Category Archives: Prayers

You are the light of the world

09 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanksgiving, Blessings, Change, Election 2016, Glorifying God, Intentional Living, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Tough days

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Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
~Seymour Miller & Jill Jackson, “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” 1955

 

It is a policy of mine to be neutral on this little blog, keeping the stories more about how I overcome my personal struggles, my path to a more peaceful and simpler life, and how I seek out joy in little ways. However, I do want to share with you the words that I posted to my personal Facebook account this morning, since it was received with much positive response:

“No matter if you are feeling shocked and saddened, or overjoyed and triumphant about our president-elect, at the end of today, when the strength of our feelings have simmered down a bit, let us reflect on the fact that we are still Americans–free people so privileged and blessed to have all that we do living in this great nation of ours, especially in comparison to most of the world around us. Let’s not forget how we are called to love one another, despite the differences that divide us, and that our children are truly the future. Live your life with joy and integrity, help those less fortunate, be a light in the world, forgive each other, and offer peace and a smile as much as possible.”

 Maybe, the next four years look grim to you, with the bright horizon forever dimmed by the despair for where you think this country is headed. Try not to lose hope, reader friend. Maybe, the next four years looks bright and prosperous to you, defined by a positive change, and hope for what’s to come. My friend, please don’t lose focus of what is truly important. No doubt, America is headed in a new direction. And, we must brace ourselves for the unknown, and pray for a better tomorrow. At the end of the day, my hope is that most Americans still believe in all that holds true in “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” and the inherent goodness found in each of us.

Let’s not forget that peace and change begins with our individual selves. We can choose the good and spread that light between us. If each one of us could do that— make a habit of spreading that kind of light and love throughout our homes and communities—just imagine how beautiful our country would look in the afterglow of peace.

How can you be a light to the world around you? In what ways do you seek out joy in times of despair? 

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Grateful for Strange Moments of Grace: Days 9-17 (30 Days of Thanks)

17 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Catholicism, Change, Fathers & Daughters, Memories, Past, Peace, Prayers, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

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In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:—feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love…. ~William Wordsworth, 1798

Fate, Chance, God’s Will – we all try to account for our lives somehow.  What are the chances that two raindrops, flung from the heavens, will merge on a windowpane?  Gotta be Fate.  ~Robert Brault

Have you ever been given a mesmerizing glimpse of the past? Perhaps, you had a chance encounter  in your dreams that upon waking you felt like you had experienced the hand of the Divine working through your mind and in your heart? Have you ever seen the past in someone else’s eyes?  Well, I have. Something so wonderful and unexplainable happened during my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard in September. It is still one of the strangest moments of my life. And ever since, I can’t seem to put the encounter out of my mind or figure out the meaning for why it happened.

My mother, younger sister, and I attended Saturday evening mass together at the charming and quaint Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Oak Bluffs. It was not a packed crowd that evening, so we had plenty of space in our pew. It was a beautiful night, and my mom and I were both so pleased we had made it to Confession right before the beginning of mass. It is still one of the most profound, memorable sacramental moments of my life. Nonetheless, the Confession was mild compared to what was about to transpire about halfway through mass.

As the congregation stood together in prayer, I noticed my younger sister bow her head down and let out a sigh. As I glanced her way, she opened her eyes wide and whispered, “Look over there,” jilting her head to the right.

“Do you see that man over there? Do you see him?” she asked with in a panicky voice. “He looks just like dad! Look at his profile. And his nose!”

Be still my heart, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was right! It was our dad. It couldn’t be, truly, since he had died from small cell lung cancer eight-and-a-half years prior to our vacation. We stood with eyes transfixed on this man, this spitting image of our father. It was unreal and seeing him felt so strange.

As we continued to steal glances at this stranger, we realized that not only was the man the exact likeness of our father, but he seemed to embody all of our father’s gestures and quirky traits. He was exactly what I envisioned my father would have looked like if he could have lived beyond his fifty-seven young years and be with us on the Vineyard that very night. Tears begun to sting my eyes. It really was that profound.

It’s strangely emotional to feel such affinity for a complete stranger. For a brief moment during this incredible mass, I felt a pang of jealousy toward the woman sitting next to my father’s doppelganger. Obviously, it was his loving wife, but I did not like her sitting there next to “my father.”

It was a confusing mass. I couldn’t stop staring at this man. I studied every mark of his freckled, wrinkled face. His eyes—oh my goodness!—his eyes were the same shade of brown! The same almond shape, even! When the man turned to the left, I could see that he had the same droopy skin fold over his eye that my father had! His hairline, the largely pointed nose, the thinner lips–all of his physical traits–right down to his attire–was my dad to a tee. If this wasn’t enough, I about passed out when he rested his face in his hand with the pointer finger up near his temple—the same restful stance my father had for as long as I can remember.

When the strange man arose stiffly from the knees to make his way to the altar to receive the Eucharist, I was startled furthermore. His posture was as my father’s had been—a rather tall gait, slightly bent shoulders, longer arms than you would have expected on such a build, with a walk that seemed more like a glide as he set about on his way toward receiving the Lord in Communion.

Was I imagining all of this? Surely not, if my sister saw it, too. She was the one who first noticed the man. And my sister is lovely, but not one to spark with emotion even over strange encounters such as these.

Trying to get myself to pay attention to what was going on during mass, to prepare myself to accept Communion with reverence, to stop staring like a fool, I shook my head and willed myself to look away. I couldn’t. All I wanted to do was catch another glimpse of this stranger who took on my dad’s physical body—and to somehow meet him, touch him, even. It was clear I was having some kind of bizarre overtaking of my faculties in the presence of God and this stranger.

All of a sudden, appalling feelings of anger overtook me. Horrifying thoughts passed through my clouded mind–thoughts that convinced me my father had never died years ago. In fact, I let myself venture that what really had occurred was that my father was truly sitting in that pew in front of us, that he was attending mass, too, but ignoring his real wife and two of his children! Because instead of dying, I said to myself, my dad had actually left us all to mourn his death while he has enjoyed a leisurely life on Martha’s Vineyard for all these years gone! I was enraged!

I have no idea how I thought my dad would have pulled off this kind of illusion, but for a moment, I was convinced. Convinced! The audacity! See, there was no other explanation to the phenomenon of the man sitting ahead of us at mass, the one who looked so much like my father.

Trying to get a grip on my emotions before I stood up for Communion, I came to my senses, realizing that my ill thoughts were nothing but the result of purely wishful thinking on my part. How easy it would be to forgive my father for such betrayal if only it meant he was still alive and well and that we could embrace and talk once again. Forgiveness would be easy if only I could have my father back in the flesh.

After Communion was over, I wanted nothing more than the rest of mass to end–and swiftly.  I have never wanted or needed to rush through a mass before. But this was no ordinary mass. Once the priest gave the blessing, and after he and the altar servers made their way down the middle aisle toward the front of the church, I left my belongings where they lay in the pew and headed straight toward the familiar stranger. I needed to talk to him, ask his name, find out for myself if he knew me, too. If I didn’t take the opportunity to approach him then, it would feel to me like the entire moment never happened. And I could not take that chance.

I’m not sure if my sister and mom were beside me when I went up to the man, or if they held back in our pew to watch their crazy sister and daughter take a chance charged only by pure emotion. However, I walked right up to that strange man, and gently touched his arm if only to get his attention. When he turned to me he, of course, smiled my father’s smile with my dad’s teeth!

Being that close to the man overwhelmed me like nothing ever has. With my right hand over my heart and choking back the tears that were pouring from my eyes, I managed to say, “Excuse me sir. Uh. Hi. I’m so sorry, but I must ask you your name? It’s not John is it?”

“No, dear, it’s not,” he replied, a little confused by my asking.

“Oh, well, I have to tell you,” I continued, convinced I was staring in the eyes of my aged father, “you are the spitting image of my late father. It’s overwhelming, really” And this is when the trembling began.

“Oh, your poor thing,” said his kind wife as she placed her wrinkled hands over mine. I could not believe I was carrying on like this before a set of strangers!

“My sister, mom and I saw you a few pews in front of us and we haven’t been able to keep our eyes off of you since. We can’t get over how much you look like our dad. It’s unbelievable!” I managed to tell him through tears that were borderline deep sobs by this point. I was completely beside myself with emotion.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” he said to me with a tear in his eye. “He must’ve been a wonderful man.”

“He was, he was,” I agreed as I wiped my tears away and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“God bless you dear,” his wife said before they were on their way. The man looked back at me once more and smiled my father’s smile. What a gift.

Still with hand over my heart, I let the water works flow and took this chance meeting as a sign that my dad was with us in spirit on that trip. So, I wrote his name in the memorial book at the front of church before my mom, sister and I headed out to enjoy our last night on the island along with my older sister who was waiting for us outside and had her own bizarre encounter story to share.

Maybe my dad needed our prayers that night. Maybe God wanted to unite us all in a divine moment. Maybe it was purely coincidence without any deep meaning attached to it. Who knows? What I do know is that in some fateful way, we met my father once again in the face of a stranger and it was a moment filled with sadness and joy–one I hope to never forget. Strangely, it may have been the best part of the vacation.

Has fate ever touched you so deeply? When have you been overcome with emotion by a chance encounter?

Grateful for Family, Friends, and Faith: Days 8-10 (30 Days of Thanks)

10 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Change, Friendship, Lifelong friends, Love, Past, Perspective, Prayers

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In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. ~ Albert Schweitzer

The weekend was full of great and wonderful things, and for this reason, I gladly stepped away from the computer for a couple of days. My Friday through Saturday was spent enjoying time with out-of-town guests—some friends of mine who have always felt like family to me since our first encounter one fall day many years ago. That day would prove to be a fateful one for all of us involved. They came into my life at a time when they needed someone to help them out in enormous ways due to an unfortunate health crisis that they neither expected nor would be prepared to face alone.

Fresh out of college, I had a couple of going-nowhere jobs, was deeply discouraged, and felt lost in the world–stuck, really. Facing rapid burn-out and the dying-out of out of my idealistic nature, I yearned for a gap year. I needed the time to think and plan out how I was going to refocus my career efforts to match my personal goals. At the time, I knew I could always earn money as bookseller or in a café position at the local Barnes and Noble, perhaps pick up a server job on the side as I embarked on this necessary quest to utilize my degree in a meaningful way. When I took the time to ask myself and pray about what I was seeking, my answer was always the same: truth, meaningful experiences, significant internal change, love, and to make a difference in someone else’s life.

After mass one Sunday, I scoured the want ads and came across a job posting for a nanny position. Because I had worked as a mother’s helper between my junior and senior years of college, held plenty of babysitting jobs back home, and thought it might be just the type of work that could be equal parts fulfilling and fun for the year, I phoned the agency and landed an interview with this family on the spot. Soon thereafter, I was employed as their full-time nanny and fully immersed in their life as it was back then–a mix of crisis and relief, ongoing medical and therapeutic interventions, and the everyday happenings of a family trying to balance out normal during a shocking and trying time. Immediately, they enveloped me with their characteristically loving way and I soon became one of them. Quickly, I felt nothing but gratitude and love each day as I set about helping them to maintain some kind of normalcy while they focused on reviving the health and well-being of their young girls. At the time, I didn’t know just how much my heart, mind, and spirit would be stretched; how I would grow as a person and how greatly my perspective would change just by living among this one, incredible family. Nor, did I have any idea that fourteen years later this family would remain such a large part of my life.

If we are lucky enough in life, we will meet one person who will be the catalyst to our personal growth. Their impact will leave indelible marks on our hearts, perhaps change our behaviors, even increase our faith in love and God. These are the types of people who stick with us for always–whether they continue to share in our life or not. Some people can shape and mold us into who we’re meant to become. These friends of mine who came in for a visit this past weekend helped change my life and perspective years ago by living out their lives with integrity and care. They worked hard at putting their family and love above all else during an especially difficult time in their lives. They are friends who became like a second family to me and I’ll always consider them such.

Fourteen  years ago, I was seeking out an intense life-changing experience, one that would lead me out of the depths of my despair and into the light of life, turning me toward the path I was meant to take. My prayers were answered in the form of this one family seeking a trustworthy helper while they faced an uncertain, desperate time. I’m not sure if they knew it then or have figured it out since, but I needed them that year just as much as they needed me. My gratitude today is for their enduring friendship and all the lessons they etched on my heart, mind, and soul.

In Gratitude for Adoption: Giving Thanks Day Six (30 Days of Thanks)

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Adoption, Blessings, Infertility, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Personal health, Prayers

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However motherhood comes to you, it’s a miracle. ~ Valerie Harper, Adoptive parent

About nine months after my husband and I were married, we felt ready to begin a family. Unfortunately, our journey to parenthood came with unexpected struggle, a litany of infertility issues and repeat miscarriages. (We lost our first four children in that time: Agnes Elizabeth, April 2004; Julian Olivia, June 2005; Max Kolbe, April 2006; and Catherine Teresa, December 2006.) During these years of trying to conceive again and again in hopes of finally carrying a child to term, I went through the ringer to become a mother.

During those trying years, my arms became permanently black and blue with bruises from the countless multiple blood draws I endured to check hormone levels and to rule out other serious health issues. I became an NFP charting expert and obsessed with the healthiest, most natural ways to eat, take care of my body, and become pregnant.  I had laparoscopic surgery and was diagnosed with Stage III Endometriosis. Soon thereafter, I started a regime of Clomid and trigger shots of hCG to boost my body’s ability to ovulate and produce the hormones it was lacking to sustain a pregnancy. During those cycles I swallowed ovulation-inducing medicines and became a pro at hormone injections, I gained weight and felt ill most of the time. Down went the pills and painful injections were endured–graciously, in fact–all for the sake of becoming a mother.

Because I reached the maximum dosage without a successful pregnancy, I had to stop the Clomid and trigger shots of hCG. Shortly thereafter is when I found a disturbingly large lump on my right breast. After seeing my doctor, I was sent to the women’s clinic for a full work-up of tests and procedures which ultimately resulted in a biopsy of the lump. Not only was I dealing with infertility and losing babies, I now had my first breast cancer scare. (Thankfully it was only a cyst, but even the surgeon who operated on me was seriously concerned. In the years since, I have found two more lumps.)

To compound the pain and the struggle we were experiencing for the sake of parenthood, my immediate and extended family were suffering greatly, too. In the span of three years, we lost my father to his sixteen-month long battle with small-cell lung cancer, and said our good-byes to two uncles, and my maternal grandparents, as well. It was a somber time.

Through it all, The Husband and I kept hoping and praying for children. We certainly discussed adoption, but had not explored it until one fateful September day when the answer to our prayers came in the form of an evening phone call. A familiar voice spoke to us on the other line. A child needed a loving home and were we open to adoption? Miracle of all miracles, our answer was an exuberant, “Yes!” Nine months from that incredible phone call, we would be fostering to adopt The Girl. We were full of gratitude and joy to be given this chance, and to open our hearts and home to this child in need.

The first Thanksgiving with The Girl in our home was a memorable one for obvious reasons. However, our joy increased a few days later when I discovered that I was, miraculously, pregnant again! A little over nine months later, we welcomed home The Boy. The Girl had a sibling! We had a son! Eight months after his birth, The Girl’s adoption was finalized. We felt blessed beyond compare to have witnessed two miracles in our lifetime, and that we were finally parents as we’d always hoped to be.

I touted over social media today that I was grateful for adopting my oldest child. She has stretched my heart and spirit by her love and many challenges. It’s not always “rainbows and butterflies” around here, but the trying times are the ones that increase our hearts, minds, and spirits tenfold. Adoption is a blessing despite the many challenges it brings. I would not have it any other way.

Honestly, I would go through the struggle over and over again—for her, for us—to start my family by fostering then finally adopting this amazingly complex, beautiful and gifted person–this daughter of mine–who herself makes me a better mom and better person, truly. If you ever had an inkling to foster or adopt, I urge you to look into welcoming a child into your home. Adoption can change lives for the better.

Beautiful November Days: Giving Thanks Day One (30 Days of Thanks)

02 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Prayers, Praying the Rosary, Seasons, Walking & Hiking

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“There is music in the meadows, in the air —
Autumn is here;
Skies are gray, but hearts are mellow,
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow;
Pines are soughing, birches stir,
And the Gipsy trail is fresh beneath the fir.

There is rhythm in the woods, and in the fields,
Nature yields:
And the harvest voices crying,
Blend with Autumn zephyrs sighing;
Tone and color, frost and fire,
Wings the nocturne Nature plays upon her lyre.”
~ William Stanley Braithwaite, Lyric of Autumn

After a blustery, rainy All Hallows Eve, we central Ohioans awoke to such splendor and surprise when we tied curtains back and pulled up window shades to witness a glorious first day of November. What a sight!  Although my sleep was interrupted all through the night by three wee ones who had too much excitement the night before trick-or-treating in the pouring, cold rain, I decided to make the best of the magnificent morning before me. What better way to invigorate a tired, sleep-deprived body than with a lively walk outdoors?

On social media, I declared that I was “grateful for the brisk, sunny weather that beckoned me to go outside for an early exercise session and recite my morning prayers.” After taking the three kids to school, I felt compelled to an extra-long walk along the bike path surrounding the neighborhood in which I live. The trees were in their most glorious splendor glistening in the sunlight. (My one regret during that hour-long walk in solitude? Leaving my Nikon behind!)

Bundling up to meet November’s sky is something I never regret doing. Heading into nature to walk and pray simultaneously was the perfect way to get a handle on what would prove to be a rather hectic day as the hours progressed. In the spirit of gratitude and finding blessings all around me, I’m hoping for more days like these to spend outdoors and enjoy November’s chilly air, inhaling the crispness of the season, all the while bearing greater witness to the beauty of God’s design–especially the trees bursting a brilliant palette before their leaves succumb to the coming winter wind.

A perfect season, a time to heal

24 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by in Catholicism, Change, Friendship, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Prayers, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days

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Some of your hurts you have cured/And the sharpest you still have survived/But what torments of grief you endured/From the evil which never arrived.

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

~ quotes by Ralph Waldo Emerson

There has been an acute attack on my nervous system during the last few weeks. For good reason, mind you. But, still. It’s debilitating—all the worry and allowing my imagination to run rampant and wild to places that more than likely, will never be. It’s an evil cycle when these objectionable fears get the best of me. They increase my stress level by taking a gripping hold and strangle out the very best of my being. I’m slowly fighting my way back by working through it all—in tiny steps—and trying to figure out why all of a sudden my anxiety is on the rise. A few significant events have occurred in my personal life, in my family, and physically. So, I have narrowed down the culprits and am focusing on paying better attention to my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health. Last month, I invited my capable and compassionate therapist back into my life and already she’s helping me to clear out the clutter in my heart and mind.  I’m finding more light and hope now, and for this, I am grateful.

Question: Is it too personal—maybe too much?—to write so openly about my grief and the anxieties that riddle my life? Does it cross some imaginary “don’t go there” line by writing about the anxieties I feel? I certainly hope not. I hope by writing about my struggles that I can offer a light to someone else dealing with a challenging time. If anything, the writing is cathartic. And my struggles won’t be in vain if I can offer hope through my pain.

My worries are real, but the scenarios I dream up are not. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact and, if possible, read more Ralph Waldo Emerson (as the quotes, above, suggest)! I’ve always believed him to be so wise; his words just make sense. What I’m trying to remember—especially on the more difficult days—is that I can only control so much. A simple notion to comprehend for most people? Yes, I understand this to be true. But, for me, I’ve always needed the gentle reminder: all that can be expected of me is to arise with the best of intentions to make the most of the present day that I’m blessed to live.

I find that it’s also good practice to contemplate that no matter how awful I feel—be it physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually— I’m not alone. However heavy my burdens feel upon my shoulders, I know of so many others facing far greater struggles than I am right now. It’s so important to not discount my personal struggles, but rather, try to gain some holistic perspective in spite of them. Being Catholic, I also try to focus my pain and anxieties toward Christ. He helps me to carry my daily crosses and lifelong ailments, and is my spiritual answer to so much suffering going on in my own soul and in the world around me. When I’m in a suffering state, I also try to offer up my troubles for those in far greater desperation. Lately, I’ve been turning away from my own self and praying more for some special people in my life who are going through some tough times beyond imagination.

About eight years ago, I started a life-changing, life-affirming practice: sponsoring an Indian child’s educational and basic needs through the help of the Christian Foundation for Children and Aging. My sponsored friend, now in her early twenties, is working toward her educational goals and dreams for a better life. Despite the hunger, poverty, and lack of resources she and her family and friends face on a daily basis, her letters come to me frequently. As a breath of fresh air, her words are laced with nothing short of positivity and joy. She is a skilled artist and the drawings she includes with her translated letters are an added bonus. To receive such creative and heartfelt greetings from someone I’ve never met, well, that’s a type of beauty and grace beyond measure. This person—this beautiful young woman dwelling across the world feels like another daughter to me. If ever I am offered the chance to fly to India and meet this sponsored friend and her family then I will welcome that chance to embrace her as my own. If you’re looking to “do more” may I gently ask you to consider sponsoring a child or adult through CFCA’s project? Not only is CFCA’s mission incredibly organized and worthwhile, the entire experience changes lives. To read more about how CFCA works, the mission of the organization and more, please visit http://www.cfcausa.org/AboutUs.aspx.

Today, I’m also reminded of the true struggles facing some dear friends of mine—close to my home and heart. The Girl’s best friend from preschool suffers from a severe case of epilepsy and has been in and out of the hospital too many times to count since diagnosed as a toddler. It seems like the last two years, especially, have been one long hospital visit, with countless tests, breathing tubes and IV’s, multiple surgeries, and more medication adjustments to figure out why she is struggling so much with her disease. This young friend has had to endure more procedures and physical invasions—at such a precious, young age—than most of us will ever need to withstand in our lifetime. This beloved friend of The Girl’s is in a Children’s Hospital ICU right now as I type suffering from aspiration pneumonia and recurrent seizures. She has been there for most of the week. Her devoted, amazing, super-human mother never leaves her side–in or out of the hospital—and is on her way to sainthood, if you ask me. Her father, siblings, and extended family are incredibly resilient and strong, as are the extended friend network they’ve built over the years who pitch in to help out any chance they get to lessen the burden in what seems like a constant, endless cycle of crisis. These dear friends of mine have been through so much and I feel helpless most of the time except when offering prayers of support, words of encouragement, and the occasional gift card or meal. If anyone deserves a miracle, this family does. So, I’m asking that if you’re the praying type, please pray for this sweet girl and her beautiful family. Prayer is a life-changer, too.

~

As God’s perfect season falls upon us, I pray for stolen moments of time of which to rest and rejuvenate the many facets of body, mind, and soul. I welcome the chill in the air—even better with a steaming cup of tea to wrap my chilly fingers around–as I face whatever comes my way. With the strength of my faith, the support of my loving family and friends, my writing to fulfill me, and an endless list of books to lose myself in during the early darkened nights ahead, I know the season will be a more joyful, fulfilling one. As October’s days come to an end, the poetic words of Emily Dickinson come to mind as I reflect on the cleansing beauty this season has to offer:

Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.

A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eyes, —
Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves.

Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.

Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!

~ Emily Dickinson, “November”

~

What has helped you to gain perspective during difficult times in your life? How has a friend helped you in a time of need? Are you currently in need of prayer support? Can I pray for you?

Inner-peace and perspective

24 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by in Blessings, Friendship, Glorifying God, Lifelong friends, Love, Miscarriage, Peace, Prayers, Writing

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If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.  ~Mother Teresa

Today is a new day and for this, I am glad.

Yesterday was equal parts tragedy and healing. The only way I came through it was by the prayers and heartfelt sentiments from my husband and beloved family and friends. Love surrounded me, engulfed my being, took hold of my heart and the pain seemed to fly away on angels’ wings. Only a few times before have I been so aware of His graces showering over me. I needed a showering like that yesterday. So, if you prayed for me or sent some goodness my way, I thank you with heartfelt gladness.

Somehow, running mundane errands and walking a bit through Uptown with Baby Girl (while my other little loves were happily learning and playing at their schools) was just what I needed. We spent a quiet, low-key, no-hush sort of day together and it was the perfect ailment to my hurt and the illness she’s been fighting the last few days. After the morning school drop-off, I could not go back home. I just couldn’t face housework and small reminders of loss. And, deep down, I knew that what I truly needed was a change in routine. That meant heading outdoors with my Baby Girl to breathe in the fresh, late-summer air and let the sun shine down upon our cheeks and shoulders while we listened for the birds chirping their mid-morning tunes. For a moment, I pondered going for a hike, but she was still too ill to take on much more than a small outing. Instead, she and I walked and wondered together—hand in hand–marveling at God’s beauty all around us, rejoicing in the change of pace from our typical Friday.  She was so well-behaved while I finished those few errands. So well-mannered, in fact that the extra time we had allowed us to peruse around new shops, and revisit some old favorites. We strolled along admiring so many precious things, and I have to admit, we indulged in a little retail therapy, too! (What’s a girl to do when she sees a designer bag that she’s been coveting on super-clearance sale? [For Me] Or, a stuffed animal cat donning a tutu? [Of course, for Baby Girl] I mean, a beautiful purse and a cat wearing a tutu! What can be better than that?) Some things are just meant to be had.

All shopping was done and we found our way back home. To my amazement, peace surrounded me the moment I entered inside. The sense of contentment was felt in the air, but also deep inside me. I knew the prayers were working.

Graces were abundant as I received some unexpected, thoughtful, sentimental treasures throughout the day. First, there was a gift from a best friend who, unfortunately, understands my pain because she, herself, has suffered through three miscarriages. Firstly, the cards this woman writes to me are treasure troves in and of themselves. I have saved every single one of them that she has penned to me over the years as our relationship has grown into the deep and profound friendship we now share. The card she sent for me to read yesterday is filled with words so wise and heartfelt that moved me in so many ways. Her written words are a keepsake—a reminder of love from a kindred spirit. The physical gifts she presents are equally meaningful and lovely. Yesterday’s gift was no exception. A beautiful treasure to receive, it now hangs prominently in our front entryway and will be a daily reminder of how blessed we are to have a family to cherish—a combination of loved ones both here on earth and in heaven.

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The gifts of expressive love continued as I heard a knock at my front door and found the local flower delivery person holding a beautiful white floral arrangement for me. I did not have to wonder who would send me such gorgeous flowers in the middle of the day—none only than one of my dearest, oldest, best friends. This woman—someone I have considered an honorary sister for the last 18 years—has lifted me up in prayer countless times, sends me uplifting Bible verses via text or email, and spoils me with beautiful flowers at times when I least expect such a gift. She lives 2,500 miles away, now, but there are days when it feels to me she and I are closer than ever before. She is my sister in Christ and her soft-spoken words and graceful ways have blessed me abundantly.

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My children, unknowing and innocent, went about their day as they always do. But, I noticed that I was being awarded from them extra compliments and physical affections. The Boy even exclaimed, “Mom, you are the best cook ever!” A miraculous exclamation coming from this seriously picky eater! Baby Girl needed held and rocked more than usual, was hugging and kissing me all day long. The Girl, was kind in her exchanges, helpful around the house, and even finished homework without complaint. I wasn’t going to question the meaning of it all. So, I took it in as small gifts of love and sympathy from my three little loves.

The Husband and I share in this grief, of course. But as men often do, he expresses his feelings of loss and needs for recovery much differently than I do. I tend to be outward with my emotions while he holds back. I write, he runs. Yesterday, his little ways of checking in on me, coming home with a bouquet of my favorite flowers, letting me cry as much as I need to, allowing me to have a couple of hours to myself to exercise and be alone—these are his gifts to me. For his ability to sense what I need in times of sadness, somehow knowing exactly what I need when I can’t even tell him myself, having an insider’s edge to my innermost being—these are gifts greater than any other.  God knew what He was doing in matching The Husband and I together for life. I trust that my prayers for My Husband over these grieving months have helped him come to terms with losing another child, too.

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When I wrote that love letter to my angel baby, John, I felt it was time to put into writing all that I had been holding inside. Now that I have released my thoughts, I feel lighter and more at peace than I have in the last six months. Writing truly is therapy. So are love, friendship, and prayer. Today, I am thankful for another day to love and be loved, to write, and pray.