Sometimes we see things incorrectly. We see them through the filter of our pain, our grief, or even our joy. When times give us a proper perspective, we can turn around and look at them differently and see them in a whole new light.
I moved here 7 years ago. I was not happy about the move. I knew nobody, saw nothing in the land that I was happy about, and generally felt that I was being driven away from my home by business. The only bright spot in the grey of my picture was the fact that I was going to become good friends with someone that I deeply respected.
Time lends perspective. I have friends. The terrain, though desert, blooms beautifully in the spring, and the mountains never fail to thrill me with their stark majesty. I have come to realize that my vision problems might very well have gone undetected where I was, and my language skills have grown as well (thanks, Laurie and Brian for giving me confidence in myself!) And the bright spot? I have had to realize that he is a colleague, and that's enough.
I think that it does us good to look backwards every once in a while and catch a glimpse of what has gone before. The mother that we didn't understand become much wiser with the perspective of age and children of our own. The friends that we couldn't live without--what on earth did we ever see in them ? The truths that we thought were unchangeable and undeniable? Turns out that some of them weren't even truths at all.
And that's another thing. Are you afraid to look back? Are you afraid to stare into the face of what you always knew, thinking that it's somehow sacrilege to question their veracity? I'll tell you a secret--it's not afraid of you. If it is true, it stands tall and proud and even more beautiful given the perspective of age. And if it's not…well, sometimes things grow better when you remove them from the distortion of time and clarify their meaning with the perspective of wisdom and understanding.
So I challenge you--take a look around you and tell me what you see. The world is growing all around you. Are you growing with it?
Monday, January 14, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Ordinary time
I took down the Christmas decorations today.
The house looks bare
it's almost as if nothing special ever took place here.
It's just
Ordinary.
The radio plays rock, pop, country, talk, classical, jazz
But no Christmas music anywhere,
Everything is just
Ordinary.
In the church, everything is white.
The poinsettias are gone,
Given to the good folk who came for Epiphany.
Nothing new has come to take its place
And it won't
Until Easter.
Ordinary time.
It was ordinary time in Jesus' day, too.
The first two years were wild,
The trek to Egypt exhausting,
But later they were allowed to come back
Back to Nazareth
And everything fell back into place--
Joseph the carpenter,
Mary his wife,
and their son
Jesus.
Just an ordinary family
In an ordinary time.
Little did they know.
The house looks bare
it's almost as if nothing special ever took place here.
It's just
Ordinary.
The radio plays rock, pop, country, talk, classical, jazz
But no Christmas music anywhere,
Everything is just
Ordinary.
In the church, everything is white.
The poinsettias are gone,
Given to the good folk who came for Epiphany.
Nothing new has come to take its place
And it won't
Until Easter.
Ordinary time.
It was ordinary time in Jesus' day, too.
The first two years were wild,
The trek to Egypt exhausting,
But later they were allowed to come back
Back to Nazareth
And everything fell back into place--
Joseph the carpenter,
Mary his wife,
and their son
Jesus.
Just an ordinary family
In an ordinary time.
Little did they know.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
On wisdom
I have learned a lot just by living.
Others say that I'm very wise,
But I don't necessarily think that.
I just think that I've lived long enough to realize some truths.
I used to be ashamed of my circumstances.
But I have lived long enough now to know
That circumstances change as we grow,
And if we are not happy where we are,
There is always time to change.
I used to think that I was alone in my struggles
But I have lived long enough to know
That we all share struggles: hurt and fear and pain
And we can help others by comforting them
With whatever comfort we have found from others
And from ourselves.
I used to feel pressured and tense
But I have lived long enough now to know
That pressure and tension
Is often of our own design,
And we can choose to live with them and suffer
Or release them at the end of the day and be content.
I used to feel that our decisions make us who we are,
But I have lived long enough to know
That our decisions, while having consequences,
Do not mire us in the muck of despair
Unless we give them permission.
Even if we have made decisions which seem unforgivable,
There is always forgiveness.
I used to believe that I needed a mate to be whole.
But I have lived long enough to know
That your mate for all time and eternity
Is Christ Jesus, and with him you are never alone.
Further, no matter who your mate is,
How wonderful that person might be,
You will one day be left alone,
And life will go much more smoothly
If you have developed a good and loving relationship
With yourself.
I used to fear death,
But I have lived long enough
Had enough loved ones pass before me
To embrace it as a hoped-for goal.
I used to fear change,
But I have lived long enough
Passed through enough windstorms of change
To realize that there is great good in the storm.
So if all this amounts to wisdom,
I guess maybe I'm wise.
If you'd like, I can share this experience with you
So that you in turn can share it with those you love,
So that the world may one day be as wise as we are.
Or better said,
The world can benefit
From the wisdom of its elders.
And by the way, many of you are my elders,
And I am happy that I am here to listen
So that I can learn from you.
Just speak.
Others say that I'm very wise,
But I don't necessarily think that.
I just think that I've lived long enough to realize some truths.
I used to be ashamed of my circumstances.
But I have lived long enough now to know
That circumstances change as we grow,
And if we are not happy where we are,
There is always time to change.
I used to think that I was alone in my struggles
But I have lived long enough to know
That we all share struggles: hurt and fear and pain
And we can help others by comforting them
With whatever comfort we have found from others
And from ourselves.
I used to feel pressured and tense
But I have lived long enough now to know
That pressure and tension
Is often of our own design,
And we can choose to live with them and suffer
Or release them at the end of the day and be content.
I used to feel that our decisions make us who we are,
But I have lived long enough to know
That our decisions, while having consequences,
Do not mire us in the muck of despair
Unless we give them permission.
Even if we have made decisions which seem unforgivable,
There is always forgiveness.
I used to believe that I needed a mate to be whole.
But I have lived long enough to know
That your mate for all time and eternity
Is Christ Jesus, and with him you are never alone.
Further, no matter who your mate is,
How wonderful that person might be,
You will one day be left alone,
And life will go much more smoothly
If you have developed a good and loving relationship
With yourself.
I used to fear death,
But I have lived long enough
Had enough loved ones pass before me
To embrace it as a hoped-for goal.
I used to fear change,
But I have lived long enough
Passed through enough windstorms of change
To realize that there is great good in the storm.
So if all this amounts to wisdom,
I guess maybe I'm wise.
If you'd like, I can share this experience with you
So that you in turn can share it with those you love,
So that the world may one day be as wise as we are.
Or better said,
The world can benefit
From the wisdom of its elders.
And by the way, many of you are my elders,
And I am happy that I am here to listen
So that I can learn from you.
Just speak.
Friday, January 11, 2013
on the shooting at Taft High
I never thought it would happen to me. Or if it did happen, I thought that it would happen at the school where I teach. But it did happen to me, and at a school that was a big part of my life. I went to Taft High, I was bullied at Taft High, and I graduated from Taft High. I was stunned (still am) to hear that this happened, but I have to say that I'm not terribly surprised. I don't mean to say that I expected that it would happen there, but I did think that it would happen again somewhere. It seems that this sort of thing is happening more and more, and I can only say that I'm thankful that this situation wasn't worse.
As far as I can understand, the shooter walked to school, trying to conceal his shotgun. Neighbors saw this and called 911. He entered his 2nd-story classroom during 1st period and opened fire on a classmate. The boy was someone that the shooter claimed had bullied him. He then tried to shoot another student, but he missed. He had 20 rounds of ammunition in his pockets, but his teacher, Mr. Hebert, and a campus supervisor, Kim Fields, were able to talk him down. Rumors have spread that the student was suspended or expelled last year for having a "hit list" of students that he planned to kill, again because of the bullying. The school was able to successfully evacuate (I think, I also heard that they were released from their rooms…) and they came home to their parents.
There are many things that can be taken away from this shooting. First of all, if you see something strange, REPORT IT! Lives might very well have been saved because of the fast action of the boys' neighbors. Because the neighbors called 911 when they saw the boy walking with a poorly-concealed shotgun, the police response time to the shooting was only 60 seconds. Just last week, I participated in a police training activity at my high school. The police knew that they would at some point be called to come in to an emergency call at the school. Even knowing this, the response time was anywhere from a few minutes to nearly 10. One minute seems unbelievably fast.
Secondly, if you expel a student for threatened violence, don't let them back in. I know that this may seem unfair, but I have to say that there should be no second chances here. If a student threatens violence, you can be sure that the other students know it. It will not defuse any situation or make it in any way better to bring the student back. I honestly believe that if a student--FOR ANY REASON--threatens another's life, that's it. No second chances. No do-overs. If it means that the student has to be bused to another school in another district, then that's what will have to be done.
Also, we need to rethink our classroom policies. As a teacher, I keep my classroom unlocked as long as I'm inside it, with the exceptions of working late at night or during a lockdown drill. I'm pretty sure that Mr. Hebert did, too. If he didn't, the student would never have been able to enter. Making sure that teachers lock their doors after class has started seems a pretty easy way to avoid this problem.
That leads me to the biggest--and hardest--part of this problem: bullying. I've heard people say that the boy must have had mental problems. I've heard people wonder about the boy's parents and why they didn't teach him to stand up to bullies. That's really beside the point, in my opinion. The boy was bullied. The boy had to deal with this bullying every day at school. And I'm sure the boy is not alone. Bullying happened at my high school when I went there. It happened in my junior high, and also at my elementary school. Nobody ever seemed to care that I was being constantly put down, taunted and ridiculed. One of my starkest memories as a child is a girl coming up to me in elementary school and saying, "I wanted to tell you that I think you're nice and I wish I could be your friend, but it's not fashionable to like you." I actually felt sorry for her. Here I was causing her anguish. But every single day was anguish for me. I can't tell you how many nights I came home and thought about killing myself. What stopped me? Killing myself was a sin. That was it, pure and simple. I didn't want to go to hell, so I endured hell on earth. The worst part of it was that I believed that I somehow deserved it. I must have been too fat, too ugly, too stupid, too weird, too something, or else I would have been able to have friends. It was decades before I figured out that I was not to blame. I still have problems trusting those who reach out to me in friendship. Those years left me believing that anyone who befriended me either had an ulterior motive or were going to hurt me. I had many experiences of both.
Please don't think that I'm saying that I was alone or that this only happened in Taft High. I wasn't and it didn't. Others around me hurt just as much as I did; I just didn't see it at the time. Friends in college have told me of similar experiences in their own schools. It happened all over then. It happens still today, and I think that it's more common today than ever before. We have identified the problem, yes, but as long as the problem is glorified on Youtube, in movies, on television, and in real life, it will continue to exist.
To understand this better, you need to understand what I consider to be bullying. Any time you take unfair advantage of another, you are bullying. Any time that you use someone as the butt of your joke, you are bullying. Any time you spread rumors and gossip about a person, you are bullying that person. Bullying is endemic of our society today. We see and share posts that bully public figures. We see television shows that glory in badmouthing others and we passively laugh. We let our children (and I'm as guilty as anyone else here) play video games that devote themselves to bullying, hurting and even killing others, I'm not talking about "Modern Warfare" or the like. I'm talking about Grand Theft Auto and the video game "Bully"(!). It is clear that bullying is part of the fabric of our society.
How do we deal with bullying? I think that first and foremost we must define it and we must strictly forbid it in our schools. We must have a zero tolerance policy for bullying--nothing else will do. We can be the most defense-conscious schools in America, but if we continue to allow bullying, we continue to foster the very problems that lead to the violence. When we see bullying, whether it's boys "joking around" with much smaller boys by holding them up and refusing to put them down, whether it's calling someone names, whether it's "teasing" that's not seen as teasing by the other student, it needs to be dealt with immediately. If you let it go, you've just shown another student that it's perfectly all right to bully and denigrate his/her classmate. That is not right, and it has to stop. We need to create a culture of civility in our schools and an understanding that their emotional safety is just as secure at our school as is their physical safety.
Yes, there is mental illness. Yes, it is a big problem. Yes, there are other reasons. But bullying is the one that we can control. If a person is mentally disturbed, that is something else again. But even if this boy was mentally disturbed, I have to wonder--if he wasn't bullied day after day, would he have felt such anger that it seemed that nothing would solve the problem but revenge by fire?
I'm extremely grateful that TUHS was spared the horror of Sandy Hook or Columbine. But please, people, let's use this experience as a weapon. Don't allow bullies to rule at our schools. We can deal with it at school, but it's best dealt with at home. Show your children that it is not okay to treat people without respect, and your children will learn to treat others as they would like to be treated themselves.
As far as I can understand, the shooter walked to school, trying to conceal his shotgun. Neighbors saw this and called 911. He entered his 2nd-story classroom during 1st period and opened fire on a classmate. The boy was someone that the shooter claimed had bullied him. He then tried to shoot another student, but he missed. He had 20 rounds of ammunition in his pockets, but his teacher, Mr. Hebert, and a campus supervisor, Kim Fields, were able to talk him down. Rumors have spread that the student was suspended or expelled last year for having a "hit list" of students that he planned to kill, again because of the bullying. The school was able to successfully evacuate (I think, I also heard that they were released from their rooms…) and they came home to their parents.
There are many things that can be taken away from this shooting. First of all, if you see something strange, REPORT IT! Lives might very well have been saved because of the fast action of the boys' neighbors. Because the neighbors called 911 when they saw the boy walking with a poorly-concealed shotgun, the police response time to the shooting was only 60 seconds. Just last week, I participated in a police training activity at my high school. The police knew that they would at some point be called to come in to an emergency call at the school. Even knowing this, the response time was anywhere from a few minutes to nearly 10. One minute seems unbelievably fast.
Secondly, if you expel a student for threatened violence, don't let them back in. I know that this may seem unfair, but I have to say that there should be no second chances here. If a student threatens violence, you can be sure that the other students know it. It will not defuse any situation or make it in any way better to bring the student back. I honestly believe that if a student--FOR ANY REASON--threatens another's life, that's it. No second chances. No do-overs. If it means that the student has to be bused to another school in another district, then that's what will have to be done.
Also, we need to rethink our classroom policies. As a teacher, I keep my classroom unlocked as long as I'm inside it, with the exceptions of working late at night or during a lockdown drill. I'm pretty sure that Mr. Hebert did, too. If he didn't, the student would never have been able to enter. Making sure that teachers lock their doors after class has started seems a pretty easy way to avoid this problem.
That leads me to the biggest--and hardest--part of this problem: bullying. I've heard people say that the boy must have had mental problems. I've heard people wonder about the boy's parents and why they didn't teach him to stand up to bullies. That's really beside the point, in my opinion. The boy was bullied. The boy had to deal with this bullying every day at school. And I'm sure the boy is not alone. Bullying happened at my high school when I went there. It happened in my junior high, and also at my elementary school. Nobody ever seemed to care that I was being constantly put down, taunted and ridiculed. One of my starkest memories as a child is a girl coming up to me in elementary school and saying, "I wanted to tell you that I think you're nice and I wish I could be your friend, but it's not fashionable to like you." I actually felt sorry for her. Here I was causing her anguish. But every single day was anguish for me. I can't tell you how many nights I came home and thought about killing myself. What stopped me? Killing myself was a sin. That was it, pure and simple. I didn't want to go to hell, so I endured hell on earth. The worst part of it was that I believed that I somehow deserved it. I must have been too fat, too ugly, too stupid, too weird, too something, or else I would have been able to have friends. It was decades before I figured out that I was not to blame. I still have problems trusting those who reach out to me in friendship. Those years left me believing that anyone who befriended me either had an ulterior motive or were going to hurt me. I had many experiences of both.
Please don't think that I'm saying that I was alone or that this only happened in Taft High. I wasn't and it didn't. Others around me hurt just as much as I did; I just didn't see it at the time. Friends in college have told me of similar experiences in their own schools. It happened all over then. It happens still today, and I think that it's more common today than ever before. We have identified the problem, yes, but as long as the problem is glorified on Youtube, in movies, on television, and in real life, it will continue to exist.
To understand this better, you need to understand what I consider to be bullying. Any time you take unfair advantage of another, you are bullying. Any time that you use someone as the butt of your joke, you are bullying. Any time you spread rumors and gossip about a person, you are bullying that person. Bullying is endemic of our society today. We see and share posts that bully public figures. We see television shows that glory in badmouthing others and we passively laugh. We let our children (and I'm as guilty as anyone else here) play video games that devote themselves to bullying, hurting and even killing others, I'm not talking about "Modern Warfare" or the like. I'm talking about Grand Theft Auto and the video game "Bully"(!). It is clear that bullying is part of the fabric of our society.
How do we deal with bullying? I think that first and foremost we must define it and we must strictly forbid it in our schools. We must have a zero tolerance policy for bullying--nothing else will do. We can be the most defense-conscious schools in America, but if we continue to allow bullying, we continue to foster the very problems that lead to the violence. When we see bullying, whether it's boys "joking around" with much smaller boys by holding them up and refusing to put them down, whether it's calling someone names, whether it's "teasing" that's not seen as teasing by the other student, it needs to be dealt with immediately. If you let it go, you've just shown another student that it's perfectly all right to bully and denigrate his/her classmate. That is not right, and it has to stop. We need to create a culture of civility in our schools and an understanding that their emotional safety is just as secure at our school as is their physical safety.
Yes, there is mental illness. Yes, it is a big problem. Yes, there are other reasons. But bullying is the one that we can control. If a person is mentally disturbed, that is something else again. But even if this boy was mentally disturbed, I have to wonder--if he wasn't bullied day after day, would he have felt such anger that it seemed that nothing would solve the problem but revenge by fire?
I'm extremely grateful that TUHS was spared the horror of Sandy Hook or Columbine. But please, people, let's use this experience as a weapon. Don't allow bullies to rule at our schools. We can deal with it at school, but it's best dealt with at home. Show your children that it is not okay to treat people without respect, and your children will learn to treat others as they would like to be treated themselves.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
The Last Day
The Last Day
It was happening
again. Once again, she couldn’t
breathe. The feeling that she was
drowning, though not new, was overwhelming. Fighting down her fear, she woke her husband.
“Honey,” she
whispered, “I’m sorry, but we have to go to the hospital”.
“Hospital? What?” The familiar voice was drenched in sleep, and it took a
minute for comprehension to sink in.
Finally he turned and looked at her, understanding coming not from her
words but her breathing.
“Right away,
Sweetie! Let me get dressed and
get the car started.” He got up
and started to put on his clothes.
She did as well, reaching for the walker. She wanted to go to the children’s rooms and tell them
goodbye, but her body wouldn’t let her.
She knew that she had just enough energy to get to the dining room,
where she would have to sit and wait for him.
She slowly made her
way past her daughter’s room, where she knew that her 15-year-old lay
sleeping. ‘Focus on the dining
room’, she thought to herself.
Finally she reached the chair and slumped into it. She rested a moment, giving herself
time to do what she must do, what she knew was the most important thing that
she could do in the time she had left.
Gathering her strength, she called to her sleeping son, now a young man,
“I love you, son!”
From the far bedroom,
a sleep-muffled voice called back, “I love you, too, Mom”.
Now for her
daughter. “I love you, Nini.” Exhausted, knowing that she had done
all she could, her eyes closed.
From the bedroom, an
irritated groan, “Aaaghh”.
Immediately her heart
spoke to her Maker, “Please help
her. She’s going to regret
that”. The Presence that she
always felt during these times spoke to her. The fact that she was not irritated or angry about the
lovelessness exhibited by her daughter didn’t dawn on her till much later.
“Don’t worry about
her. Think about the present. Just a bit longer and we will be
together.”
Together. Could it be? Was this the end?
There had been so many times before that she thought she was dying, but still
she kept on. She knew she had to
for the sake of her children. Was
it finally over? Were the pain and
suffering finally going to end?
She was afraid to believe it.
She opened her eyes.
He was there. Surrounded in a golden glory, he was
looking at her, the love of a million sacrifices in his eyes. He was
his presence. She couldn’t
describe it any better than that.
She couldn’t see him clearly, but he was definitely there.
“Yes, I am here. I will be here in every moment from now
on. Rest in me.” The feeling of his hand on her heart
overwhelmed her. She knew that he
was giving her strength for this last journey. She was brought back to herself by the touch of her
husband’s hand on her arm.
“Come on,
Cupcake. Let me help you to the
car”.
Through the trip to
the hospital, the time in the emergency room, the trip to the ICU, the setting
up of the monitors, the murmured voices of her husband and the doctor, she was
conscious of only one thing: the
touch of that Hand on her heart.
When she gathered strength to look, he was always smiling at her with
the warmth of love in his eyes.
Time passed. She felt herself in two worlds—passing
from one to the other. As the
hours passed, neither dragging nor flying, she spoke her heart.
“Please let them know I
love them. Please help them understand
that I couldn’t try any more.
Please tell them that this was not their fault.” Her children had gone to the fair and
bought her salt-water taffy.
Though not allowed, she had eaten a few pieces last night.
“It is done. Do not worry”.
“Please be with my
daughter and her family. I know
that this will be hard for her.
Please watch over her and heal her from this hurt.” It was her birthday. She was leaving on her daughter’s
birthday.
“It is done. Be at peace”.
“Keep my Butterfly
safe. Watch her, and keep her safe from those around her, from life. Let her know that I forgive her, and
that I’m sorry for leaving her. If
I had any other choice, I wouldn’t.”
She knew how much her unloving response would devastate her in the years
to come.
“It is done. Be not afraid”.
“And my son. Let him know that I love him. I have always loved him. I will always love him.”
“It is done. Know that he is well taken care of.”
The day continued,
neither creeping nor rushing.
Having said all that there was to say, she allowed herself to think
about the future. In just a few
moments she would be with Him. She
would finally know her Father, her Brother, her Spouse. A fear crept into her soul.
“Oh, dear Lord! How can I ever be righteous enough even
to look You in the eyes! Please
forgive my sin, hide me in your righteousness!”
“Open your eyes”.
Slowly, unwillingly,
she opened her eyes. The world was
laid out before her. On the one
level, she saw her family gathered around her, loving her, her daughter
screaming, “I love you Mamma! I
love you!” The woman in the bed
had her eyes closed, and yet she saw her husband put his arm around the girl to
help her in her grief and pain.
The hospital room was full of the presence of death.
And life. She now began to see in a different
light. The room suffused with
light, with angels, with the Presence of the Holy Ones coming toward her, saying,
“Welcome, welcome, welcome! Well
done, thou good and faithful servant!”
The last thing she saw in the earthly realm was the flat line of the
heart monitor and the family collapsed in grief around her bed. But the image was overcome by the new
image of the heavenly realm.
She didn’t remember
moving herself. It was as if the
earthly curtain ascended without a sound, leaving her in the full presence of
the Heavenly Kingdom. That
hand! It was still on her
chest! She looked at it, glowing
with the full truth of His being.
Her eyes could not go straight to his. She looked at his hand—the nail scars—his wrist, his arm,
his shoulder, his neck, his beard, his mouth.
She couldn’t go on for
a moment. His mouth—the mouth that
had spoken words of love to her from the time she first met him. It curved in the welcoming smile that
she had always imagined. As she
moved on, it surprised her that his cheeks were wet. Tears?
“Joy, my love, for
you, and sadness for your family, who now must do without you, until they come
here to meet you. But more than
anything, my sister, my spouse, I cry with gladness that you are here. Your suffering is over. My daughter, be at peace.
“Violet,” she heard
her name as it was known to her on Earth for the last time, “be received into
new life.”
Finally she looked
into his eyes. She had dreamed
about this moment, prayed for it, even achieved it in the spirit, she thought,
but nothing could prepare her for the moment of true reality. For at the sight of his eyes, the
windows into his Soul, all else stopped.
Her heart leaped within her, and she heard him whisper her new
name. Mercy. Mercy. The gathering of the Church Triumphant—why had she not
noticed them before?—took the name into their hearts and cried out “Mercy!
Mercy! Mercy! Join us in praise!
Join us in worship! Holy,
holy, holy Lord! God of Power and
Might! Heaven and Earth are full
of thy Glory! Hosanna in the
Highest! Blessed is He who comes
in the name of the Lord! Hosanna
in the Highest!”
Even as she remained
in his arms, she felt herself in union with the crowd. But then, in an instant, she
remembered.
“Please, Lord, my
family! Am I going to forget them
now?”
A line of people
detached themselves from the multitudes gathered before her.
“My name was Mary Anne,
now Grace. I am your
grandmother. I prayed for you from
your birth.”
“My name was Phillip,
now Strength. I am your great
grandfather. I prayed for you from
Mary Anne’s birth.”
A woman stepped forth
next. Mercy was perplexed. She knew her, and yet she didn’t.
“My name was Bertha,
now Constancy. I am your
mother. I prayed for you from the
time that I was saved to now. And Mercy, I love you.”
Constancy! What a name for her restless, loveless,
disorganized mother! And yet
within that heavenly beauty and perfection, she could still see the mother that
she had once known. But all the
distortion was gone. Now her
mother was perfect.
A beautiful woman came
up and shyly stood before her. My
name is Gwendolyn. I am your
daughter. I love you, Mother. And I have prayed for you from my
birth.”
“Mercy, you will never
forget your family. You haven’t
been freed of them; you’ve been freed
for them. You are now able to pray for them perfectly, in a way that
you’ve never been able to before.
You are released into love”.
In that moment, Mercy
understood. She could see her
family, feel her family, but she was no longer bound by earthly considerations
for her family. She now could pray
unfettered, and she was released into the freedom of true love. Here where time doesn’t exist, she had
the freedom to see the end from the beginning and know what her loved ones needed. She saw the grief ahead for her
daughters, the heartbreak for her son, the distance in relationship, but she
also knew that all things would work together for good. All would truly be well.
More happened that
day, that eternal day, but of course Mercy will share that herself, when the
time comes.
It is enough to say
that Mercy, full of love and full of thankfulness, is finally, fully, and
totally at peace, for she now truly rests in the Love of Christ.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
on aging
I am 55. I have hair that could be called salt and pepper. Wrinkles have appeared on my face, and my hands are beginning to look like the hands of an older woman. My children are all grown, and I have grandchildren. Eleven grandchildren. Most of my older family members--grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, even some cousins--have gone to be with God, and my friends' parents are also beginning to take that journey. When the weather changes my bones ache. Yes, I am definitely getting older.
We live in a society that proclaims the beauty of things once thought distorted. We exhort others not to make fun of people with disabilities. We have,thank God, come to a place where we no longer show prejudice to people with different nationalities, skin, religion--or at least most of us have. When I was a child, people who divorced were considered anathema and were unwelcome in church. That stigma has largely disappeared. The gay lifestyle is becoming more accepted, and we come closer and closer to allowing gay marriage as a nation. All of these changes make it seem that prejudice is disappearing and that it is no longer okay to consider anything as open to reproach, condemnation, or humiliation.
There are two exceptions: obesity and age. Prejudice against the obese is very clear. We are considered unacceptable, lazy, ugly, unloveable. We are the butt of many jokes and are seen as a problem that needs to be changed. Even those who should know better make invalid assumptions about us. They take one look and think 'diabetes, heart problems, high blood pressure.' It seems to be okay to categorize us and ridicule us. We are often portrayed as sloppy and lazy, gluttons who have to eat an entire chicken at the table, sort of in the fashion of Henry VIII. People who would rather eat worms than joke about homosexuals, the mentally deficient, or other races see nothing at all wrong with laughing at the poor fat dude falling in the road and splitting his pants because he's too fat to see the dog poo in the road. That's out there, it's seen, it's being noticed, and it is slowly--infinitely slowly--being seen as wrong. We are beginning to see overweight actors and actresses in roles that portray them as lovely, beautiful people worthy of respect.
Age is the other thing that is the target of--what? I'm not sure what to call it. But it is very clear. If you are old, you are no longer desirable--unless, of course, you look young. An old person who looks old is simply unacceptable. There are gels, foams, creams, dyes, and even surgery to assure that no matter what the age, the person can attain that youthful look that seems to be all that anyone desires.
Now, I'm not saying "A pox be on you if you are of the crowd that enjoys dying, trimming, creaming, and all the rest of it." All I'm saying is that for me, right now, I've opted out. And my motives for opting out aren't as wholesome or "noble" as you might think. In fact, they're pretty simple, really. I'm always broke and I'm very much a procrastinator. So when I would dye my hair, it was really pretty for about 5 weeks. Then it stayed in various stages of grey for the next 6 months. I finally just decided to let nature take over. If I had money, maybe I would opt for tucking, tightening, or even removing altogether, but that's never going to be an option, so why even think about it?
So what does growing old mean? Obviously, different things for different people. For some, it means extra pressure to keep looking like you did when you were 20 or 30. It means worrying about the future-retirement is just around the corner and nobody ever seems to have enough to live in comfort. It means exercising and dieting more just to stay where you are.
For me, growing old means surviving. It means looking life in the face and learning to laugh. It means appreciating the wrinkles. Above all, it means to be thankful for every day, every hour, every minute, every second that you're alive.
Some of you might be thinking, 'Wait, why is she even writing this? She's only 55. Fifty-five isn't old. But for me, 55 was pretty much inconceivable. My mother died at 54, and I never thought past that number. It was only in the last 10 years or so that I began to conceive of life after 55. So I feel that if I die tomorrow, I have still cheated death out of one precious year! True, my dad died at 81, but I take after Mama, at least as far as features go. My mama never got to live to see old age. I am grateful that I can. Old age is much preferable to the alternative.
So to close, I like to remember a song from "Barnum": "Thank God I'm Old."
When you see the shape the world is in
When the way it is ain't what it's beenWhen folks just care for gold,Thank God, I'm oldWhen you take a gander at the newsWhen you hear the language people useWhen no sweet songs are sungI don't wanna be young
To end (really), I am not concerned about age. Today is a drop in time, and tomorrow we will face eternity. Every day it gets closer, and every day I look forward. Whether I enter tomorrow or in 100 years, I am thankful that one day it will come, and there will be no more tears, no more crying and no pain, for the former things are passed away.
We live in a society that proclaims the beauty of things once thought distorted. We exhort others not to make fun of people with disabilities. We have,thank God, come to a place where we no longer show prejudice to people with different nationalities, skin, religion--or at least most of us have. When I was a child, people who divorced were considered anathema and were unwelcome in church. That stigma has largely disappeared. The gay lifestyle is becoming more accepted, and we come closer and closer to allowing gay marriage as a nation. All of these changes make it seem that prejudice is disappearing and that it is no longer okay to consider anything as open to reproach, condemnation, or humiliation.
There are two exceptions: obesity and age. Prejudice against the obese is very clear. We are considered unacceptable, lazy, ugly, unloveable. We are the butt of many jokes and are seen as a problem that needs to be changed. Even those who should know better make invalid assumptions about us. They take one look and think 'diabetes, heart problems, high blood pressure.' It seems to be okay to categorize us and ridicule us. We are often portrayed as sloppy and lazy, gluttons who have to eat an entire chicken at the table, sort of in the fashion of Henry VIII. People who would rather eat worms than joke about homosexuals, the mentally deficient, or other races see nothing at all wrong with laughing at the poor fat dude falling in the road and splitting his pants because he's too fat to see the dog poo in the road. That's out there, it's seen, it's being noticed, and it is slowly--infinitely slowly--being seen as wrong. We are beginning to see overweight actors and actresses in roles that portray them as lovely, beautiful people worthy of respect.
Age is the other thing that is the target of--what? I'm not sure what to call it. But it is very clear. If you are old, you are no longer desirable--unless, of course, you look young. An old person who looks old is simply unacceptable. There are gels, foams, creams, dyes, and even surgery to assure that no matter what the age, the person can attain that youthful look that seems to be all that anyone desires.
Now, I'm not saying "A pox be on you if you are of the crowd that enjoys dying, trimming, creaming, and all the rest of it." All I'm saying is that for me, right now, I've opted out. And my motives for opting out aren't as wholesome or "noble" as you might think. In fact, they're pretty simple, really. I'm always broke and I'm very much a procrastinator. So when I would dye my hair, it was really pretty for about 5 weeks. Then it stayed in various stages of grey for the next 6 months. I finally just decided to let nature take over. If I had money, maybe I would opt for tucking, tightening, or even removing altogether, but that's never going to be an option, so why even think about it?
So what does growing old mean? Obviously, different things for different people. For some, it means extra pressure to keep looking like you did when you were 20 or 30. It means worrying about the future-retirement is just around the corner and nobody ever seems to have enough to live in comfort. It means exercising and dieting more just to stay where you are.
For me, growing old means surviving. It means looking life in the face and learning to laugh. It means appreciating the wrinkles. Above all, it means to be thankful for every day, every hour, every minute, every second that you're alive.
Some of you might be thinking, 'Wait, why is she even writing this? She's only 55. Fifty-five isn't old. But for me, 55 was pretty much inconceivable. My mother died at 54, and I never thought past that number. It was only in the last 10 years or so that I began to conceive of life after 55. So I feel that if I die tomorrow, I have still cheated death out of one precious year! True, my dad died at 81, but I take after Mama, at least as far as features go. My mama never got to live to see old age. I am grateful that I can. Old age is much preferable to the alternative.
So to close, I like to remember a song from "Barnum": "Thank God I'm Old."
When you see the shape the world is in
When the way it is ain't what it's beenWhen folks just care for gold,Thank God, I'm oldWhen you take a gander at the newsWhen you hear the language people useWhen no sweet songs are sungI don't wanna be young
To end (really), I am not concerned about age. Today is a drop in time, and tomorrow we will face eternity. Every day it gets closer, and every day I look forward. Whether I enter tomorrow or in 100 years, I am thankful that one day it will come, and there will be no more tears, no more crying and no pain, for the former things are passed away.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Sometimes the smallest things…a Spanish story in English
Went back to school today. I have been fighting the thought for the last several days, but the day finally came and back I went. I surprised myself, though--I had a great time!
I teach high school Spanish using TPRS. I teach 2nd year, so the thrill has pretty much worn off for my kids. First year is a lot of fun--they are thrilled to be learning, excited that they understand so much, happy because they're being taught while participating in skits and reading silly stories, and just overall having a good time.
By second year, though, the thrill, if not gone, has diminished. They are wise to the skits, know a lot and aren't nearly so excited about the vocabulary gains, and are pretty much jaded. Or at least that what was I've been thinking all year.
But over the break, the smallest thing happened. My friend, Robyn, who teaches in Phoenix, went home to Indiana over Christmas break, and she was able to go to a TPRS workshop before she came back. She was so excited--it was catching! My brain seemed to catch the energy by osmosis, so today I decided to do a skit, just like the old days. I'm sad to say that I've pretty much stopped doing them--they seemed like more trouble than they were worth.
Not today. Today we were learning "he hit him/her", "again", and "he had the urge to" (le pegó, de nuevo, y tenía ganas). I gave it about 2 minutes' thought and then remembered Gladys Ormphby and the Dirty Old Man on Laugh In! Remember? This old man comes up to a park bench, sits beside Gladys, Gladys scoots all the way over to the edge, and he follows. The old man offers her a candy for a kiss. She hits him with her purse. He then offers her a candy for a hug. She hits him again. He then falls off the bench and offers her a candy for calling an ambulance. She gets up and goes away. Short, to the point, and funny as anything when you see two high school kids in costumes pretending.
Afterwards, we wrote the story on the board. The students then wrote the story on a paper, skipping lines. We then rewrote the story, changing it from the "él" form to the "yo" form. Perfect!
So thanks, Robyn!! My first day back was a success thanks to your enthusiasm.
I teach high school Spanish using TPRS. I teach 2nd year, so the thrill has pretty much worn off for my kids. First year is a lot of fun--they are thrilled to be learning, excited that they understand so much, happy because they're being taught while participating in skits and reading silly stories, and just overall having a good time.
By second year, though, the thrill, if not gone, has diminished. They are wise to the skits, know a lot and aren't nearly so excited about the vocabulary gains, and are pretty much jaded. Or at least that what was I've been thinking all year.
But over the break, the smallest thing happened. My friend, Robyn, who teaches in Phoenix, went home to Indiana over Christmas break, and she was able to go to a TPRS workshop before she came back. She was so excited--it was catching! My brain seemed to catch the energy by osmosis, so today I decided to do a skit, just like the old days. I'm sad to say that I've pretty much stopped doing them--they seemed like more trouble than they were worth.
Not today. Today we were learning "he hit him/her", "again", and "he had the urge to" (le pegó, de nuevo, y tenía ganas). I gave it about 2 minutes' thought and then remembered Gladys Ormphby and the Dirty Old Man on Laugh In! Remember? This old man comes up to a park bench, sits beside Gladys, Gladys scoots all the way over to the edge, and he follows. The old man offers her a candy for a kiss. She hits him with her purse. He then offers her a candy for a hug. She hits him again. He then falls off the bench and offers her a candy for calling an ambulance. She gets up and goes away. Short, to the point, and funny as anything when you see two high school kids in costumes pretending.
Afterwards, we wrote the story on the board. The students then wrote the story on a paper, skipping lines. We then rewrote the story, changing it from the "él" form to the "yo" form. Perfect!
So thanks, Robyn!! My first day back was a success thanks to your enthusiasm.
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