The Gift - A Memory from Christmas Past

 

My writing time spans from around midnight to five o'clock in the morning. Some nights, I don't have the right words or the drive (shame on me), but I stay up anyway. Last night was like that. While reading and listening to the tv (multitasking?), I started thinking of a particular Christmas overseas. We were living in Casablanca, Morocco, on an Air Force Base. 

I was in the third grade and not old enough to go Christmas shopping alone. Dad planned on taking my sister and me, but I was impatient (a character flaw I still struggle with!). The route home from school went through military housing. On the way home one afternoon, it was trash collection day, and one of the cans along the way did not have a lid. I peeked in and, lo and behold, discovered an ashtray. It was round with green paint and gold specks. I looked around, making sure no one was watching, reached in, grabbed it, and put it in my lunch box. Mom will love this, I thought. 

When I arrived home, I hid it under my mattress until I could sneak into the bathroom and make it look new. I washed that darned ashtray about a gazillion times until the paint shined and specks shimmered, all the while oblivious to the fact there was a crack on the unpainted bottom. I excitedly told my dad I didn't need to shop for mom, that I already had her gift, and told him what I had done. All he said was, "That's a really nice gift."

 

Christmas morning took forever to come. I sat, anxiously waiting for my mom to rip through a mound of paper and tape that could have wrapped a battleship (I still use too much.) She looked down at the ashtray, gently turned it over, then turned it back. She rubbed her hand against the sparkly green surface and smiled. She said it was beautiful and would cherish it forever, and she gave me a great big hug. My heart jumped with joy, knowing I had made her happy. I was confident she never suspected it was used or found in a trash can. That secret was between dad and me.

 

That was one of my favorite Christmas memories, especially upon finding out she was aware of the origin of the gift shortly after she opened it. She saw the crack on the bottom and mentioned it to my dad when I was out of earshot, and he told her what had transpired. It didn't matter to her ... she proudly displayed that ashtray for years. She never said anything to me until I was an adult. 

 

Thinking about that Christmas brought me to tears, not just because this was one more Christmas without her and my dad, but because they loved me so much. Not only did they ignore the source of that green and gold ashtray, but they forgave the pain I caused them in later years when I took a detour to the darker side of life. I was in a garbage can too, but God, in His mercy, pulled me out - and He, along with mom and dad, helped me wash off and shine as if brand new.

The End of the Light

 

The mortuary that took care of my mom held a memorial service right before Christmas 2014 for those who lost someone during the year.  Before we lit candles in memory of our loved ones, one of the presiding ministers told a story that touched my heart and instilled a sense of hope. 

One night a father asked his young son to retrieve the well at the far end of their property.  It was dark, and the son was frightened.  The father told the boy to hold the bucket in one hand and a lantern in the other and continue walking until he reached the end of the light.  The son did as instructed, and before he knew it, he reached the well safely because the light never ended.  He filled the bucket, turned around, and returned home, no longer afraid. 

We are all faced with darkness in our lives, but as long as we hold on to God through faith, we will never reach the end of His loving light ... a light that shines over us with not only His love but of those we lost as well.

By Mary Saying "Yes"

 

Saint John Damascene tells us, “The day of the Nativity of the Mother of God is a day of universal joy because, through the Mother of God, the entire human race was renewed, and the sorrow of the first mother, Eve, was transformed into joy.”

As Christmas approaches, my heart overflows with gratitude towards the Blessed Mother because:

By Her saying, "Yes," we have a Savior ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we have direction ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we know how to live righteously ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we have hope ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we are loved unconditionally ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we are never alone ~

By Her saying, "Yes," we can look forward to eternal life.

Sadly, many women and men find the Christmas season difficult because they said, "No" when faced with an unexpected pregnancy. I used to experience deep sadness at Christmastime because it was the most prominent reminder of how I failed God, my children, and myself. I thought of my babies every time I saw baby Jesus in the manger or in the Blessed Mother’s arms. The regret was paralyzing.

If it hadn’t been for an after-abortion healing program, I would have continued to find myself saddened when viewing a nativity scene or images of the Blessed Mother with Baby Jesus and consider myself a failure in God's eyes. I now fully embrace Christmastime; I have a collection of nativity scenes and statues of the Holy Family and the Blessed Mother with Baby Jesus displayed throughout my home.

Through healing, I understood that because of Mary’s “Yes,” redemption for what I considered an unforgivable act was there for the asking. And because of God's loving mercy and Mary’s inspiration of faith and courage, I can speak out to prevent others from saying “No.”

“…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified as a gift by His grace through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus” …  Romans 3:23-24

If you are struggling with your decision to abort, please visit the Silent No More Awareness Campaign for healing resources.

You are not alone.

Twenty-Five Reasons I'm Grateful for Sobriety

 

Twenty-five years ago today, I was institutionalized for being suicidal. I had reached my limit…hit my bottom.  The psychiatrist asked me why I wanted to die, and I told him I was already dead inside; I just wanted to finish the job.  The first thing they did was take my shoelaces away.  Not being trusted with shoelaces made me realize how sick I really was. After being considered no longer a danger to myself and adequately detoxed, I was sent to the alcohol rehab unit, where I began recovery.  Praise God, I have been sober since then….and if I feel the need to drink, all I have to do is look down at my shoes.  I don’t ever want to lose those laces again. 

I have learned many things since that day, including not taking myself so seriously. With that in mind, here are 25 reasons I’m grateful for 25 years of sobriety. (All True)

 1.  I no longer call people at 3 a.m., pontificating about the world’s affairs.

2.  I can stand upright without leaning against a wall or another person.

3.  I bowl better.

4.  With coffee, I am now wide awake and functional instead of wide awake and drunk.

5.  My language doesn’t emulate a drunken sailor (most times).

6.  I don’t have to worry about who I might have offended the night before. 

7.  I wake up in the morning without feeling like my mouth is stuffed with cotton.

8.  I use vanilla for baking, not a substitute for bourbon. (Yep, I was a sicko)

9.  I no longer think I'm a dancing queen.  (I’m surprised my dancing wasn't mistaken for seizures.)

10. I don’t go to work and spend most of the day in a bathroom stall, dozing. 

11. My glasses actually help me see.

12. After a night out, I come home with everything on (coat, shoes, jewelry, etc.).

13. I no longer talk as if my ears were plugged.

14. I no longer get reminded of what I had for dinner when it "comes up."

15. I can shoot a game of pool without hitting someone with the cue stick.

16. People now let me play darts.

17. I no longer need to sleep on the bathroom floor “just in case.”

18. I no longer mistake Bengay for Colgate (that was painful)!

19. I don’t have to wake up wondering how I got home.

20.  I can lay on my bed at night and not feel like I'm in a spin cycle.

21.  My hands no longer shake, making putting on eyeliner a breeze ... plus my eyebrows are even.

22.  I no longer faint when I open my American Express bill.  (I had the habit of buying rounds).

23. My perfume actually works.  I no longer smell like Eau d’bourbon.

24. Nyquil is no longer my go-to after-dinner drink when the liquor cabinet is empty. (It did have a shot glass on the top.) 

25.  With all my drunken antics, I am most grateful Facebook wasn't around yet!

THAT IS WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE

In 2014, my dad and I had the difficult task of going through my mother's things, the hardest being her clothes and purses. Certain outfits brought back beautiful memories; however, taking them out of the closet brought back the stark realization that she was gone. On the lighter side, we had to check each item painstakingly. Later stages of dementia resulted in her hiding jewelry and money in pockets, hems, etc...and the Kleenex! She always feared having a runny nose with no tissue available, so her purses and jacket pockets were stockpiled. If we had unfurled and stacked each tissue (I'm not kidding), I think we would have refilled three boxes.

Anyway, we accomplished our mission. The closet was empty, boxes filled, her blouses, slacks, and jackets hanging on the clothes rod and a portable clothes rack. After loading the van, we headed to a local homeless shelter that housed both men and women, as some of her jackets and sweatshirts could be used by either gender. I located a volunteer, and before he followed me to the van, he unlocked the closet where they stored clothing donations. I looked in and chuckled. I told him the closet wasn't big enough. You see, my mom never discarded anything (she also had 700 beanie babies!), and close to the end, she would order something that she never had a chance to use. The volunteer must have thought I was exaggerating until I opened the van doors. He returned to the shelter, calling for some residents to help unload.

Several men jumped at the opportunity. A man approached me as I began unloading some of the smaller boxes. He was unkempt and toothless. At first, I hate to admit, I felt the urge to turn around and run. He took the box I was holding and put it on one of the food carts they were using for transport. I thanked him and, with an embarrassed look on his face, said, "I wasn't always like this." While both of us continued to unload boxes, he told me of his many attempts to get clean and sober, each relapse causing him to lose more until nothing was left. Proudly he exclaimed that his most recent period of sobriety was the longest yet, and he truly felt the Holy Spirit. I congratulated him and said I would pray for his continued success. I told him I struggled with addiction and shared a little of my story. As I was sharing, I realized how blessed I was. Although we shared the same affliction, the consequences he suffered were much more severe. All I could think of was, "There but for the Grace of God go I."

The van was empty; the job was done. The shelter volunteer and residents offered thanks and wheeled the carts to the storage area. I started towards the driver's side of the van. The man I was chatting with came back out of the storage area and asked if he could hug me. It wasn't a little one ... it was an extended, long bear hug. He backed up and, with a toothless smile, said, "and THAT is what love feels like," and walked away. As I started the drive home, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but a few stray hangers hanging from clothes rods where my mother's clothes hung. Instead of feeling empty, I was enveloped in peace and fulfillment. 

Yes, my friend, that's what love feels like.

A Lesson in Worth

Some stories have such a special message they should be shared more than once.

This is one of them ...

The Pearl Necklace

Author Unknown

A cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy. Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!"

Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost two dollars. If you really want them, I'll
think of some extra chores for you, and in no time, you can save enough money to buy them for yourself.  Your birthday's only a week away, and you might get another crisp dollar bill from grandma."

As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her piggy bank and counted out seventeen pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores, and she went to the neighbor and asked if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill, and at last, she had enough money to buy the necklace.

Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown-up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a
bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

Jenny had a very loving daddy, and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"  "Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you." "Then give me your pearls."  "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess-- the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."  "That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

About a week later, after story time, Jenny's daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" "Daddy, you know I love you." "Then give me your pearls." "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful, and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."  "That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And, as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later, when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling, and one silent tear rolled down her cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter? Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand to her daddy. And, when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."

With tears in his eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of beautiful genuine pearls. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store pearls.

  

We all hold on to

dime-store pearl necklaces...

feeling unworthy of anything better.

Our Father's hand is reaching out for 

those cheap pearls to replace them with

His greatest gift ...

Seeing our worth through His eyes.

Remembering Dad

 My dad passed away on 2/24/16 and my heart still hurts. To say I was blessed with a wonderful dad would be an understatement, and it would take at least a year of blog posts to convey my love for him adequately.  With that in mind, I'll share a mere two or three precious and memorable moments:

   ~       Some family friends had a go-cart, and we all went to a large, empty parking lot one day. Dad was quite worried when I got behind the wheel because I was only nine or ten.  He made the unfortunate decision of monitoring my motoring skills by walking in front of me. Lowering my helmeted head and envisioning a bulls-eye, I floored it...chasing him all over the parking lot.  (Evil child, evil child). I'm sure a YouTube video of that event would have accumulated a gazillion hits!

 ~        I was involved in a freak accident at a baseball game when I was twenty-three. The bat slipped out of the batter's hand and flew into the stands, landing on my forehead. (I had a concussion, four skull fractures, and twenty-eight stitches). Being the consummate comedian, he would tell me my black eyes reminded him of the Tareyton cigarette commercial, "I'd rather fight than switch." I did look like a boxer that had gone too many rounds!

This last memory affects me to this day...

~      My dad loved Honky Tonk music; in fact, he passed while listening to one of his favorite CDs.  As a child, I remember him down in the basement, blasting Big Tiny Little, Knuckles O'Toole, and Eddie Barns, to name a few.  On Saturday mornings that music was a "call for duty."  My sister and I knew the minute the music started that it was time to "Police up the Area" (clean the house). A while back, after my parents moved in with us, I came up with the bright idea to create a CD with Dad's favorites since he didn't have a turntable anymore. (Not too bright, Patti). He played those CDs all the time, which explained why my house was always spotless.  To this day, if I need any encouragement to clean the house, I put on his CD.  Memories come back, and I use my falling tears instead of Pledge to dust. 

Dad, you and I went through a lot in my sixty+ years, but what warms my heart and humbles me the most was your unconditional love.  The period in my life when I fell as far as anyone could, the days when I caused you unrelenting embarrassment and heartache, your hand was always there to pick me up, and your arms were there to hug me.

I Love and Miss You So Very Much...

 

Meditation on the Lord's Prayer

 

My grandmother's worn Bible is filled with underlines and sidenotes. Inside I found a neatly folded paper typed with an old manual typewriter. At the bottom, my grandmother wrote: From "Lift Up Your Hearts," by W. Russell Bowie. I did an internet search, and that book was published in 1940. 

This meditation is a treasure; I'm sure Nannie is happy I'm sharing it.    

 

Our Father, who art in Heaven,

 Help me to believe this day that there is a power to lift me up, which is stronger than all things that hold me down.

  Hallowed be thy Name,

 Help me to be sensitive to what is beautiful and responsive to what is good so that day by day, I may grow more sure of the Holiness of life in which I want to trust.

 Thy kingdom come,

 Help me to be quick to see and ready to encourage whatever brings the better meaning of God into that which otherwise might be common ground of the uninspired day.

  Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven,

 Help me believe that the ideals of the spirit are not a far-off dream but a power to command my loyalty and direct my life here on our real earth.

 Give us this day our daily bread,

 Open the way for us to earn an honest living without anxiety, but let us never forget the needs of others, and make us want only that benefit for ourselves which will also be their gain.

 And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

 Make us patient and sympathetic with the shortcomings of others, especially of those we love, and keep us sternly watchful only of our own.  Let us never grow hard with the unconscious cruelty of those who measure themselves by mean standards and so think they have excelled.  Keep our eyes lifted to the highest; so that we may be humbled, and seeing the failures of others, be forgiving because we know how much there is of which we need to be forgiven.

 Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,

 Let me not go carelessly this day within reach of any evil I cannot resist ... but if, in the path of duty, I must go where temptation is, give me the strength of spirit to meet it without fear.

 For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever and ever.  Amen.

 And so in my heart may I carry the knowledge that Thy greatness is above me and around me and that Thy grace through Jesus Christ, my Master is sufficient for all my needs.

 Amen

My Beautiful Grandmother
"Nannie"

In the Hills of Malibu

 

A TRUE STORY

My son, bless his pea-pickin' heart, has a habit of reminding me from time to time how I was before I got sober. Thankfully, most of the stories he brings up are humorous.

His favorite is when my ex-husband convinced me of the existence of "dry-land tuna,"... fish that lived in Malibu hills and did not need water (I'm turning red already).  My beer brain grabbed on to that little piece of Animal Kingdom trivia, and my slurred motor mouth shared it with family and friends.  

After I revealed my gullibility to the masses, my ex told me the truth. He, my son, and my step-sons laughed hysterically. I was mortified at first but very quickly became infuriated and humiliated. Yes, I felt betrayed, which justified my downing a beer .... or twelve ... and then lashing out in retribution.

I learned early on in rehab that one of my biggest problems was taking myself too seriously. I wanted to be in control every minute, and heaven helped those who stood in my way.  In time, I was able to give myself a break.  I found that laughing at myself brought me a sense of joy and peace.  God wants me to be happy, and I know when I laugh at myself, He's laughing right along with me.

By the way....did you know there's a man in Wyoming that sells jackalopes?

A MOTHER'S DAY TRIBUTE

It's 1:30 a.m., and the house is quiet except for a loud cricket beneath the window. I've been staring at a blank laptop screen, struggling to find the perfect words for a Mother's Day tribute.  You might be thinking, "For crying out loud, Patti.  You're a writer … it should be easy."  Well, I'll tell you a secret:  There are times when words hide in the recesses of my heart … preventing the raw emotions from surfacing and damming up a lake of tears.  This is one of those times, but through prayer, some gentle prodding from the Holy Spirit and a box of Kleenex nearby I am ready.

I hate to burst anyone's bubble, but I was not the perfect daughter.  The word that comes to mind to describe my past behavior is "reprehensible."  During those "dark days," I would lash out at my mother and blame her for my actions.  Why?  Because in my booze-soaked, self-pitying, self-indulgent brain, I was convinced she hated me and considered me a failure.   She would encourage me to strive for a better life, and all I heard was, "You aren't good enough." She would invite me to come home to work things out, and all I heard was, "You are not capable of being on your own."   She would suggest I go back to church, and all I heard was, "You're going to hell." I twisted all of her words of love and support into a declaration of my inadequacies. I would thank her by spewing out a mouthful of vile and demeaning comments. 

Praise God those days are long gone.  I am so grateful to have had a few years of clarity before she passed away. God blessed me with the time to tell her how sorry I was for all the pain I had given her and to say what an incredible mother she was.  Blame turned into gratitude.  Gratitude for a life that overflows with blessings beyond belief.  A life that would have otherwise continued down the path of self-destruction had it not been for her faith, strength, and unconditional love.

Thank you, mom, for never giving up on me.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, miss you, and thank God for being your daughter.  It's now 2:30 a.m.  The dam broke, and tears are flowing – but that's okay.  Mom, you are worth every one of them. 

On the day my mom passed away I wrote this poem about her and my aborted babies.

Another Casualty of Abortion

 

Being active in the pro-life community allows me to meet and work with many dynamic and inspirational people.  Such was the case a while back when I had dinner with Father Frank Pavone, National Director of Priests for Life and Georgette Forney, President of Anglicans for Life/Co-Founder of the Silent No More Awareness Campaign.

While enjoying outdoor dining on the beautiful San Diego Harbor, our light banter eventually turned to the Planned Parenthood undercover videos and how they are exposing the truth about abortion.  During that conversation, I shared a casualty of abortion I had recently realized after thirty-plus years. Georgette suggested I share it on my blog so here it is:

I had two abortions which resulted in abuse of alcohol and other self-destructive behaviors.  I not only aborted two precious babies, I aborted my fertility by having a tubal ligation at the age of thirty … a means to punish myself. I no longer deserved  to be a mother. However, God disagreed and gave me another chance at motherhood. In 1991, a precious ten-year-old foster child captured the hearts of my ex-husband and me and on 6/1/1992, became our forever son.

It was when my first granddaughter was born that I realized the other casualty of abortion. By punishing myself with sterilization, the biological chain of life ended. I would never hear, “Your son has your eyes,” or “Your granddaughter has your smile.”

My son blessed us with a total of six grandchildren and a great-grandson. Sadly, none of them will carry the smile and laugh I inherited from my mother or the ears and eyes from my father.  Still, they carry something just as powerful.  Something that transcends biology ... they carry my unconditional love.   

                                

The Confession

 

While entering Holy Week, my thoughts wander back to my baptism on 4/15/2006.  

Through RCIA I was told when an adult enters the water of baptism, past sins are washed away ... A time of renewal and celebration.  On that Easter Vigil, I stood at the baptismal font in a brown gown and instead of joyful anticipation, I was scared to death. Being fifty-three years old with a colorful past, I envisioned the water boiling due to the amount of sin I carried.  Of course, the water remained cool.  

After the baptism, I went to the ladies' room to remove the soggy brown gown (I had been fully immersed) and don a white one before reentering the church to receive confirmation.  I was uncomfortable wearing white ... I didn’t feel cleansed.  Days later, I shared those feelings with my sponsor and she suggested I make an appointment with our priest to make a general confession.  Well, that was scarier yet! Once I was “found out”, I would surely be the quickest ex-communicant in Catholic history. 

 I tried to delay the inevitable by telling myself, “God knows what I did wrong, I already apologized to Him and He knows I’m sorry.”  Then a little voice in my head would say, “Patti, if that were the case, why do you still feel unclean?”  It had taken several arguments with that little voice before I made the appointment.

Walking into Father’s office, I shook nervously and even before I sat down, the tears flew.  He handed me a box of tissues and smiled kindly.  I was sure that kind look would disappear once I started talking.  It didn’t.  He listened, patted my hand, and even smiled from time to time. After a while, something miraculous happened. The shame slowly dissipated and I stopped avoiding the “really bad stuff”.  I closed my eyes as I continued and truly felt the presence of Jesus. He, not Father Fernando, was holding my hand.

By the time my confession was over, I was emotionally drained and exhausted but felt energized within.  The weight of shame and remorse was lifted, and for the first time in decades, I was at peace and knew I was finally worthy of receiving the Eucharist.  Until I actually verbalized my transgressions and asked for forgiveness, they darkened my soul.  They were a detour on a beautiful faith journey that distanced me from God and experiencing His love and mercy.

 

For your listening pleasure, here is an Easter Vigil song by the choir I belonged to at the Church of St. Timothy in Escondido, CA.  

 

THE SECRET

That verse reminded me of a term frequently used in Alcoholics Anonymous:  "You are only as sick as your secrets."

Many women and men carry their abortion experiences in the dark recesses of their souls.  They do everything in their power to shroud the secret from others and the guilt, shame, and remorse associated with abortion from themselves. 

Sadly, the means used to avoid detection are more disastrous than exposure:  self-destructive behavior such as substance abuse, eating disorders, promiscuity, being in abusive relationships, gambling, over-protectiveness of living children or the opposite, etc.    

I visualize the tools used to conceal the secret as volcanic magma.  As time passes, weaknesses in the earth’s crust can no longer hold back the magma, and a catastrophic eruption occurs. No matter what tool is used, its destructive nature will eventually emerge and usher in hopelessness, fear, and depression.

The only way to stop the debilitating aftermath of abortion is to summon the courage to reach out for healing.  Removing the shroud of secrecy will allow the light of love and forgiveness from our merciful God and Savior, thus replacing the guilt, shame, and remorse with peace and serenity.  

Take it from one who knows...

The Domino Effect of Grief

We all experience loss and will face many throughout our lifetime.  As we get older, the number of losses increases, sometimes to unbearable proportions. One would think (or hope) that the sting would somehow lessen after a certain amount of losses, and the tears would no longer flow with abandon. Instead, they become a controlled trickle.

In reality, we find that the sting is the same (and sometimes worse).  We might find ourselves muddling through our day with a deep sense of sadness for weeks or months and wonder if we are going crazy.  In most cases, we are not. It's called the "domino effect."

When we lose a family member, friend, or beloved pet, it triggers the memories and emotions of past losses.  This avalanche of feelings can be a little overwhelming, frightening, and, most of all, depressing.  We find ourselves either an emotional bowl of Jello or completely shutting down – isolating from everyone and everything. It's okay. It's normal.  Yes, it is uncomfortable and painful, but all part of the grieving process.  Trying to fight it is unhealthy.  As they say, "Go with the flow." 

Being in the business of grief, I thought understanding the dynamics would inoculate me from feeling the pain and anguish.   Not true.  My brain knows what is happening, but it doesn't communicate that knowledge to my heart. 

We all need to remember that the losses we face and the subsequent period of emotional upheaval are a testament to love.  It reminds me of a phrase in an old movie: "How lucky I am to have someone in my life that makes saying goodbye so darned hard."

In Memory of Michael Ray Campbell

LETTING GO - FOR GOOD

 

I was facing an issue that seemed impossible to resolve so I turned it over to God during one of our chats. I remained silent to hear His answer.  No dice. Nada.  Nary a peep.  It's times like this I get discouraged and, yes, angry.  Angry that He is either ignoring me or, worse....laughing (He does have a sense of humor - I'm living proof).

My anxiety got the better of me so I decided to fix it myself. God wasn't fast enough and I wanted immediate resolution. Of course, my way of fixing the issue failed miserably.  My anxiety increased as did my blood pressure. Sound familiar?  I bet it does!!! 

Deep down in my mind (really deep), the voice of reason surfaced and reminded me God answers in His own time and his timing is perfect. In this particular case, not answering me was His way of telling me I was right where I was supposed to be.  It allowed me to learn a valuable life lesson.  His not answering also provided me an opportunity to practice patience (of which I have none) and strengthen my trust in Him.

Maybe I should get out pencil and paper, list everything I took back from God, put the paper in a frying pan, say a prayer, and light a match.  A visual reminder that once I turn something over to God, I will get burned if I take it back. (yikes) 

Happy Anniversary in Heaven

 

Today marks my parents’ 71^st wedding anniversary.  My heart is heavy, missing them, but I am comforted knowing they are together and watching over me.  I wear both of their wedding bands on a necklace.  It’s a symbol of their love for each other and the love I have for them.

 My mom passed in 2014 and my dad in 2016, but to this day, there are times I think of picking up the phone and calling them.  Once reality strikes, the tears start.  There is no time limit on grief, but the sting lessens through reminiscing. 

My favorite memory is when they joined hands every night and said the Lord’s Prayer.  When mom was nearing death and too weak to speak, dad told her he would pray twice … once for him and once for her, which he did until his own passing.   

 

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad.  

I love and miss you more than words can express. 

 

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION

 

Life is full of challenges, one of the most prominent being temptation. As a recovering alcoholic, I can honestly say I'm an expert in that department. Although twenty-four years sober, there are still days when the Piggly Wiggly wine and beer section beckons me. 

Isn't it interesting that temptation gets stronger when we are on the right spiritual path? Satan grows angry, doing all in his power to lead us astray ... and he's a crafty one.  He knows our weaknesses and will use them against us.  

Matthew 26:41 warns:  "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.  The spirit is willing, the body is weak."  

1 Corinthians 10:13 reminds us to trust in God:

 

Satan might win a few battles here and there,

but with God's love, mercy, and grace, 

we will win the war.

Patti

😇