This is the day the Lord has made

I just saw a picture of my dad, and I started crying. I wasn't expecting that. His picture is in several places in our house. I see him everyday. The peace and relief of knowing that he is whole usually brings smiles to my face and joy to my heart. Today, those feelings remain, but tears roll down my cheeks.

It's hard to describe what this moment in my life feels like. I love change. I welcome it and look forward to what new, exciting, life-changing, heart-growing experiences God brings my way. But with that, comes fear. Fear and excitement are often linked together. It seems fear is often associated with negative emotions or circumstances. It is an emotion that should be avoided and/or corrected. In singing, fear is something that brings energy and focus. (Not sure if this is the case for all singers, musicians, or performers.) But, fear spikes the rush of adrenaline used to create the tension that audience members find engaging. How do singers perform an aria, song, or anthem with accuracy and intensity? Through excitement, technique, and adrenaline-inducing fear, singers walk on stage, perform, and exit leaving the audience feeling fulfilled.

That is the threshold where I stand. It feels so much more natural to walk onto a stage with all the unknowns, instability and uncertainties. Walking into tomorrow with those realities is not comfortable or natural. I suppose we all walk into our tomorrows not knowing. That is only too true for family and friends who were shocked into realities by the loss and tragedy of our own humanity and the injustice of this world. None of us know what tomorrow will bring, or, who tomorrow will take away. Standing on this threshold of fear and excitement leaves me speechless. I want the hope and promise tomorrow has to bring, but I am afraid of who won't be there. You see, I can do without my house, my tv's, my favorite foods, Fresh Market, and even my computer (which feels like my life's link or rather the link to life's escape). But, I am afraid to say goodbye to the people who are in my today.

I have moved from Indiana to Connecticut to New York to Illinois. In each of those states we have had multiple addresses. We have moved our "things", our "possessions", our "home". Friends have stood the test of time and location. There isn't a doubt in my mind that we will maintain the people who have impacted our lives. Even those who we may never speak with again, they will always be a part of who we are. But, in reality, I don't want to say goodbye yet. There are people that I can't imagine not having around. And though I know I don't get to control my tomorrows, leaving means the reality of saying goodbye is ever closer. I can cling to truths, and to promises. Knowing that people have loved us across borders and various time zones reassures me that friendships can be maintained and even thrive within a cyber world. But, on this threshold of tomorrow, I admit that I am afraid that some relationships will end the minute I turn to open the door to tomorrow. Forgive me for being sad or melodramatic. That isn't my intention.

I guess there is a part of me that is trying to convince myself this ok. It's ok to be sad, to be afraid, and to be confused with all the feelings I have. Lord knows I say that to my friends all the time. "It is ok to feel. You can judge it all you want. You can wish it away or pretend it isn't so. But, in the end you feel what you feel. There isn't a right or wrong." I don't want to let go, even though I know that tomorrow has the potential to be far more than today.

My dad is living that potential right now. He is living in freedom and joy. The tomorrow that we didn't want to come in saying goodbye to my dad did arrive. He is now living the tomorrow that we all wish we could have in the here and now. But for us, we are without him. It marks a time and place in our lives that hurts and forces us to adjust and accept a tomorrow that isn't what we hoped or prayed. Even though it is amazing and wonderful, full of everything we could only imagine for him; it leaves us feeling confused, sad, and lonely.

I hate goodbyes. There is just no getting around it. So today I will accept the fact that I don't want to let go yet. I will trust in the tomorrow that is waiting to bless me and my family. Tears, streaming through the delight and wonder of what tomorrow will bring, will honor the people that I have come to know and love. I love it that my dad is here for me. His presence is felt and his comfort is near in a way that I truly need at this moment.

Jamocha Almond Fudge

It has been since June 19th since I posted a blog. I can't believe it. So much has happened since then. Observations on various circumstances, situations, and relationships have scattered through my everyday thoughts, and I have written a number of blogs in my head. But, evidently, I haven't gotten them in print. Not sure my thoughts mean too much. Seems as though we each have to take the moments we are given and make sense of them. My observations and conclusions can't make your moments any easier or more understood. Certainly there is comfort in knowing that we are not alone. Often when I am writing, I am convinced that I am the only person who experiences the struggles of figuring out what life means or how to endure it. This is not true. We are all struggling.

Sometimes the struggle is like trying to get into a pair of jeans that are just a little too tight. I know I once could wear them comfortably. What happened? Did they shrink? Did someone change the tag on the inside when I wasn't looking? Maybe if I just hold my breath they will fit. Maybe if I go to the bathroom, I won't be as bloated and will ease right into them. Maybe if I drink 64 ounces of water I will need to use the restroom and I will be miraculously thinner. Though I am willing to do some things to become thinner in the process of getting my once comfortable jeans on, I am unwilling to accept that I have gained any weight that might be causing those jeans to be too tight. It is obviously a manufacturer's malfunction that has caused them to shrink and become uncomfortable; not an owner's dysfunction.

Then of course there are the struggles in life similar to deciding which ice-cream flavor I should get at Baskin Robbins. I can see the ice cream flavors displayed and described right in front of my very eyes. But, as I scan the options, the pressure mounts. What if I get rocky road, and it isn't exactly like my favorite brand that I get at the grocery store. I really like the other brand, so I will be disappointed if Baskin Robbin's doesn't meet my expectation. What if I get a favorite standbye, Jamocha Almond Fudge? It looks like it might be a little freezer burned. Does that mean people haven't been buying it and it's just been sitting in the freezer, being ignored and going to waste? What if I should go out on a limb and get the cotton candy surprise? I know, that sounds disgusting. I don't like cotton candy in its natural form, why would I like it in ice-cream form? But, what if I try it and it's delicious and my whole world is opened up to cotton candy again? Such a struggle.

It doesn't get any easier when I consider choices unrelated to food. Like, what book should I buy from Borders with my 50% off loyal customer bonus discount email offer? There are so many choices. I end up strolling the aisles looking from book cover to book cover. I add book after book to my basket, find a comfy chair in the corner, away from the aisle where people are strolling by dealing with their own personal struggles. Looking through the various cook books, self-help books, non-fiction psychology books, autobiographies, biographies, socio-economic studies, and mid-life crisis novels I realize the struggle is too intense, and I should go buy a delicious coffee drink at the strategically placed starbucks at the front of the store.

Some struggles are just too much to endure alone. Realizing this, I am convinced that I am not alone, and I most certainly should not endure the struggles alone. I know that everyone is enduring a struggle. As my friend Joy said earlier today, "We all have issues, and we all need tissues." But, just because we all have our own specific issues, challenges, and struggles; I know that there are friends that are willing to hear mine and endure it with me. No longer do I seek someone to solve the problem for me. I am sorry that there have been times when I looked for people to do that. How exhausting it must have been as I dumped my emotional garbage and expected them to clean it up. There are those friends, however, who can sift through the garbage and laugh, cry, scream, or kick it with me.

I am not sure which struggle best represents where I am lately. I know my pants don't fit, and therefore I shouldn't be at Baskin Robbins deciding between any ice-cream flavors. There is also an entire house needing to be packed, so I shouldn't have time to be perusing the aisles of Border's bookstore, even if I do have a great, super-duper 50% off coupon. Maybe my struggle is similar to many of yours. You know, the one where you are trying to love, forgive, and accept the people who God so generously has given to be a part of your moments. Or perhaps, my struggle is similar to the one that you might be having where you are trying to love, forgive, and accept yourself for who God so generously made you to be. Whichever struggle you find yourself in, I will pray for you the same prayer I pray for myself. May our jeans not be too tight, may our ice-cream be fresh and plentiful, and may we all receive a generous 50% off coupon to our favorite bookstore so we can buy a book that distracts us from the garbage that this world requires us to sift through together. Amen.

Hey Dad

Happy Father's Day Dad. I know you aren't here, but I know you really are here. So strange to feel close to you even though I don't get to see you or hear your voice. I wonder if you have your voice back. So sad how you didn't have your voice for the past couple of years. That must have been so frustrating. I can't imagine. That might be one of my greatest fears, losing my voice. Not so much losing the tone, volume, or high notes; but, rather the ability to express myself using my voice. You should know that even though you didn't talk as often, or with much volume, you were still expressing yourself and communicating.

There were values that you communicated to us through your actions and your words. And, even after losing your voice, you still modeled and expressed them. Strength, perseverance, loyalty, stubbornness, endurance, and love. Without words, you shared that we should never give up. I am afraid I might have let you down when it comes to this value. Even more, there may be times ahead that I give up out of sheer frustration or exhaustion. How did you do it? How did you keep going throughout your life? I look at the overwhelming amount of stress that you must have been enduring, not just as a father, but as a man; and I wonder what made you keep going? I also wonder, how you continually found yourself making decisions that would add more stress to your life, and subsequently, to ours? I don't mean that out of judgment, but rather out of curiosity. I see it happening over and over. Decisions made that negatively affect growth, success, and comfort are a part of what we do. Is it because we think the choice we are making will somehow bring a different consequence than it does? Or, sometimes, maybe we just aren't thinking. That might be more like it.

I find myself, on this day, Father's Day, thinking of all the questions and conversations that I wish I could have with my dad. Like, "Did you really like my singing?", "Where could you go if you could go anywhere in the world?", "What do you think about me going back to school?", "Aren't you amazed at your grand kids?", "What are you going to get mom for your anniversary?", "Aren't you proud of your wife and how she has managed for the past 40 years of marriage with you?", "Can you believe you had 4 children?"; and so many more that I know I will not get answers to, at least until I go to heaven. Some questions seem small and insignificant. They are just questions that a daughter should be able to ask her dad.

In addition to questions, I find myself thinking about conversations that I want to have. "I am so thankful that you are taking such good care of my mom. I know you are in heaven asking God to give her the assurance that she will be ok. Whether it is a bill you paid before you died that leaves mom with a surprise check of reimbursement, or the check coming from the insurance company; I know that you are watching over her and giving her gifts. You may not have been able to provide for all of us the you wanted, but I am so thankful that you are taking care of mom in ways that you never could while you were alive. She really does deserve the riches and blessings that come with putting up with you:). You know I love you and only pick on you because you taught me to."

So many unvoiced conversations will weigh heavily in my heart. The questions and the advice that I look for you to answer will be asked of others, but will beg an insight from you. I am so glad you aren't hurting anymore. It was devastating to watch your life slip away. Just as your losing your voice didn't stop you from communicating, losing your physical strength didn't stop you from showing each of us the pride and dignity that comes from enduring life's circumstances, and rising above the challenges to serve your family and those you love. You did that dad. But I still wish you were here; without the pain, and restrictions that came with your disease. I know we were lucky to have you as long as we did. You kept fighting to give each of us just what we needed so we could let go of you with peace and assurance.

So many are not given that great gift. They see their fathers taken inexplicably and in the blink of an eye. They don't get to have the questions of their heart answered either. My heart has a level of peace because I was able to ask you about your heart. In the moment you shared that you loved Jesus and knew you would be going to heaven, I was able to trust that when you needed to leave us you would never be farther away than a prayer or a thought. So many don't have the confidence of knowing they will be reunited with their dads, or a family member. How heavy a load that would be for my heart to carry.

I miss you dad. I miss having a dad. You were able to say to my husband, "Don't give into her too often. She needs someone who will be strong enough to put her in her place every so often." Some might not understand what that means, but I did. You gave Chris very wise council. That is indeed what I need. You know my heart like no other, and I am sad that I won't have your quiet reassurance that who I am is enough. I can't tell you how much it meant to me when I visited and shared about my personal struggles that you listened. You didn't judge me or ridicule me. You didn't tell me what I should have done, or should do. You listened and you loved me. You told me that everyone goes through hard times. You encouraged me to stay connected to Chris and trust him with my whole heart, even as it was hurting and angry. Such wise advice given lovingly and honestly.

Dad, I knew when you I kissed you good-bye when you and mom were leaving Illinois that Wednesday, the last day of March on your way to Indy that it might be the last time I would see you. I didn't want to wake you up because you had been hiccuping all night and were finally asleep. But, mom told me you would want to say good-bye. I hugged you and gave you a kiss. Leaning over you I asked if you were going to get better. I will never forget the look on your face and the shake of your head as you said, "No, I don't thinks so." It was a mix of orneriness, sadness, defiance, and exhaustion. It was the last time I saw you.

I am glad you don't hurt anymore. I am so glad you can breathe and speak and laugh and tease. But, dad, I miss you. I am sad for all of us as we try to make sense of loss and change that seems too much at times. My heart grieves that I won't be able to look into your beautiful blue eyes and see the acceptance that I crave and try to prove, but that you just gave because I was yours. Crying comes sporadically these days. But when I cry, as I am right now, I feel a little relief that it is ok to not be strong and in control. You are here with me and this vulnerability is not being judged or negated as insignificant or inappropriate. So, I will rest in this place for a few more moments, and then I will pull myself together and rise to meet the day. I am glad you are my dad. I love you and I miss you.

No matter what, and even if

My blogger website has been down for the past couple days, but I kept myself busy with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Karen just recently got an iPad, so, we had to explore the music, games, apps, everything. We worked very hard. Now, to some, it may have appeared that we were doing nothing. But, I have to vehemently deny that assertion. Not only were we learning, exploring, and connecting neurons in our brain, we were getting to know each other. We were connecting and sharing parts of who we were with each other.

I can count on one hand how many times I have seen my aunt and uncle since I have any recollection of memories of my own life; my wedding, my grandfather's funeral, my uncle's funeral, and my father's funeral. Funny how family can be so far away, disconnected, but when major life events occur, they always show up. This time they showed up just to visit. They were driving through on their way back to Washington State in their RV with their two dogs. They did a lot of sight seeing as they began their travels the day after my dad died. They made it to Indianapolis by his funeral. Then traveled to see their daughter, and then on to Florida to see my mother. They chose to stop by; nobody had died, gotten married, had a baby, or required anything of them. Well, I did need more time with her iPad, but they didn't have to oblige me.

I had deluded myself for some time into believing that I could get by with being distanced from my family. In my head, family was more than blood. Family was the people who walked along side us, and loved us when our blood family were too far away, either physically or emotionally. Family were our neighbors, our friends, our students, our colleagues, and our church. Part of me will always consider these various entities my family. They are the people who brought us a meal when my children were sick, or let me drop my kids off to them when I had an audition, or a performance. These people loved my children when I have been too impatient, frustrated, or sad to do them right. Then there are the folks who listened to me cry my heart out because I didn't understand why a woman who has struggled her whole life had to suffer a brain aneurysm that kept her from being the woman, the mother, the employee she needed to be to survive in this world. There were friends who watched me fall apart because I couldn't serve in the capacity that I wanted or needed and told me I would be ok. Some dear friends watched my life crack wide open as my reputation, value, and identity were questioned, ridiculed, and humiliated. They stood beside me, loved me and encouraged me to put myself back together. They saw me when I didn't see myself.

There were friends who cautioned me about giving too much of myself away in my effort to love and support others. Friends who I considered family because they loved me despite my frustrated outbursts at staff and committee meetings. Some came into my home to get me out of bed when I didn't want to face the morning. Some dear friends let me hold their newborn babies, or hug their sweet preschoolers as they walked by me at church. These family members had no blood relation to me, but they cared enough in the midst of life's highs and lows to email or call me to be sure I was breathing. The friends from here to Champaign, from New York to Indianapolis, from Chicago, and every small town and suburb across this state and country loved my children, my husband and me even when they didn't have to or know how to love us. I could write a blog recounting the variety of ways I was blessed in being able to love others who, even though I wasn't their family, let me love them in moments of vulnerability, sadness, and celebration.

I will always consider these people my family. Whether or not they knew I was related to them, they will always be considered family in my heart. I guess I underestimated how my family, the one I was born into, though not always within driving distance or in my everyday interactions, has loved and accepted me; even though they weren't a part of our every day lives. My aunt and uncle knew my heart for my children, and they had a vested interest in getting to know them for who they were. I was able to be me and trust that they would love me. I could tell them about my sadness, my fears, my joys, my anxiety, and my passion. They were always caring for me, even when they didn't know all the details.

I know that my friends are my family and will continue to love us even though we won't be close to them anymore. I have learned I can rely on my family members, both blood relations, and the gifts of family members who God has given us throughout every stage of our life. Of course, their are some people who I will always misappropriately label as family. I will continue to learn through painful experiences that I should not trust so fully or so liberally allow others to be part of our family. All families have disagreements, arguments, and brokenness. But, when I try to claim a friend as family, I am not honoring the mutual decision that has to be made in maintaining the relationship. And, in reality, I don't get to be the one who claims a person as a family member. Just loving a person and wanting to care for them doesn't mean they are willing or able to receive what I,or my family has to offer. I don't get to choose or take someone as mine. God gives them to me, to us. He has given us beautiful children, siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. He has also given us wonderful neighbors, teachers, mentors, friends, colleagues, students, and church leaders. God has given each of us our family in a myriad of ways and through diverse and complex relationships.

Just as I did when my grandparents used to drive away from our house after a short visit when I was younger, I cried when my aunt and uncle left this morning. I remember crying when my mom and dad would leave after they would visit us in New York. Crying when people leave or when I have to leave is a part of who I am. Whether we are given the opportunity to move in a new direction before this fall begins, or in a year, I have already begun grieving, crying as I say good-bye to the experiences and relationships that have been my family. But, unlike when I was a little girl, sitting on the step as my grandparents drove away, or like I was this morning as my aunt and uncle headed out; I will know that each moment and family member who God has given me will never leave me. I will still cry, but I will be comforted in knowing that those who are really my family, those by blood, and those gifted to me in other forms will love me and allow me to love them, no matter what, and even if.

Say what?

Have you ever thought about why we say, or, rather, don't say, what needs to be said, or what we want to say? That is very clear, right? I am sure you already see where I am going with this. But, humor me. I am a little slow in translating and understanding my own thoughts.

For instance, my grandfather, my dad's dad, is still alive. My dad died 4 weeks ago, as of yesterday. He was 63 years old. My Grandpa is like, 200 years old, or maybe 95 years old. There was a great deal of discussion amongst the family about whether to tell my grandpa about my dad's death. He lives in a nursing home near my uncle, his son. Grandpa raised his family in Indianapolis, as did my dad. He moved to live near my uncle when my mom and dad moved to Florida, about 7 years ago. My dad visited my grandfather every day for years before he moved. They didn't talk much, but my dad always showed up. So, back to the dilemma.

When my dad died, the discussion about whether or not to tell his dad, my grandfather, was the only source of confusion or contention. I talked to my Aunt, my cousins, my sister, brothers, and my mom. The fear was that it might break my grandfather's heart. Or, maybe he wouldn't understand. Or, maybe he would forget. But, the point I most related to, sympathized with, was that he would have no response at all. Can you imagine? As a parent, I would want to know. I imagine I might feel it in the very depth of my soul if something happened to my child. No matter how old I become, I feel like I would recognize, sense, and feel the loss somewhere deep down inside of me.

But, what if I didn't. What if time, circumstances, ordeals, tragedies, dilemmas, disputes, heartbreak and brokenness kept me from feeling? What if those things didn't keep me from feeling, but rather made me incapable of responding or communicating the pain? Or, what if, the painful path of life made him unable to empathize with his two living children? Can you imagine? My aunt and uncle would have to tell their father that their brother, his son had passed away. Their own hearts broken, having seen their youngest brother wither before their eyes; they would stand before their father sharing the grief and loss of losing their brother. Seeking the love and compassion of their father, they may receive nothing, no response.

I am not sure my aunt, uncle, cousins, brothers, sister or mother thought about this point, this lack of response when they debated whether or not to tell my grandfather about the death of his son. I think we all thought about what my dad would want. He would not want to put his sister or brother, or his wife or children to have to share the news of his passing. He would not want his father to feel the pain in the depth of his soul of losing his child before he got to go to heaven to be with his wife. My dad would not want his father to know about his death. Right or wrong, we all knew this is where my father stood.

(I pause here to wonder if my dad would want to know if one of his children passed. That is the inner struggle I had with this decision. What kind of premise is set by deciding not to tell my grandfather about my dad's death? Does that not speak to lack of trust, confidence, and faith? Is the truth the truth, even when it is not spoken? Yes, my dad is gone. That is true, even if his dad doesn't know it. I can argue both sides with this statement. Whether or not my grandfather knew about my dad, the truth is the truth. My dad is gone. But, I didn't want any of my family to think it was ok to not share the truth. Even the painful, broken, and unspeakable truth of death is meant to be shared with family. I want my children to know they can tell me anything. I know...I know...they won't tell me everything. But, I don't want to set a presidence for not telling me the truth by modeling avoidance or denial. This will be out of my control, I am aware.)

My family decided not to tell my grandfather about my dad's passing. My uncle spoke fervently before and after my dad's death that his dad was not aware of all that was going on around him. Three weeks before my dad's death, my dad, his sister and brother, visited my grandfather. My grandfather seemed oblivious to the fact that my dad was sick, that he weighed slightly more than 90 pounds and could not stand up on his own. There was no question, no comment, no acknowledgement by my grandfather that his son was struggling to breathe. So, what good would telling him that his son died serve? The truth for the truth's sake seems hardly justifiable for provoking unnecessary suffering and pain. But, who would have suffered the pain?

I submit that the my aunt, uncle, mother, siblings, or myself would have suffered the greatest injustice. Not because my grandfather is cold, bitter, or unfeeling (though this may be very true and understandable realizing that he watched his wife suffer for years with alzheimers and then had to let her go and live the rest of his life without his love), but because all of us would have suffered the rejection of comfort and compassion in our moments of greatest pain. Again, I know that my grandfather is not to blame. He did the very best he could do in this long journey of his. He suffered and has admittedly given up living; wanting to go to be with his wife, my grandmother.

How many times do we, each and every one of us, refuse to speak the truth to those we love because we are afraid? I know I don't say all that I think or feel because I am afraid. But, what I am realizing is, I am not so much afraid of saying it, but afraid I may not be heard and responded to in such away that comforts or supports me in the way I need or want. As I write this, I wonder if it comes across as selfish as it seems to me coming off of my fingertips. It sounds so selfish to say that I have an expectation that somebody respond a certain way when I share information. But, in reality, that is where I am. Recently, I was asked to clarify my lack of effort or desire to do something. Today I realized why. The fear of not getting the response I expect or need keeps me from wanting to be vulnerable and open. Sharing the intimate feelings regarding love, death, fear, and joy implies risk. When we agree to risk something, we want to have some reassurance that there will be a comforting, accepting, and loving response from the recipient. Or, I suppose, there are times when we want a response of frustration, anger, or disgust, depending on what is shared. But, we want a response. Apathy is not the response we can easily accept when we risk being vulnerable.

So, when I considered the expectation for comfort, compassion, and nurture needed from my grandfather with the risk that my family would extend in sharing this sad news of my dad's loss, I understood why my dad, aunt, and uncle would not want to put themselves in this position. The facts are really very sad; not just for my family, but for all of us. We are a people afraid of risking our hearts because we have learned to quickly and painfully that our expectations can not always be met. But, my fear subsides when I realize that the truth is the truth, and that my Father knows each and every pain, risk, and expectation that each of His children have. We do not have to live in fear because we are human and fail one another on a regular basis. We can live with hope that reconciliation and joy awaits each of us who love Him and know the truth that He is fully capable, ultimately forgiving, and unimaginably generous.

I was wiped out yesterday. My legs finally revolted entirely and I was unable to move. Really glad I didn't feel this way on Sunday. I had so many things I wanted to get done. I did do some gardening, and reading of my new book. But, by noon, I couldn't move my legs anymore. Slept the next 4 hours off and on. I have such a hard time getting to sleep at night that I never understand how I can fall asleep so easily during the day. But, I am counting my blessings and am grateful that I was able to rest. The storms came and watered my newest plants, so God took care of everything that needed tended to today.

My emotions have felt a little tossed about over the past couple of days. Lots of change on the horizon gives me so much to be hopeful for, and yet so much to let go of and say goodbye to. I know there are friends that I will never say goodbye to, no matter where I am, ever. There is no distance too great that will disconnect us or keep us from caring for each other. There is a great deal of comfort in knowing that I am loved and accepted just as I am. My dear friends who have watched me move in and out of the scope of who I am and who I want to be will always love me. They have seen me at my best and at my worst, and they love me anyway. My heart breaks for the relationships that I will not have time or opportunity to mend. I do believe God can still work in the midst of all of our lives. So even though the opportunities may not be available during my time in this community, I can absolutely trust that He is in control. Trusting Him means that even though I am sad, I can hope for the time to come when all relationships are reconciled to Him and to each other.

I am thankful that God can handle my sadness and my frustration. He doesn't ridicule me or try to talk me out of how I feel. He doesn't make me feel guilty or shamed. He just loves me and allows me to bring who I am to Him. I am seeking to love authentically and sincerely. Unfortunately, honest communication is not received, accepted, desired, or appreciated. There is judgement which categorizes emotions, feelings, and thoughts as positive or negative, good or bad, right or wrong. Unfortunately, knowing this reality doesn't keep us from feeling one or the other. We are still subjected to the world's disappointments and the subsequent responses of fear, sadness, and emptiness.

So, what to do with these feelings that we know are not "acceptable"? Do we repress them? Do we deny feeling them? Do we pretend we don't know they are there? Do we project the emotions on to other people? Do we distract ourselves from the pain that evoke the negative emotions? Do we pray for God to take them far, far away? Do we loathe ourselves and those around us?

I guess I do a little bit of all those things and probably a few I don't even recognize. But, I am trying to respond a little differently. The truth is I do feel those negative emotions. I feel hurt, sad, angry, fearful, embarrassed, ashamed, frustrated, demeaned, humiliated, and a myriad of other feelings that are not acceptable or right. Luckily, I also feel joy, excitement, energy, happiness, freedom, thrill, and delight. What a wonderful gift that God allows us to feel the full range of emotions. My attempts to balance the range and vastness of these great gifts, we call emotions, may appear as if I am distancing myself from feeling anything. But, in reality, I want to observe and accept the feelings for what they are. Unfortunately, my natural inclination and desire to be connected and in relationship with others will challenge my attempt to deal with the feelings I am experiencing in a more objective, observant, and accepting way.

Relationships are the domain in which we are meant to grow in. Through relating to others, we learn more about ourselves, our world and our God. Unfortunately, I regret, in some relationships I may have taught jealousy, rage, frustration, and disappointment. Though I hate to admit this reality, I do so hoping that I can also accept that not all of the relationship's lessons were completely negative. We are all made with emotions, both good and bad. Even when I am at my best I will fall short of who I want to be and who God desires me to be. This is the essence of my humanity. But, there is grace in forgiveness. Though I may never know if forgiveness has been granted by those that I have hurt, I do know that I have to forgive myself. I also know that God has already forgiven me.

Since my dad has left us, I have had moments of great joy knowing that he is in heaven and he is whole, healthy, and at peace. I am so glad I got to reconcile with him while he was still alive. I know what great gifts I was given in both time and opportunity to process and accept my dad's passing. In the message shared at my dad's funeral in Indianapolis, the pastor spoke of the reality that death brings an end to opportunities. Once death takes the physical life of a person, you can no longer apologize, laugh, cry, forgive, or speak the language of reassurance that validates life and the relationship shared. This spoke profoundly to me.

How many words, feelings, thoughts are left unspoken and disregarded each day because we believe tomorrow will hold the moment we need to share. How many ends come far too soon, stealing the opportunity to speak lovingly and compassionately with those in our midst? How many lives are altered in the blink of an eye, taking the tomorrow away and leaving those unspoken, disregarded thoughts and feelings forever lost? Though I am clear minded and peaceful with my father not being in our everyday physical life, I am broken hearted for those relationships that remain broken. I know it is not time for me to act or speak. It isn't time for me to be a part of reconciling or reconnecting. Prayerfully, I seek the moment that I will be able to ask for forgiveness for the pain I have caused. I don't want the time to come when opportunity is passed by forever.

Random Ramblings

Still not completing thoughts enough to write about them, but did observe a few interesting things today.

1. I want a baseball coach. Colin played today, and I was inspired by his coaches and seriously wanted to hire them to walk through life with me. There were 4 guys who were totally attentive to every action, or inaction on the field. There was not a second that went by that a coach wasn't relaying imperative information to the boys on the field. "Lift your elbow." "Move to the left." "Move forward." "Move back." "Plays at first." "2 outs, run on anything." "Slide." "Run hard." "Go to 2nd." You get my point?

If I had a few coaches watching my action in the field, I think they would have a lot to yell about. "Stop talking." "Be quiet." "Relax!" "Listen." "Take a deep breath." "Quit it." "Really?" "Go to bed." "Get out of bed." "Let Go!" There is an endless list of commands that I can imagine the coaches sharing to help me stay in the game. They may even tell me to get out of the game and start a new one. But, we are not given 4 coaches to help us get through our life. Good thing we get Jesus!

2. Keeping a clean house makes me feel good. It isn't as if I want to obsess about it, but I do want to start keeping the house really clean; not just straightened up, but really clean. It feels productive and satisfying to walk through my house and see that things are put where the belong, (most of the time). However, I can't make my kids feel the same satisfaction. They do have to be responsible, and they have to do their share. But, I think I am done trying to convince them that they need to enjoy it or do it out of some sort of inner compulsion. We often have to do things that don't feel good and aren't motivated by an inner desires.

3. I want to move soon. It will be difficult, but it is time.

4. I wish I had a mat in my kitchen that was cushy under my feet. Maybe a whole kitchen floor that were easy on my feet and legs. It sounds ridiculous, but I can't tell you how limited I feel when I am cooking. My legs get so tired. Doesn't matter if I am barefoot or wearing shoes, my legs get so tired. I love cooking and I could spend hours at it. But, after a couple hours of working, my legs are so sore that I can't appreciate the joy that making the meal should create. But, it might just be one more indication that I should strive for balance. Rather than spending one or two days cooking for hours, I should spend an hour or so each day cooking. Such a struggle to balance life.

5. I have way too many shoes. I hate to admit this and I am praying my husband doesn't read this and know that I am openly admitting this truth. I love shoes. I have golf shoes because they were Nike, blue and white, looked trendy and to be honest I thought they were supposed to be walking or running in a rougher terrain. Do I ever run anywhere? NO. Do I walk as a sport? Not currently. And yet, when presented with a bargain, I convinced myself that I needed this pair of shoes. They are golf shoes, size 7, so if you are a golfer, I have a perfectly awesome pair of golf shoes that I shouldn't own and am willing to give away. But, shhhhhhh! I need all the other shoes that I own. The 2 hanging shoe holders, the 2 shelves with 25 cubbies in each one are filled with vitally important shoes that I can't live without. Those that are even remotely unneeded I will keep because, one day, I might need them. Or, maybe, there will be girls going to prom in 10 years that will want some totally awesome, barely worn shoes. It's possible.

Well, that is about all I have for today. Still wondering how to share about my experiences over the past few weeks; great times spent with family, sad times realizing that my dad isn't here anymore, thankful times for all the friends who have reached out to love me and my family, and so many more that I have yet to even categorize. So, until I can see my way through the variety of thoughts and recollections, I will focus and share about the here and now.