Gifts for Every Season

2-29-20

Nervously fidgeting yet making a conscious effort to breathe in a controlled manner, my husband and I get out of the car in front of an old but still decently kept apartment complex.  We'd had a pleasant trip from St. Louis to Kansas City but with this visit, Mom won’t be there. For her next season of life, she will be residing no longer in this place, but instead, will live in a home for the elderly which also has memory care and physical therapy services.

The door to her apartment was wide open and an insurance restoration company's air mover industrial fans were blasting so loudly we could hardly be heard as we entered, proclaiming our arrival so as not to startle the two women inside. The reason for the deafening noise was the result of a pipe in Mom’s closet which had burst due to cold winter temperatures and no one was home to open the door and let the warm heat prevent the imminent flood. 

We are greeted by the Senior Advocate Mom hired a few years ago to be a liaison for communication between my sister and me and her, since Mom had chosen to completely shut us out from any information about her unless it was something of a serious nature which would then be relayed by this woman. Neither my sister nor I nor the Senior Advocate herself understand why Mom chose this route as there was no threat or anything negative being instigated by my sister or me.   

The Senior Advocate then introduces us to Mom’s Care Giver. We conduct courteous small talk along with thank you’s for caring for Mom and then it’s time to begin what we came here for.

I look around the room, trying to not be overwhelmed because of so many assaults against my senses and my personal need for order and peace in an environment.  I’m also trying to understand how this is my mom’s home, as I clearly got the need for everything clean and in its place from her!  But what I see and smell instead is so far removed from how my mom would have lived that I have to take a minute and refocus. 

Crowded in this tiny space I see a few pieces of furniture, some I recognize, some unidentifiable substitutions since these living quarters she had been moved to would not accommodate all of her personal things.  Plus, most of her belongings had been sold in an estate sale we had no knowledge had occurred until after the fact.  Heart break… get in line with all the others related to my mom.  

I just keep picking up on offensive odors, some of which is due to the flood, some is due to the age of these few belongings which have endured a lifetime of use but some is due to an elder’s body that is no longer cooperating with dignity. 

Before accepting the invitation to walk around and take what I want from the meager few belongings that are left, I self soothe as I sense a tear trigger coming.  So, I stroke my own forehead as a mother who brushes the hair and scary things away from her beloved child’s mind.  Did my mom ever do that to me to bring comfort?  I have no memory of it ever happening. 

I glance over my shoulder to the kitchen as my possible first place to begin and peer through the petite space that barely left room to walk, let alone have items jammed in which had been cleared from other rooms. Suddenly, I detect alarm on the countenance of the Care Giver as our eyes meet and I soon learn why she wore that face of fear.  She is perched at the teeny laminate countertop, hovering over pieces of paper which were squares of sepia, yellow, black and white and other faded, muted colors.  These papers are curled and torn, and I quickly realize those were our childhood pictures.  In trying to salvage them they are being ripped apart from having become stuck together when they got wet in the flood. Attempts to uncurl and separate only led to them snapping right back to attention into a tight roll or removing parts of pictures leaving a blank white piece of paper instead.  This tear trigger is too difficult to hold back, and the mist begins to sting my eyes as I declare out loud, “No, no, no!  Those were the only thing I truly wanted that was left!”  Never having been granted access to possess any of them before, now that they are mine yet I can’t devour every detail on them is just too much! I feel the memories I need to refresh my mind slip through my fingers.

I dab my eyes and decide to explore what I can see.  Is that my brother as a baby?  Here’s me!  There’s my dad holding me!  Here’s all of our family!  That’s my sister, not me.  Who’s that guy?  I show my husband a few of me so he would know what I looked like as a baby, toddler, and little girl and flash back to a few sweet childhood memories.  The tears are now more than a mist, and a few betray my attempts to hold them back and slip over and down my cheeks.

My husband, Kurt, is my gentle yet strong partner in life who now comes to my rescue.  His background in Insurance Restoration for sixteen years kicks in gear and he comforts me with more than his arms.  He reassures by informing us that we need to not try to pull them apart but get them to a freezer and then to a company that can process them in a way that will salvage some.  The ones where faces and other images were already ripped off, unfortunately, even though done with good intention, are beyond restoration.

It’s time to move on so I carefully step, avoiding objects and equipment as I move through each tiny section of this apartment.  This is foreign to me and I believe this would have never been a choice of my mother in her pre-dementia life.  I've been assured by the Senior Advocate that she's done her best with what she had to work with which wasn’t much since a previous Care Giver had stolen not only thousands of dollars and probably other items from my mom, but also stole her opportunity to live in a place of the standards for which mom would have chosen for herself.

Tear triggers come in waves as I see books on shelves that speak volumes of what was going on in my mom’s mind and heart.  I see titles for soul healing, how to get peace, how to get the love you want, how to have joy with stress, why bad things happen to good people.  I see one I gave her back in the 90’s for how to live and not die when she was given only 3 months to live with a death sentence of Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer.  (That’s a story for another time of God’s perfect love, healing and miracles.) There’s another book I gave her of how God sings over us with his beautiful and unimaginable love and I try to remember mom singing.  I don’t have memory of her singing to us but I remember her humming as she would cook.  What a great cook she was and I love that I inherited that from her as does Kurt’s and my kiddo’s tummies!  I see the infamous vintage, red Betty Crocker Cookbook and I grab it, delighted to discover some of her own personal recipes tucked inside. I open it and run my fingers over the food speckled pages of her favorite choices.

I move to furniture with drawers and slowly pull each one open, hesitant, slightly afraid of what I might discover. I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to see these hidden things of hers that may have been meant for her eyes only.  More tear triggers as I see her distinctive cursive handwriting on legal pads…she wanted to get Invisalign?  Why didn’t she just go ahead and do it? Again, I see where I got something from her, with my previous misaligned bottom teeth just prior to me getting Invisalign.  Meal plans, doctor appointments and other random reminders lace the pages. I continue to turn in hopes to catch glimpses of notes she had made to herself that would give me more insight into her life since most was private and not conveyed to us kids.  I didn’t discover much more that made sense to me but I caught myself smiling at the realization that she randomly places diagonal notes all over the pages.  I do that too!  I’ve never understood why I do that when note taking, (unless I know someone is going to read them and then I’m more intentional to put them in ordered fashion). I snatch her retro flip open address book, thinking maybe I will discover a distant relative I know nothing about as mom shared very little with me about our family members.

I move to her closet and feel that dreadful distress seizing my soul again. I take a deep breath and boldly look at what remains on the hangers.  These are her clothes.  I smell her too sweet perfume intermingled with the unwelcome odors of the apartment.  I have to stop, and now my head bends with the heaviness of a shoulder shake cry.  This time I don’t even try to block the sobs.  The Care Giver quietly leaves the room to give me space.

I take a bit of time and then look up. In front of me, I see her flashy belts and another smile takes over like the sun’s rays bursting through the clouds.  My mom had her own classic style.  I look at the intricate details of the blingiest belts and I feel joy creeping in.  She didn’t care how old she was, she was gonna wear those belts by golly! 

A little refreshed, I move on to a hall closet and see a flamboyant cane hanging, with its imprints that shimmer like the iridescence of mother of pearl. I choose to look at it not as a crutch for a woman who could no longer support her own weight or move without its assistance but instead welcome the fact that it has its own brand of beauty.  I smile again that my mom selected a cane with that flair.

  

On her wall still hangs the portrait she had made of herself, large and in charge!  I’ll be honest.  I never liked it as to me it represented one of the things I felt defined my mom and our relationship.  I used to glance at it and see a woman who was totally self-absorbed, only caring about her own needs.  I used to see a narcissistic woman who refused to reach out for any reason unless it profited or benefited herself in some way. But today, instead of looking away in disgust, I move closer and instead see a woman who was lovely, energetic, took great care of herself, there’s that classic style, the white frosted nails that were ALWAYS her color of choice, the nose where it’s clear I get mine from, the large brown eyes where again, it’s clear I get mine from. 

And then I see it!  I move in even closer and study that vivacious expression on her face that is relatable to me as well.  That sass is actually proclaiming, “I will go on until I can no longer, and I will face what the world gives me to the best of my ability.”  Although truly it was self-preservation in it’s destructive form, I realize, that although from my perspective it was failure as a mother, I can see from hers, it was the best she could do to keep going in a life that gave her fear and pain.  It was her way to dig down, pull strength from her resolve, ultimately survive from whatever she had to and persevere.

 

This was the graphic on the wall, down the hall a bit from her room:

So although this day was excruciating to me because of decades of emotional abandonment, I can be grateful I was given enough glimpse into my mom’s heart to give me better understanding of her.  This is a gift which also gave me more understanding of myself as well as a place of beauty and peace.  

God is able to turn all things around for our good so in that I am grateful that He is still in control.  I can trust He’s got all this, He’s got my mom and He’s got me.  He’s got all my loved ones, so I can rest in that, giving every tear for him to place in a bottle, (Psalm 56:8).  My heart matters to Him and He is there to catch and heal every wound. Nothing escapes His grasp and I am grateful He brings peace through His sweet and lovely presence; through the heart and arms of my husband, through my incredible children who are my treasure and through others who are so gracious to pray or offer their heart connections as well.  

We will all have life events that we wish we could avoid, but I am so thankful we have the WAY to work through it and process in a healthy manner that eventually leads to freedom and gifts for others when they go through life events they wish they could avoid.  I am thankful for this day with my mom and the few things that were left of hers through which I had the gift of revelatory doors as well as the door to my heart opening wider than ever before.  It is well with my soul.

Disobedience for Years

I have been in disobedience for years.  It’s been ever present on my mind and heart, but something always intercepted my attempts to move forward.  So many things vied for my attention that were worthy of that focus: growing children, growing grandchildren, growing a relationship with the man I would eventually marry, growing a business with my husband, growing in personal ways.  So, what is this which I have shown disregard and allowed myself to be deceived with intentions instead of intentional actions?

It’s a book.  A book I lived out in my life’s experience.  It’s an incredible account that when I share it with others, I am met with jaws dropped, frozen in time with sheer disbelief that such an ordeal actually happened to someone they know, since it sounds like an episode from one of those weekly investigative journalism TV shows.  Details of this narrative are interwoven with demonstrations of abuse of power and greed.  This is a story of innocent ones being exposed to toxic chemicals with toxic mindsets to match from the adults who neglected care for them in order to accomplish their own selfish agendas.  It occurred in the late 1980’s and early 90’s.  It needs to be shared not only because of the atrocities that occurred to elementary school children and teachers, but also my desire is that it will give hope and encouragement from my journey through toxicity to wellness: spiritually, mentally and ultimately physically.

Intrigued?  Perhaps you are wondering why, if it’s truly as monumentally significant as I claim, haven’t I shared it yet. Initially, I was going to write it once I was settled into a new home routine with the resultant disability that ended my decade of teaching in the public-school system.  When I was rendered no longer able to teach, I suffered from grief over loss of that which I loved.  I was now home-bound 24/7 as a bubble-lady; strongly reactive to everything from perfume to typical building materials ubiquitous in our indoor environments yet which rendered me incapacitated. What most people heartily breathe in every day, would send me collapsing down to the floor, flopping around like a fish out of water with grand maul seizures. However, with the determination to survive for the sake of my children, I leveraged unconditional love and fierce momma bear protection for them to fully recover from a disease little was known about.  At the onset, most thought it was just a psychological issue; and I was painted as that crazy lady who thinks she’s sick all the time; until it started to happen with others, which included our Gulf War vets and even a Missouri Department of Health building; of all places.  

With my attempts to purge from myself and carefully place onto paper, every detail I had recorded in my own private journals, I discovered with writing the first few chapters, that it was so raw with what had been stolen from me that I just word vomited out my bitterness and unforgiveness against everyone from school officials to my now ex-husband and his family. I had to put away the toxic words that were a result of my toxic mindset and heart.

It was a few years later, after my own personal journey to deliverance, and a newfound love affair with Jesus, that I decided it was time to rewrite from a posture of wellness and contentment.  It was now being birthed from a different viewpoint; one in which bitterness was transformed into gratitude.  If not for that horrific time in my life that seemed to rob me of every possession and everything dear, (with the exception of my precious children,) I would not have had my heart, mind and life transformed.  This metamorphosis brought forth lovely gifts from what was initially ugly and broken.  In my desperate search so as not to die and leave my children to grow up without their mother, I had to find a way to freedom from the daily torment of having my life reduced to rubble.  I eventually found the only One who could bring me to a healthy and whole state of being.  I came to Jesus as I was; an unsightly mass of clay which He lovingly molded into a vessel that could now be used to serve others in a way we only can when we allow the Potter to work His glory on the Potter’s wheel.  

I made it through the rewrite of the first few chapters of this incredible account.  This time it had a freshness that made it a pleasant and fascinating experience to dive into the pages from what I recorded of the early events that first school year in a newly constructed elementary wing. Sadly however, all too soon, I allowed the busyness of life to steal all my attention and I was no longer focused on the finished product.  That manuscript found its way, yet again, into a dark, desk drawer.

A few years later, with a new husband and a new life, a rewrite was in order and I made it to chapter 13!  Then, with a lack of self-discipline, I allowed the momentum I was gaining to erode into inactivity once again.  I permitted my pursuit of writing to escape my grasp as I just would not motivate myself to stick to the very simple and consistent daily routine which allowed for each chapter of my life to play itself out: devotional time with God, work out at the gym, work our business which was now from home, write, and meals.  Although this was not complicated, something seemed to deter my attempts to persevere with my writing. I felt invisible chains restraining me like those tiny ropes in Gulliver’s travels that held him down, albeit from a far weaker source of strength than Gulliver himself.  I felt imprisoned by lack of motivation to write.

One more pledge to write followed a few years later and I was declaring my “commitment” to get it finished this time!  When was that?  According to my Facebook Timeline Memory; five years ago!  Now my jaw was the one dropping!  How could that much time possibly have passed?  Hadn’t it just been a year; two at most?!

Just as I have been transported through time with the decades which have passed, so has my manuscript with the technological advances of how we produce and save documents.  What started on an IBM Selectric typewriter morphed into a DOS computer. I was exhilarated to watch my orange, boxy font from the analog screen feed onto a cheerful sounding Dot Matrix printer that would zip, line by line, across the single feed perforated paper; the signal of the end of that day’s writing.  The medium to save that prized document was a floppy disk, then a hard disk drive, then CD’s, now to the Cloud, which, where is that anyway?

My point in calling myself out here is that time passes far more quickly than we ever realize or understand.  Those very important gifts, if not intentionally executed and given away, will die with us.  There is one thing I fear more than any other, and that’s to step on over to the next phase of eternity having not completed all the reasons I was given life on Earth.  I hope I’m not readdressing this again in another five years but will be able to welcome the completion of a manuscript that I pray will bless others far beyond what I am able to fathom. 

I have a vintage typewriter, a gift from my father who loved his typewriter business, and it sits perched on the top shelf of my modern farmhouse bookcase.  It’s behind my kitchen office, intentionally exposed as a reminder.  That charming little typewriter, which someone’s fingers painstakingly plucked away on each key, reminds me every time I turn around or walk through the kitchen, that first and foremost, are the priorities of that which we are to complete in the time-frame we are called.  What we are to accomplish will be interwoven in a timeless manner with how we bless and impact others in serving with our gifts and callings.  Our gifts and callings also are creative outlets as an expression of ourselves. How that is created and expressed is as multidimensional as we are as humans; each unique and beautiful.

Regret is not what I want to have when my journey here is complete.  I believe that is the greatest tragedy when life is ending. Another reminder that gift from my father brings is that time here is short to bring impact to others as he was only on Earth a brief 62 years.  

I pray for all of us that we finish this incredible race, having run well and having accomplished our purpose(s) for why we are here for such a time as this.  May you be blessed as you utilize your gifts to bless others! 

God is My Everything-But What About Everyone Else and Thing I Desire?

Waking up a bit later than usual, I shuffle downstairs making my way through a myriad of toys deposited by dogs and grandkids.  My goal is to head straight to my first cup of much needed coffee.  I smile as I see my sweet husband has already finished the prep work of putting just the right amount of creamer in my favorite mug which sits on the counter-top along with the Keurig canister filled with my preferred brand of coffee. I place the lovingly arranged container into the brewer and wait for what seems longer than it really is, until I can have that first sip and emit my ritualistic morning, “ahhhhh”.  I am now ready to greet the morning that has already greeted me.  Watching our three precious ginger babies interact with their own morning rituals, I smile again as I am grateful.  I get to experience these memory making moments because my beloved daughter and her beautiful family are living with us for the interim while their house is under construction to finish up the final touches.  The dynamics of two adults and one pup has now dramatically but favorably shifted to four adults, three children age ranges ten to four and two dogs; one rambunctious pup less than a year old and the other whom we lovingly refer to as “the old man”. 

The kids and fur babies and I exchange some warm hugs and my heart floods with love again as I hear those sweet voices enthusiastically say, “Good morning, Nana!”  Their bright smiles are enough to bring sunshine to this drizzly Saturday morning.  I have to use self-discipline to not just park on the couch to continue to drink in not only my warm mug full of coffee caramel goodness but also drink in the giggles of those cherished children.  So I gather up my bible, journal, prayer cards which are for specific people and prayers I declare every morning, and head back upstairs to have quiet time uninterrupted.  I treasure those “interruptions”, but I have to focus in order to spend time with the One I am most grateful for, my Lord.

To truly enter into His presence, I find anointed music, coming from the hearts of those who likewise are in love with Jesus, and in so doing I am taken straight into the throne room of grace and peace.  There is power in that place and if I go and give my heart with total abandon, I receive far more than I give.  I don’t understand why we get so much in return for so little, but I don’t question the goodness of our God.

As I am listening and even quietly singing along with my raspy, morning voice only a father could love, I begin to hear the words from a familiar song, only this time they leap into my heart with a force not typical for when I have heard it in the past.  I sharpen my focus as I recognize this is a manner in which my Father speaks to me as He is choosing to impart a fresh revelation.  

Sinking Deep by Hillsong Young & Free

Standing here in Your presence
In a grace so relentless
I am won
By perfect love

Wrapped within the arms of heaven
In a peace that lasts forever
Sinking deep
In mercy's sea

CHORUS
I'm wide awake
Drawing close
Stirred by grace
All my heart is Yours
All fear removed
I breathe You in
I lean into Your love
Your love

VERSE
When I'm lost You pursue me
Lift my head to see Your glory
Lord of all
So beautiful

Here in You I find shelter
Captivated by the splendor
Of Your face
My secret place

BRIDGE
Your love so deep
Is washing over me
Your face is all I seek
You are my everything

Jesus Christ
You are my one desire
Lord hear my only cry
To know You all my life

I connect with this song in what I experience with this intimate time of sharing hearts with Jesus, but in particular, the words of the Bridge impact me profoundly.  I realize as I hear the words, “Jesus Christ, You are my ONE DESIRE” that I relate but also feel slightly troubled.  I try to process the quandaries my heart and mind have with that statement and I finally go to Him.  With full disclosure of that which was hidden, I pour out my heart and put words to what has now been exposed. 

So I state, “Lord, I know my love for You has matured to a place I now truly love You above all others.  To my surprise, I discovered that in finally making You my first love, my love for all others has deepened and is more meaningful.  But when I hear you are my ONE desire, I have to confess, I deeply desire others in addition to You.”  I wait in the quiet as I sense that with this morning’s revelation I am soon to obtain the answer, with no guilt or fear, knowing I am not angering my kind Lord who loves to reveal mysteries to us when we go to that undisturbed place with Him.  

I begin to ponder that He is all and in all. (Colossians 3:11)  He doesn’t just love us but He IS love. (1 John 4:8)  His presence cannot be contained as He fills the heavens and the Earth. (Jeremiah 23:24) All things belong to Him. (Hebrews 2:10) These separate scriptures began to string together to form the answer to how I could still have Him be my ONE desire, yet still desire others and other things! 

With revelation as a light bulb illuminating my mind, I arrived at this: He is part of every relationship I have; He is in and owns the material things He wants to bless me with; He is everywhere I go; and as I love or am loved, it is Him in action with the most powerful aspect of His nature.  So even though these people or things may seem separate, they are all interwoven in the fabric of Him and the multifaceted endless person of His being.  In seeing these other treasures in my life, I am seeing Him.  In experiencing the beauty of other people, places or things, I am seeing His beauty. In deeply loving others or being loved by them, it His love I am giving and receiving.

I am grateful for this new freedom in Him to truly enjoy richly everything He has given us. (1 Timothy 6:17)  I think sometimes we get so caught up in distress that we are trespassing some religious boundary so we can’t fully enjoy people or things for fear of them becoming an idol.  The only way that can happen is if we forget the realization of Who gave us everything we have; if we dismiss Him when we are loving others or receiving that love; if we aren’t thankful for what He has given us but just take relationships or things for granted; if we aren’t mindful of Him in all these people and things, then we are in danger of making that person or thing an idol.  But if we filter all things through Him first, just like that morning cup of coffee dripping through the container of what held the grounds that created that delicious cup of coffee for me, then we will be able to truly enjoy this gift of life He has given us in Him, the One who is Life. (John 14:6)