Stronger with Each Tear

In each tear (each tear)
there’s a lesson, (there’s a lesson)
Makes you wiser than before (wiser)
Makes you stronger than you know
In each tear ( Make you so much more)
Bring you closer to your dreams
No mistake, no heartbreak
Can take away what your meant to be


"Somehow" I came across the words "Stronger with Each Tear", and the artist Mary Blige. I think I was searching Youtube for a sample of a new song that we'll be doing at church this week. Clearly, I was at the table when I found it, since the words were scribbled on a napkin.

Tonight, I searched first for the lyrics and then on Youtube to hear the song itself. Not *really* my style of music, but sort of ballad-like, so I could hear it through.

Fortunately, I am not currently in a season of life that is characterized by strength-building tears. But I certainly have been there....and I know others that are in the midst of it now.

There are definitely lessons in the tears, and strength in the weakness and brokenness of those periods of life. In those times when "I" am broken, and "I" am feeling weak, the "I"-focus loses its hold. In those times, I am better able to let go of MY agendas and follow His plan.

Mistakes, heartbreaks, in my life... oh yes. Grieving the loss and the wish - which both come from an "I"-perspective - opens me up to better hear what God has in store for me.

From there, I can walk anew..... until, of course *I* take charge again....

What Lies Beneath....

I woke up a little angry. It took me a little while to recognize, but the tendency toward sarcasm is a sure give away for me.

My last thought the night before was "at least I'm sleeping through the night these days." For so long, between the kids and the dog, up-every-two-hours seemed to be the routine. As soon as I spoke the gratitude for it something inside me said "OH NO!" Sure enough... it was an every-two-hours night, with the dog.

So my angry morning was also a tired morning. I elected to sleep a few hours after getting the kids off to school, which ultimately helped, I'm sure - once I got over having missed most of another BEAUTIFUL fall day!

Sure, I enjoyed a few moments with the dog on our walk....but I am longing for a day to spend in the yard. Tending the Earth. I am painfully aware that these warm, sunny days are very, very limited, and how much there is to do... I am also very aware that it won't all get done, and I have peace about that... but my soul longs to spend a day digging in the dirt...

So, there I am - fighting the sarcasm.

I know that, for me, sarcasm and anger come together. I know that anger is my friend - it doesn't feel that way at the time, but it is. It tells me when boundaries are being crossed, and it moves me out of grief.

I take a moment to reflect and explore the anger. "What are you mad at?" I ask. The response comes quickly. "I am mad that there is NOTHING I can do to make this feeling go away... I can't eat, drink, sleep (literally or figuratively) the hurt away".

Oh, yeah. That.

It's nearing the end of October. Sometime soon is the anniversary of my divorce being final. It's a date I can never remember. It's not important, really. Divorce isn't a date, it's an event. A life-changing event. Yet every year, I look it up. October 27.

I wonder when the ghosts will disappear. When October will come and go without the lingering memories, without revisiting the hurts, without shedding tears.

I know that the only way through it is through it. It must be honored. It must be felt and grieved and processed. I also know that He is with me every step of the way, holding me steady, peeling away the layers of the onion, catching my tears in the palm of His hand.

I am not alone in this. I have never been alone in this...

Thank You, God....

Irreparable

I was laying on my yoga mat, at the end of class. Laying there, perfectly still - in Savasana - "corpse pose". Breathing in and breathing out, thinking of nothing in particular.

All of a sudden I 'hear' - "There are some things that "sorry" cannot fix". Piercing pain in my heart and a tear in my eye instantly appeared. "I know. I know." I thought, silently wiping the tear. I still needed to finish teaching, I couldn't lose my voice or have it crack... not right now.

I took some time after class to sit and to read and to let that statement really sink in. There are many things in life that human words or actions cannot fix and cannot make better. They cannot be made undone.

Hearts and dreams get shattered - seemingly irreparably. Yet, somehow, some way, those pieces are picked up. I believe that He examines each piece, decides which should stay and which should go, and then begins to rebuild.

Carefully, lovingly, He picks up the pieces and begins to recreate. While it is not the same, it is an opportunity to let Him mold and make my heart and my life into that which He would have it. Some of the pieces that were "mine", will surely get tossed aside.

Perhaps they will get replaced with something else - or perhaps they will remain unfilled - a hole. If I allow Him to fill it, or if I leave it as He has re-made it, I believe there will be beauty and grace that was not there before. Perhaps a window for His light to shine through. Perhaps a new opportunity, or a new desire.

The problem comes when I try to start picking up pieces and filling in holes. A heart is not something that I can fix - no matter how much I want to or I try to.

I must leave it to His hands. He knows the plans He has for me...

Perhaps, it is how He would have it...

May I yield to the Potter's hand....

I Wasn't Expecting THAT....

I knew Sunday morning would be a 100% trusting God time. I hadn't been back from camp for 24 hours yet, had barely looked at music for the service, and of the five songs, two I didn't know by title. The other three, I recognized, from a long time ago.

As I always do, I arranged the worship songs into the leading places on my ipod shuffle. As I showered, I listened to the music, hoping something would come to my hands. A few lines from a chorus here or there I remembered, but I'd need to really look at my lyric translation pages during rehearsal.

In my head, I though I'd toss a pair of songs to my interpreting partner. When she walked in, I knew it would be me interpreting. It was easy to see that she wasn't feeling well.

Fortunately, I had looked at the songs, and copied those I didn't know to sit to translate. During rehearsal, I knew my repeated "God_help_me" prayers were being heard. He was meeting me here. Thank you, God.

We elected to not interpret the sermon, as there were no deaf people in the congregation. Retrospectively, I am glad! Apparently I was meant to listen.

As I sat, listening to my pastor teach about the roles in marriage out of Ephesians 5, I could feel it starting. There was no shifting in my chair or crossing and uncrossing my legs that was going to improve the matter. I could feel it in my chest, and the best I could do was let the tears fall and hope the snot wouldn't be unmanageable.

I wasn't prepared for another return of "grieving my marriage". Thus far, I had made it through the series - convicted and instructed - but not broken-hearted. There had been a few tears, and much crying out to God, but not this.

Front row, left of center stage (fortunately sitting and not interpreting!), wiping tears so I could see to write down the things that struck me as he spoke, I sat.

During the final prayer, I asked for peace - at least for the final song. I needed to stand before God and finish the service. And as I stood there, "singing" with my hands - eyes 100% closed and voice 100% off - I was amazed at the perfection of the lyrics: "I stand before You now with trembling hands lifted high. Be glorified."

I left, literally, with trembling hands. I trust, as I continue to walk through this with Him, He will "Be glorified in me....". God willing.


Ephesians 5:22-33:

22 Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. 23 For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.

25 Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, 27 so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. 28 In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29 For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, 30 because we are members of his body. 31 “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” 32 This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. 33 However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.

Reminiscing.... The Dog

I am in a reminiscent mood. And, it was time for another picture on the blog. So, I opened my "pictures" folder and kept coming back to this one.

As I sit and look at it, I remember exactly when it was taken. It was right after our first "Labor Day Reunion"that we had at the state park. I still have the T-shirt I'm wearing - signed by all of the people in attendance.

And this.... this was my dog. Milaka. I adopted her in the early 1990's, and she was a puppy when we moved to Tennessee. (I'll have to share THAT story sometime.... Talk about forcing one's self across a state line!).

I was living and working in North Carolina. My lab, Sebastian had died several months before, and I was living - dogless - with two cats. It was time to begin again with another dog. A woman that I knew told me of these beautiful dogs: Half Great Dane, Half English Mastiff. BEAUTIFUL dogs. I got two - one for me and one for my ex- (with his permission!).

The red-head was mine, he got the blond. People kept asking me what a "Mastiff" looked like. I explained that they were the English nursery dogs - like in Peter Pan. Again and again, I was asked, "OH...those big stupid dogs?" Well, she was anything but stupid - big, yes. Stupid, no. (but, that's what her name means - and a bunch of other derogatory stuff, I hear...)

I digress... together we moved to TN, then to the womb house, then to the married house. In and out of life with her brother, Beauregard. Years of traveling, of moving, of growth and of change. Unfortunately, she didn't live to the current house. She died in early May 2005.... a week after our separation.

At the moment I knew she would need to be put down, I said, aloud, "Oh, God, you (the dog) are not going to walk through this one with me...." I was truly 'on my own'. Sure, his two dogs were still living with me, but it wasn't the same. Milaka and I had moving, grieving history together. I felt the loss.... deeply.

Retrospectively, I think without her living beside me, I was better able (AKA "forced") to rely on God during that time. There was much grieving - grieving my marriage, "grieving the wish" and grieving for my dog who had spent the previous thirteen years beside me.

Thank You, God for the gift of Milaka's presence in my life.

Bittersweet

Let me preface by saying that yes, I know this picture is blurry. The original is blurry, but it is here for a reason. It was included in the slide show.

It was a bittersweet day: Grandma's funeral. Such a mixture of joy and sadness. Joy, because we know that she is in a better place. Joy because we know that she is "free of the cage" that her stroke, eight years ago, trapped her within.

It stole her ability to choose the words she wanted to speak, and her ability to retain certain bits of information. But, it could never take her joy, her love or her gentle, compassionate spirit.

It was a long day for children. Visitation, the funeral itself, and the burial afterward. Three seven year old grandchildren sat as quietly as they could, showing their respect in a way only they can in a situation that was - as my son said - "BOR-ing".

But, as he sat on my lap - all 70 pounds of him - I realized he was listening. He brightened as the pastor read his name as one of the "Joys of her life". But it was during the scripture time that I realized he wasn't lost in the Pokeman DS replay surely going on in his head.

The pastor was describing the person that Grandma was, and summed it up with Proverbs 31. On Mother's Day, our pastor had called 31:28 to the attention of the children. As the pastor read these words during the funeral service, I could see the cogs turning in my boy's brain. All of a sudden, the ton of bricks on my lap sat up straight, turned, looked me straight in the eye and said, "You are blessed".

He is right.... I am blessed... beyond my wildest imaginings, I am blessed.

Choosing to live in Gratitude

At work, at home, or out in the world, I notice people tend to fall into one of two camps: Gratitude or Victim.

It's not so much the external events that designate placement, but an internal choice of which glasses to wear. I've seen people experience life-changing trauma and their view continues to be out the window of Gratitude. For others, life is pretty good by most standards, and still their outlook comes from a place of bitterness with a song of "poor me"...

I have lived in both camps - and I have jumped from one to the other (and back!) many, many times. I am fortunate to have had a friend who would point out the victim in me when I didn't see her. "I have to do this, I have to do that..." would bring reminders that I choose to do them all.

Many times it didn't seem like a choice. But it was - I was choosing to do what was necessary to care for infants and keep my job. It was the right choice, even though I didn't feel like doing it at the time, and didn't feel like there was another option. There is always another option.

I wish I knew a way to move someone permanently to a position of gratitude. My patients with an "attitude of gratitude" seem to do better as they recover from their injuries compared to those who focus on how they've been wronged. If only they would believe me when I remind them of how blessed they are. If only they knew the power of gratitude.

Focusing my attention on what I have been given rather than on what I lack has made a tremendous impact on my life... Life changing. Literally. My perspective influences every decision I make.

Every choice: Gratitude or Victim. With each event or interaction, I am given the opportunity to choose. What will I decide? How shall I view it? Will I remember?

I have much for which to be grateful. Even in the midst of grief and struggles. In the whirlwind of the end of school year schedule, I am blessed.

Very, Very Blessed.

I choose Gratitude!

Moving on...

I got one of those calls today that remind me of how UN-fixed plans really are. Schedules are not really "set". My timing is merely that... my timing.

The call was from my ex, letting me know that his mother had died the night before. The day continued, but the rest of the week got put on hold, awaiting plans for visitation and the funeral.

I thought back to my father's funeral, and my friend, Karen's death. "Love never ends", I reminded myself. I remember the acuteness of the loss, and how time eases the pain. There will be things that pop up from time to time that remind us of her, and we will revisit it briefly. One day, those reminders will bring joy for the life.

On my return home from the Elementary School, I sat to read my email. In the stack was a note from my first ex-husbands step-father. He was letting me know that his wife, my first mother-in-law, had died, early last week. "She always loved you," he wrote.

And I realize how greatly I have been blessed. How fortunate am I to have had TWO mother-in-laws who "always loved me". Despite the divorces, we have kept in touch. A gift indeed!

I am also grateful to have been able to see both of them fairly recently. Neither one was in great health, and I know that they are both "free" now of that which restricted their lives here on earth these past few years. The are moving on... to bigger and better things.

Being Met in the Grief

We've had a sad past 24 hours. Aurora, the kitten we were going to adopt when she was old enough, died. She was born on my birthday, so was 15 days old when she died. When we went to meet her, she still had her eyes closed, and we fed her with a cute little baby animal bottle.

Aurora and her brother and sister were abandoned by their mother. A family from church took them in and were providing the round-the-clock care that such little ones require.

They had all been doing well, making appropriate milestones. Aurora had even stood up on all fours the morning she started acting "not right".

She had quit feeding well, and had been taken to the vet. There, she was given some antibiotics, probiotics, vitamin/calorie paste and was heading home. Her human 'grandma', turned around and went back to the vet, where they confirmed her worst fears.

The thing that struck me about the story, I heard from someone else. The someone else is another woman from church, who happened to be at the vet at the time. She was able to be with our friend through the process. Met in the midst of her grief.

Telling the kids was a bit of a challenge too. My boy, acted just like a boy: "Well, the vet SAID she had only a small chance of surviving." My girl, acted just like a girl: She cried and cried, and called out her name, asked all the "Why?" questions and wanted to snuggle in my bed to fall asleep.

Meet her in her grief, Lord...

I continue to pray for the other two kitties, for their human family, and for my children....

Missing My Friend

I realized today - I am grieving. It's amazing how quickly it hit.... again. It's something that I had worked through at the time, but I guess there's now another "layer" to process.

One of the situations I'm witnessing reminds me of my friend, Karen. Or, more specifically, it reminds me of MY journey walking through similar "stuff" with Karen walking beside me.

She had an uncanny ability to see the big picture, and to know - even through the computer screen - when something wasn't QUITE right, or I was being "just a little bit" evasive. She knew me - and loved me - well enough to call me on it. She'd point it out, and stand beside me as we sorted through the mess. All from 650 miles away.

This was a decade ago. She died in 2003. It's amazing to me how different my life is now. How much I have changed. How much one person could influence change in my life - through patience, truth, and love.

I pull out the picture of the wall I created back then. Construction paper "stones" of different colors, all "named" and stacked on top of each other. It was a "getting to know me" project, to look at the different aspects of my Self - "positive" and "negative" - that I used to "protect" myself from the rest of the world. Through that exercise, I realized how much it merely isolated me from any meaningful relationships.

Day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, the wall has been disassembled. God has brought people into my life - online and in "real life" - who have helped me to grow and to trust, and to be willing to come out of hiding. To become vulnerable enough to risk standing outside of my wall.

It's not all fun and games out here. I do sometimes long for the days of isolation and anonymity. But.... I'm not lonely anymore. I have connections, I have community. I have joy and I have peace. I also have the depth of emotion to grieve.

As I put together the pieces I hear and the pieces I see of the situation at hand, I sure wish I could talk with her, and hear her perceptions. I miss that. I miss my friend.

God has sent others for me to talk with - heart to heart - who love me enough to hold up mirrors with patience, truth and love. He has also reminded me, through her life and her death, that "love never ends". It is with me always.

I thank God for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This picture I took during a gathering in 2002, when Karen and I - and some other friends - spent a weekend hanging out in a cabin at one of TN's state parks. The thing that I love so much about it is not only does it capture Karen (with my daughter) - but I didn't see it until after she died in the summer of 2003. I found the roll of undeveloped film, turned it in, and was given this gift.