The Sands of Time Blow Away Quickly

As I sat at the Panera drive-through waiting for my order last night, in the plaza in front of me sat the hair salon where my grandson Michael got his first haircut. He was such a cute little blondie, and he was very unhappy about the current situation, screaming loudly through the entire event. I think he was two at the time.

At nearly 14, Michael is now a fearless athlete, excelling at every sport he tries. It is so hard to believe that so many years have passed, and that little toddler who was afraid of a haircut is long gone.

It reminded me of how fast time flies as I sat there staring at the salon entrance. Seasons come and go so quickly, and it is so important to take time to be still, take it all in, and enjoy the moment. Don’t wish for tomorrow, because tomorrow will arrive soon enough, and you will be looking back at yesterday, wishing it was still here.

So how do we get better at living in the moment? My husband Danny is really good at it. He can be fully present with whatever is happening, with no thought of where we need to be next. I struggle with that. Always focusing on schedules and deadlines and pleasing other people, I tend to miss the joy of the present moment in anticipation of what I need to be doing after this, worrying about being on time, getting my work done, whatever the case may be. I am putting that on my list of personal goals for the second half of 2021, to improve my presence in each moment. Life is so short, I don’t want to miss a minute of it. Will you join me?

Shalom!

The Gift of Transparency

Have you ever noticed how good it makes you feel when a friend allows you to see their imperfections? Suddenly you no longer feel the need to be perfect yourself, or to measure up to what your idea of their perfection is.

This is a concept I have long been aware of but have struggled with personally through much of my life, especially in my younger years. I often felt I had to hide my true self out of fear that others wouldn’t think I was good enough, or may even think I was goofy. This keeps others from really knowing you. It also keeps you from becoming who you were created to be, because you are so busy trying to be the person you think everyone wants you to be that you never get the opportunity to be you.

One of the elements of the wisdom that comes with age is the shedding of this idea that we must be perfect to be loveable. Just 13 months from turning 60, I am finally getting better at losing some of the burden of thinking I have to pretend I am someone I am not. How liberating!

I had the blessing of allowing myself to be seen this week, and the best part of that experience was that I think it blessed someone else in the process. During a conversation with an acquaintance who is a peer in my industry, I let my guard down. This is someone who is highly respected by our peers, someone who seems to have it all together. During our conversation, she allowed the slightest hint that she is feeling disheartened with some things right now, and I decided I’m going in. The door was ajar, and I pushed it wide open, sharing with her how I have been feeling about some things, and she immediately responded in kind.

What a blessing! We both learned we are not alone! Not only are we not alone, but someone we respect and admire is in a similar place. So maybe we’re not so crazy after all! (Or if we are, at least we’re in good company!)

When was the last time you allowed yourself to be truly seen? Is there someone you could bless today by allowing them to see the real, imperfect you? You will find it liberating, and in the process may find a piece of yourself you’ve been missing!

Shalom!

Sage

As a musician, I often (in fact more times than not) awake with a song playing in my head. This morning I awoke with a change of pace – and the herb sage dancing in my thoughts.

Not one to ignore such whisperings of the Spirit, I decided to see what I could learn about this gray-green colored herb. I love its color. I feels like peace to me. I have always cooked with it, but I have never investigated it the way I have today.

According to rxlist.com, sage is used to address many ailments, including many digestive problems that challenge me (hmm). It is also used to reduce overproduction of perspiration and saliva, as well as for depression, memory loss and Alzheimer’s disease. Additionally, sage is used by women for painful menstrual periods, to correct excessive milk flow during nursing, and to reduce hot flashes during menopause. It can be applied directly to the skin for cold sores, gum disease, sore throat, and swollen nasal passages, as well as inhaled for asthma. In short, sage could address many symptoms that ail me – and I always thought of this herb as just a spice to cook with! (Insert another hmmm here … could there be a reason Spirit is whispering this herb to me in my waking moments?)

According to the beautiful book Herbs – Gardens, Decorations, and Recipes I have on my bookshelf (by Emelie Tolley and Chris Mead), sage is a bushy plant that grows to about 2 feet in height and is evergreen in warm climates (I think my Central Florida locale will work here!). It should be grown in well-drained, neutral soil and exposed to full sun.

In cooking, I love to use sage in my stuffing. It is also good with fatty meats and fish, cheese, pasta, rice and vinegars. You can find it in Wildtree’s Italian Sausage Seasoning. I am sorry to say I have not tried this yet, but I will be adding it to my next order, along with looking for some sage plants from my local nursery. I hope Danny won’t mind tending to some sage bushes outside our lanai!

Shalom!

Mary

Things that touch our senses can ignite so many memories, can’t they? A song or a smell can immediately take you back to a place in time. A meal can do the same.

There are many memories I have around food. Reflecting on it today, I am reminded of the time I spent working at Lighthouse Ministries. Lighthouse has a residential program to help men, women and their children get back on their feet, and the noon meal fed not only the residents of the mission but also the employees. Meals were created to feed large numbers using whatever was available. To be honest the quality of the ingredients was usually lacking, but what I remember most about those meals was Mary.

Mary was the mission’s cook. A large woman, standing on her feet all day in a hot kitchen could not have been easy for her. But you wouldn’t have known it by her spirit. As you made your way toward the dining room, you could count on hearing Mary’s laughter and singing before you could smell the food. It makes my heart smile as I think back to those days and how she made everyone feel through her lively spirit.

This year of 2020 has left many of us frustrated with many things, including planning meal times. No longer spending so much time in restaurants, we have been forced to get back to planning and preparing meals. I had become pretty lazy myself before these last few months. With the demands of work, Danny and I found ourselves dining out more than we were eating at home. It was not good for our wallet and it wasn’t good for our health, knowing restaurants typically source ingredients that are high in preservatives so that they will last longer.

The value of a meal shared among a family came up during a recent Wildtree leadership meeting. It fills an emotional and spiritual need, the act of taking the time from our busy lives to sit and break bread together. Thinking of Mary and how she worked so hard in that kitchen to cheerfully feed so many and fill all of our spirits, I am reminded of how much I used to enjoy cooking for and serving the people in my life, and I am thankful to have found my way back to the kitchen. Mary was a great example. I wonder if she knows what an inspiration she is.

Shalom!

Thank You First Responders

Driving to work yesterday, I saw a sign someone had placed in their front yard. I’ve seen a few of these signs in recent weeks, and it warms my heart every time I see one. It read, “Thank you first responders.”

For months, our country has been showing sincere and well deserved gratitude toward the first responders who put themselves in harm’s way during this pandemic. Social media is filled with images of individuals bringing food and messages of appreciation to police and fire stations and hospitals throughout the country. It doesn’t take a pandemic for the heroes in these fields to risk their lives to protect us, but it took a pandemic for us to recognize and appreciate it to the point that many went out of their way to show their appreciation.

Sadly, seemingly out of nowhere, the vile acts of four police officers turned the attitudes of our country on a dime. The reprehensible acts of a minority of officers suddenly put everyone that shares that uniform under the same umbrella. How quickly we have forgotten the gratitude we were feeling just days before.

Police officers are now in the precarious position of trying to protect the innocent – and themselves – while faced with being enormously outnumbered by protesters whose behavior is unpredictable due to their justifiable angst, along with a few bad actors who have taken the liberty of turning a valid protest into an excuse to act like criminals and endanger the livelihoods and wellbeing of us all. The officers are seemingly in a no-win situation as they walk the very tight line between their duty to protect and the scrutiny of all our watchful eyes on their every move.

What happened to George Floyd – and others – was wrong. Criminal history notwithstanding, no officer has the right to do what was done. It is sickening. There is no question that there are bad cops, and police departments have a responsibility to weed them out and handle them accordingly. But to behave as if all officers are bad or racist is no better than acting as if all black people or all gay people – or people of any group – are bad based on the actions of a few, and it will only do more harm.

Police officers are resigning, and I can’t say I blame them. Men and women who took on a thankless career, putting themselves at risk to go to work every day to protect you and me are saying they’ve had enough. So now where will we be, if we are so busy scrutinizing their every move that they can’t be effective in doing their jobs and having some level of confidence that their spouses will not become widows in the process?

I hate the stories I am hearing about what my African American friends and neighbors have been through, and we haven’t done enough to correct it. I can’t imagine being in their shoes. It is heartbreaking, and we have a lot of work to do to make it right. I support and respect the peaceful protestors who are out there trying to effect the change that is long overdue. But let’s not punish those who, just a few weeks ago, we were celebrating for putting their lives on the line for us. I can’t imagine being in their shoes either, and if my husband were an officer, I think I would be begging him to retire.

Four years ago, my heart broke as we all tried to make sense of the Pulse nightclub shootings. In response I quickly recorded this video, recorded by Ronnie Dunn, and it still rings true today. We are all God’s children. We are all brothers and sisters. We all bleed red. We should treat each other accordingly.

Journey of Healing

This past Monday, January 20th, would have been Katie’s 28th birthday. We lost Katie in July of 1993, when she was 18 months old. At the time, my mother told me that now I would be able to help others, as you can’t truly minister to someone if you’ve never experienced what they’ve been through. It was the last thing I wanted to hear after losing the daughter I’d always dreamed of, but the message has stayed with me all these years.

When I lost Katie, I had two beautiful boys who needed their mommy, and that kept me going. I wasn’t the mother I was before; how could I be? I think more days than not, for many years I was just going through the motions, too afraid to allow myself to feel anything. See, if you allow your heart to feel one emotion, then it will feel all emotions. Everything you’ve kept locked away in a secret place so that you can survive every day will pour in, set free to break your heart. I couldn’t let that happen, for if it did, I might crumble to the floor, never to get up again. And my children needed me. Ryan and Jason deserved to have a mother who got up out of bed every day and saw to their needs and loved them.

Not allowing myself to fully feel the pain of Katie’s loss allowed me to keep moving, but it robbed me of the ability to feel much emotion beyond loving my sons. Even going to church became unbearable. The familiar hymns that had always been a comfort throughout my life were now a key that could unlock the cell where my pain was buried. I couldn’t bear it, so I stopped going. While I avoided church in order to escape the emotion it would make me feel, I robbed my sons of continuing to grow up in the church. This is one of my greatest regrets.

Recently I was asked by a dear friend who also lost a daughter if it ever gets better. I assured her it does. It is true that time heals wounds, or at least makes them less raw and painful. Anniversaries can still be hard. After all these years, the day Katie was born and the day she left are still painful. I allow myself to feel sad on those days, but some years I am able to celebrate her birth. There is no rhyme or reason to it – some years that day is just harder than others. But life on a daily basis is not painful. I can speak of Katie with a smile instead of a tear.

Allowing my heart to soften, to break down those walls and fully feel, is still a work in progress. It is part of my life’s journey. As is the fact that I can minister to others who have shared the loss of a child. I am amazed by how many women God has brought through my path who have shared this loss. Today I am able to be thankful that, when I meet someone who has lost a child, I can share with them that we have this club in common. It is a club no one wants to be in, but I find it a blessing today to be able to encourage other moms and let them know that it does get better. The pain will not always be so raw. Someday they will be able to remember their child with more joy than sadness. And I am always here for them, because I truly know what they are going through.

Creating with Technology: Procreate

I once heard Rainn Wilson, during an interview with Oprah, describe the creation of art as a prayer.  I couldn’t have said it better myself.  I find that when I am away from creating for too long, it affects my psyche.  The longer the span between these artful prayer times, the more negative I become, and the less I am able to bless others.

The making of art is no different than prayer. Rainn Wilson

Working in a busy office environment can sometimes make it difficult to have the time and energy to get to that creative, prayerful space.  It becomes a vicious cycle, where the lack of creative time negatively impacts your work and your relationships, and you then become even more depleted and lacking the energy to enter that creative space that you are so in need of.  It can be a challenge for the creative who also loves their work life to balance the needs of the office with the need to have time to create and still have time for loved ones.  Using technology to meet that challenge may seem counterintuitive, but I have found it can be just what the doctor ordered.

Recently I discovered the joys of creating with Procreate on the IPad.  From sketching to drawing to creating fancy mandalas, there is no limit to what you can do with Procreate.  I have found it to be a great tool for creating at the end of a long day at the office while relaxing in a comfy chair.  You don’t have to be energized to dig into a big project – you can sit down with your IPad and start working on a mess-free creation with little effort.

The ways you can use this creative tool are endless, and you can find many courses to help you learn by visiting the website www.skillshare.com.  The courses you will find here are endless!  I recently watched Jane Snedden Peever’s course, “Geometric Design on the IPad – Mandalas in Procreate.”  Jane shows some great tools for creating mandalas in Procreate, and I found myself quickly taking the mandalas to the next level, adding color to the designs for some joyful whimsy.  I’m not sure what I’ll do with the designs, but it was a pleasure creating them, and it has sure helped me get back to my prayer time.  I hope this inspires you to give it a try!

A Mom’s Enduring Patience

As I colored my hair this morning, I reflected back, counting how many years I had stood in front of a mirror every month, separating and filling the roots with color to take my naturally dishwater blonde hair to something I found more palatable. I realized it has been more than 40 years since that first time I put “Sun In” in my hair, my then pretty color turning to an awful orange. Thankfully, my Mom was there for me as she always was, this time taking me to an expensive stylist in Syracuse, 45 minutes away from our small town, and paying their fancy salon prices to have it corrected. Every few weeks she would take me back until they finally had my long strands worked back to their natural color.

It wasn’t too many months later that I stood before my mother with orange hair again, I think 17 at the time, sheepishly saying, “Can you believe I made the same mistake again?”

All of those Saturdays she’d spent taking me to Syracuse and patiently waiting while they worked on the hair I’d ruined. All that money. And I’d gone and done it again. I was so ashamed, after all she had done to help me the first time, and I stood waiting for a well deserved, angry reaction from her. But she didn’t get angry. I think we were more alike than I realized, and she understood my desire to be blonde and feel beautiful. She was always understanding with me.

She had watched how they colored my roots all those months in the fancy salon. Now, she helped me to find a pretty shade of blonde in a box, and she patiently stood over me as I sat in a kitchen chair, separating the roots and filling them with a pretty blonde color. She did that for me every month until I went off to college and had to do it myself.

I can still feel myself in that small kitchen, the sweet wood smell of the table and chairs she had bought second hand and labored over to refinish. I can hear the familiar squeak of the chair as I shift while she works her magic. Mom was always there for me. All the seemingly little things that to a Mom are just “what we do” add up to loving memories that can feed your soul throughout your life. Even at nearly 60 years old, those memories warm my heart, filling it with my Mother’s love. I love you Mom.