Beauty from Ashes

This time last year she slammed the door, never looking back, not even once.  She hoped into that truck in hopes of starting again, building new memories to replace the terrifying ones.  I plopped on the couch and rubbed the leather to try to soothe the pain of losing my baby girl as if she'd been ripped from my womb.  

For once I couldn't help her.  I was so buried under my own tragedies, I couldn't even acknowledge hers.  I failed her. I failed myself.  All I could do was pray.

Months and months of fear, heartbreak, anger, denial, and more prayer passed.  God didn't step down and remedy the situation but He sure revealed the error of my ways.  What started out as pleas to make her see her faults turned to begging Him to help me be a better mama.  I can't do this alone.  I can't love her the way she needs to be loved.  Please, please change me.  And He did!  It took me running to Him constantly.  I had to use that cliche "what would Jesus do?"  I had to bite my tongue nearly in two at times!  Soon trying conversations turned to deep conversations.  Rude remarks turned to shenanigans.  Punches turned to back rubs!  Just kidding!

Today she sits beside me knowing she is loved unconditionally.  While she was gone she made choices that forever changed her life.  Right now she is cuddling the most beautiful consequence of her actions but it won't always be easy.  But to look at her face, full of light and love.. I never thought I would see that face again.

Sometimes God uses what most people would abhor but I was taught to respond with love.  I could have turned my back on her but I would have missed out on the wonderful thing God was doing.  Oftentimes we are so caught up in the rules and everything is so black and white, right and wrong that we dismiss little miracles.

I'm sorry but if I'm to err, I'd rather err on the side of love..

I'm gonna make it!

Today I need hope. As I plunder through my thoughts spilling out here, I hope I find it.

I just got home from the E.D. which has become my home away from home since September of last year.  This time it was shortness of breath. Last time it was shortness of breath.  The time before that was "oh my God I'm dying."

Today I was told that my symptoms would remain with me for the rest of my days.  I cried. I cried in the X-ray room. I cried in my regular room. I cried on the way home..

I don't think I've mentally dealt with my diagnosis since it was handed to me last year. I have these blisters all over my lungs that pop causing my lungs to collapse repeatedly.  Since my surgery, which involved removing part of my lung and scraping what was left so that it would scar itself to my chest wall so it doesn't collapse again, I've been left with nerve pain and bouts of shortness of breath and pain that mimics a collapsed lung.  There, for everyone who didn't know the details!

No one wants to hear that their quality of life will always be diminished.  So I didn't listen back then.  Or at least I couldn't process it.  Today I started to absorb it but I simply refuse to believe it. (This is where my stubbornness comes in handy!). But after lying in bed for two days or becoming completely exhausted or dizzy after doing to most simplest of tasks, I figured its time to face the music.

Maybe it won't get better.  But I do know dwelling on the fact that I have corroded lungs that like to go on vacation from time to time won't improve my situation one bit. I know limiting myself only depresses me.  I know that lying around waiting for the next catastropy is robbing me.  I also know that even if this one day proves to be the end of me, I will go out with a blaze of glory. 

It's a game changer.  While processing all of this crap I glimpsed back at the last 6 months since my sentence was handed down.  What have I done with that time?  A bunch of B.S. Is what I've done with it.  What if my expiration date is not decades away like I've planned it?  Will I then look back and say the same about my time spent?  I sure hope not..

So here's to one more wake up call.  Here's to another declaration to get my act together.  Here's to life!  Here's to hope. And here's to believing that all is not lost! 

Teachable Moments

I love those moments when the teacher becomes the student. Especially when I get to learn from my kids. Parenting really is a mutual learning experience. If you've not had the opportunity to learn from a child, I will gladly let you borrow mine.  If you pass an extensive background check, oh, and I'll  need a copy of your driving record and a blood sample, of course!

While researching this stupid lung thing I've got going on, I read a quote from a lady who's experience is much like mine.  At the end of her story she said "I find comfort in knowing that God chose me for this journey.  I will trust Him."  Those few words carried me until I got home and climbed into bed.  When my Raven got home she knew something was amiss.  So discerning that child is.  A bit winded, I explained what was happening but assured her it would be ok soon.  Because it's always ok, soon.  With much concern, she kissed my forehead.  She's so compassionate too.  Gosh!  I honestly don't know how they've turned out to be so wonderful.  As she was walking away I noticed her tears.  Fear.  I know it's a part of life but no child should ever live in fear. Ever.  And then it happened.  She reminded me..

I asked her to lay down beside me.  She looked intently into my eyes.  I could have lingered right there.  Rarely do we get those quiet moments.  I began to tell her that there is nothing wrong with being afraid, or sad, or angry or any other emotion that might surface when we go through hard times.  As a matter of fact, I'm a little scared too.  What matters most is what we do with those emotions and how we cope.  (Yea, I know it kinda sounds like I know a little something - I'm just winging it like everybody else!)

I began to tell her how I cope or how I like to think I do.  I told her that I pray. But if I were to be completely honest, I might ask for help but then carry the burden best I can until I almost kill myself with the weight of it.  I try to be my own savior.  In this moment I knew my words, my charm, would not be enough.  I was crumbling, she could tell.  There was only one thing to do.

Together me and my little girl crawled up on Big Daddy's lap.  We let Him hold us.  We let Him run His fingers through our hair.  We sat confidently.  We enjoyed a moment of peace.  We knew that no matter what we were feeling or going through, He was big enough.  He has to be big enough.

I didn't have to say much after that.  Her dry cheeks were answers enough.

Somehow along this journey I had forgotten how simple it is...  Lesson learned!

Happy Fat Tuesday! Joyeux Mardi Gras!

Its here!  The last gluttonous day before the season of lament and refrain for the Orthodox Christians or the end of an explosive party for all those nasty sinners down in N'leans.  I think I'll pass today on a king cake, been trying to cut back since I've become quite the porker since Thanksgiving.  My drug of choice is sugar, in any form, so I'm currently in rehab.  Maybe I started Lent a few days early.

Twelve years ago I was in the thick of it all, down on Bourbon street, drinking in all the sights of humanity gone wrong.  Honestly, I had a blast!  I don't think I could stomach it now, however.  I'm a new person with new convictions and a new outlook.  But I have the memories and trust me, some things just can't be unseen! 

I'd have to say, of all the horror, the most damaging was what I encountered down in the French quarter in front of St. Louis' Cathedral.  Within ear shot of this architectural beauty was a growing roar of voices.  As we turned to leave the quarter the procession was ushered through a pair of bulging barricades.  People on either side were hurling insults at each other as well as passerbys.  Me included.  On the left, conservative Christians clinched signs of protest.  On the right, liberals had their own signs in response.  Some where quite funny!  But there I stood in the middle.  Their shouts said I was going to hell.  Their signs said God hates fags.  Their actions said they hated me too.  I can still see the red faces screaming at me, their hands flailing about with pointed fingers.  Were they right, I asked myself.  Anger answered with a big ole "screw 'em."  But the pain still lingers, the tension still suffocates.

What I needed that day was not a pointed self-righteous finger.  I needed someone to be Jesus.  I needed someone to climb across that barricade, run up from behind me and do an about face looking me straight in the eye, never breaking gaze.  I needed someone to grab my arms securely but not forcefully.  I needed to be so startled that I could only stare intently at this face that is so uncomfortably close to mine, to watch the creases of his mouth slowly open.  I needed to feel the tension of waiting for eternity between the syllables of the only three words I needed to hear.  Each one cutting deeper and deeper, sapping the strength I had to stand, rendering me helpless and empty. 

I. Love. You.

Little did they know, I would give my heart to The Lord three years later but it wasn't because of their fear or insults.  It was because someone shared the Gospel with me and assured me of God's love.  It is God's kindness that leads us to repentance.  Maybe that's something we could all give up for Lent.  Exchange judgement for mercy.

Behold, I do a new scary thing!

I skipped Church!

I know, I know, it's a terrible travesty.  But I did.  And I felt enormous amounts of guilt and bags full of questions.  You see, I'm a trooper.  I'm the militant who won't allow such delinquency.  I just don't understand why I couldn't scrap myself off of the bed to slide into my khakis and pop collars with my spiritual family.  So I sit here trying to make sense of my lack of sense.

Maybe it's the dread of experiencing a Holy God and understanding that I am so far from the standard.  Maybe it's being surrounded by people who know me too well and I'm entertaining perceived judgement that doesn't really exist.  Or maybe it's more like a story I read years ago written by a local parrishner of a catholic dioses.  Maybe it's all three..

I remember sitting in my OBGYN flipping through magazines trying to pass the time, being shuffled from one waiting room to the next, when I came across this young lady's experience of missing God and His explanation to her abscence.  It went something like this (and I'm paraphrasing to the extreme), she was once so devoted, so involved, so consumed but her spiritual life had become so devoid of meaning and full of discontent.  After a season of wandering, scheduling conflicts, and finally dropping out all together, she decided to slip back in hoping to regain what was once so fulfilling.  Upon return to Church she was unable to secure her regular seat and was forced to sit behind a large beam that obstructed her view of the pulpit.  She quietly asked God why she had to sit there where she couldn't see, why did her view change.  She felted a response in her heart.  "You moved, I didn't."

I get it.  I do.  But my question (among many) is how does one get back?  It's like being out in a huge field and realizing that you're lost.  You look around and it's all the same amber hues with no hint of direction.  You spin around in a complete 360 and there's still no clue of which way to go.  Panic arises, your deepest fears begin to play through your mind, and you begin to pray for direction.

As I look back over my spiritual life, I notice that I've been here before, several times in fact. It brings a great calm reviewing all of times God guided me even when I couldn't see what He was doing.  Holy surprises!  Dropping a book in my lap at just the right time, sending the right person who'd listen to my longings and questions and wrestle Scripture alongside me, haphazardly sending me places that felt like home even if only briefly.  These are but a few examples..

Some would say it's best to get planted, to fall into lockstep and never question.  Just do what you see, do what you're told and stop your excuses.  But this is my journey, this is God's story unfolding in my life.  It's unique, it's scary, it's Divine and it's indescribable.  And it's just what I asked for.  A constant prayer in my life, I feel, has brought this on.  Maybe a frightening, bottom falling out from under you, journey is just what this wandering heart needs to stay bound to Him.


"Lord, never let me be satisfied, always leave me hungry for more.."