MARCH 2, 2022

Today is Ash Wednesday. It is a solemn day in which I take my Christian faith seriously and begin the next 40 days on a journey to the cross of my Savior Jesus Christ knowing that the cross is not the end. I observe fasting ingrained from my Catholic upbringing and tie it in with a Lenten Grace group devotional from my practicing Protestant tradition.

Today also marks the third anniversary of my mother’s entrance to heaven.

I started this blog in 2010 after my father passed away in 2009. Writing helps me sort out all the thoughts that tornado in my mind and gives you, the reader, a peek at how I incorporate God in the whirlwind.

I wrote many blogs on grief (Late Night Visitor series) after my mother’s passing. It was a healthy way for me to voice the pain of loss. I acknowledged the elephant in the room of my mind and gave it space even though it was very hard. But it was definitely healing.

I think of my parents daily as they were such big influences in my life. After helping to care for each of them at the end of their lives, I remain a little empty and lost. When my mom passed away, I paced around my house not knowing what to do with myself since she was a big part of my day for the three years prior to her passing.

As we read in the Bible, the disciples of Jesus were lost and confused after Jesus’s death on the cross. In fact, they hid in fear that they were next. But the three years they spent with Jesus on his journey to the cross gave them the directions they needed for their life ahead. God gave them His strength for their calling to grow His kingdom.

My parents worked hard to give my family a good life. I know my mother would be shaking her head at me if she saw me shed a tear for her today. She and my dad raised me in the Christian faith, and I know death is not the end. She is face to face with Jesus and all her family and friends that went before her. So mom, the tears I shed today are because I miss your physical presence. I miss the wonderful aromas filtering through the house from your days of cooking and baking. I miss talking to you each night and I miss how you kept our family traditions. I am so thankful God gave me you as a mother.

Today I will have ashes placed on my forehead as remembrance that I am from dust and to dust I shall go. I will begin the journey on the road to the cross with Jesus knowing that death has no victory. I will shed a tear or two in remembrance of my mother and then God will give me His strength to keep going to grow His kingdom.

Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:25-26

Late Night Visitor – Time Travel

Today we drove 5 hours, round trip, to celebrate the life of my brother-in-law.  I did not know very many of the people there, but it was a nice turn out of family and friends who were touched by his life.  Although drugs consumed a big part of his life, the bigger part was when he met Jesus on his own road to Demascus.  He was on fire for the Lord and that makes my heart happy.  Distance and finances had kept us from really getting to know each other, but I do recall one Easter brunch in a restaurant several years ago, I had the opportunity to sit next to him and we talked “God”.  It was a refreshing conversation, especially on Easter, my favorite holiday of the year. We had a few telephone conversations after that brunch and we shared God stories.  I love sharing God stories.

I recall when my niece, Jill, passed away a little over three years ago.  My brother-in-law heard the news and called me while I was at the funeral home with hundreds of people paying their respects to her and my family.  He shared the love of Jesus with me and comforted me with his prayers for peace. He shared Easter with me in December.

In the last leg of our journey home this evening, we passed the bus station.  The dark evening sky and the lights inside the station made it so I could see the bench that my two sisters and I sat on as we waited for a bus to transport one of my sisters back home after the funeral for Jill.  I remember how I did not want my sister to leave.  The closeness of family is the only thing I can grasp onto at such times and sitting on the bench made me want to stop time and keep my sister here with me.

Death is a wake up call.  We feel close to those we love; we cling to those we love that are still with us.  But as time moves forward, we hit a snooze button and “forget” we had that closeness.  Life moves on.

Even though we know we will all one day die, death is a shock.  Recent posts on Facebook of death notices include the familiar comment, “remember to spend time with your loved ones as you never know when someone will be called home”.  Why do we have to be reminded to spend time with those we love?

Funerals are the one occassion we stop what we are doing and pay our respects.  Our pictures and stories become extra special as we recall the relationships that have suddenly ended.  Distance doesn’t seem to matter when there is a death.  Most funerals are held only when everyone can be there that needs to be there.  We take the time to travel to be there.  Whether it is a 5 hour round trip or a bus ride across a few states; we make the time because we know love.  This love is what Jesus taught us.

Godspeed to the newly deceased.  To be absent from the body means they are present with our Lord.  Rest in peace dear brother-in-law, great is your reward.

John 3:16 (NIV)

¹⁶ For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Late Night Visitor – Grief Takes a Holiday

I feel like I have much to say, as well as nothing to say, because today is Mother’s Day.

I Want To Go Back

In this Christmas season, my house is not decorated like a picture out of Good Housekeeping magazine, nor is my table festively decorated. 

Knock, Knock

The One About Friendship

I remember Mrs. James, my grade school music teacher.  She was instrumentally and vocally talented and it was her job to raise our interest in music and possibly find some talent percolating within.  I am pretty sure I was graded on simply showing up because I have not been blessed with a singing voice.

The old wooden upright piano was tucked in the corner and a few of the stronger boys were called upon to assist her in pushing it to the front of the room.  Mrs. James loved to jam out on that piano by teaching us African American Spirituals which always got us up dancing next to our desks.  She calmed us down by gradually slowing the tempo of the songs we were singing and when she got us to finally sit back down, she taught us a new song.  She started with the melody and then she taught us the words.   The song was simple:

“Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver, the other gold.”

When I was younger, I used to make friends as quickly as the beat of the African American Spirituals we sang. Not many of my friendships from that era have lasted simply because we changed as we grew, which is absolutely normal. Since then, I learned that common interests break the ice a lot more quickly than small talk ever will. As an introvert, I like meeting extroverts because they draw me out of my shell.

I treasure my friends. I am talking about the ones that no matter the span of time since we last talked, we are excited to see each other and we pick up where we left off, feeling like we never skipped a beat.

Spending the time it takes to get to know another person is never wasted time, in my opinion. Even if the friend was in my life for a short season, I know it was meant to be and I am thankful for the time we had together.

Truth be told, at times I feel blessed with many friends and at other times, I feel like I have no friends at all.

“Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver, the other gold.”

I have a “golden” friend that ranks higher than any other; His name is Jesus.  Although I knew of Him all my life, I didn’t really get to know Him until I was without a human friend I could easily reach out to during a dark period in my life. Jesus met me at my lowest point and did not judge me.  He walked me out of the darkness and showed me His light.

In an effort to get to know Jesus better, I joined Bible Studies and started listening to Christian music and Christian preachers on the radio.

Jesus is the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and the Great I Am.  Although He is seated at the right hand of God, is all-powerful and all-knowing, He became man to be an example in how to live.

He knows all about me and loves me anyway.  He is the coolest friend to have because he doesn’t care if my hair is messy or my pajamas don’t match.  He doesn’t care what kind of car I drive, but likes to help me get to my destinations safely.  Such greatness and He wants a relationship with me and He enjoys my company.  He listens, He loves, He died for me.  He loves to spend time with me and is available day or night and loves our talks.  Wherever, whenever; Jesus is the most available friend to me.  He doesn’t get jealous when I spend time with other friends of the earth, as oftentimes, He is the topic of conversation. There is nothing I do that will embarrass Him, and He doesn’t do anything to embarrass me.  Jesus must be an extrovert because he draws me out of my shell.

Jesus isn’t a “one-and-done friend.” In fact, He wants so badly to be friends with you too. If you don’t know who Jesus is, I would love to introduce you to Him.

In grade school, Mrs. James taught me about friendship in one simple song.  As I go through life, I continue to make new friends while cherishing my old friends.  I do not know who first said, “You become who you hang out with”, but I noticed the change in me the day I started really hanging out with Jesus.

One who loves a pure heart and who speaks with grace will have the king for a friend.

Proverbs 22:11

Who You Gonna Bug?

This One Is For You, Dad

“Get up early and get there first, you’ll have the whole day ahead of you” echoes my dad’s voice of wisdom in my head.  

Jumping out of bed this morning, I prepped two rooms in my house to keep my three cats out of the way of the guy doing some work in our basement.  I proceeded to drive my car to the repair shop and got there before the “Open” sign was turned on in the window.  I left it there to have them look at my brakes and rotate my tires.  Living close enough to the repair shop, I took advantage of the beautiful sunny morning of my day off from work, and walked home.  It felt good not to be one of the cars zooming by heading to work today.  

I stopped into the coffee shop in my neighborhood and found out they do not carry dairy-free French Vanilla flavored creamer, so I made a stop to the corner grocer and picked out some decaf coffee beans, ground them, and grabbed a container of my dairy-free creamer.  I brewed my own pot of coffee and sipped it while sharing my scrambled eggs with my cat, Mojo.  

As I was walking around my house, tinkering around actually, I noticed a sqeak in my shoe.  I paused and made that same step in my shoe and heard that squeak.  I smiled as memories flooded my mind.

My dad never wore jeans; he said he didn’t like the feel of them.  So he always wore black polyester pants, belted.  When he worked around the house, tinkering around the house actually, he would wear the black pants that had paint drips on them along with a white T-shirt with slightly yellowed armpits despite my mom’s attempts to whiten them with her secret laundry powers.  He also wore these beat up, old black slippers.  

When I was very young, I thought the kitchen floor itself was squeaky because it sqeaked when dad walked through.  The floor didn’t squeak when I walked the same path and I concluded it was because I was very thin and didn’t carry enough weight.  

I remember when I was a few years older, I needed to get something from outside and I couldn’t find my shoes, but dad’s beat up, old black slippers were there at the ready.  I slipped in them and headed out the door.  Then I heard the familiar kitchen floor squeak, but I was out in the driveway.  I would step a certain way and the slipper would squeak.  I made a little song of it with my feet.  It was fun.

So this morning, I heeded my dad’s advice and got a lot accomplished before 8:00am.  And I squeaked my shoe in the kitchen and of course made a little song out of it.  It was fun.

Happy early Father’s Day, dad.  I love you and miss you dearly.  

Ephesians 6:1-3 

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. “Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise— “so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.” 

Ecclesiastes 3:2

November 9 is an emotional day for me.

Painfully Celebrating

I divorced my reproductive system 19 years ago today.