Where to Begin

It’s hard to know where to start to describe a weekend so full of fear, blessings, and reflections. Sometimes life events come upon us unforeseen and unbidden. Those are the times when faith, family, and friends help us overcome challenges that would be ever so much worse to face alone. To understand the fear part, imagine watching a high school cross country race on a warm morning about 60 miles from home. You cheer on your son as he passes the 2 mile mark in a 5K race. He is smiling and keeping up his usual spot in the front half of the group. You stand at the finish line and watch the runners come in. The first half passes, and you wonder why you did not see your son. Most of the runners come in, and you think maybe he finished in a big pack of kids, and you missed seeing him. The last stragglers cross the finish line, and your son is not among them. Surely he is at the finish line congratulating his teammates. But, the panic nags you that he might be up there on the hill, injured somewhere on the course. You start running up the big hill, joined by event staff and worried teammates. Yes, there is a runner down, and you know he’s yours. 

He’s unconscious on the ground. Folks are trying to cool and revive him. You hurry off to a hospital in an ambulance and hear an emergency room physician telling you many frightening possibilities. You watch your healthy young son lay unresponsive and then awake to writhe in pain from awful medical procedures. After several hours, you watch him drive off in yet another ambulance to a bigger, better equipped hospital. You follow behind for 60 miles of anguished fear. 

So, just where were the blessings in all of this? To start, both Wayne and I were at the cross country meet. Peter has run in many events, and this was the first time we have attended a meet together. I can’t imagine how the day would have been if we had not been on the scene. While we were still on the course, Peter’s teammates gathered around and formed a prayer circle. These wonderful kids joined their faith and offered up their prayers for aid. Wayne and I will never forget that sight, and our gratitude to them will never fade. Although we were 60 miles from home, my dearest friend, Gail, and her husband found their way to the hospital to provide much needed and appreciated hugs and food. Our daughter and son-in-law, Cindy and Mario, drove many miles to arrive at the second hospital ahead of us and in time to greet Peter at his arrival with a huge comforting soft teddy bear. They supported me and drove me home and stayed the night with me in our very dark house, where a big storm had cut the electrical power. 

Although the first hospital gave needed and immediate relief and treatment, it was the second hospital that provided the calm and experienced judgment of pediatric specialists who frequently treat kids’ athletic and heat stroke related injuries and could keep a level head as to exactly which tests and treatments were needed. I was filled with gratitude for the competent doctors we met who had studied and prepared themselves to calmly offer skilled care. Before long, our runner, Peter, was talking and joking and looking forward to a return to school and sports and friends. His buddy was soon at his bedside offering the best medicine that only a seventeen year old “bro’-ski” can provide. 

I’m very tired, having only been back at home for a few hours, but I reflect on how my prayers were answered and how people who could help us were put in our path. I am grateful for God who whispers peace to my heart and assurance that He loves me and my son. I’m thankful for my husband, who was at my side when I needed him and at our son’s bedside all night long. I’m in awe at the delicate balance that our bodies need to function properly under stress. It is humbling to see the devastation when simple fluids and rest are inadequate, and physical demand is too great. I don’t want to have this experience ever again, but as I lived it, I was never alone. All is well, and we will sleep much better tonight.

Deep Down Gratitude

It has been a long time since I have taken the time to write. That doesn't mean I have not had times of joy and many moments of joyful thoughts. I'm pretty good at pondering, but I've been slow to compose my thoughts. 

This thought has been on my mind for the past couple of years, and I have often repeated it to my family. "To have wealth, one must have two things - charity and gratitude. You must be grateful for what you have, and you must be willing to share it generously and without expectation of a return." I could write on this topic all day and expound on my personal economic policy. Fear not, I will spare you this time. What I want to reflect upon today is profound gratitude. 

Recently, we had a very pleasant trip to New York. We enjoyed visiting with our family and friends whom we dearly love. We stayed in a local hotel. In fact, it was the very hotel where I worked for several years as a maid during high school and college. That was 35 years ago when I learned for myself how hard it is to clean bathrooms and make up a couple hundred beds in one day. I also worked there in the laundry and folded so many sheets and towels that I would daily wear off the skin on the palms of my hands. It was very hard work, even for a young energetic body. I don't think there was a minute when I enjoyed it, but I knew that if I were to return to college each fall, I would need to do this back breaking work. I was grateful for the employment, and I remember that I earned the minimum wage of $2.37 per hour. 

Well, on this recent trip, I recognized a familiar face at the hotel. One of the maids who worked with me in 1977, is still working there today. She has recently advanced to the position of head housekeeper, but for about 35 years, she has continuously performed the tasks that I remember as being so hard. While I was earning a BS degree in music education, she was cleaning. As I earned an MA degree in music performance, she was cleaning. While I moved to Virginia and reared five children and enjoyed teaching hundreds of music students, she was cleaning. A huge volume of water has passed under my bridge of life in the past 35 years. Through it all, she was cleaning and then coming home exhausted to her own home and children. Her face looks much older and more careworn. She was happy to see me, and she asked if there was anything that I needed for my hotel room. I had to choke back my tears as I thanked her and refused her kind offer to serve me. 

This is not a treatise on who should have to work and for how long, nor is it an attempt to cast pity. It is a deep heartfelt thank you for the opportunities that have blessed me these last 35 years. I am profoundly grateful for my education, the sacrifices of my parents, the devoted care of my husband, the support of my friends, and the many experiences I have had to spread my wings and achieve my dreams. To my housekeeper colleague, I salute you. To my God and Protector, I most humbly thank Thee. Without consideration of any financial sums, which, in my book, is never an indicator of wealth, I feel abundantly blessed and eager to share. May you feel similarly.

Over My Head

Written on June 25, 2010

Today started off very noisy, but by noon, we had a new roof on our house.  It gives me joy to see it and to know that we are protected with lovely shingles with a lifetime warranty, but it is even more joyful to reflect on all the life that has gone on under that roof.  Our five children have grown up here and are now beginning to bring their own children to rejoice with us under this roof.  Under this roof we have been protected from the storms and stress of life, both physically, and most especially, spiritually.  It gives me joy to think of all that has happened here and all that will yet happen, all under new Georgetown Grey, high definition shingles.  It is a metaphor for the love of God that has surrounded us, blessed us and protected us for so many years. 

Another Layer

It has been some time since I've written a new entry of joy.  As always, there have been plenty of joyful moments and a desire to write, but there have also been many demanding tasks and not enough hours of sleep.

As many of you know, I returned home a few days ago from a lovely visit with Lizzy and her three little ones at their home in Florida.  I treasured feeling surrounded with love every minute of my visit.  There was always a darling face and a set of soft cheeks to kiss easily within my reach.  When I snuggle the soft, warm heads, I feel my soul fill up with a wonderful glow that fills in all my empty spaces.  I loved every minute of romping in the surf of a beautiful white sand beach with Anny and Merrylee, twirling and playing "Ring around the rosy" until I was too dizzy to stand.  I loved playing games, reading dozens of story books, making Easter crafts, and spoiling the girls on a shopping trip.  I sparkled as I cuddled Baby Benjamin and delighted in his big smiles and baby talk.  

I loved it all, but there was an even deeper layer of fulfillment.  I watched in proud and profound completion, the magnificent character of my daughter.  She has grown to make my dreams for her come to their full potential.  I am so proud of her strength.  It is not easy to care for three little ones all day every day while her husband is away on military deployment.  Her job never has a break.  Through all of that exhaustion and loneliness, I see her standing like a rock.  Her faith is strong and is an example to all who know her.  I heard some of her friends talking about how their family lives are better because they have followed Lizzy's example of faith and devotion to raising her family immersed in the daily routines of prayer and scripture study.  Her children are sweet and confident and secure.  They are growing and thriving in their spiritual and academic development.  They are happy and well adjusted.

It all requires great effort, but I see Liz doing all of the things I have wished for her, and I see the blessings in her life and the lives of her children.  Watching her family life feels like a bountiful harvest for me.  The fruits of my labors in her childhood are coming to their maturity in a very pure and beautiful way.  It is another layer to my joy that I don't think I could ever have anticipated.  I'm confident that my life's work will not end with me.  What is dear and precious to me lives on through my daughters and sons and their daughters and sons, and so on forever.  It makes all of those midnight feedings and taunts from fellow grad students as I tried to haul my pregnant self into a desk seem very indifferent now.  My early days of motherhood were rich with blessings two or three decades ago, but they are exponentially sweeter now.    

A Quarter of a Century, and I Remember it All

Time is a great healer.  Memories that were hard soften to reflections on blessings received and lessons learned.  Perhaps that is how old people become as wise as they are. 

This afternoon I drove Peter to the hospital to visit a young friend.  I had an hour or so to wait, so I went to a family waiting room on the pediatrics floor, and I was not prepared for what I would see.  Or maybe I was.  Four mothers of patients were there, surrounded by family and friends.  Some were obviously suffering as their tears and anguish were evident.  After awhile, I couldn't stand to watch it anymore, and I moved to another lobby. 

The thought came to mind that I personally understood the feelings of those mothers.  I have sat in that very hospital in a state of shock and sorrow and worry as my four week old daughter suddenly was in critical care with no major organ systems functioning on their own.  I felt the disconnect, the out of body sensation when reality becomes too overwhelming to process.  I felt the gripping fear when I dared to think about what could happen and how I would deal with it.  I felt the exhaustion and the worry about my two other little ones back at home.  I struggled to understand the medical terms and processes and procedures.  It was a swirling sea of anguish that I wished I could have avoided.

I remembered it all today, but what I didn't think of until our drive home was that today is the very anniversary of that scary day back in 1987.  It has been 25 years.  That baby girl is now a mother.  While I can still recall the horror, much of it has softened to peaceful gratitude.  Many people came to our aid back then.  While expert physicians worked day and night to save our baby, our friends and family cared for our little girls and our home.  They prayed for us and visited us with hugs and encouragement.  They held me when the tears came weeks and months, and even years after the crisis was over. 

A quarter century has come and gone since then.  There are life events that I can't say I am grateful to have experienced, but I am profoundly grateful for the lessons I have learned.  Maybe I'll become a wise old lady some day.  I hope so, at least the wise part.