The Flowers Still Come

After my Mother's death, I kept a journal.  I would write daily at times, then it would stretch to weeks, to months, and then sometimes just a writing on a very special occasion.  Below is an entry I made on the second Mother's Day after my Mother's death.  I still remember when this happened and how it touched my heart.  I share today in honor of all our Mother's both alive and in Heaven.

The Flowers Still Come …

Mother’s Day, 2006

I am now celebrating the second Mother’s Day without my Mother.  When I awoke this morning, I felt the immediate need to make the journey to the cemetery to deliver my flowers and spend a little time at my Mother’s grave site.  As I pulled into the cemetery, I saw a car parked to the side of the paved path, and I observed two people walking across the cemetery on their personal journey as well.  As I grew nearer I realized that I knew these two people … they were actually the parents of one my friends, and they have to be in their mid 80’s.  They both had bouquets of flowers, and that is when I noticed exactly which graves they were going to visit.  They split apart a bit, and then I saw them place their flowers on their Mothers’ graves.  Their Mothers must have been gone for decades at this point, yet the flowers still come.  This touched my heart in a way that hasn’t happened before.  It was my affirmation that it doesn’t matter how long our Mothers have been gone, they are never forgotten and memories abound for the rest of our lives.  After placing their flowers, they walked back to each other, took hands, and returned to their car.  I stood silently alone for a while, talked with my Mother, and then returned to my car.  These fifteen minutes enriched my Mother’s Day this year, and this sweet little couple has no idea they were such a part of it.  Our Lord certainly sends His loving touch in the most simplistic of ways.  We only need to be attentive.  The flowers still come.

Reflection …  My God of infinite love and mercy, I realize more and more that I live in the presence of your love. There is no way that I couldn’t, even if I tried, because you never give up on your children.  Open my heart to your continued love and fill it with the peace that only you can give.

Precious Life ...

Sometimes it takes the saddest and hardest events in life to shock us back to what is really important.

Last Thursday, April 19, a dear friend and fellow choir member suffered the bursting of a cerebral aneurysm, and she died early Saturday morning, April 21.  She was only 48 years old.  But, oh what she packed into those 48 years!  She experienced life with full enthusiasm. She took care of family and friends to the extent that she made it her personal mission to be custodian to many. She loved to travel, and she spent many hours in her car driving from place to place. She was in Colorado when she passed away, and it took several days for her to return home. Another choir member said, “Well, that’s just Stacy.  She’ll need to stop off several other places on her way home.”  This is so true.  Stacy loved Facebook, and I would be totally worn out and fatigued just reading her posts when she would be on one of her traveling jaunts.  Certainly no grass grew under her feet.

If there are lessons I learned from my friend, Stacy, they would have to be centered on just taking time for others and being available.  Stacy didn’t "work", and I used to think how much easier it must have been for her to be in so many different places. But now on thinking this through in more depth, I’m not sure it was a time issue, but more an issue of just making herself available.  Yes, I work.  I work more than 40 hours per week, so I do have a time restriction during those work hours. But I can still be available.  Available with a smile, available with a hug, available with a quick call to encourage, console, or for a quick “hello and thinking of you.”  I can be more available to schedule and plan events with my friends. Available to “step out of the box” and experience new things.

When someone so young, and with so many more opportunities “to do things” passes, it causes pause and reflection of how life is being spent. Stacy had recently posted on her Facebook, “Since none of us really know when the end of our journey is coming; love, laugh, and live like there is no tomorrow.”

Yes, Stacy, Life … Precious life.  God bless you and keep you.

Meet the Flood's

Isn’t it strange how we meet folks?

My Mother was always diligent about keeping flower arrangements on my Father’s headstone. She would make sure that Daddy’s grave site had Christmas flowers and Easter flowers.  Since Mother wintered in Florida, and my sister lived out-of-town, I was responsible for his birthday fresh bouquet in February, his green carnations for St. Patrick’s Day, and a purple arrangement for Lent. That would take us through the period from after Christmas right up to Easter, and Mother would take over from that point.

In March 2005, Easter was on March 27. The Saturday before Easter, Holy Saturday, Mother took me to the cemetery to see the arrangement she had placed on Daddy’s headstone. She was so happy with the outcome of the arrangement. She had worked directly with the florist to ensure that it was unique and had all the lovely spring colors that she and Daddy had always loved.  Little did she know, that she had picked out the flowers that would be part of her own headstone.  You see, Mother died very suddenly the Wednesday after Easter that year. She had placed those flowers on Daddy’s grave on March 24, and on April 1 she had been lovingly placed in her final “earthly” resting place. Note that I say “earthly” resting place. She and Daddy’s final resting place is in Heaven with our Lord.

After Mother’s death, I began visiting the cemetery daily or at least several times weekly. Within about the first 2 to 3 weeks, and after a quite fierce storm, I noted that the flower arrangement on the headstone was no longer in place. When I glanced around the immediate area, I saw an arrangement across the narrow road up against another tombstone.  I walked over to check it out, and I was almost 100% sure that it was my parent’s flower arrangement.  I picked it up and turned to take it back to my parents' grave. Then I had this terrible sensation that it might not be the one my Mother had so diligently picked out, and really did belong to the folks where it lay.  I looked at the name on that tombstone and the name was “Flood”.  It was a rather broad tombstone.  Not knowing the “right thing” to do, I said out loud, “Mother, I’m sorry if I am giving away your flowers, but I’m just not sure, so I will buy you and Daddy a new one.”  Then I placed the wayward floral arrangement atop the “Flood’s” tombstone.

It has been amazing to me that in the 7 years since that time, I have placed numerous arrangements on Mother and Daddy’s grave site. Some have lasted until they have faded and appear worn, and others have disappeared within a few days to weeks of being placed. But the “Flood’s” arrangement has never budged from that tombstone. 

I shared this story with a friend of mine, whose parents are buried in the same cemetery.   She, too, began to check out the “Flood’s” grave site. Together we would watch this same worn out arrangement placed atop their tombstone.  One Memorial Day, during the Mass held in the cemetery, the priest presiding remarked that he felt one of the saddest things was an unkempt grave. My friend, who was attending the Mass, immediately thought of the “Flood’s”.  So now, between the two of us, we have begun to maintain that grave site.

We have often wondered why no one ever came. Then we found the probable reason. We finally truly read their tombstone. There are 6 people buried at this site. Three on one side and three on the other side of the marker.  Their dates of death are, on one side 1937, 1910, 1939.  On the other side 1925, 1975, 1963.   I believe this little family may all be gone.  Five have last names of "Flood" and one just says "A Friend".  How special is that?

My friend and I will continue to place arrangements for the “Flood’s”.  We now feel a bond with them.  Maybe one day, we will all meet in Heaven.  It is indeed strange how we come to meet folks.

This Most Holy Friday

It is the holiest of Friday's for Christians. This last Friday in Lent ... this most holy Good Friday.  The color of the Bishop's, priest's, and deacon's vestments are in reverence to His blood.  The cloth draped over the cross for veneration the same sacred color.  When I come forward for the Veneration of the Cross, bow, and kiss the cross, it is truly the most solemn of actions in my Catholic heritage.

It is not about the fish fries or whether I've been able to hold true to my fasting of choice during these 40 days of Lent.  It is the culmination of the last 40 days of prayer, meditation, reflection, and renewal of my baptismal promise.

I remember as a child the Passion of Our Lord being read on Good Friday.  I remember the shifting from foot to foot and wondering if the priest would ever come to the end of the story.  Thankful that it was only read during this one period of time throughout the year. Glad, when at the end, he finally would say, "The Passion of Our Lord."  As a child was it even possible to understand what we had just heard?  And, as an adult, is it possible to absolutely comprehend the love that drives our salvation?  So often we get caught up in the mysticism of our faith, and we forget that this was a man in flesh and blood, with a mother and father, and friends who loved Him.  This man, made to carry the burden of His cross, and suffer unbearably so our sins could be forgiven. 

I find myself trying to stretch this into a longer written piece, when in reality I am not even worthy to approach this subject.  I will leave it where it is, and on this holy Good Friday, when I see the Bishop, priest, and deacon enter the church in their vibrant red vestments, my mind will be on the prayerful lyrics of a beautiful song written by Timothy R. Smith, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross"...

"See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!  Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?"   ... "Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."

In Loving Remembrance ...

This is the seventh anniversary of my Mother's death.  In some ways it feels like it has been decades, and in other ways the sadness is just as raw as if it were yesterday.  At the time, everyone remarked how “brave” I was, what wonderful words I had to say, how respected I was for being able to speak at all.  Let me first state, there was no bravery. There was intense prayer that God would give me just five minutes to be able to put into words, meager words, what I needed and wanted to say about my Mother.  Just five minutes to give this woman her due!  Interestingly, and quite bizarre as well, is the fact that on Easter Sunday, the last Mass my mother and I attended together, the opening line of her eulogy came into my head during the opening song of Mass.  To this day I have no idea why that happened, but I did carry that “premonition” with me into the eulogy I delivered.  Below are my words I spoke.  I have thought of many others since that time that should have been included.  But, in these 7 years, I have learned to forgive myself for what I should or could have done, and instead be happy for what was accomplished at a time when I couldn't even think straight.  It is with love and remembrance I share the following ...

My mother’s eulogy…

First I’d like to take this opportunity on behalf of my entire family to thank all of you here today and at the funeral home last night for all your care, kindness, and prayer.  It has truly been overwhelming.  I’ve always said one of my biggest blessings is my very special friendships over the years, and this was certainly affirmed over the past 3 days. You have just been awesome.   I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Wednesday morning was a devastating day for my family, but I have to take comfort in knowing that on that Wednesday morning, there was a little red-headed Irishman, who was dancing a jig in heaven when he saw his Louisa was finally home.  I’m sure he has already convinced everyone in heaven that she can do it all.    That was his favorite line, “don’t worry about it, Louisa can take care of that.”  .

Our mother loved us all dearly and felt the need to continue to nurture well into our adult years. She didn’t hesitate to give directions on almost EVERYTHING!!  She even used to tell me when to turn the headlights on, and when to put gas in the car.   I used to tease her and ask her if she felt like I was still 10 years old, and her reply was, “once a Mother, always a Mother. I just can’t help myself.”  I’m sure I’m going to miss all those directions, so if you see me pulled off the side of the road, out of gas, and with no headlights on, somebody, please rescue me!!

Mother and Daddy were very different personalities, but a perfect match.  Daddy was the ever teasing Irishman, and very proud of it.  Mother was usually the brunt of his jokes and teasing.  Daddy taught me the love of Churchill Downs and horse racing, and Mother taught us the love of the arts.  She had Patricia in piano lessons, and me in dance very early in our lives, and she never hesitated to buy tickets to different theatrical performances so we could go together.  As I stand here today I have 4 sets of tickets for upcoming performances that Mother and I were planning to attend together

Mother loved to play cards.  She and her two best friends, Billie and Fannie, get together every Saturday and Sunday to play Liverpool Rummy.  You have to ante up 65 cents per game. She would call me at the end of those games, and either very proudly say,  “I did really good tonight.  I think I came out about 40 cents on top,” or she would report,” I just couldn’t get any cards tonight”.  She loved these cards, and we made hasty trips home from Mass on Sunday nights many times, so she could make the 7:30 start time.  I know she will miss those games with you all.

She would have done ANYTHING for my dad, Patricia, myself, and the “apple of her eye” Whitney.  She would say to me at times, that she only hoped that over the years she had done the right things with all of us, and I have told her many times that whenever a Mother wants to question how she raised her children, she only needs to look as far as seeing how her children raise their children.  Patricia, you and Whitney are perfect examples of that, she was always so proud of you and Whitney.  She used to say all the time, “Patricia is an excellent Mother.”

I hope if the Lord has plans for me to grow older, he allows me to grow older like our Mother did.  She did things her way, even up to her death.  She used to say all the time, “I hope I just get sick and die.  I just don’t want to lie around someplace being sick”.  We can take comfort in that part. She did things very stubbornly many times, but always with a good heart .

I try to live by the motto, “Make God Smile Everyday.”  That’s actually my screen saver on my computer at work.  Now I’m going to add to that, “Make Mother Smile Everyday.” We love you dearly, and you are missed greatly already!   God bless you and keep you!!  We will all be together again, because our God is kind and good.

That was spoken, now 7 years ago, on a very sad day for our family.  I miss my Mother and Father dearly, but I do believe that our God is kind and good.  We will all be together again.  That's His promise to His faithful.

My Gift From Above

Four years ago today, my sweet little Gracie Lou was born. When she was born, my 14 ½ year-old Bichon, Chelsea was fighting liver cancer, which we all knew was pretty much futile. When Gracie Lou was born, we had no idea our paths would cross, and in the not too distant future.

Chelsea passed away on April 8, 2008. My heart was absolutely broken, and it ached with grief, but was full of sweet memories. Within a few weeks I found myself very cautiously in contact with a Bichon breeder in Logansville, GA. When talking with him about the potential of an available puppy, I was told that he had puppies that had been born on March 30, and another litter that had been born on April 4.  I was so unsure whether my heart was ready for a new dog, having just lost the love of my life a few weeks before. But, when he said he had a little girl  available from the March 30 litter, I knew someone was speaking to me.  March 30 is the anniversary of my Mother’s death, and I knew, I just knew that Mother was sending me this puppy.    My answer was yes! Yes, I want this puppy!

On June 7, 2008 a friend, Robin, and I drove to Georgia to pick up Gracie Lou.  Another very special friend of mine lived in Marietta, GA, and she also went with us to get Gracie.  I remember the breeder coming to the door, and he had a puppy in each hand.  One was quietly resting in his hand, and the other was half dangling in his other hand, wiggling, and with all four legs going in every direction.   How would I choose?    I’ve always heard that animals will pick you. So, I sat down on the floor, and he put the puppies down. One came on a dead tear across the floor and scaled my arm. Kisses abounded on my ears, face, fingers, arms; anything that little tongue could reach.  I would sit this puppy aside and try to pick up the other one, and here she would come again. She would wedge herself between me and her sister puppy, and kiss, kiss, kiss.  It was as if she were saying, “It’s me! It’s me!  Pick me!  Pick me!  I’m the one you’ve been calling Gracie since you decided to get another best friend.”  I actually believe this little puppy got up on that special Saturday, June 7, and said, “I need to get ready.  This is the day my Mommy is coming from Indiana to get me.”  I do think she would have physically tripped me, if I had tried to get out the door without her.  All  2 ½ pounds of her.

Out the door Gracie and I went. She never looked back, she never seemed to question where she was, or where she was going.  She left with gusto. She nestled on my shoulder tucked under my chin.  Robin drove for the first couple of hours, and I held my new family member. As tears streaked down my face, remembering and missing Chelsea, already in love with Gracie, I kissed my little girl and told her I would take care of her for the rest of her life. I said to her, “You are safe and secure in Mommy’s care.”  I still to this day say this to her nightly, as I kiss her goodnight.

She has been with me for four years, and she is still the same vibrant dog as she was when she was just a little puppy.  She is funny, confident, and full of joy.  My life would not be as complete without her.   Her name fits her perfectly … Gracie Lou … Gracie for the grace sent to me by my beloved Chelsea, and Lou after my Mother, Louisa, who I know, I just know sent me this puppy.

Forgiveness

"In short, when you have committed a fault, disavow it before God; ask His pardon, promise to do better in the future.  Make a good act of love and after that, go your way as though nothing had happened."
                                            Blessed Mother Theodore Guerin

Oh, how hard it is to follow these words. This quote makes my act of contrition and my prayers for forgiveness of my sins seem such a simple path. But, in reality, my fear is that I hold onto my shortcomings for far too long, if not forever in some cases.

I am a cradle Catholic, and my fellow cradle Catholics and I always joke about how well we were taught to be guilty.  If you look at me in the wrong way, I am immediately guilty. I may not know for sure what I did, why I did it, but I will express my deep remorse and promise never to do it again. But, I won't promise not to feel guilty about doing it in the first place.  I'm even great at feeling guilty about matters I have no control over.  No rain during a drought ... I am not just sorry, but also guilty for not being able to do anything about it.  I'm just great at guilty, whether is is rational or not.

But, even the rational guilt needs to be put aside.  This time of year, I always reflect back on my Mother. She will be gone for 7 years on March 30.  I so often think back on comments made to my Mother, years ago, and become quite sorrowful and wish I could take back the words.  I know this type of guilt serves no purpose. It is such wasted energy.  It would serve me so much more richly if I dwelled on the good memories between my Mother and me.  These so far out weigh the negatives.  By dwelling on the good, it just pushes the bad back in the place it belongs to be filed, under "lessons learned."  Maybe that's why I hold on to guilt.  It is God's way of providing me with another "lesson learned" moment.

"In short, when you have committed a fault, disavow it before God; ask His pardon, promise to do better in the future.  Make a good act of love and after that, go your way as though nothing had happened."
                                             Blessed Mother Theodore Guerin

Since God is so all-forgiving, why can't I do a better job of forgiving myself?

Webster

The things we do for our children with fur.

My sweet little Bichon, Chelsea, loved her stuffed toys.  She had them for years. She never chewed them, and she knew all of them by name.  I could tell her to go get her snake, and she would disappear into the den where her toy basket lived. She would be gone for just a minute or two, and when she returned, surely as light will come in the morning, she would be dragging her four foot stuffed snake behind her, tail a waggin’.  She had a stuffed Fred Flinstone, which she knew as Fred.  I’d ask for Fred, and Fred I would get.

Her favorite, amongst all of her treasures, was a stuffed yellow duck named Webster. She might have drug out a dozen different toys, and they all may have been in different areas of our living room, but always, always Webster was in the mix.

I said goodbye to Chelsea at the age of 14 ½ years.  She had survived Cushing’s Disease and Addison’s Disease, but liver cancer was stronger than she could fight.  I had her cremated, and I placed her ashes in an urn I had made in pottery class, especially for her. It only seemed right that when I placed her urn on my bedside table, that Webster would be placed right there beside her.

About 8 weeks after Chelsea’s death, I brought a 10 week old Bichon home with me. Gracie Lou moved in with about 120% gusto, 100% mischief, and a heart open to all the wonder and love of the world.  I was unaware, at the time, that she had been born visually impaired. She was as “normal” as any other puppy of mine, and what little “clumsiness” I witnessed, I attributed to just being an awkward little puppy.  When her visual impairment was diagnosed at 10 months of age, she and I started the crusade of “normal” for Gracie. With  very few exceptions, her disability is hardly noticed. She thrives, she plays, she loves, and she sees more with her heart than most of us see with our eyes.

To this end, I can’t say I was surprised when my then one-year-old, “blind” puppy came down the hall, in a full prance, carrying Webster.  Yes, somehow Gracie, filled with her mischief, had reached up to the bedside table, snared Webster, and was happily bringing him to me.  My heart stopped, and I said, “No, No!  You can’t have him.”  The look on her face would have broken my heart had it not already been breaking with the image of  Webster coming down the hall, but not Chelsea.  I tucked Webster away in my walk-in closet, and I brought Gracie a different toy. Within a few minutes, she was happily playing, and Webster had been forgotten.

Several months later, I heard Gracie running down the hall. And again, she had Webster with her. This time she had gone into the walk-in closet and found him.  I knew then that it was time to buy another Webster, especially for Gracie.  I gathered her in my arms and out the door we went to Feeder’s Supply.  Gracie loves to ride in the shopping cart, so down the aisles we went in pursuit of a duck.  We couldn’t find it, and when I asked the cashier, I was told they had discontinued that particular brand.  Are you kidding me?  No Webster!  Not giving up easily, we went on down the road to Pet Smart. But, again, no Webster.  I told Gracie I would try Amazon. When we got home, I logged into  Amazon.com and hit the search bar for “dog toy duck named Webster.”  There he was!  Several to choose from priced between $8.00 and $15.00.  I chose one that indicated it was new, for a cost of $11.00. The total with shipping was under $15.00.  Add To Cart!

About 3 days later, I came home from work and found the box sitting by my front door. I brought it in and told Gracie she had a surprise.  I opened one end of the box, and she dove in up to about her shoulders. She came out of that box with Webster, tail wagging, and jumping in place for several minutes.  She was so excited, and I was so touched it brought tears to my eyes.  She had her very own Webster, and to this day,  he is greatly loved.

Now comes the ironic part. Probably about 3 weeks later, I was in Kroger doing my grocery shopping.  I cut down the pet aisle and there right in front of me, on the bottom shelf, almost mocking me, were SIX Websters. Who Knew?

It doesn’t matter where he came from, or how he made it to our home.  The joy this little stuffed duck has brought to  now two of my beloved companions is truly heaven sent.  Nothing is too hard to accomplish for the ones you love.

The Beautiful Gift of Healing ...

This month, on March 30, I will remember the death of my mother 7 years ago.  After her death, and before creating my blog, I kept a journal entitled "It's Happened."  These were my thoughts and prayers during my initial grieving period through May, 2007.  I don't know why I stopped this particular journal, but March always brings me back to reflection.  I think I'm ready to continue this journal now. I think I may actually have some words that might be comforting to others going through this grief journey that can be called sad, dreadful, fatiguing, and interestingly even joyful.  

This is a selection from this journal dated July, 2005, just a little over three months from her death on March 30, 2005.   When I read it now, I see so many lessons in my thoughts.

My Patchwork Heart …

July, 2005

Have you ever felt like your heart was divided into pieces with certain sections being reserved for special people?  I remember when my only niece was born, I felt as if there was an area of my heart that had just been waiting for her, and all the love contained in that area was reserved especially for her.  I like to think of my heart as a Patchwork Heart.  Everyone has had the experience of seeing a beautiful patchwork quilt, which has been made from fabric that loving hands have touched throughout a family.  They may be pieces of an old baby blanket, the first curtains in a newlywed’s home, an old dress from a great grandmother, a section of a christening gown, a woven piece of fabric left by our ancestors.  In other words a piece of fabric which is more than fabric, but rather a loving memory from days gone by, compounded by the loving hands which formed and made the quilt.  I like to envision my heart as being made by loving hands of our Father, heaven sent, full of beautiful pieces, crafted for the many people I love.  The stitches of grace make it strong, make it viable, and make it whole. 

In my Mother’s absence, her beautiful section has turned to sorrow and sadness.  Part of me wonders if this piece of my heart will ever be happy again.  I know that our God is kind and good, so I know He will assist in making my sadness ease into loving memories, but I wonder if He will make this section happy again?   Maybe I should not consider whether He will make it happy again, but more importantly I should ponder, how I will accept what He sends me in the form of strength, guidance, and His supreme love to assist me in making my life happy again.  Every ounce of my fiber knows that my Mother would be so very disappointed with me, and yes, even angry if I did not continue to live and enjoy my life.  It is just so lonely for me at times without her, but I know she would not want this loneliness to suppress the happiness I have always found in life itself.

It’s moments, hours, and sometimes even complete days of my grief that I need to look into my heart, my patchwork heart, and know that all the remaining happy pieces will work with me to make my Mother’s special section whole and happy again.  It’s okay to grieve, it defines my love … but it is equally as important to find peace and be happy with life again.

Reflection … My master Crafter, you have woven my being and stitched with love my patchwork heart.  Wrap your loving arms around me, and with your tender hands gently touch my Mother’s special piece of my heart.  Heal its pain, bring it peace, and open it for happiness again. I want to remember with happiness and love … not just with tears.  I know this day is coming, help guide me to this joyful end.

Lent

I love Lent!  Every year I am excited about entering into the portion of the liturgical year that encourages me to pray, reconnect in my faith, look towards the needs of others, and just feel closer to God.  I usually take a moment a few days before Lent to ponder what my Lenten activities will consist of.  I'm not one to just think it is about "giving up" things, but rather just importantly about "doing things."  I fervently believe in the scripture reading that tells us that we shouldn't boast about our Lenten penance, our fasting, or even share our Lenten activities with others.  So, to this end, I will not go into detail.  I will say that it involves setting more time daily for prayer, and doing some things that I know I should do, but don't take time out of the day to accomplish. 

I usually attend all the different services during Lent, of course, beginning with Ash Wednesday. This year, my schedule has changed drastically with a career move I made about 8 months ago.  I've just been out of sync with getting all my schedules aligned appropriately.  Ash Wednesday fell prey to this dilemma.  I couldn't attend a noon service, I was in a meeting.  I couldn't (no let's be honest) I chose not to go to the 5:30 p.m. service, because I would have had to cancel a 6:30 p.m. appointment.  So, I searched the web, and I found a church that was having service at 7:00 p.m., just down the street from my 6:30 p.m. appointment. Perfect!  Except I forgot that there would be a lot of folks choosing this time frame. I arrived about 7:05 p.m. and there was nowhere, I mean nowhere to park.  I drove in circles around the perimeter of the church and adjoining property. There was nowhere to park.  Even the sidewalks were already full.   I was tired, frustrated, and I decided I would just skip the service and pray in private.  I decided to place an order for a fish dinner at a local fish restaurant, and just go on home.  On my way to pick up the fish dinner, I passed another church, in a neighboring town, that must have been having 7:30 p.m. services. There were droves of people going in the front doors ... and parking spaces!  But, now I had already ordered dinner and it was awaiting my pick-up in just 5 minutes.  Again, I chose to just pick up dinner and go home.   I actually felt jealous of the people entering church.  This decision has haunted me.  Ash Wednesday.  One of the most solemn days in our church calendar, and I didn't make room on my calendar.

I have a St. Mother Theodore Guerin perpetual calendar on my desk at work. A few days after Ash Wednesday, her quote of the day stated that one shouldn't dwell over the sin they have committed. Rather acknowledge it, own it, talk to our God, but then move on with confidence and strength.   Otherwise, it is just too easy to commit the same mistake.  This has been hard for me, as I feel so negligent about my actions of Ash Wednesday.  But, I know God teaches me something about everything I do in my life, and He loves me unconditionally.  He has forgiven me, so I need to as well.

During this most holy of seasons, I'll offer my prayers earnestly and honestly with all the warts and weeds of my life.  I know God hears me, and this gives me the confidence to go forward in His strength.  These next few weeks lead to the joy of His ressurection.  I am so blessed to be a participant.

Birds Or Chicks?

My sister and I share a birthday month.  Actually our father also shared the same month.  Daddy’s birthday, February 2, mine February 9, and my sister, the Valentine baby, February 14.  Daddy used to say I was his birthday present a week late, and my sister was his little Valentine.

Mother and Daddy have since left us, and for many years my sister lived out-of-town, so for quite a long time, we were only able to celebrate via cards and phone calls.  My sister has now returned to the area, so for the past three years, we have celebrated together with dinner.  Since her special day is on Valentine’s Day, we never celebrate that night. The restaurants are filled to capacity, and overflowing, with all the lovers, or at least those trying to be lovers, fulfilling the obligation of February 14.  So to this end, we usually choose a date between our birthdays for our dinner outing.

This year, we chose Sunday, February 12.  We went to a restaurant I had never been to before, Bonefish Grill.  My sister and brother-in-law had been there several times and vouched for its quality. And, we even had a coupon for a free appetizer  sent through the Internet to my sister for her birthday. We ordered our appetizer, some wine, and picked out our entrees.  Normal evening thus far.

I guess you know you are aging when the conversation turns to dental issues and upcoming procedures. I had conveyed the story that I had a fracture in my back, bottom tooth, on the right.  “Rah thar.”  Oh, I have my mouth open, finger in it, pointing to the tooth.  You’re reading this and can’t see me.  Number 31 in dental lingo!  My sister said she had a fracture in the same tooth, but she was not ready to undergo the expense of a crown.  I told her that not only was I going to need the crown, but probably a root canal to boot.

Our appetizer arrived to the table, and I placed my napkin in my lap.  I had on slacks that were made from that slippery fabric.  I’m sure a Project Runway contestant could quickly name the fabric. Not me!  All I know was it was slick, and my  napkin immediately slid to the floor, under the booth.   The napkin was black, it was dark under the booth, and I couldn’t see it. I would have had to lay down completely flat, risk rolling off the bench under the table, to retrieve the napkin. My sister said, “Just ask for another.”  This turned out later to be good advice, but my brother-in-law said he could see it and was able to pick it up for me.  I informed everyone that I would just tuck it in my waist band to prevent the chance of the “napkin slide” again.

About that time, our dinner arrived. We had all ordered fish, and we had actually discussed the type of fish and the likelihood of encountering a bone. I know if I get a bone, I’m done.  I ordered Imperial King Wolf fish, my brother-in-law the trout, and my sister salmon.  My sister took one bite of her rice and pulled something out of her mouth. I thought to myself, “Good grief, she has already gotten a bone.” Then I noticed it was a little round hard thing that looked like a caper. She laid it to the side of her plate and continued to eat. In just a moment, she said, “Well, I have broken my tooth.”  On rice??!!??  Something tells me she may have waited just a bit too long on that crown. Who breaks their tooth on a piece of rice?

We finished our entrees, my sister left her piece of tooth tucked under a little leftover rice and sauce, and we ordered and ate a decadent flourless brownie with raspberry sauce, whipped cream, and ice cream. We shared our presents, paid our bills, and left the restaurant. We hugged in the parking lot, went to our respective cars, and drove home.

After arriving at home, I took my coat off.  My coat was a bright red, top of the hip jacket.  I had black slacks on. As I bent down to greet my little dog, my hand became entangled in fabric. “What the heck?” Then I realized what I had done. I had worn the napkin home!  It hadn’t slid anymore. It had even stayed put with me walking out of the restaurant, driving home, walking into the house, and picking up my dog. I literally had to yank it out of my waist band.  I guess I can only be happy the napkin police didn’t drop me in the parking lot.  The kicker is I now only have one black napkin.  I wish my sister would have wrapped up her tooth in another napkin.  I would at least have a pair, and she just might have gotten a surprise from the tooth fairy.

Appetizer – free

Wine -- $6.00

Dinner -- $35.00

Evening with two old birds (make that groovy chicks) – PRICELESS!!

The Fifth Decade

I am embarking on my last year of the 50’s.  Yes, the end of the fifth decade. There are several things that come to mind:

• I’m celebrating the 20^th year of my 39^th birthday.
• Or even better, the 30th year of my 29^th birthday.
• I now realize that when I “mourned” my 30^th birthday, I didn’t realize just how young I really was.
• When the big 40 came, I actually felt younger than when I had “celebrated” my 30^th.  Somehow 40 actually didn’t have the same impact as 30!
• Then, of the course, the HUGE 50 came.  I think I had parties of all sorts, and with all different groups of people, for the entire month of February. They extended from Indiana to Florida.  The Midwest to Southern States was put on alert that I was 50.
• Now I have one more year, before the celebration of 60 commences.

But, call it maturity, or just plain old age, this is what truly comes to mind:

• God has graced me with 59 glorious years.
• I have been able to marvel His creation through the eyes of an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager, a young adult, an adult, and yes, now almost a senior.
• As an “almost” senior, I have the peace of understanding so many things, so much more, and the worries and the stresses have become less and less with growing just a bit older.
• I have enjoyed watching my niece blossom from a precious infant to a beautiful young woman.
• I have been blessed with lifelong friends.  Friends that have been a part of me since we were just barely teenagers. We’ve celebrated graduations together, marriages, children, in some cases divorces, and we’ve been with each other when we’ve buried our parents. There is no price that can be put on this. It is the most precious of gifts.

So, as I turn 59, I won’t be sulking. I won’t be lying about my age.  I will proudly step up and say, “I’m 59 years blessed!”  I receive yet another day to say to my God every morning, “What can I do today to make, those I come in contact with, feel just a bit better?”  I get another opportunity to try again to get it right.  Happy Birthday!

Fall In The Arms of God

“Fall in the arms of God”… a beautiful lyric in one of the songs our choir sings by the name of “Come Rest In The Arms of God.”

This line, this brief phrase, “Fall in the arms of God” speaks to me in a most powerful yet gentle way. Can you imagine, can you even imagine truly falling into the arms of God?  I know I may feel this way when I pray and I need His strength.  I know I spiritually feel safe in His arms, but I am truly thinking about the human connection, the literal I really know and completely understand.  “Fall in the arms of God.”

Blessed Mother Theodore Guerin, founder of the Sisters of Providence, is quoted, “What will Heaven be if our poor earth is at times so beautiful?”

This writing is dedicated to a dear friend. She has been fighting cancer for five years. During this time, she has approached her illness with bravery, humor, and a faithfulness unparalleled. She has taught all of us how to live with cancer, and how to accept what God sends our way.   She has now stopped all treatment and is in Hospice care.  She recently sent all of us, her choir friends, a note.  In it she says, “I don’t know what is going to happen, when, or how long it will take.  I feel good today, and I will just take it day by day.”   What strength!

I envision her crossing through the door of Heaven and falling into the arms of God. What beauty must await her and all of us, His faithful.

A Prayerful Walk By The Sea

Heavenly Father, I asked myself what it was about today that I didn’t want to forget, and in your infinite kindness you have provided me many, many blessings and memories.

Please help me not to forget the sound of your ocean as its ever present, but gentle foaming waves roll into shore.

Please help me not to forget the feel of the softness of the sand and the lapping of the waves as they dance across my feet.

Please help me not to forget the sounds of your living creatures as they grace the land that we walk upon, the waters we touch, and the air that we breathe. If I listen carefully, it is almost as though they are speaking to my soul of their beautiful homeland.

Please help me not to forge the smell of the salt air as it brushes against my face. I wonder if this could be the brush of angel wings?

Please help me not to forget the treasures of your sea that are washed ashore. These are precious reminders of your living creatures and the abundance of your kindness of the sea. Please help mankind to always be mindful of these creatures and to realize the wondrous balance they lend to this universe.

Please help me not to forget the precious gift of friendship and the kindred spirits that are renewed, strengthened, and become one by the seaside. This surely is one of your greatest and most powerful gifts.

Please help me not to forget the kindness of  your  giving in allowing me, your humble servant, to be witness to your beautiful  kingdom by the sea.

Dear God, if I may but ask for one more blessing, it is that when the time may come when I am no longer able to experience this beautiful kingdom in body, that through your grace and divine spirit, you will allow me the privilege to remember and feel the memories of  your kingdom by the sea, deep within my forever grateful soul.

                                                                                                            Amen