every kiss, every cuddle, every belly laugh, every spill, every piece of endless dirty laundry. You are mine for all my days, long or short, the fulfillment of my hours, weeks months and years.  You are so much more than I ever imagined or hoped for.  Never will I ever regret one second of life spent loving you.  Don't ever doubt that I would die a thousand times to give you life and do it with a smile on my face.

To my husband: You are the other half of me.  Everything I am, I couldn't be without you by my side.  You are my waking thought and my dying breath.  You are my heart.  I love you. 

To Dave and Natalie: I'll see you later, my friends.

Audrey

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter". -Dr.Seuss

I remember Audrey. Lover of dogs and her children. Fiercely, brilliantly, vibrantly herself. You are missed.

Remembrance

Three years, already?

Remember Mylette with me

More Than a Man

.

I would like to say a few things about my husband because I think he is a remarkable, amazing, incredible husband and father. He, as always, will argue and say no, he's just a man like any other, but I disagree.
See, any person with right amount of testosterone and biological attributes is a man. Men are a dime a dozen, or more. You don't even have to do anything to qualify for that category.
*You can create children, but you don't have to stick around to love them, support them, teach them, tickle them and tuck them in bed at night to be a man.
*You can "have" a woman, and even a wife, but you don't have to be committed to her through mountains of garbage that present themselves in life. You don't have to cherish her or spoil her or put your needs after hers time and time again to be a man.
*You can work, or not, but you don't have to spend hours of your time listening to, counseling, caring and teaching those who have "just a man" in their lives too.
*You can build a career or work a string of meaningless jobs, but you don't have to become a leader in your field and give it up because the call of God on your heart leads you elsewhere.

Yes, you can be a man and do none of the things I have mentioned above and still be "just a man."

It takes someone remarkable to do things my husband does daily, weekly, monthly and often without the thanks and appreciation he deserves. You are more than "just a man," my love. You are my husband and best friend, the other half of my very soul. You are the amazing father of our beautiful children, and if I teach them nothing else in this life, it will be that marrying a man just like their Daddy will be best thing they could ever do for themselves.

I love you.

He is friend and pastor to many.

He's the husband and lover of one.

He's the father of three.

He's much more than just a man.

Dichotomy of the heart.

I am wearing my celebration hair at the same time as my sistah Lisa draws her last breaths in this world.

My blog is decorated for my own personal celebration and even now I remember fondly the events of last weekend in which I laughed and cried and held babies full of promise and reveled in the gift of lifetime.  Meanwhile Lisa climbed into a hospice bed from which she will never leave under her own power, and her friends and family gather round and say goodbye.

My heart soars.

My heart breaks.

I am constantly reminded that the last ten years have been nothing less than a gift, every minute, every breath, every smile, every tear.  I was owed nothing, and received everything.  I lost my hair and gained my life.  I can't live without love, but I can't love without pain.  If I have not love, I am merely clanging gong.  Somedays simply being is too wonderful and too horrible to comprehend.

There are things to say about my miraculous-to-me life, but today is not the day.  Lisa is dying, and I can't change that.  But the sun is shining. The breeze is blowing and I will never get another today.  Neither will you.  I won't live forever, but I am alive today, and life is so sweet.  Lisa would agree.

Go live today.  Do it for you, for your family, for Lisa, for me.  It's ok to feel joy in the midst of pain, in fact, it makes the joy all the more. It's a dichotomy of the heart.

I am grateful.

**edited to add- I learned that Lisa passed away this morning app 10 est, even as I was writing this.  God speed, Lisa.  Hug Dana, Mylette, Hilary and Kathy for me.  Save a seat for me at the feast.  I'll be there presently.

There and Back Again

There are so many things to say about the last two weeks that I hardly know where to begin.  I'll start with:

• six and a half hours is a very long time to sit on a plane
• it is a very big transition between 7 ft above sea level and 7,000 feet above sea level. 
• Altitude sickness is alive and well, my friends, and resided in my body for approximately two days. 
• When you share a bathroom with 14 girls, and your hot water tank with another 17 guys, there are no hot showers.
• I did not have any idea there were actually that many stars.
• sometimes, when there is nothing to say, it's enough to know that someone else knows exactly how you feel.
• There are very few young men in our youth group who have the ability to sing
• that doesn't stop them from worshipping at the top of their lungs, and it is BEAUTIFUL.
• there is no green to be seen from the air after you cross over west Texas.
• God did some amazing work when he made those mountains--I laugh at the concept of coincidence and geologic ages mating and creating that breathtaking scenery.
• I want to bring home every smelly child with a crusty, dripping nose and dirty finger nails that lives on that reservation.
• teenagers are like hobbits.  They NEVER STOP EATING!
• Grown men are like teenage boys when they hang around them long enough.
• Fart jokes get old after about 48 hours.
• God still performs miracles, and He's doing it on a beat up blue bus in the Arizona mountains.
• There is comfort in knowing that, for the moment, you are where God would have you.
• There is excitement in knowing that status is subject to change.
• crawling around on a gym floor for 7 hours will take all the skin off your knees.
• You can hear snow falling.
• God has so much to say when the clangor and yammer of the world are left behind.
• I have so much to work on.
• I will be going back.

It Could Have Been Better

This was not my most stellar year of performance in, well, pretty much any arena.  I allowed the events of the beginning of the year to set the tone for the rest.  I recognize the fact that it is entirely possible that I could allow the next year to go similarly, as I face (a far less extensive) hand surgery coming up in January.  But I won't.

Last year was the Year of No Excuses.   But not in the way I thought.  It never turns out the way *I * think it's going to.  See, I thought that it meant I was going to bust the seams of my life and stop making excuses for all the things I hadn't already done.  Instead it meant that God was going to strip me bare (and here I thought I was already naked.  I'm probably still not naked, a dismaying thought) and make me rely on him, rather than choosing excuses. My five weeks of one handed bliss (note ironic tone), forced me to rely on other people in a way that I hate.  It completely reshaped my family dynamic.  It made me face my weaknesses and learn to deal with them, face them head on, and either get over it and laugh or sink into dispair (I tried both--but I am trying to stick with the former).

Then there was the issue of the new house.  First of all, if you had asked me at the beginning of the year, where I would be finishing the year, I would have said "Right here in my little house in the hood, of course."  Heh.  But God took a situation that never should have been amiable, turned it on it's ear, cleared paths, made money fall into our pockets (literally--THOUSANDS of dollars), wrested control from our hands, and made it all work out according to His good purpose.  I was forced to stop using control, money, responsibility, pride and just about any other issue I have and just let God handle it. Oh believe me, I tried a million excuses, God wiped them all away and left me standing awed, humbled, and oh-so-thankful in a brand new house that I hadn't dared dream.

It could have been better, but I only because I fumbled around and lost track of my way.  I allowed excuses to loom bigger than truth.  I forgot when I am weakest, He is strong.  I let my plans and expectations take precedence over His will.  When the year started last year God promised me it would be the best year yet.  He didn't fail me.  I failed me.

But that is ok--because you know what....this year is going to be the best year yet! Can't you hear Him? He's whispering in your ear too.  "The best year yet," He is saying "If you follow me."  I will probably fail at times, but God is telling me "Be Still and Listen"  If I can remember these words in the noise and the confusion, in my heart and mind, if I can follow them with all my strength then yes, we are going to have the best year yet!

Bring on the new year!

I'm ready.

A Letter to my Bailey

Today, my Bailey Boo, you turn seven. It seems impossible that the big blue-eyed baby you were has grown so big, so fast . There are times my sweet girl, that you feel eclipsed by your bigger sister. She came first. She is the child of promise, a child of miracle, and that will be her legacy forever. But Bailey, never doubt that God has a legacy for you too. You are my child of abundance. You are God's miracle of life in me in abundance. You are the promise that God will provide for our family if I stay home with you and raise you and love you, and He has done so in abundance. You laugh in abundance; you cry in abundance. You are a child of extremes who never does anything half way. Bailey Noelle, you are abundantly you, beautiful, loving, determined, brilliant, with a heart big enough to love the world and then some. With you, I am abundantly blessed, and abundantly thankful. My life would be less, the colors would dim, the music would dull without your touch on my soul.
Thank you, God for my Bailey.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

I should

I received the most precious gift in the mail today.  Most likely, it will be my favorite gift this season, though the season has hardly begun.  By this time, you are clamoring to know what it is so I shall tell you.  I received a thanksgiving card from my aunt, but that is not the best part, the best part is that tucked inside, were pictures of me and my dad.  This time of year often has a vein of bittersweet for me as it is so entwined with the memory of a father lost before I was ready to let him go, that I still can't decide whether to laugh or cry when I look at the photos and so instead, I am sure that there is a sappy sentimental expression in lieu of any more distinctive emotion.

There are a million and one things I should do this week, this month, and this year.  I might get to 20 of them.  Should is a word that haunts me sometimes because the list of "shoulds" is never ending and almost never self imposed.  Shoulds seem to come upon a person from outside sources, and their sole purpose seems to be to stir up discontent with ourselves and a defeated feeling that we will never measure up to all we "should" be.

• I "should" be in better shape
• I "should" read more great literature
• I "should" brush up on my history
• I "should" be a more effective/ more organized/ more involved/ more understanding mother
• I "should" yell less
• I "should" be more involved in church/ homeschool groups/ youth events/ activities
• I "should" keep a neater house
• I "should" be more organized
• I "should" blog
• I "should write a book
• I "should" start a women's bible study
• I "should" support my husband more/ better/ differently

All the shoulds chase themselves around like ferrets in my brain and speak piercingly of my desperate inadequacies in these areas and more.  I will never finish all the shoulds, and I will never find myself with every "to-do" crossed off my list and all my obligations fulfilled.

Perhaps that is why the picture of my Dad means so much to me today.  Because in it I am but a small child and the look in my father's eyes is not that of "You should..." but that of "She can_____" and filling that blank are an infinite number of possibilities, none to bizarre or out of reach because in my father's eyes, I could do anything I wanted.

The main problem with "shoulds" is not that they have any real power, but that they are such a great distractor from the more powerful "can"

• I can take a walk
• I can read a book to my kids
• I can do the dishes
• I can greet my husband with a smile
• I can teach my children what earthworms eat
• I can learn that pilgrims never batherd, hated vegetables and gave beer to their babies
• I can sing worship
• I can listen for God's voice

I can do those and many more things if that is where I choose to focus instead of beating myself over the head with all the incomplete perfect images that present themselves before my eyes.  My father wasn't far off the mark when he looked at me and saw all the potential of the years unrolling before me. 

Here's to you, Dad.  I'm still listening.

The Gift

For the rest of my life, I will walk half the length of a football field. There is a life time in those 50 yards. All my hopes, dreams, fears, with every step I take I trample them into the ground. I am at one end, and he, the man who promised for better and for worse, stands at the other. I know, and he does not. If I don’t go to him, do I get to keep my life? Do I get to pretend that 15 minutes ago everything I knew to be true didn’t change with 4 four short words?