Tag Archives: faith

The Altars We Didn’t Know We Made (or Needed)

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Remember me
Though I have to say goodbye
Remember me
Don’t let it make you cry
For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart
I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart

Remember me
Though I have to travel far
Remember me
Each time you hear a sad guitar
Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be
Until you’re in my arms again
Remember me

REMEMBER ME (LULLABY)

Let’s be honest—thanks to popular culture, there is curiosity around El Día de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. This Mexican holiday is celebrated on November 1 and 2 to honor and remember deceased loved ones. It is a joy-filled remembrance of life that involves building altars (ofrendas) with offerings, visiting and/or decorating graves, and sharing memories with family. The holiday blends ancient Mesoamerican and Spanish traditions into a celebration that welcomes the spirits of the dead for a brief reunion.

In recent years, this observance has taken on new meaning for me as more loved ones have passed from this life. It may sound selfish, but the idea of dedicating time to remember the most important people in our lives feels far more significant than some of the material-centered holidays we often celebrate. And while Día de los Muertos can be a grand, communal celebration, it can also be quietly observed in solitude.

Lately on social media, many creators have shared their stories, videos, and photos of their ofrendas. Some are elaborate and ornate, while others are simple and serene. Both are equally meaningful. At the same time, I’ve noticed conversations about who is “allowed” to participate, with some insisting on cultural credentials to take part in this day of remembrance. Yet, the overwhelming sentiment remains: we’ve all experienced loss, and the desire to honor those who shaped us is something universal.

A few days ago, I began putting out my Halloween decorations. As a 50-year-old empty nester, I don’t need to do this—and some might argue I shouldn’t—but Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. I have such fond memories of it from childhood and of celebrating it with my own kids. What started as a plan to display a few old photos of my kids in their costumes quickly turned into a full-blown decorating session. On the built-in shelves, I decorated every corner, including two spaces where I already have photos of my mom and mother-in-law, and my sweet dog, Madeline.

These memorials stay out year-round. In realizing that, I saw that I had already created my own version of an ofrenda—a quieter one, perhaps, but deeply meaningful. It’s something I see every day. A space that holds memories 24/7. A space I could never imagine packing away. Every time I look at it, I thank God for blessing me with such beautiful souls in my life, even if only for a season.

In the Bible, altars were sacred spaces for worship, sacrifice, and offering—first built by Noah, Abraham, and others. They were places of remembrance, of unity, of meeting with God. Thinking about that reminds me of one of my favorite passages, Joshua 4:6–7, where God tells His people to stack stones by the Jordan River as a lasting reminder of what He did for them:

“In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them…”

Both the altar and the memorial stones tell the same story: that remembering matters. That marking what—and who—has shaped us is a sacred act.

I’m not going to tell you to build an altar in your home or decorate an ofrenda. But I will encourage you to make space for remembrance—a moment, a corner, a conversation, or even a prayer—to honor those who came before you and hold space in your heart. Whether through tradition, faith, or personal reflection, remembrance roots us in gratitude.

After all, memory itself is sacred.

Now, tell their stories.

None of Us are Good at Tragedy

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All of the wrong things will be said.

And we will never hear enough of the right things.

The sadness, shock, and the fact that most of us are ill-equipped to deal with the bad stuff, the sad stuff, the unexpected, and especially grief means that we will likely screw things up. And we will screw it up more than once. I’ll say it again, none of us are good at tragedy.

As news of the D.C. crash broke, our sadness and disbelief quickly moved into blame, conspiracy theories, and political division.

If you’ve ever found yourself in a situation where you needed to offer grace, empathy, sympathy, aid, or any kind of support, you know that these things are not easy to do. Most of us spend our lifetime trying to avoid the bad stuff. It makes sense. None of this comes naturally. We are all flawed humans. No one wants to be in a situation like this. And yet, the reality is that we will experience tragedy and experience it more than once.

In these vulnerable times, we feel the need to clap back, answer back, and make sure that we’re heard…and maybe we shouldn’t. As we try to “do something,” soothe our own anxiety and find reason and explanation for the unexplainable, our sadness manifests itself as anger. Rather than crying, we lash out or worse—we post a zillion things on social media. According to therapists, everyone wants to be helped, heard, or hugged in times of stress or crisis. So often, in our attempts to satisfy these needs ourselves, we take the easiest route and cast blame while screaming at the top of our lungs, “This isn’t fair! It’s not right!” And it isn’t. The hardest part of tragedy and grief exists in the silence. Seeking to be helped, heard, or hugged may meet a need in the moment, but true healing is a long and slow process.

We can’t win here. People want answers, demand answers, and in the haste to give the people answers, we can say some pretty nasty things. We say unhinged things. We say dismissive things. We even make up things. We’ve been conditioned or maybe entitled to feel like we need to know and we need to know right now. Oftentimes we turn to authority figures, experts, and the news media for answers forgetting that they, too, are flawed humans who are also not good at tragedy. We love to make our politicians, law enforcement, religious leaders, and anyone who we don’t like or agree with into the enemy when we should be coming together in love, empathy, and understanding. While we can’t do much in these times of tragedy, we can honor others by offering prayers and extending peace.

You already know this, but these things are cyclical. We have quickly moved from disbelief and sadness to blame and now we’re learning the stories of the lives of the precious souls on Flight 5342 and in the helicopter that night. We mourn the loss while seeking answers and then we will wait. The news cycle, the political discourse, and life move on.

I am not good at tragedy. My heart has been broken enough times to know that this is part of life and no one escapes it. I take seriously the call to do no harm and offer my deepest condolences to the families and friends of those lost.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

A (Figurative) Kneeler in Every Home (A Call to Act Rather than Complain)

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As a kid, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house. I credit her with teaching me so many things (some of the biggest parts of my personality I can directly attribute to her), but the most important thing she taught me was how to pray. Through her, I learned that I was created on purpose and for a purpose. She took me to church and reminded me that God loved me unconditionally. She showed me that nothing was beyond forgiveness. In my opinion, she was the greatest example of a Christian woman I have ever known.

In her home, she had a kneeler. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a home with its own kneeler (before or since). It was a beautiful piece, made of wood with a lovely stain and it had a velvety cushion for your knees. (There’s a chance that my Papa made it, but I’m not 100% sure.) If you’ve never seen a kneeler I asked AI to generate what I can remember and the above rendition is pretty close. I was absolutely enamored with it! It was like having a church in your own house! The kneeler was designed to fit an adult, so as a small child, I couldn’t kneel and rest my hands on the top to pray. I knew you weren’t supposed to stand on the cushion, so what was a kid to do?

My grandma told me that you didn’t need a kneeler to pray. You could pray anywhere and at any time. While I knew that someday I would be able to reach the top of the kneeler, that little piece of assurance stuck with me. As a kid, I was plagued with nightmares. Praying helped. I’ve been a news junkie since I was in grade school and knowing about a big scary world caused me to worry and fear. Praying helped. Moving away from home and my support network was hard. Praying helped. Notice that I said that praying helped. It didn’t magically solve everything, but what it did do was deepen my faith and relationship with God. A God who pursues each of us, who hears and understands our worries and concerns, and reminds us that we are not alone even on the most friightening days.

It’s disheartening to know that so many disregard the power of prayer. It’s become a mode of attack in our modern culture to mock those who extend thoughts and prayers in times of crisis or as a way of offering comfort. Understand that praying people know that they are not lifting up their worries to a genie in the sky who will magically fix the ills of the world. Those of us who pray know that God is so much larger than that interpretation. The power of prayer is in the communication with our Creator. This is not lip service. Fervent prayer is action. It is often through prayer that we are called to act AND do more as we respond to the needs of others.

In the uncertainty of this new year, I have seen so many seek to complain and rile up their circles and communities. Many are calling out others, dividing families and friend groups, asking each other to take sides, and demonizing those who have differing thoughts and opinions. Several are canceling those who they once considered close and blocking people who they once called family or friends. This does so much more harm than good and it’s not taking place among those who don’t believe, this is happening within our own churches and communities of faith.

This is now a time for real in-depth conversations, in-person relationships, and profound listening. These things don’t take place in news stories, political chatrooms, or on social media. They take place around the table, in homes, and with open minds and hearts.

Please do not contribute to the hate, division, and fear that currently surrounds us. Pray and ask for discernment. Ask God to use you. Think before you speak (or post) so that you can be a source of hope and peace. Prayer is action. In this distressed world, many only contribute to the anxiety by spreading information that has not been fully researched or confirmed. News and information move at lightning speed and it is easy to get caught up in this vicious whirlwind.

At this point, I am again reminded of my grandma and her assurance that we can pray anywhere and at any time. I am more certain than ever that we need a (figurative) kneeler in every home to pray and hear God’s call and we need real-life, in-person conversations to listen and respond with compassion in order to truly make a difference, even if it’s only in our own tiny corner of the world.

This is not lip service. Fervent prayer is action.

In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears. Psalm 18:6

Puppy Tales: In Loving Memory of Maddie

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Madeline Rose Spencer, April 2008-September 2023

“Dogs leave paw prints on your heart.”

—Anonymous

Everyone should have a cup of coffee with a dog. Just try to make sure it’s not the same cup. More on that in a moment….

Losing a dog is hard. No one tells you just how hard it will be. After almost fifteen years, our Maddie is gone. She was the absolute best dog. That’s easy for me to say, but I wholeheartedly believe it. I had no idea what we signed up for when we brought her into our home. She was a gift for my son’s 7th birthday and as crazy as it sounds, we found her on Craigslist. Really. We loaded up the “swagger wagon” (our minivan) and hotfooted it 70 miles north to Lindsborg, Kansas to pick her up. The whole thing was sketchy. Really. Top to bottom sketchy, but we headed back home with a four month old Aussie and some super excited kids in the backseat.

I always claimed to be a dog person, but the reality is that I was more of a dog-adjacent person. Meaning that I like dogs (way better than cats) but I had also never had a dog of my own. Sure we had dogs growing up, however, they weren’t my responsibility. EVER. I can recall letting the dogs in and out and occassionally feeding them, but that’s the extent of my dog experience.

My son, Sean, always wanted a dog. ALWAYS. He had a stuffed dog as a baby and just seemed naturally drawn to dogs. He wanted a dog as a toddler. He wanted a dog as a preschooler. He wanted a dog…well, you get the picture. We told him that as soon as we had a house with a fenced backyard we would get a family dog. In July 2008, we moved into a house and had a dog by September. He held us to our word.

I could write novels on all of Maddie’s adventures. She was a herding breed and exercised that trait over and over. The poor kids were frequently rounded up and pinned up against trees, fences, the house…you name it. The more they screamed, the more excited Maddie got. Maddie was tiny when we got her, but it’s hard to imagine her that way because she grew up alongside the kids. My daughter, Casey, baptized Maddie an innumerable amount of times and both kids taught her tricks. She escaped the backyard on Christmas Day resulting in the Great Snowscape of 2008. Maddie knocked our Christmas tree over too many times to count. We discovered she had an affinity for sugar cookies…both baked and unbaked, resutling in several cookie capers and vomit. There was Maddie’s Deep Depression Era the summer when her fur was shaved to all of our horror! She was incredibly protective. She let her presence be known every time someone came in or out of the house. She nipped at everyone, even Sean and Casey whom she saw every day. We’re pretty sure she only actually got a hold of one person’s backside, but I can’t verify this. This dog. Oh, how we loved her.

Maddie was named after the character with the same moniker from “The Suite Life of Zach and Cody” show on Disney Channel. I started calling her Madeline because I love the Madeline books and I felt like it had a little more gravity when I was trying to be stern with the dog…this of course never worked. Maddie or Madeline, she remained indifferent and only listened when it suited her.

I’m grateful for the time we had together. Our family is better for it. Maddie brought joy, laughter, antics, adventures, and occasionally bewilderment to our household. She was all personality. She was the softest dog on the planet, and I can say this with all certainty because that was one of the most common compliments she received. She was beautiful and at almost 15 years had practically no gray at all to her coat. We loved to take photos and videos of her…running, playing with her toys, catching the ball, sleeping on the couch when she wasn’t allowed to be on the furniture…you get the picture. Casey had some of the best photos of her. Of course, Maddie wouldn’t pose…even if you bribed her, but Casey managed to get some great shots. I’m glad we have these reminders to keep her memory alive.

I’ll share my absolute favorite Maddie story now: Everyone should have a cup of coffee with a dog. Just try to make sure it’s not the same cup. When Maddie was a puppy she quickly became my sidekick. Not because I was her favorite (far from it), but because I was the one she got stuck with at home. Every morning Steve and kids would leave for work and school and Maddie would be with me. If you know me, I am not a morning person and thus coffee is vital for survival. I had the same routine. Get everyone out the door, pour myself a cup of coffee, set it on the coffee table in the living room and head back to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of Cheerios. We had one of those hand-me-down, low level ’70s coffee tables, the perfect height to put your feet up on or rest your coffee cup, but also the perfect height for a puppy to indulge herself in a new treat. Of course, Maddie wasn’t greedy. She’d just take a few licks from the top…while I was grabbing my breakfast. I was new to dogs, she was new to coffee and it was probably two weeks before I knew what she was doing. Caught in the act, I poured out the coffee, recalled the scene from Charlie Brown where Lucy goes nuts about dog germs, and started a new routine. If you’re going to walk away from your coffee cup, make sure it’s on a tall (very tall) surface. You might wonder how I wasn’t aware of this before, but as I mentioned earlier, I was a dog-adjacent person. Maddie and I, we learned together.

My coffee cup is safe now. I wish it wasn’t.

We love you, Maddie-girl. You are missed a thousand times every day.

A home without a dog is just a house.

anonymous

This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (Halloween Edition)

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This song has been on repeat in my brain for several days now, almost like it’s haunting me. Not because I’m a Swiftie, not because of the recent Taylor and Travis love story (of which I am a big fan,) and not because I heard it on the radio recently. So obviously, I’ve been a little spooked as to what has triggered my most recent earworm.

This is why we can’t have nice things, darling
Because you break them, I had to take them…

TAYLOR SWIFT

I will admit that the song title has practically become a permanent part of my vocabulary lately. I’m not necessarily singing it, but I am saying it quite a bit. It’s become my standard response to politics, pop culture, the daily news, and especially relationships— “this is why we can’t have nice things.” Basically, it’s my feeble attempt to explain why things go wrong, people can’t get along, and miscommunication abounds. In other words, we’re all imperfect humans who don’t know how to talk to each other and so we take the easy road (and not the high road as some might have you believe) and we default to the cut-off. (Insert scream here!)

It’s become my standard response to politics, pop culture, the daily news, and especially relationships— “this is why we can’t have nice things.”

hymningandhaing.com

We refuse to hear each other out. It’s early October and already I’ve seen three videos and heard one podcast giving talking points about how to shut down your annoying relative over Thanksgiving dinner. There are how-to articles with tips on how to cut-off just about every type of relationship imaginable: boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, parent/child, friends, coworkers, neighbors, acquaintances, and even strangers. What was once thought of as a jerk traffic manuever, cut-off has quickly become a scary way of life.

I’m not saying there aren’t reasons to cut people out of your lives. Clearly, there are. We all know that cut-off has been happening since the dawn of time. Still, it seems that with cut-off there’s a history of incidents or behavior between the parties involved where the cut-off might be warranted. This is why today’s new version of cut-off seems so violent. You can be talking to someone one day and then find yourself blocked or unfriended the next day. Yikes.

It’s almost as if cut-off has morphed into ghosting? (If you’re not familiar with ghosting, the dictionary defines it as the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.) It’s a little unnerving isn’t it? Unlike cut-off where there is an incident or series of incidences that lead up to the end of communication, ghostings often happens with no context whatsover. You exist, they exist, but you go about your lives as if you never knew each other. Creepy. Lately, I’ve been told by more than a handful of people that they’ve been ghosted by someone they thought they knew and trusted. Then poof…they’re gone.

At this point in my life, there’s been a lot of soul searching. I think it’s a natural part of maturing and aging. Maybe this is why this song has been resounding in my head AND my spirit. As we move into this political season and closer and closer to the holidays my heart is heavy. So often I’m reminded that relationships are the most important part of life. More important than jobs, money, status, ego…you name it. And yet here we are, so ready to throw people away. Is it really impossible for two parties to sit down and have a conversation? Perhaps find a way to air out their grievances and make amends? And if that’s not possible, at least understand the reason for the cut-off?

I can only speak for myself, but I have seen firsthand the pain and heartache associated with cut-off. I’m a big believer of forgiveness, living without regret, thinking before you speak, pausing before you act and trying to put myself in the other person’s shoes. None of which guarantees anything. But it’s a start. It’s scary out there. Without the effort, the song will hauntingly play on…”this is why we can’t have nice things.”

The tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood.

Henry David Thoreau

“Griefing”…Marking Three Years (A Life Interrupted)

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I’ve taken to making up words. I guess that’s what happens after three years. We’ve moved past the point of surviving and here we are in this new reality—”griefing.” No longer adjusting to life without Mom as we are in fact living our lives without Mom. As you can imagine, this brings about a whole new stage of sadness.

While in survival mode the days blurred together. My mind began noting all of the things she was missing. All the milestones, events, holidays and ordinary moments. I would catch myself saying, “Mom should be here.” In survival mode you look at the calendar and note how much time has passed. In this early stage of grief you remember where you were in the days leading up to her positive COVID test, ER visits, hospital stay and ultimately her death. In survival mode you are doing everything you can to just get by. Griefing is different.

Griefing is living daily with this neverending sorrow. I feel like it’s a permanent stage, one you can’t escape. It feels like a step that will neither get better nor worse. The memories exist, but we are now making memories without her. I hate this feeling. The sting is still there, the tears remain just below the surface and yet there is this awful resignation. Understanding that this is part of the human condition doesn’t make it better. Knowing that millions of people feel exactly the same way doesn’t make it any easier. It’s this hidden current that runs through society and no one wants to talk about it. Ever.

It’s interesting to me that in the aftermath of COVID we are hearing more about prolonged grief and complicated grief as mental health conditions. Many are receiving these diagnoses and seeking treatment. And while I understand that some of the characteristics of these conditions are severe (such as the inability to resume daily activites, etc) I also think that our failure to cope with loss has more to do with a lack of communication and overall empathy for one another. I could go on and on about the societal demand to resume our work schedule, home life and the call to return to “normal,” but these things have become a staple of modern living and will lkely never change.

There are some things in life that we will never fully understand, death being one of them. Losing my Mother has changed my perspective on so many things. I now posess a form of patience and compassion that surprises me to this day. I have been humbled in a way I could have never imagined. Empathy has changed how I react to everything. I am different now. I am griefing.

Writing has been my therapy, the best form of solace for my grief. Who knows where I will be in this journey a year from now, five years from now or even ten (if I am afforded that luxury). They say time heals all wounds. It doesn’t. I’ll stand by that.

“A Life Interrupted” is an ongoing series of blog posts dealing with the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Waiting on Wisdom (My Silent Midlife Crisis, Part VI)

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In the end, only three things matter:  how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.

Buddha

I love learning. In true full-blown nerd fashion, I try to absorb as much information as is humanly possible. I’m a big fan of non-fiction, listen and subscribe to a zillion podcasts and I can’t get enough news. I ask a lot of questions and I’m earnestly seeking answers in all things. Obviously, there’s both an upside and a downside to this approach.

Ingesting all this knowledge means that I can sometimes see interesting trends. For example, everyone’s talking about post-traumatic growth, grit and perseverance, and arguing about which “word of the year” deserves to be the actual “word of the year.” (Feel free to ask me about my personal favorite!) I have opinions on each of these subjects (and many more), but most recently, I’ve come across a lot of discourse on the seasons of life and living well—thus, this blog.

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought recently and I’ve come up with my own version of the seasons of life. Ancient philosophers divide life seasons into 25-year quadrants, but I’m not that particular. In fact, the realist in me knows that most of us won’t live to be 100 years old, so perhaps the quadrants are more like 20-year to 25-year intervals. Here’s what I’ve settled on:

  • education
  • action
  • purpose
  • wisdom

At age 47, I’m exiting the “action” season of my life and that feels about right. While I continue to be busy with family life, busy with career and starting a new business, and busy finding balance in all things…I feel like I’m looking for more. And I think that more is “purpose”. I want the things that I do and the areas that I spend the most time on to count for something. I want to know that my existence is benefiting others, even if it’s just my little corner of the world. I want to be a blessing and not a burden. I want to be deliberate in the choices that I make. I want to do all the right things, even if they’re also the hard things. I want this because I feel like it’s what will set me up for that fourth quadrant of life—wisdom.

To be perfectly honest, I’m waiting on wisdom. I have a million questions and maybe even a million more. Naturally observant, I want to know how things will pan out. I want to see if there’s actual fruit in the seeds that I’ve sowed. I want to know what I’ve gotten right and what I did wrong. I want to evaluate and reflect. On some level, I feel like for me, wisdom is going to equal peace. And that’s what I’m really after here.

Wisdom will lead you to a life of joy and peace.

Proverbs 3:17

2020 Hindsight (Words to Live By)

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Definition of twenty-twenty hindsight

: the full knowledge and complete understanding that one has about an event only after it has happened

I am not a resolution person, but I do believe in goal setting. And more than that, I believe that knowledge is power. I’ve come out of 2020, like many of you—wounded, weary and (hopefully) wiser. In the midst of all of the uncertainty of the past year, I’ve collected these tidbits…lessons learned in a year that no one could have anticipated.

Chase your stars fool, life is short. —Atticus Time is finite. Everything has an expiration date. I’m not a YOLO person, in fact, I actually hate that phrase because it connotes a sense of recklessness. Living life fully and chasing your dreams does require risk, but I don’t believe it has to be reckless. 2020 has taught me to live more fully in the present. Don’t just pause, but stop. Look people in the eye, listen more, (respectfully) speak your mind and remind yourself that you’re stronger than you think.

Everything you go through grows you. —Unknown Related to these wise words is a quote from Nelson Mandela, “I never lose. I either win or learn.” Life is hard, hearts get broken but how we respond to these things sets the course for how we move forward. Growing pains hurt and are often uncomfortable, but it’s vital that we learn to grow with grace.

We repeat what we don’t repair. #speaklife Most of us choose NOT to deal with emotions, past hurts, traumas, and especially grief. While this strategy may work in the short term, we all know that suppressing those feelings only causes us more pain in the end. And in worst-case scenarios, burying those hurts can cause us to act out in unhealthy ways and hurt ourselves or others. Be honest with yourself. Sometimes you have to rip off the bandaid to truly heal.

I am the kind of person who will restart a song because I got distracted and wasn’t appreciating it enough. —Unknown I’ve been known to do this…a lot! As I age, I realize more and more the value of giving something or someone your full, undivided attention. It’s harder than you might think, but worth it in the end. Always.

Stand close to people who feel like sunshine. —Unknown In parenting circles, a common rule of thumb is to make sure you know your kids’ friends. Children are greatly influenced by their peers and research shows that attitude is directly influenced by the five people you spend the most time with. To some degree, these same stats can be applied across all age groups. That being said, choose wisely. The company you keep has a direct correlation to your happiness and well-being.

The way we treat people we disagree with the most is a report card on what we’ve learned about love. —Bob Goff This is a tough one. I wholeheartedly believe in extending grace and kindness, but this is easier said than done. In today’s cancel culture and divisive political climate, it’s important to remember that no one moment or phrase defines any one person. We are all multi-faceted, complicated, imperfect people who make mistakes. How we respond to one another in moments like this exposes our true character.

Be careful who you trust. Salt and sugar look the same. —Unknown I thank God every day for the gift of intuition. While I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, I have learned many times over that not everyone has your best interest in mind and that not all intentions are good. Guard your heart.

No response is a response. —Unknown No response is hard and difficult. No response is rejection and hurt feelings…and no response is in fact a response. Despite our best efforts, we don’t always get the outcomes we desire.

Anger is just sad’s bodyguard. —Unknown I’ve noticed two dominant emotions during the past year…sadness and anger. I had never given much thought to these emotions as a pair, but can clearly see the connection now. Dealing with loss, having to hear “no” and living in fear of the virus has caused a large number of us to become defensive and mad. Viewing this anger as a result of sadness and disappointment helps us to see each other differently and respond with sensitivity.

Gut feelings are guardian angels. Listen to them. —Unknown I think women have the hardest time with this lesson. We’ve been taught to be nice and make nice. This is all well and good, but don’t do it at the expense of your well-being, peace of mind or safety. Trust your gut!

it is no small thing / to sing in the rain —courage Humans are resilient, 2020 has taught us that if nothing else. It may take a while, but don’t give up on yourself or a situation! What a testimony it is to learn to “sing” in the rain!

Grief is learning to live with someone in your heart instead of your arms. —Unknown This has been the hardest lesson. One that I’m continuing to learn, understand, and struggle with on a daily basis…my mother is gone from this earth but continues to live in me and in all those who loved her dearly.

Praying blessings, purpose and joy abound in 2021.

Cling to what is good… Romans 12:9

No Place OR Space to Sing (A Life Interrupted)

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Grief is just love with no place to go.  —Jamie Anderson, author

Not many know this about me, but I love to sing…and I sing all the time!  I have a deep love for all types of music…popular songs from the radio, church hymns, TV theme songs, little ditties from musicals, you name it—I’ve even been known to make up my own songs!  But here’s the thing, if we’re going to get real here, my love for singing is CONDITIONAL as I rarely sing in front of others.  And while I wouldn’t necessarily categorize myself as shy (more of an introvert…and yes, there is a difference,) I do come from a musical family so I think I may have some skill (?), it’s just that my love for music and singing, in particular, is a pastime (a pleasure) just for me.  

When the pandemic began and the Stay at Home order took effect, most of us found ourselves quickly adapting to our new circumstances and reorganizing our lives to accommodate working from home and for those of us with kids, the pros and cons of distance learning.  Since I already work from home I had become very used to having the entire house to myself from 8am-3:30pm every day during the week.  These hours, which I regretfully took for granted, allowed me to work, meet with clients, volunteer, and establish a schedule with plenty of introvert time…in other words, a place and a space to sing.  

During the first few weeks of the shutdown, I barely noticed the lack of song in my life.  With everyone homebound, daily life was consumed with trying to find a new rhythm, learning the ins and outs of Zoom meetings, and checking in on loved ones.  No singing with the bedmaking or laundry.  No singing while making a lunchtime sandwich.  No songs at the coffee pot.  Without kid pick-ups and drop-offs, travel to meetings, or even just outings for shopping, my drive-time concerts ceased, too.  It’s not that I wasn’t plugged in or without access—I felt like I was constantly connected to my iPhone and my earbuds were practically glued to my ears at all times!  The reality was that I just couldn’t find a time or a place to sing.  In some ways, it was like our average size home transformed into an HGTV tiny house overnight.  A tiny house with no place to sing.

I’m not sure how real singers manage, but for myself, I have to be in the mood to sing.  Singing is not something that I can just turn on or off.  Aside from being in a place to sing there are so many things to consider.  Music genre, tempo, and playlist.  It shouldn’t be this complicated and so if this sounds like it is, it’s just me.  This is my way.  Complicated.  And it’s not that I stopped listening to music during these early days of the pandemic, it’s just that I couldn’t sing.  Maybe, more like a feeling that I shouldn’t sing.

Easter came and went.  My birthday came and went.  Still no singing.  Then at the beginning of May, both my parents tested positive for COVID-19.  I’m going to state the obvious.  You need air to sing, and suddenly there simply was no air.  Up to this point, all the emotions that accompany a pandemic (stress, anxiety, weariness) were an undercurrent for me.  I’m a realist, I understood the risks when all this began.  I was not naive to think that our family would go untouched.  Yet, I worked hard to balance faith over fear.  With their diagnosis came a heaviness and a weight of worry and concern.  As my father recovered, my mother’s condition worsened…eventually she was hospitalized.  Like I said, you can’t sing without air.

My mother’s time in the hospital was filled with ups and downs, hope and trepidation, good days and bad days…and finally, the worst day.  

Nothing prepares you for grief. The day following her death, I found myself for the first time in many weeks alone in the car.  Settled in for a four-hour drive, I finally had a place to sing.  My first inclination was to turn on the radio, but it wasn’t to be.  Although I had a place to sing, there was just no space in my heart to sing.  Instead, I drove in silence.

In the past two months, I have experienced a vast array of emotions.  Some days have been a complete blur, as the time has both flown by and stood eerily still. As much as one can after loss, we have settled into the uncomfortable and are moving forward, it is the only option. Today, finding a place and a space to sing still remains challenging, but thanks to my daughter’s shared love of musicals (and the absurdly catchy “Hamilton”), I am again slowly finding my voice.  

Ironically, on my way to pick Casey up from soccer practice last week, the song “Drinking Problem” came on the radio along with a flood of memories.  My mother, who never had a beer in her life, loved this song!  My sister and I discovered this interesting tidbit while driving with her to my grandmother’s 90th birthday party last fall.  We were floored to learn that she knew every single word and wasn’t afraid to sing it out.  Through tears, neither was I.  In her memory, a place and a space to sing.

The Lord is my strength and my shield; in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song, I give thanks to HIm. —Psalm 28:7

“A Life Interrupted” is an ongoing series of blog posts dealing with the loss of my mother to COVID-19.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Humbling (Responding to a Pandemic)

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What humility does for one is it reminds us that there are people before me. I have already been paid for. And what I need to do is prepare myself so that I can pay for someone else who has yet to come but who may be here and needs me.

Maya Angelou

I am neither an optimist nor a pessimist.  I categorize myself simply as a realist.  Midlife will do that to you.  I fully believe in the good of mankind.  I have high hopes for myself and the human race.  I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I choose kindness and grace at every opportunity.  I believe in going the extra mile and not expecting anything in return. And yet, I confess that I’m skeptical.  I’ve seen enough to know that we (myself included) don’t always rise to the occasion.  We are flawed, broken, weary, judgmental, and more than these we are fully human seeking to serve self first.  We (again myself included) hate to hear the word “no.”  Pride is incredibly insidious and has earned its rightful rank as one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

In light of current events, both our collective and personal flaws have become more evident.  The hoarding is just the beginning.  The outright backbiting and blaming on social media, television, radio and in-person are a reminder that we are not operating as our best selves.  Dismissing and cutting down noted medical professionals and downplaying directives from our elected leaders demonstrates our inability to hear the word “no.”  My first thought was that this was entirely an American phenomenon, but that’s not the case.  Selfishness exists around the world.  We’re all guilty here.  People I know and love are presently operating out of this selfishness and privilege.  While we are collectively coping with this pandemic, the root of this global “me-first” perspective is pride.  And pride is a human condition, one than equally affects politicians, religious leaders, CEOs, celebrities, athletes, influencers, neighbors, family members, friends, you and me.

Yet, hope is not lost.  There is good.  I’ve seen it.  You’ve seen it.  We’re all trying.  And let’s be honest, some days are better than others.  I truly believe the difference maker here is humility.  The dictionary defines the word humble as not proud, haughty, arrogant, or assertive.  To be humble is to express deference or submission.  In a culture that values status and seeks accolades, it’s easy to note our lack of humility.  It’s not because we don’t understand the definition.  We do.  We just don’t like it.  We don’t value it. Plus, the messaging has always been confusing.  How am I supposed to stand up for myself, value myself, claim and proclaim my self worth, and cultivate healthy self-esteem if I put others above myself?  No one wants to be walked on, dismissed or set aside, and yet that remains the connotation.

The Bible offers us another perspective on humility.  One where we earnestly value others, where we understand that we’re all in this human experience together, one where my life is no more significant than any other life.  I have no right to anything or anyone.  My life is a gift and I’m called to live in response to that.  I have been claimed by an almighty and powerful God.  My eternity was bought and paid for by the sacrifice of a Savior.  I am not called to react, but only to respond.  And that response is humility.

Years ago I heard a Christian leader describe the Bible as God’s great love story.  It changed my perspective.  The Bible was no longer a collection of books, but one big narrative about a Creator and His creation.  My understanding grew.  I could see new and more meaningful connections not just between its chapters and characters, but between then and now.  The Bible became not just a love story but a living, breathing, and extremely timely on-going narrative for Christians today.  And that story continues.  As followers, our lives are an unwritten testimony for all to see.

The reality of the pandemic has weighed heavily on my heart.  My reflective nature and night owl tendencies have given me a lot of time to ponder.  When stress, worry, and anxiety fill my thoughts, I pray and think about the things I can control.  And I am grateful for a faith that I can rely upon.  I wholeheartedly believe that while these days are scary, uncomfortable, and unpredictable, there are lessons and blessings to be found.  Still, I am not naive.  We are largely walking through unchartered territory and we will all respond differently in the days, weeks, and months to come. Fear will take over at times.  Tensions will run high.  We will be tested.  We will fail.  And again, some days will be better than others.  But, there will be opportunities for us to be a light, to meet the needs of others, and most of all, opportunities to respond humbly.

Life isn’t a short game.  It is a journey.  Are you able, or more accurately, are you willing to make sacrifices, submit to those who know more than you do, and go without?  Can you pause, wait, and humble yourself before God and neighbor?  My prayer is that each of us will respond accordingly and do our part.  Stay home, wear the mask when necessary, and don’t forget to wash your hands.

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.   —James 4:10