Aunt Edith's Turn

My Great Aunt Edith was the last of a generation for our side of the family.  She buried her husband and his four siblings and their spouses.  Theirs was a generation that knew hard times and sacrifice and faith.  A generation who traveled by covered wagon and read by oil lamp and pulled together to win a World War against hatred and intolerance.  People who understood what it meant to love this country and watched the first man walk on the moon and drove the first wave of Model T cars. A generation so full of the hope and perseverance, lessons we all so badly need today.

Aunt Edith was, first and foremost, a lady.  Growing up, I was surrounded by a number of strong women.  And while she was no exception with regard to strength, she was quite different than my mother, grandmother, and other aunts.  She was quiet.  If you know my family, you understand why that stood out.  While my Gran frequently barked "Jody, you hush now, it's my turn to talk" while talking to my great uncle on the phone, I never heard Aunt Edith raise her voice.  She usually sat quietly, smiling, while all the talkers around her carried on.  She had no need to be the center of attention.

She had a calm presence, she always smiled, sat with her long legs perfectly crossed, and held a handkerchief in her hand. She wore polyester pants, always had her hair fixed, and made sure that no one in her presence ever went hungry.  I never heard her utter a curse word, but did hear her threaten to fix her son Craig's attitude a time or two.

She loved my Great Uncle Jody.  Which was probably quite a job given that he was the baby of the family and horribly spoiled by his mama and my grandma. They were married for over 60 years, after getting engaged at the Love Tree, on the ranch where they lived.  They raised two children. They held their great grandbabies and great, great nieces and nephews. They took every kid in the family fishing for cat fish at the tank in their yard. They danced at weddings and celebrated 100 years of the ranch being in our family, and enjoyed camping at the lake.

Hers was a life that set an example for us all, and leaves her remaining family members with shoes that cannot possibly be filled. 

And although we mourn today, I can just picture her sitting there quietly smiling as Gran and Uncle Jody argue over whose turn it is to talk now that she's arrived in Heaven.  Maybe this time, she'll join in and tell them, "Hush! It's my turn now."

Leona's Quilt

I've got a favorite blanket.  I've had it since I was about 13.  It's two colors I'm not particularly fond of--yellow and purple.  It's torn.  Tattered.  Stained.  But I'm here to tell you, I'd fight to the death to keep that quilt.

My childhood best friend's grandmother, Leona, made it for me.  She was constantly making quilts.  The day she gave this one to me, she took me into one of the storage rooms she had, which was completely stacked to the roof with quilts, waiting to find a new home.  Her front room always had scraps of material from her cutting thousands--heck,  maybe millions--of small squares.  Every color, every pattern, every size you could imagine.  And she never told me her secret, but I am here to tell you, that old quilt is the warmest blanket I have ever used.

I'd known Leona as long as I can remember.  Growing up, I spent lots of time at her house with my friend.  I knew stories behind almost all of the trinkets she had lining her shelves.  My class picture was included on the wall with those of her own grand kids.  I knew to lookout for her peacocks in the yard. If I was spending the night, I always tried to wrangle my way into the bed in the back bedroom because that room used to be a porch that they turned into a room, and I thought that was awesome.

My absolute favorite Leona story happened a few years ago.  After she managed to high center her car on a median in town, her sons told her it was time to give up her keys.  She told them she was tired from all of the commotion and they could talk about it the next day.  So, as promised, the sons showed up the next day, expecting a fight.  When they arrived, she just handed the keys over.  Bullet dodged, they thought.....until they saw her cruising down the boulevard the next day.  She had gone to the lock smith and had about 5 extra sets of keys made.  The sons, not to be outdone, unhooked her battery cable, sure this would solve the problem.....until they saw her cruising down the boulevard the next day.  When her car wouldn't start, she called the nice young man at the auto shop, who drove over and took a look at it for her.  Talk about resourceful!

This week, Leona will be laid to rest after 92 years on this earth.  She was quite a lady.  And I hope one day when it is my turn to be remembered, I will be seen as even a fraction as warm as Leona was, both because of her personality and those quilts.  May she rest in peace.

Scars

I have a scar on my left knee. It has been there for 20 years. The result of a County Fair water fight, wet shoes, slick gravel.   I was chasing two of my classmates around the corner when it happened. Funny how some insignificant memories remain etched in our brains.  In some ways that feels like a lifetime ago. In others, like yesterday.

One of the boys involved in that water fight died this week.  And although we lost touch after graduation, so many of my childhood memories involve him.  He was one of the first people I met from my new school.  We showed lambs together. He was kind and funny and was with us when we were all shipped to the principal's office for playing tackle football.

I do not know what demons he was facing or from what he felt he had to escape.  But I do know that any time someone takes their own life, they leave a scar on those that knew them. A permanent mark that, like the scar on my leg, will never go away. And our little community has more than its fair share of scars.

This is the fourth person from my elementary school that has ended their own life. Each time it shakes me to the core. It makes me wish so many things had been different. 

Please keep my friend's family in your prayers during this time of unimaginable grief. And pray for his soul to find rest.  Lord, hear our prayers.

My Thoughts on Brittany Maynard and "Death with Dignity"

"Faith in God means we live with hope.  It means often times hoping even when it seems futile.  It means believing that God can deliver us, and often times, He will.  But it also means that at times, He may not, and if He does not deliver us in the way we desire, it means we still have faith and trust that his plan is perfect and He will make good of it all."  ~Chris Faddis, It Is Well



I wasn't sure if I should even write about this.  It's a controversial issue.  People are very much in one camp or the other.  But from the moment I read about Brittany Maynard's story, and for the next several weeks, I just could not get it out of my mind.



In case you missed it, Brittany Maynard was a 29 year old woman who was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.  In light of this diagnosis, she decided to end her own life before the disease caused her the tremendous suffering that was certain to come.  She championed the phrase "death with dignity" after moving to Oregon, a state which allows physician assisted suicide.  On November 2, 2014, Brittany took her own life.



I want to start out by asking that everyone pray for Brittany's soul and for her family.  First and foremost, this is a tragic, horrible, unfair situation.  And I cannot imagine being in her shoes.  And because of that, I will not judge the decision that she made.  But, I do want to point out that another choice existed here.

I have watched several loved ones suffer and die from horrible illnesses.  My grandmother died of brain cancer at 67.  My college friend, Pink Boots, died of the same disease in her mid-twenties.  I watched Mr. Franklin wither away from Lou Gehrig's disease.  My family lost one of our own to lung cancer on one side and pancreatic on the other.  I know what suffering looks like.  Others do too, like those who loved Angela Faddis and Susan Spencer-Wendel and Morrie Schwartz, and those of us who read their books.



I know it is hard and painful and so unfair.  But I also know that God blesses during even the worst suffering.  I know that every single time I got to visit Mr. Franklin while he was sick--whether it be when he would drive us around in his golf cart or when he could barely whisper a congratulations on the phone when I passed the bar exam--I was blessed.  I know that I probably learned as much about life and love watching him die as I did watching him live.  I know that Pink Boots' friends and family cherished the extra time we had with her.  I feel certain that my mom and her siblings insistence on the importance of family was solidified in my grandma's hospital room.



And I can assure you, although they greatly suffered, each of them died with dignity.  They died loved, respected, and heroic.  I believe it is important to be very clear that choosing to live your life until God calls you home is not somehow undignified.  It is faithful.





We do not know how God will bless us or those around us.  It may be in mysterious ways.  Ways that we will never understand. And if we question that--if we take the plan away from Him and make it our own--people will miss out on those blessings.  We must remember that in the end, after even the worst suffering, God will be victorious.  There will be no more tears or pain or illness.  And that, alone, is dignified.



Please pray for Brittany, her family, and all those who suffer.

Today I'll Remember

“The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.”  ~Czeslaw Milosz

Five years ago today, Mr. Franklin lost his battle with ALS.

As I've watched all of the ice bucket challenges on Facebook--some of you people (ahem...Mr.and Mrs. Lee....) are quite creative with those--my mind always turned to him.

But the truth is, we can dump all of the ice that we want but awareness--true awareness--of this disease, unfortunately, can only be gained by watching someone you love go through it.  It is an awareness I would wish on no one.  Ever.

Today, however, I refuse to think of disease or death or sadness.  Instead, I will think only of good memories of one of my favorite people.

I will think of chicken gizzards and ass kickin' peanuts.  Forcing me to swallow the green Mexican pills that he was sure would cure food poisoning and him lining up the entire basketball team and making everyone drink an Alka Seltzer.

I remember sideways glances about jokes only he and I understood.  His uncanny ability to remember even the smallest details about every show animal anyone ever had.  Ducking chalk he sent flying when someone missed a parli pro question.  I'll remember him chasing us up the hill with scissors and paging people to the golf cart at his last sheep sale.

I'll remember that the man who would lecture me for an hour about not finishing my orange juice or who would make the boys run until they puked in practice was the same man that would get tears in his eyes and a quivering lip anytime you won a contest or said goodbye to leave for college.   He may have had a loud bark, but his heart was bigger. 

And even five years later, I still miss him every single day.

Remembering a Child

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain..." ~Rev. 21:4

I sat down on Sunday to blog.  I had several ideas....recipes to share, a wedding shower to recap, photos from Blonde Oklahoma Girls' big day, random thoughts on world events....the norm.  But before I got started I stopped to check out Facebook.

There, I learned that one of the children to whom I helped grant a Make a Wish passed away.  You read about the impact his family had on me here and about his wish here.

And all of a sudden, I didn't much feel like talking about scones and bridesmaids dresses and wedding presents.

I recently read a wonderful article on suffering by my friend, Meg.  The entire article is phenomenal, but the following excerpt really hit me.

We can’t understand what God is doing any more than an infant can understand what his mother is doing–less so. We see the now, or even the 50 years from now. We see the splash. God sees the ripples. And not just the ripples on our lives but the ripples on the lives of those we love and those we hate and those we’ve never bothered to notice. God sees the ripples on eternity. God knows which miraculous cure will bring conversion and which painful death will draw hearts to him. He doesn’t give you cancer because you need to learn how to be a better person, but if he lets you suffer through it, he is working. This is the God who took the greatest evil of all time, the torture and deicide of Good Friday, and turned it into the greatest good for the human race. There is nothing he cannot turn to good.

This is what gives me hope. Not that God might work a miracle for me but that he is working miracles, daily miracles. This is providence, that for me in my comfortable life and for those suffering and abandoned, for every last person on this planet God is working miracles. He is holding them close and drawing them closer, even when they seem most alone. Because he knows what they need. This is the Christian answer to the problem of evil: God knows better than I. And he is working.

So what can I say to the mothers with empty arms, the broken victims of abuse and neglect, the refugees and hospice patients and orphans and addicts?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what God is doing, but I know that he is doing something. I don’t know what good will come of this, but I know that good will come. I know this the way I know how to breathe or which way is down: not because I can prove or explain it but because everything in my life cries out this truth. You are loved in your suffering. God weeps with you, hanging on the Cross for you. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what he’s doing. But I know who he is. He is good. He is love. He is for you. And there will come a day when all is made clear, when you’re welcomed into the embrace of the God who has been waiting for you since before there was time and you see just how all things worked for good. But until then, I will stand with you in the unknowing. Together we will hope and love and suffer. And we will trust in a God who is so much bigger than our pain.”
Miracles seem arbitrary and unfair because our vision is so short. But we worship an eternal God who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all. There is nothing he will not do for us. Ours is to trust that when we lie broken amidst the rubble of our lives, even then he is working. Even then we are protected. Even then we are loved by a Father who wills our greatest good, though it may be a long time coming. Wait in hope, my friends. My God will not disappoint.

Please keep the sweet family of my Make a Wish child in your prayers.  Peace be with them.

Just Too Much Sadness

**Tomorrow we will continue with the Advice for the Single Ladies series, but today, my heart is too heavy.**

"Where is God in all this?  Oh, he's up there.  Somewhere...shouting down that He loves us. Wondering why we can't hear him."  ~What Dreams May Come

Sometimes it feels as though there is just too much sadness in the world. Christians being beheaded in Iraq. Planes being shot out of the sky in Ukraine. Children slaughtered on a daily basis in Gaza. And now, closer to home, a beautiful teenage girl--one who reminded me so much of myself 13 years ago--has taken her own life.

Each of these senseless tragedies have made me acutely aware that we live in a fallen world.  A horrible, depressing, fallen world.  One in which answers may never come.

I do not know why. I wish the world were different. I wish people loved one another better and understood God's love for them and for others more.  I wish we lived in a place of peace and harmony and understanding.  But we do not.

Yet, we still have hope. Because this world is not the end of the story. God has promised us that. We are journeying toward paradise, where this pain and hatred do not exist.  Until then, we are left to make the fallen world a little better by our being here.

So maybe all we can do is hope faithfully and love fiercely and pray that God will use us for his glory.

Please pray for all of those suffering. And especially for the soul of sweet Clare and for all of those who loved her. May she and all the departed rest in peace.

Sarge

"No heaven can heaven be, if my horse isn't there to welcome me." ~Unknown

I truly believe that there is a special place in Heaven for a good horse.  In particular, I think this is true for a good kid horse.

 

You know the ones.....that will stand still without blinking an eye while a kid throws a rope and whops him in the face.  Who doesn't move while another kid stands up in the saddle doing circus-like tricks.  The one that you can put a 5 year old kid, or a 40 year old city boy, on without thinking twice.  The horse that you can crawl over and under and behind and he just sort of smirks.  And most importantly, the kind of horse that makes people feel confident and comfortable and safe, and make a horse-lover out of anyone.

 

 

Sarge was one of those horses.  Yesterday, he died.  You can think what you want and argue theology if you want, but I'll just all but guarantee you that horse is walking around the golden streets.  He sure deserves to be.

Gran and Her Reward

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."

Ten years ago today, my favorite person in the world left for Heaven.  She would not have said Heaven; she always referred to it as "my reward."  My Gran was the kind of grandmother I think every kid should have. 

She baked the best cookies.  Let us play with matches and candles.  Could peel an apple with a pocket knife and at the end have one single strand of skin, never broken.  She was tough as nails and fiercely independent.  Walked a mile every morning. Never missed an episode of Paul Harvey.  Kept Kit Kats in the fridge.  Cursed when she almost burned the house down.  Let us chauffer her around in a little brown Datsun pickup long before we were allowed to drive.  Hummed Clair de Lune everywhere she went.  She kept the farm going when her husband died at 45 and everyone told her she should sell and move to town with her two teenage boys.  Wore a floppy old hat with big shiny diamond rings.  Had a medicine cabinet with iodine and hydrogen peroxide in case you needed to fix something up before your mom saw.  Watched MASH every afternoon.  Made inappropriate toasts and snuck cigarettes in the bathroom.  Also bribed our sheep hauler to smuggler her said cigarettes into the assisted living home.  She didn't yell at me when my horse pulled the air conditioner out of her window or the time I rolled her stock trailer.  She nearly blew her hand off lighting black cat fireworks in the house and throwing them out the front door.

She was a good person.  A strong woman.  A great rancher.  And the best grandma.  I can only hope that I can live up to the legacy she left; that some of her will show up in some of me.  Oh, and that she'll have a fridge full of Kit Kats waiting for us all one day when we go to our reward.

You Never Know

“If there's one thing I learned, it's that nobody is here forever. You have to live for the moment, each and every day . . . the here, the now.” ~Simone Elkeles, Perfect Chemistry

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of a friend suddenly died.  It was her bachelorette party weekend.  The girls had decided to participate in a run.  The bridesmaids ran a 5K.  The bride ran the half marathon.  As she crossed the finish line in her white shirt that sported the word "Bride" across the front and a pretty pink boa, she collapsed.  And she was gone.

Her wedding day, set for two weeks from that date, was never to be.  The OME concluded a congenital heart defect that generally kills a person suddenly and without warning during childhood. The fact that this girl lived to be 27 was a miracle in itself.

I suppose this hit me for a lot of reasons.  The first was the fact that I know one of the bridesmaids who was there and had to live through this absolute nightmare. Also, the reminder that no matter how old we are or how good of shape we are in, we really just never know when our time will come. And then there is the fact that one summer in San Francisco I ran a half marathon and my best girlfriends ran a 5K and cheered me on at the finish line.  Similar story....very different ending.

SF Marathon - 2011

We never know how much time we have left.  So today, try to take that to heart.  Say what you need to say.  Offer forgiveness or tell someone you love them or speak a kind word to a stranger.  Do what you've always wanted to do.  Sign up for the class, take the risk, book the trip.  Make the change that you know is necessary.  Step out of your comfort zone, follow your heart, make a leap.

Tomorrow is not promised to any of us.  Don't wait.  Stop over-analyzing.  Quit thinking of why it might not work.  Forget waiting for the right time.  Just go.

And please say a prayer for Kaytie's family, her friends, and her fiance as they try to find their way through this terrible time.

Two Years.

"Memories never die."

 

 

Two years ago, our family changed forever when we lost Uncle David.  We are all better people for having known him.  We thank God for that. 

 

Life-Changing Moments

We talk all the time about life-changing moments.  How this or that changed our lives.  I think that honestly, there are very few moments that truly, literally change your life--those moments that you can really point to and say that your life was wholly different before those seconds than it ever was again after. 

9 years ago on this day, one of those moments--one phone call--changed mine.  9 years ago tomorrow, the same nightmare happened again.  Two days.  Two phone calls. Two car accidents.  Two friends.  Gone forever. 

I could tell you exactly where I was when those calls happened.  I can still remember the ringtone on my phone, and walking in circles on campus not knowing where to go, and College Roomie slamming her bedroom door after I answered her question, "Is it true?"  I remember someone cancelling my birthday party and Captain Don coming over to just sit on the couch in silence and NM Animal House Boy cooking dinner.  And then, later that week, I remember saying goodbye.  The caskets and tears and music.

But mostly, I remember my friends.  Boys who were funny and kind and handsome and sweet and pulled great jokes and made me smile.  They made my life better.  And losing them broke my heart.  The world is not the same without them in it.  My life is not the same without them in it.  And today in addition to the pain, I feel gratitude for the effect they had on me and on so many others.

The Mr. Franklin I Knew

"It has been said, time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.  But it is never gone."  ~Rose Kennedy

I remember when Mr. Franklin died four years ago this weekend, everyone kept saying that he would be mad at me for crying and would tell us all to toughen up.  And every single time I heard those words, I just shook my head and suppressed my desire to tell them that I thought they were completely wrong.

Because that wasn't the Mr. Franklin I knew. 

Sure, that was the Mr. Franklin that most people saw.  The one who beat the steering wheel and wouldn't let us eat lunch after a certain class of keep/cull pigs was placed a certain way at a certain judging contest (which was still won, for the record).  It was the Mr. Franklin who would grab a player off the bench and literally throw them to the scorer's table when someone on the court missed a lay up.  It was the Mr. Franklin who could hardly speak anymore but managed to get mad at me the week before he died because I wasn't texting sheep show results fast enough for his liking (we were on a lunch break and nothing was happening!)  The one who would yell at Mrs. Franklin when she couldn't remember the name of the point guard at Texas Tech to help him while he was telling a story.  It was the Mr. Franklin who would crank up the heater for basketball practice in the gym and line up the entire team with a cup to make them drink Alka-Seltzer if one person sneezed and he thought there was a chance anyone was getting sick and beat you with a sorting stick or a clipboard if you put the fat hog first after he told you not to do that anymore. 

But that wasn't the Mr. Franklin I knew.  The one who hugged me with tears running down his face at my Gran's funeral.  The one who dropped me at the airport at Louisville and waited until he could wave at me after I made it through security.  The one whose lower lip would start to quiver when a State Star Farmer plaque was presented or a basketball trophy came home to Logan or he got a gift at the FFA banquet.  The one who stopped showing sheep one afternoon to come over and tell me that I had no idea how much he missed me after I went to college.  The one who called me every hour on the hour for an entire night when I had food poisoning and then drove me to the hospital the next week when I was still not better.  The one who kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me every time I said goodbye and left his house.  That was the Mr. Franklin I knew.

So if you ask me, those people were wrong about how he would have reacted to my tears.  The Mr. Franklin I knew would have put his arm around me and let me cry.  Then when I was done, he probably would have lectured me one more time about how badly we screwed up that keep/cull class at State FFA in 1999.  And I would love every minute of it.

9 Years

'It has been said, time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.  But it is never gone.'  --Rose Kennedy

On this day 9 years ago, Gran went to her reward (as she always called it).  No matter how much time has passed, I still miss her every day.

So in honor of her today, her favorite song, which she was constantly playing on the piano or humming as she walked along.

She made the world a better place.  She made me a better person.  I can only hope that some of that which was in her is now showing through me.

Look for the Helpers

"Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping." 

I know that I'm a bit behind, but I wanted to comment on the horror that happened last week at the Boston Marathon.  Being a runner myself, seeing the awful video from that day was something that really struck a chord with me.  I had a couple of people contact me to be sure I had not been at the race, because they know that I had a race coming up.  (I'm far too slow for Boston, but thank you for the vote of confidence!)  That made me realize how none of us are safe, none of us are immune, and we never know when something like this will happen.

But one thing we do know is that even when the worst happens, when pure evil occurs in the world, good always follows.  People running in to remove the rubble.  Medics rushing to save the injured.  Runners across America wearing shirts and running races for Boston.  Americans praying.

In the face of tragedy, we have to look for the good.  For the helpers.

On Sunday, I will be running the Oklahoma City Memorial Half Marathon.  A race in memory of those who perished in 1999 when evil came to Oklahoma.  Now, this race means even more.  For me, it will be a race during which I will be thankful for my ability to run, prayerful for the victims of both OKC and Boston and their families, and grateful for the helpers who always appear.

His Greatest Contribution

"His greatest contribution is the ones he leaves behind..." ~Alan Jackson, Small Town Southern Man

Last week during Uncle Jody's funeral, Alan Jackson's song, Small Town Southern Man was played.  It was a perfect and fitting way to remember my uncle.  

After the funeral, we all went to the museum in town that honors our family's general store.  The one opened by my great grandparents in the 1920s.  It a butter churn, antique cash register, and a metal Bible from WWII.

Yet, as I looked around, the song rang even more true.  Yes, the antiques were cool.  But they were not what matters.  Family is.  We are his greatest contribution.  We have been left behind and it is up to us to ensure that his legacy lives on.    

What a great responsibility with which we have been entrusted.

The Day The Music Stopped

“Death is not the end of things, my sister. It is the beginning of a greater adventure than this small life you cherish can hold."  ~ Douglas Clegg, Isis

My Uncle Jody could do pretty much anything.  Branding calves.  Baiting fish hooks. Hauling hay.  Working on oil wells.  He grew up in an old dug out, served in the army during WWII, and had a sweet tooth that I can only assume is genetic because he passed it right on down to me.  He played dominoes, danced a mean two-step, and could tell stories better than almost anyone I know.  He loved the same woman for over 60 years and celebrated the 100th year of our family's homestead.  Like I said, he could do pretty much anything.

But there  was nothing he did better than playing the piano.

When he would settle in on that bench and his fingers touched the keys, everyone flocked to him.  People would literally run in from outside on the ranch or from the pool behind the house upon hearing the call, "Uncle Jody is going to play!"

The whole family--four generations--would gather around the piano.   Sitting four deep on couches, piled into chairs, and lined along the floor.  And this wasn't a one time thing.  It happened at every single family event.  At Uncle Jody's house, where the night ended with the enitre family singing Amazing Grace, and not a dry eye in the house.  At a hotel in Roswell where Little Cowboy shared the bench.  In my cousin Elaine's home last summer for the better part of an hour.

Then, today, the music stopped.  At least here on earth.  We lost Uncle Jody.  He was 87.

But I'll bet you anything that somewhere in Heaven you can find our family crowded around a piano, where Uncle Jody and his music live on.

For that, and for him, I could not be more grateful.

The Grateful Outweighs the Painful

“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” 
~John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

Sometimes it hits me like a brick wall.  That feeling in the pit of my stomach.   The one that causes tears to well up in my eyes.  Whether it has been 1 year or 10, it can sneak up on me out of nowhere.  Sometimes it's a certain cologne, sometimes a glass of orange juice, and sometimes it's nothing specific at all.  But it comes.  The realization that they are gone. The reminder that I'll never again hear their voices on this earth.  The knowledge that I can't ask them one more question, or hear one more laugh, or get one more hug.  And it's painful.

But, then, a second feeling inevitably floods in. The one of gratefulness.  That they lived.  That I got a chance to love them.  They they had an impact on my life.  And that if I'm doing anything right, some little piece of them shows through me.

The hero of an ag teacher, the best grandma you could imagine, the little blonde headed kid. My first valentine, my childhood friends, my brother's best friend. Uncle David, my friend's sweet brother, Santa with the southern accent.  The girl with the swagger and pink boots. 

And, in the end, the grateful outweighs the painful.  Every time. 

December 26

"I carry your heart with me.  I carry it in my heart.  I am never without it.  Anywhere I go, you go."  ~e.e. cummings

December 26 has arrived again.

One year later, I still miss my Uncle David every day. 

Eight years later, I still wish my friend Levi was here so I could tell him happy birthday.

 

And even though this day is hard, I thank God for putting these two in my life.  The world is better--I am better--because they were here.  In the end, what else can you ask for?

Too Much For My Heart

"But Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.'" ~Matthew 19:14

Over the weekend, I had several hours in the car to try and get my thoughts together after the horrible, senseless tragedy that occurred at Sandy Hook Elementary School last Friday.  What I've figured out is that I cannot get my head around any of it.  I can't watch the coverage on the news, I can't look at the pictures of those lost on the internet, I can't fathom 20 funerals with tiny caskets, and I can't really spend too much time thinking about the hell that broke out in those classrooms...because it's just too much for my heart.  And what I know is that if it's too much for my 29 year old heart, it's certainly too much for the hearts of those children and teachers who were in that school on Friday. 

In thinking about those children, I think about the ones in my own life.  Little kids like that should be busy learning songs about being thankful for being able to play baseball, and eating too many M&Ms and smiling for the camera and jumping on beds and learning to tackle like the football players on ESPN and seeing Santa Claus and repeating what noises farm animals make and coloring and having nap time.

Last Friday, the innocence of children--both those inside that school and those outside--was stolen by the inexcusable actions of one man.  I hope that today you will join me in praying for all of those people who lost loved ones on Friday, for all of the children, teachers and staff who were in that school who walked out alive but changed forever, for the family of the shooter (to read a heartwrenching article from that perspective, click here), for the police and paramedics who had to see the horror in that building, and for all of the children in your life. 

And, as Fr. Steve so eloquently said yesterday, as inspired by St. John, may we all put love in this world so in need of it.  "Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love."  We cannot do much to help heal the pain that our nation feels in the shadow of last Friday, but we can love.  And that is something.

May God provide comfort, faith, and peace to all.  And, may Cardinal Bernardin's analysis that I shared last week be true:  May love conquer death; faith conquer hatred; and compassion conquer cruelty.