“There’s power in love.” The Most Rev. Michael Bruce Curry
Getting up to watch the royal wedding of Harry and Meghan was easy, as I am an early riser. Plus, being an anglophile, I just had to watch. Of course, I totally forgive them both, as my invitation must have been lost in the mail. They know I am toasting them from this side of the Atlantic.
All week long, watching the news was horrific. Another school shooting, a tragic accident with students on a field trip, a volcanic eruption and on and on and on. And, of course, the continued nasty comments that follow any story posted online – whether it is good news or bad.
It was so refreshing to turn on the telly and watch the beautiful bride walk into the cathedral on a sunny day in England. Here on my side of the pond, it was chilly and rainy – about what one would expect for their side. But I was happy to take another day of rain so that Harry and Meghan’s wedding day and parade through Windsor was perfect. Even if people claim rain on your wedding day is “luck,” it still makes for a mess and a bad hair day.
My friend and mentor, Elaine Ambrose, has recently returned from a writing retreat in Ireland. A post she wrote resonated with me, and reminded me of conversations shared with locals on our trip to Italy.
“Why are all the Americans mad as a box of frogs?” David asked as he drove from the Dublin International Airport to my hotel. “I don’t understand all the vitriol. The waste of time is biscuits to a bear.” – Elaine Ambrose, “The Wisdom of Irish Taxi Drivers and Bartenders
We encountered similar questions. I’ve often wondered what people from across the globe think of the constant arguing and nastiness and judgmental tones.
Elaine had re-posted her article, just as I was hunting for the one I had written almost two years ago! Criminy, folks! Not much has changed in that time, at all. In fact, it might be worse.
This morning I had the privilege of watching my granddaughters before school started. It was a “late start day,” which used to cause me some angst in the mornings. I know it messes up the routine for many working parents, since an hour of childcare is needed at an awkward time, causing a disruption in the usual hurried morning.
But these days, since I don’t have to corral sleeping kids off to school in the morning, I enjoy helping out by having the girls over for breakfast – even if they ended up eating the pumpkin muffins their mom sent over for me.
We had a little silly time, a little talk time, and a few rounds of playing “Go Fish.” I laughed when one of the girls said, “You go first because you are the oldest,” which I thought sounded much better than, “Because you are old.” A little before nine, we headed outside. A neighbor was going to drop them off at school, so I walked them down the sidewalk adjacent to our yard, which is now sporting a beautiful blanket of colorful leaves – a season of change.
“Everything has seasons, and we have to be able to recognize when something’s time has passed and be able to move into the next season. Everything that is alive requires pruning as well, which is a great metaphor for endings.” – Henry Cloud
Just a moment ago, it was summer, and they were running around in the yard catching fireflies in jars or doing cartwheels or playing basketball. Now, they will be excited to come over and rake all the leaves into a huge pile and jump into it.
As they made their way into our neighbor’s car, I turned around and looked at the yard. Other than the leaves and my trusty dog, it was completely empty and quiet.
Though it seems like yesterday, it was almost ten years ago that our yard had a completely different look. It was a hot summer day, and it was early morning when my husband, kids and a few other relatives were moving around under the huge canopies set up for our oldest daughter’s wedding. My husband made a wedding trellis; tables and chairs were decorated; a dance floor was set up, and we were ready to welcome more than 100 family and friends to celebrate.
Sometimes when I look into the yard, I can’t believe how it had held so many people, and how beautiful it looked with tulle along the fence line and pots of flowers scattered throughout. So many people pitched in to help. So many people attended and shared a special day.
I thought of all the people that filled our yard that summer day.
For a moment, I let myself have a cry. In less than a decade, both sides of the family have lost dear loved ones: my dad, my grandfather, my great-aunt, my husband’s cousin; the groom’s grandmother, and, sadly, this year within ten months, we lost the groom’s parents. I was kind of taken aback, because I didn’t expect to look at my quiet yard and feel so moved. Just standing on the sidewalk, I looked over the fence and saw where everyone was sitting, smiling and talking.
Grief doesn’t really know a time frame. Some days you smile at memories, and sometimes you weep. There isn’t a right way to grieve, or a wrong way. You never know which way a memory will take you, so you just go through the moment.
Maybe today’s memory happened because the leaves on the grass reminded me of my dad and his vigilant effort to get them out of his yard. Maybe it happened because the quiet was a little too quiet once the girls left for school. Maybe it was because of hormones. Or maybe it is because midlife is like fall – a beautiful, colorful season of change – a time of enormous transformation, yet a time to reflect and perhaps even mourn.
Watching the next generation skip down the side walk heading to the neighbor’s and ultimately to school, the grief lifted momentarily. How could I not smile as they waved and yelled, “Bye, Mema!” They are so full of life and wonder and growth – like spring.
Back in the house, I allowed myself to mourn a bit more. I realized that like summer, life seems short. I took a few minutes to remember the loved ones my granddaughters are probably too young to remember. I thanked God for the people that are in my life, and those who no longer are – physically, anyway – because they will always be alive in my heart.
And I promised those we’ve lost that we will keep them alive in my granddaughters’ hearts, too. They loved those little girls, just as we do. So, we will make great memories and tell the girls stories about the ones we loved and lost – the ones who shared a special wedding day with us – the day that was the beginning of their little family, and a day I cried happy tears when I looked into the yard.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; …” Ecclesiastes 3: 1-22
For the past few days, I have purposely limited the time I have spent on social media. My boycott started out innocently enough – it was a beautiful day to be outside, planting flowers and pulling weeds. Good for the body, mind and soul.
A day to appreciate all of God’s creation – well, except for the spiders I encountered while weeding.
When I heard about the tragedy in Orlando, I jumped back online to see what had happened; what the latest updates were. Saddened and horrified, I felt sick to my stomach, just as I did on September 11, 2001.
“Love will keep us together.” – hit song by The Captain and Tennille
Thirty-nine years. And it is over.
My heart is breaking for Captain and Tennille, (Daryl Dragon and Toni Tennille) who are divorcing after nearly four decades of marriage.
Anytime I hear of a divorce, my heart breaks a little, whether I know the couple or not. And the longer the marriage, the more my heart aches.
Maybe because this couple was iconic in my youthful years. Maybe because they stayed out of the limelight, not airing their dirty laundry for all to see.
Maybe it is because in just eight-and-a-half years, my husband and I will be married for 39 years.
I usually don’t care why a couple breaks up, because, quite frankly, it is none of my business. But this time, I want to know. And I am not being nosy, because I am not seeking answers so I can scrutinize, demoralize or judge this couple.
I want answers, because what ever happened to end their marriage of almost 40 years, I don’t want it happening in mine.
Oh, that sounds really selfish, doesn’t it?
Certainly, I don’t intend for that to be selfish. I am truly curious. After conquering all of life’s ups and downs for so many years, what was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back at this stage of the game? And if either of them had any advice to share, I’d be happy to listen.
Truly, I feel a profound sense of loss for them. It can’t be easy to try to move on without the other.
Ironically, my spouse and I were discussing marriage just before I heard about Dragon’s and Tennille’s impending divorce. As I was doing some research online, I ran across numerous blogs about marriages ending after decades. Sharing the heartbreaking results with my husband, I asked him, “What about us? How can we prevent this?”
We have a long history, which includes a lot of love, a great friendship, some difficult times and a wonderful family. Maybe the separation due to military exercises, deployments and temporary duty gives us an appreciation of what life apart from each other is like. We learned not to take each other for granted, because we never know what curve ball life will throw our way. One set of orders can mean a year or more of separation.
We want to be a good example for our two children who are already married, and for the younger two who are still at home. We choose to tackle everything together as a team – good or bad.
Maybe there is good in knowing that if we don’t embrace each other, we could lose each other – kind of like, “live like you know you are dying.”
I am not sure what the answer is. All I know is that I hurt for this couple. I hope that they find the comfort and support they will need to get through this difficult time.
For me, I am a hopeless romantic. I will continue to pray for my husband, our marriage and our family. I will pray that the Lord continues to bless us with many more years together. My husband is my best friend, and I can’t imagine life without him.
per·fect – adjective -ˈpərfikt/ 1. having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.
My morning routine includes watching the news headlines before I head out the door. This morning, Christmas Eve, was no different. I want the headlines – not the fluff – and have done my best to tune out the idle banter when the anchors drone on and chit-chat. However, when I heard this phrase again today, I reached my proverbial breaking point.
How to have the “perfect” Christmas. Ugh!
No, I am not a Grinch or a Scrooge, but I am tired and weary of the media and advertisers dangling a dream that can’t be achieved in front of our faces. There is no perfect Christmas, because there are no perfect people.
It really is just that simple.
People, women in particular, spend time, energy and money chasing that perfect scene. The perfect gift, the perfect baked goods, the perfect tree, the perfect decorations, the perfect outfit, the perfect hair. How much valuable time and money is wasted on achieving perfectionism? I mean really good, quality time, with laughter and memory making – are these lost among the strive for perfection?
When did everything have to be perfect? Not just holidays – but everything in general? What we do, where we live, what we say, what we believe. The truth is, we are flawed, and no matter how much we try, we cannot achieve perfection. That doesn’t mean we should be arrogant jerks, but instead of trying to be perfect, why aren’t we trying to be kind, compassionate and caring? Instead of worrying about appearances, maybe we should worry about how we act towards our fellow man.
Christmas has become a “make or break” holiday. When it doesn’t live up to our perfect expectation, it depresses us. We miss loved ones – gone due to deployments, distance, divorces and death. I understand that part of the holiday all too well. And, for me, I feel that pain whether it is Christmas or Independence Day. But we have become so fixated on the Hollywood version of Christmas, that we have lost the sense of the celebration. If our celebration doesn’t look like one we see on television, then we are doing it all wrong.
Earlier in the week, I kept thinking that it “didn’t feel like Christmas.” I kept wondering why? Am I jaded? Getting older and wiser? Feeling pressured to “feel like it’s Christmas?” I am pretty sure I wasn’t the only person feeling this way.
Christmas is when we observe Christ’s birth. Yes, we can debate the pagan roots of decorations, the actual time of His birth, but, since we do not know the particulars, for all intents and purposes, this is the day Christians world-wide celebrate our Savior’s entry into the world. It is our holy day.
There was nothing perfect about Jesus’ birthday – born in a stable, sleeping in hay. Humble, rustic and for germ-o-phobes, pretty dirty. But here, in the midst of an imperfect world, in an imperfect setting, to imperfect people, there was a moment of perfection – Jesus was born, and He would shoulder our imperfections.
He didn’t come into our world so we would stress about His birthday.
Maybe, as adults, we don’t feel that holiday spirit because we are so wrapped up in making things perfect. Children approach Christmas with sheer joy and anticipation. They aren’t seeking perfection. They are filled with wonder and awe.
My wish for you is to see Christmas as a child. Enjoy the wonder and awe of this Perfect Gift. May you find joy in giving forgiveness, in sharing of yourself and your talents, and in making your area of the world better and brighter for others.
Given the current climate of our country, and our world, anxiety seems pretty high these days. I know I am not alone. For me, I can toss in mid-life adjustments, family circumstances and an insanely busy schedule to the big bowl of life, and mixing it all together, I can attest that I am feeling a bit on-edge and hyper; simply put – anxious.
Add another ingredient of life into the mixing bowl – my dad passed away a little over two years ago. I still miss him. He was my “go-to” guy when I felt anxious. He didn’t always try to fix things; most of the time he just listened.
The father-daughter bond we shared was very strong, and even though I can’t physically see or hear him, I think of him daily, and I believe he communicates in his own special way.
For instance, a few hours before my dad passed away, we experienced an early evening, mid-summer storm. Strong winds, thunder, lightening – the works. A vibrant and a most beautiful rainbow appeared shortly after the storm… and a rainbow occurred monthly at the same time – the 23rd day of each month – for several months after his death. Anyone who has lost someone so dear marks the monthly anniversary until it becomes a yearly observation. (Oh, this was amazing, too – a rainbow appeared on the first Father’s Day we celebrated without him.)
I will be going about my day, thinking of Dad, and then, one of his favorite songs will be on the radio, or one of his favorite hymns will be listed in the church bulletin. During times of incredible stress, I have seen Dad in my dreams. He says nothing, but has the most peaceful smile and always gives me a hug.
It is all too vivid and the timing is way too perfect to be called a coincidence.
When fall rolls around, I think of him constantly. Anyone who knew my dad also knew he had an immaculate yard, and during the fall, he declared a full-on attack of leaves. Yes, this is the man who would stop mid-conversation to go outside and grab a leaf off the front lawn. And yes, this is the same man who “slid” off the roof and broke his leaf blower because, yes, he was on the roof, ridding it of leaves, so that they wouldn’t land in the yard.
During Dad’s eulogy, our pastor shared these stories to all who came to celebrate his life. There was so much laughter. Seriously, who gets on the roof and, essentially, rakes it? One year, my siblings and our spouses wanted to bring bags of leaves and dump them all over the yard as a prank, so that when Dad grabbed his morning paper, he would be greeted with 3-4 inches of leaves covering every blade of grass. We didn’t, because, well, we knew that could have caused a major health event. We didn’t want to bear that burden the rest of our lives!
When we interred Dad’s ashes in a memorial garden at church, there was a hush of quiet as our immediate family gathered. It was a pretty fall day, and the earlier rain had subsided in the nick of time. Pastor was reading some Scripture, and said a prayer, and then there was a quiet murmur, which turned to some mild snickering… because in the spot where Dad’s remains would eternally rest, in that just-opened space in the memorial wall, what does our pastor find? A leaf. He wondered if we should remove it, or leave it there to drive dad crazy for all eternity.
See what I mean? I swear he sends us messages from beyond.
Well, I have really needed my dad these past few weeks. What I wouldn’t have given to just talk to him, which I still do. I guess what I really wanted was to hear his voice.
This past Sunday, after worship, my youngest daughter and I took a stroll through another garden at church. It was a nice walk, and we had just heard our pastor’s sermon about angels. The garden, still sporting some roses in the early fall, was peaceful and pretty, with a calming fountain and lots of stones with Scripture verses along the path. Halfway through our walk, one stone stood out to me because, of all things, there was a leaf laying on it. One, lone leaf, which, of course, caught my eye. Any time I see a random leaf, I can’t help to think of dear old dad.
Oh my gosh…I had to grab my phone and snap a photo, because I honestly could not believe my eyes! Straight from heaven – a message from dad!
Right under the leaf, the Scripture verse read: “Do not be anxious about anything.” Philippians 4:6.
Teary-eyed, and a little shaken, I looked up, and whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… Ecclesiastes 3:1
My favorite time of year is upon us. School is starting to wind down, the weather has been spectacular, and the strawberries are beginning to ripen. Those beauties in the photo came from my yard!
A few years ago, I bought four little strawberry plants. Because I really have no idea what I am doing in the yard, I planted the them behind the garage. Apparently, there are better ways to boost one’s harvest if you just, um, do the research. But even with my mix-up, the plants are taking over that patch of ground and we are getting some decent-sized berries, which are absolutely delicious!
June has always been one of my favorite months, and one of the main reasons: strawberries. For me, just going to our local farmers’ market is like visiting a small space in heaven.
Growing up, these little tastes of heaven were a mainstay in our home. With Father’s Day and my dad’s birthday about a week apart, it was a sure guarantee that something bearing strawberries would be on the menu.
Our family has a rough stretch to get through in the very near future. This will be our first Father’s Day without Dad. On June 25, he would have been 77. And just a few weeks after that will mark the one-year anniversary of his death.
It hasn’t been easy, and I imagine it won’t be easy in the weeks to come. I seek comfort in prayer, in my family and friends. I look for joy in the little things – my granddaughters’ laughter, a pathetically bad joke, a sunny day, flowers in bloom.
I found joy in the warmth of a beautiful and sunny day in May, picking the first two berries of the season, smiling at the little miracles in my hand: from the frozen ground to the leaves pushing through the damp earth, to the pretty blossoms to the berries in my grasp. Life, indeed, goes on.
So, Dad, here’s to you! I will consume as many as possible in your memory
… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecc. 3:4
Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them. – A.A. Milne
Reading my dear friend and mentor’s blog the other day made me sit and reflect on Mother’s Day and flower giving. Cindy’s blog, (found on my BlogRoll and here: www.laferle.com), was a simple post and a photo of the flowers she received from her son and soon-to-be-daughter-in-law.
My Mother’s Day arrangements have evolved as my children have grown older. I, too, received flowers. My youngest son gave me a beautiful hanging basket, and it touched my heart in so many ways. My husband had a rose, freshly cut from our yard, sitting in a vase next to my coffee and newspaper.
I believe my first experience in receiving flowers was from my dad. He never forgot to give my mom flowers on their anniversary and other special days. Every once in a while, he would surprise my sister and I with flowers on Valentine’s Day.
My husband does the same – he never forgets special dates and likes to surprise me with bouquets. Every year on Valentine’s, he gets roses for our daughters, daughter-in-law, and our granddaughters. He also brought me the most beautiful flowers for the birth of each of our four children.
To me, no bouquet is sweeter than the handful of dandelions, picked with love by the chubby fingers of a toddler. Who smiles more, the giver? Or the receiver?
I still chuckle at the memory of my oldest son, who was about eight or nine-years-old, bringing me some of the most gorgeous hand-picked bouquets I had ever received from a child… until a neighbor (or was it his older sister?) alerted me that the flowers were coming from the garden of the dentist’s office down the street.
There is such beauty in seeing flowers in bloom. There is such a beauty in receiving flowers given with love, too. The beauty of the flower compels us to pay it forward by sharing them with others.
When God created these living works of art, I am sure He knew they would touch more than our senses.