…Give you peace…

Anyone else feel sad at the end of the year?  Like, all that reveling at midnight — and the coverage here in the midwest STINKS so we actually kiss and toast at 11 when we watch the ball drop in Time’s Square, which come to think makes me sad now because of Dick Clark’s absence, sigh — all that kissing and dancing and eating crab legs and canapes, and drinking champagne, and all those people in Time’s Square with weird year glasses on, freezing their butts off, who don’t want to leave their spots to go to the bathroom and are squeezed tight in the crowd — are all those reveling revelers happy?  What are they happy about?  The promise of a new year with love in the air, or a baby or two on board or retirement ahead or a wedding or a trip planned?

When we were kids and turned 18 we all got to go out with our family on NYE and crack thorny succulent crab legs with nut crackers and drink ice cold champagne and dance and whirl and twirl and bring the house down doing the “bump”, “bus stop”, “the hustle” and of course, “YMCA” with our parents and siblings and boyfriends/girlfriends and later spouses and it was amazing, and I think New Year’s Eve was happier for me then.  There were fewer years to look back on, fewer losses to sorrow, and a greater expanse of years ahead.

Hmm, that is depressing, no wonder I feel as I do.  But, really, that’s no way to leave this past year with its surprises, like this blog that I didn’t even dream about at the turn of midnight 2013, and the tough times and losses and the laughter and kisses.  It has been a good year filled with all those things and more.

What about New Year’s resolutions?  I could stand to lose a few pounds, I’ve got some pudge, that is sort of depressing, who wants to really, I mean, who really wants to go on a diet? So, you are pounding back those M&Ms on New Year’s Eve like, ironically, there’s no tomorrow, washing them down with icy Pepsi from a bottle, knowing in a scant few hours you’ll be eating celery stalks and carrot sticks, having egg whites for breakfast, and salads for lunch, and a Fiber One bar for a snack, and drinking lemon water.  Yah, that’s a happy time.

But, truly, I do love being healthy, it just takes work to do it, but like I always say, I’m a numbers girl, and I need to keep the numbers like blood pressure, cholesterol and weight down with logging in the number of miles I walk or bike, and steps I take.

I quit smoking many, many years ago, not even with a NY’s resolution.  I do remember some NYEs smoking as many cigs as I could before midnight and drowning the unsmoked cigs in water so I wouldn’t be tempted to smoke them the next day.  Honestly, that never worked.  One day, I just decided to quit and I did.  I didn’t need a New Year’s resolution to do it.

I do like resolutions like getting organized, the sale of organization stuff is like off the charts this time of year, yet we mostly all go back to being disorganized with really nice organizational stuff overstuffed with stuff… till next new year’s resolution.

I will be doing the January Cure with apartmenttherapy.com again.  You might remember that it spawned  The Reluctant Renovators, which by the way got top hits in 2014 on my blog, and my closets and shoes and linen closets have all stayed organized.  And get this, they don’t want you to go out and buy a ton of organizational stuff (sorry Target) they want you to use what you have!  Brilliant!

So, I bid goodbye to 2014, and give thanks for all of you who have taken the time to hang out with me here on Harmony’s Pearls.  I have made some good friends in blogland, and that is one of the most beautiful surprises of the year.

I can hear my dad at the end of a sermon saying this benediction (but in the King James Version) which I hold so close to my heart and spirit, and I think if we end this year in any way at all, shouldn’t we end it by blessing each other with such goodness? “May the Lord bring good to you and keep you. May the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be kind to you.  May the Lord show favor toward you, and give you peace.”’

Till after midnight, then.  Be safe.  Kiss someone. Embrace hope.

Dear Marge, I lied, I guess.

Dear Marge,

So, I know you are in heaven and all, and I wrote about missing you here, and how I want to be like you (as most people do who know you) and I made a pinky swear promise that I would kiss everyone on the mouth just as you did.  Well, I lied, of course, I didn’t mean to lie, I really wanted to carry on with that special ritual, but I can’t.

Yes, I loved kissing you, and other mouth kissers are fine, but I’m just not good at initiating the mouth kiss on just friends.  So, I’d like to withdrawal that pinky swear promise, and honor your memory in lots of other ways, including donating blood, showing honest to goodness love whenever I can, being just a little bit naughty to keep things interesting, and keeping the door open for anyone needing a place to sit long and talk much.

I will also try to send all the notes and cards I buy that never get mailed, and I will continue to save rocks from everywhere I go, knowing that you did, too.  And I will try to stay neutral in all disagreements in church and out of church, note I said, try! But, I’m going back to kissing on the cheek.

I love you and miss you, and I know that you understand, and if it’s allowed for you to read my blog from heaven, I know that you are chuckling and loving that this is all about you.  Your sense of humor is what we will all carry without any problems, this I pinky swear promise.

B.

The Back Door is Always Open

“The back door is always open, so just come on in…” Marge said.  And that’s what we did, and everyone else who knew her.  It was always a quick rap on the door, and a “Hellllooo!” or “Are you decent?” and in would come friends, neighbors, and even the mail man who was completely deaf.  He laid his hand on Marge’s shoulder and there was a bond one doesn’t always see, but I guess the “card lady” probably would be on good terms with her post man.  And that is essentially my friend, Marge.

You all read about Marge in Saving Marge and her valiant battle against leukemia.  Well, just this past Thursday, my friend went to her heavenly home.  I was blessed along with many others to have that back door always open and her daughter always welcoming us to stop in and see her all the way to the very last hours.

Marge transcended generations, though she was a very active and personable and refreshing octogenarian.  She was relevant whether she was talking to a twenty year old, or a 40 something, or someone like me, in the midst of my 50s or a person well past her age.  She was the Matron of Honor at her daughter’s wedding, that’s pretty darn relevant.  Marge knew how to work a room, she could bring out the best in someone in a question or two or observation.  I remember her telling me early on that she loved to watch my husband and me in church together.  She said by seeing us she knew we were deeply in love, a love that would last a lifetime.  And, snap, just like that, I had a lifelong friend, because I believed her, and my hubby loved her for her insight, too. She got us.

In churches, well, things get messy, satan never works harder than he does in a church, but somehow, Marge was always in the midst of it all, without being in the conflict.  She rose above the differences in every occasion that I can recall and was completely neutral and I feel to this day that it was because she loved everyone and felt that conflict was not a bad thing, it was good, it answered hard questions, and required honesty and when it was said and done, it brought peace, even if the peace was a little ragged around the edges.

Marge sent cards, and post cards, that were quite frankly indecipherable.  Her handwriting stunk, but the thought behind each word you could read spoke volumes about her interest in each person.  Sometimes, she’d mention how cute my new haircut was, or how good it was to see Ricky and Bethani in church.  She’d mention things that just showed that she cared, and she did care, she cared very much for everyone.

And Marge loved to kiss on the mouth.  She’d lay one on you — none of these air kisses or even cheek kisses — she’d zero in on your lips and give you a good smackaroo, and you felt kissed and loved in a way that no other person could make you feel.  It transcended friendly kisses to a level of sheer love, it really did and I loved being kissed by Marge.  I know everyone did.

When I saw her the night before she passed away, we talked to her and rubbed her head, and she’d raise her eyebrows like she was listening, but could no longer summon the strength to speak, something I never thought would happen, because as the header shows, she loved to Sit Long and Talk Much (as a sign in her dining room declared.)  Even still, as my friend, Janet and I told her it was time to go, she puckered up and we gave her kisses, many kisses.  I long to give her more now, just lay one on her.

Losing Marge, well, it’s hard.  It hurts on a deep level of human-ness.  It hurts like a toe that’s been stubbed or a belly ache or a smashed finger.  It hurts like a toothache.  It’s painful losing someone who seemed in this past year to even transcend death. It’s like a crushing heart ache, that catches your breath in short, messy sobs.

This is what I am thinking when that ache comes, I’m saying to her in heaven, “Oh our sweet Margie, our dear mentor extraordinaire, our love buddy, our laugh buddy, our talk until we’re hoarse buddy.  I believe when you entered the Kingdom, the Lord said, ‘Look, Marge, look at what you leave behind. And you looked and you saw scores of joyful faces and hearts full of faith because of the seeds you planted.  And the Lord will say, ‘Well done my good and faithful servant, come rest with Me.'” And I see you full of life, glowing with joy and health, and the ache lessens just a bit, as it seeps from behind my eyes and slides down my cheeks.

I love you Marge, one day, I pray I will be like you.  Until then, I will use your example in my own life as always.  I promise to kiss everyone on the mouth in your honor and I even started today in church, I will continue because I will be thinking, “This is how Marge would kiss you, so now I must kiss you on the mouth, too.”

Marge, I will not let a moment pass or a kiss or hug pass or a reason to comment on something about someone right at the moment I think it, so that they will look at me and say, “That’s something Marge would have said.” And I will smile and say, “Yes, yes it is.”

Because you live here, in my heart, and in the hearts of a million others, and that’s a conservative estimate.  We will carry on because you want us to, and you want us to live by example that even satan could not trample, and we will.  We will.  I pinky swear promise, my dear friend, Margie.  I pinky promise that we will, because we love you, Marge, and always will till we meet again.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

It’s my mom’s birthday today.  I remember her when she couldn’t quite remember me, and I would think how her heart continued to grow fonder of me and my siblings and everyone she knew, yet, her mind slipped silently away.

Happy Birthday, mom.  Till we meet again.

Smile

I just read a post from Baby Bear’s momma.  Baby Bear passed away this past spring, and you can read her story here Beautiful Baby Bear Becomes an Angel. Momma Bear was writing about how throughout Baby Bear’s struggle and her eventual heartbreaking death, Momma Bear didn’t get down, because she said, “Someone has it worse.”  She mentioned how strong everyone thought she was, but her constant thoughts were, “someone has it worse.” And this got her through her child’s illness and death.

I am going on record that Momma Bear is a strong woman, she is filled with compassion and love for her children, and she has been given eyes to see the realities of this world.  Momma Bear is going to take some time now to think about herself, what she needs at this point, and she’s “excited” to do that.  What an incredibly brave thing to do and say.  And I am excited to hear what she decides.

The course of her life changed in one diagnosis, but the heart of her angel continues to encourage her, and that little one’s smiles?  They live on in everyone’s lives.

I think of this momma and her baby, and the countless people whose smiles overcome the sadness in their lives, the trouble they’ve seen, and the heartache they know.  Or in Baby Bear’s case, how sick they are.

Today is s tribute to smiles, and how smiling begets smiling, and when we are smiling, it brings joy to others and to ourselves.  What a simple thing.

Let’s try it today, shall we?  After all, someone truly does have it worse, and you might just be the smile that brightens his or her day.

 

Aging Gracefully

A beautiful woman just passed away, she cultivated friendships like she did her precious orchids.  She often inspired us with her thoughts on everything from decorating to flowers, to friendship and travel.  In the spring she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and within a few months she was gone.

Aging is not a choice, and for some it is cut short, and if we wish to live we shall do it by aging.  I find myself discovering things about who I am through self-examination or through the reactions and discussions I have with others.  I am at odds with the person I sometimes show the world and the one who lives deep inside me, and sometimes I am sad.  I have gladly been the facilitator of others’ dreams, but the heiress of none.  After surviving the dark chasm of depression, I find myself more aware than ever of my role in life and its part in the lives of others. And I haven’t a single regret.

Yet, as much as I want to age not only gracefully but fulfilled, I believe the answer is somehow in finding my own personal dream and acting on it. This blog might just be it, or the first step on the path. I’ve conquered some mountains, I still have strength for more.

A friend I love dearly recently left her job for another that was completely different from what she had been doing.  I felt she was so brave.  We texted last night and she said she’d decided to quit the new job, it simply was not something she could do.  She understood her limitations, not because she didn’t test them, but because she did.  She’ll go back to her former position soon, but in the meantime she has this time of reflection, and my thoughts are still how brave she was to take a leap of faith.  I admire her for doing it; she is an amazing woman.

Another beautiful woman in my life grapples with how to forgive the hurts she feels from others.  The pain she feels is honest, real, and valid, but the inability to forgive makes the dull pain more exquisitely felt, like a sharp thorn.  Entrusting that thorn to the act of surrender will be a true act of courage and the thorn will fall away and become harmless like dust. And there it is again, forgiveness, a very common thread in my blog — faith and forgiveness.

I believe that a leap of faith, surrendering pain, or seeking the dreams (or “seeking the still” which my niece says) will not always mean that we will be successful, it means that God will use these things for His purpose and we may never know what purpose they served, or if it may simply be the example we set for others.

The Facebook wall of my friend who died is daily visited with many sentiments and photos.  It’s a legacy of love and life and honor that she leaves for us to remember her by, a life she lived with grace.

As I look at my friends, I see their example in my life–to live by grace, take chances, have the courage to love and risk being hurt, to forgive, and to leap.

Beautiful Baby Bear becomes an Angel.

 

One of the best friends I’ve ever had in my lifetime of beautiful friendships lost her sweet baby granddaughter last night.  Baby Bear (which is what I will call her to respect her privacy) was diagnosed with Alper’s Syndrome at age 19 months after a series of what they thought were strokes.  Baby Bear is an appropriate nickname because her mother is a Momma Bear like none other.  The beauty and strength of her momma is a tribute and inspiration to all mommas who should never have to face the death of a child.

So many followed along on a Facebook page that Momma Bear put up.  We prayed unceasingly for this little one as she faced challenge after challenge.  We prayed for her mommy and daddy and big sisters.  What strength and courage they showed this little one, and how they lifted her up and honored her beautiful life. It was something to behold, it truly was.

Tears stream down my face as I think of the loss they feel today, but I know in their hearts they fought the good fight for their Baby Bear and they were constantly rewarded by her smiles.  Baby Bear smiled all the time, and each smile touched the hearts of all those who witnessed them.  In her innocence and her illness, Baby Bear inspired us.  As her Na Na wrote this morning: “She touched the lives of people we don’t know and showed us all that life should be lived with a smile…”

As a faithful woman, I truly have no answers why one child will be healthy and another sick.  I only know that God has a plan for each of His children, and Baby Bear was one, and in these short years, she has inspired literally thousands.  Her life blessed us, it reminded us that inside each of us is a smile no matter how challenging life is.  The image of Baby Bear’s smiles will live on forever, and her courage will continue to inspire.

 

My Mom, Myself, My Children. Faith.

The nurturing sun shines this morning in a way it hasn’t for weeks.  White blooms cover trees like snow.  I’m going through my morning routine with Eugene following along very intent on each task I do, and we are opening windows and letting the sun in to nurture my olive tree and air plants that reach loving arms toward the morning rays.  My snake plant has tiny little babies beginning to emerge around her, and I plan on replanting a few for my son’s apartment, so he can experience birth, too.

The trees are alive with the sound of hungry baby birds, and the flitting of momma in and out carrying breakfast to her brood, and so one can only think of our moms or being moms or wishing we were moms and even missing our moms.  It’s so very fitting that Mother’s Day is in May, just about the time when we can safely plant outdoor flowers here in “zone 5” and maybe only once or twice have to rush out at dusk to cover them to protect them from a late frost.  Like a mother would cover her babies in the cool of the night.

Of course I’m thinking of my own mom who died on May 11, 2009, which was actually Mother’s Day night that had spilled over to the next day on the calendar.  Again so fitting.  I’m pretty low maintenance when it comes to Mother’s Day, I honestly just thought being a mom was gift enough, and it still is, but Mother’s day, since losing my own mom has taken on a significance of such great importance, because as my own heart aches at missing the sound of her voice, and the plans for her annual Thanksgiving trek up for our holiday together, I am overcome by thoughts that one day, someday, if the Lord will make the order so, my own children will be without their momma.   Even now as I write, tears fall, and my throat is full, and I think the pain of losing her could drown me again, all these years later, but it doesn’t because quite frankly, she didn’t raise her “pretty daughter” to let grief and sorrow have the final say, and I haven’t raised my children that way either. Faith has the final say, and faith is where we will meet again.

My kids losing me was a new thought, and one I’d never dreamed of until the horrendous ache of loss filled me so much that I could not speak.  I could not utter a single word for hours at a time or else, I truly believed I would have drowned from the tears inside me. Lest you think I was very close to my mom, you would be wrong.  I loved her and she loved me, and we had a great connection later in her life — honest, real, and sweet. My mother and I had a tumultuous relationship after I became an adult.  I pretty much did everything she didn’t want me to do, but the sweetness of forgiveness and acceptance  on both our parts in her later years brought a tremendous healing to our hearts.  Again, forgiveness.  I can’t write enough about it.  Letting go.

When we came to that place, my mom and me, nothing blocked our spirits from flowing in and out of each other, her love, her gratitude; my love, my gratitude.  I loved calling and saying, “Hi Mom!  This is your pretty daughter.” And she’d laugh because she thought we were all beautiful and would never discern differently, and I of course, know that I am not the prettiest, and so it was fun, and it started us on a loving note every time.

Towards the end memories began to stick like dust to the webs of dementia in her beautiful mind, and even still, when I’d call and say, “Hi Mom, this is your pretty daughter”, she’d always laugh and know it was me, even though I would become one of many people in the midst of our conversation, we had that moment where she knew exactly who had called.

What jarred me the most when I lost my mother, aside from the suddenness of it, was the realization that our mom prayed unceasingly for us kids, every moment of the day, I believe she prayed for one or all six of us, and each grandchild, and each in-law child, and suddenly, that feeling of connection to her was gone.  Even in her most forgetful times, she could remember what we had discussed about son’s schooling the last time, or daughter’s latest news.  I believe where memory lacked, faith carried on. And it continued to console us, and nurture us in a way only God can deem.

So, as I celebrate with my children and my husband and my mother-in-law, I will keep things light and joyful, and I will celebrate the present, and I will look toward the future, and I will continue to pray everyday for each of my children, and when they get married, their spouses and when they have children, their babies.

And in the morning, I will look for my mother’s face at the top of the hill on the path I walk with Eugene, where I see her at dawn, like she would be in heaven, hair blowing, smile stretched across her face, just waiting for her children to meet her there one day, in God’s time. Even me, her “pretty daughter.”

 

 

Pain before Peace?

 

For a long time, 20 years, much to the pain of my parents and loved ones, I was away from the church.  I simply did not see a loving God in the agony and pain of my dying patients.  I didn’t see a loving God as they lingered between life and death.  I didn’t see Him in their struggles to stay alive, or when I brushed the hair of a chemo patient off her pillow, or held her as she puked her guts out.  I didn’t see Him when I held their grieving family members. I just didn’t see him.

I grew up as a preacher’s kid, but the truth is, we can’t get to heaven on our parent’s faith, if it were true, I’d be a shoo in.  I had to work out this God thing on my own, in my own way.  There was the constant fatigue of going from reconciling the pain of the sick and dying that deeply touched my heart, as I worked tirelessly alongside many others to bring as much comfort as we could to their aching bodies, to embracing the idea of a loving God.

However, in my time on 4South, I saw many glimpses of faith.  I’d have to wake my patients to get vitals and assess them.  This one woman who had horrific pain, would greet me with a weak smile, and after I’d get her settled for her breakfast she would reach for her rosary with pain etched deeply on her face, and start murmuring the prayers of the rosary. By the time I’d finished getting her roommate ready for breakfast, the lines will have softened, her breathing easier, even her blood pressure was lower.  And she hadn’t had her pain med yet.   I couldn’t deny something was working that I could not put my finger on.  As I look back, there were countless other stories as equally powerful.   Something working other than good old-fashioned medicine and loving care.

For me, my faith journey came to a crisis when my 11-year-old son asked while we were in the car, “Mom, what are the ten commandments?”  So, I ticked them all off, and could only remember 9.  So, I ticked them all off on my fingers, and again, only 9.  When we got home, I searched out my dusty Bible from confirmation, and we looked it up and there they were, and I’d forgotten “Honor thy Father and they Mother.”  Interesting.

Then, Ricky asked, “What are the commandments for?”

“They are the law of God, sweetie.”

“Well, how can we follow the laws if we don’t know them?”

From the mouth of babes.  In my quest to keep God at arm’s length, I chose not to give my children a choice to believe or not believe.  From then on, we started going to church, and slowly but surely, the fatigue I felt in my twenty year search began to lift.  I went through sorrow, anxiety, feelings of unworthiness, and through it all,  I found answers to every need in that place of believers. I started to see how God worked from pain to peace.

This past weekend many women came together for a Peace Retreat, and so many told stories of pain to peace, or were currently in pain, working toward peace. God never said that the faithful would be free of pain and sadness, fear and sorrow, He just promised that peace would come.  I believe.