God speaks

This was a difficult spring.  Take March, for instance.

Early in the month, Amelia received her first college rejection letter.  While I applaud the efforts of the various admissions staffs to ease the blow, and I appreciate all the care that must go into the wording of those letters, rejection is still rejection no matter how difficult a decision it was to make or how large the applicant pool might have been.

Next, we learned that my aunt Betty, a favorite in our family, was diagnosed with inoperable cancer and had, at best, only a few months to live.  On the same day, Amelia’s boyfriend decided that since they would be going their separate ways next year it was best to break up sooner rather than later—a sentiment with which, in theory, I agree, except when it causes my daughter undue pain. 

Then, on the 20^th, Amelia’s 18^th birthday, Mark and I flew out to Ohio to be with Betty for what we were sure would be the last time (to make matters worse, we asked Amelia to drive us to the airport at 5:00 in the morning!).  We did not return home until late the next day, just a few hours after telling the girls that Betty had passed away.

It wasn’t until the 28th of March, however, that it all began to come apart for Amelia.  That was the day that the college she had her heart set on, the one that from the very beginning had been her first choice, turned her down.  I came home from work that day to find her locked in her room, the covers pulled over her head, crying.  When I asked what was wrong, she stuck one hand out from under the covers and handed me a crumpled, tear-stained piece of paper and I knew exactly what was wrong.  Sitting on the side of her bed, I was speechless.

“Please God,” I prayed, “give me the right words to say.”  When, at long last, I was finally able to speak, here is what came out:

“Do you want to go to the movies?”

“Yes,” came the tearful response.  And so, on a cold and bleak Monday night in March, Amelia and I went to the movies and drank ourselves sick on blue slushies.

It wasn’t the most profound thing I could have said; nor did it change Amelia’s circumstances or the way she felt about them.  But, it got her to throw back the covers, and to put one foot in front of the other until things began to hurt a little bit less which, sometimes, is the best any of us can do.

That God sure does know what to say sometimes.

how could this be?

Today  I was reminded yet again of how strange and unpredictable life is.

On Monday morning, we learned a classmate of Amelia's was missing; by late Monday afternoon, we received confirmation that she was dead.  Murdered.  Tuesday morning, we heard that another classmate had allegedly killed her.  Intentionally. Brutally. Mercilessly.

One minute, I was spreading mulch on the rose bushes, and the next I was trying to wrap my head around man's inhumanity to man.  One minute, I was waving a flag at the Fourth-of-July parade and the next I was asking how could this happen?

After all, these weren't just any kids.  These were kids from my hometown.  I watched them both grow from children into teens and young adults.  I clapped for them at school plays and cheered for them on the soccer sidelines.  I waited in playing field parking lots and driveways for them.  I stood in their kitchens and they stood in mine. I knew them or, at least, I thought that I did.

At times like these, I am forced to admit that for all my efforts to control life, to make schedules and plans; to choose the right schools, the right friends, the right activities for myself and my children;  even to regulate the temperature of my home and the softness of my bed, there are some things in life that are, and always will be beyond my ability to control.  And, at times, even to comprehend.

running and reverence

Today I ran just to run.

Why else would you run? my daughter asked in disbelief when I announced that fact at the breakfast table.

To be honest, most days,  I run for all the wrong reasons.  Sometimes I run because I ate too much dessert the night before.  Other times I run because I see my neighbor out running.  Still other times I run because I am afraid if I stop running I will never run again and I will turn into a great big couch potato.  Because, most nights, I eat way too much dessert.

When you run for the wrong reasons, running becomes a less than pleasant experience.  When I run to compensate for past excesses,  all I can think about is how far I have to go.  And when I run to keep up with my neighbor, all I can think about is how fast I have to run.  And when I run because I am afraid of becoming something or someone I do not want to be, I simply cannot run far enough or fast enough.  But today was different.  Today I just ran.

As I ran, I thought about all the parts of my body that were working together in that moment; the harmony between my brain, my heart, my arms and my legs.  And I listened.  I listened to the beat of my heart, the way it quickened as I climbed a hill and the steady rhythm it dropped back into when I came to a level stretch of roadway.  I listened too, to the sound of my feet hitting the pavement; the splash of water as I ran through a puddle.  And I remembered: people and places. birthday parties and Christmas and the lyrics to an old favorite hymn.  And I ran; just ran.

Reverence, Barbara Brown Taylor notes, is the act of paying attention; of looking twice at the people and things you might tend to run right past.    "It is one way," she writes,  "into a different way of life, full of treasure for those who are willing to pay attention to exactly where they are."

lightning strike

The other day, Mark asked if I was ever going to write in my blog again.

"What would I write about?" I said.

"I don't know," he said.  "Everyday epiphanies."

"Fresh out," I said.

The truth is, I haven't felt very inspired--or inspiring--of late, although, between the passing of a loved one and Amelia's graduation from high school, not to mention a new job and other life events I have had plenty to think about.  I just haven't felt like writing.

A friend whose blog I enjoy reading (yes, Jill, I read your blog) recently moved her family to Oklahoma by way of Virginia and other points south.  As if all that wasn't exciting enough,  when they arrived in their new home, they found themselves in the path of a tornado. Some tense moments watching the storm as it advanced and then hunkered down in the master closet made for great blogging.  "Why can't something like that happen here," I whined.

Another blogger whom I stalk (sounds creepy, doesn't it?) has the cutest kids (I've seen the pictures)  If her children don't do something cute, they say something memorable all of which lends itself to some downright precious blogs.  While my girls have their moments, few would consider their teenage hijinx cute and some of what they say should not be repeated in public.  Ever.

"Maybe," my husband offered, "it's not what you write about but how you write about it that makes the difference."

"Maybe," I said.  "But a little lightning sure would help."

my grumbly spot

I am in my grumbly spot again.  It is a place I know well.

When I am in my grumbly spot, everything feels like a hassle.  My family, work, church, exercise.  Even getting out of bed in the morning can be drag when I am grumbly.

In my grumbly spot, there never seems to be enough of anything: money,time, conversation hearts. (OK there never seems to be enough of these when I am not grumbly but I don't seem to mind so much then.)

When I am in my grumbly spot, even the things that usually bring me joy,can bring me down, like reading and writing and conversation hearts.  Well, reading and writing, anyway.

In my grumbly spot, peace of mind and contentment seem as remote as warm sunshine on a snowy day.

Which is exactly where I find myself this cold and snowy day.

snow day!

It's snowing like crazy outside and the world seems to have come to a complete stand-still.

School is cancelled, work is cancelled, shopping is out of the question.  There is nothing to do this morning except sit inside and sip my coffee and watch the snow fall.  Later, we'll get out the sleds and the skis and venture outdoors into a world we barely recognize; a veritable winter wonderland. But, for now, I am content to sit and watch.

It's days like these that make me glad I live in New England.  I wouldn't miss them for the world!

january 3

It’s January 3, and Christmas is, at long last, over.

The presents have all been unwrapped and put to use in one way or another, so that I can hardly tell the new from the old.

The goodies and treats have all been consumed, replaced with healthier, more waist-conscious fare.

The cards and letters (which seem to dwindle in number every year) have all been gathered up and soon will be sorted through and “filed.”

 The tree is out by the curb, the garland and ornaments put away until next year.  Even the pine needles have been swept up and thrown out in the trash.

For me, there is something immensely pleasing about this day; something truly uplifting.  Is it the chance for new beginnings?  The opportunity to wipe the slat clean and start all over?  Or is it just that my house is cleaner and quieter than it has been in months?

I don’t know.  I do know, however, that I am going to enjoy it for as long as I can.