Move over, Cookie Monster....."C" is for Crappy

I would venture to guess that most people don't think about sleep. It's something second nature--like breathing. At some point in a 24 hour period you usually do it. The positives of sleeping are endless with a lot of physical, mental and emotional benefits. I would also venture that the only time sleep is on the table for discussion it's because a. you're not doing enough of it b. you're doing too much of it or c. your crappy at it. I fall under the "C" category.

For as many years as I can go back, I can relate to sleep troubles. Until two years ago, I really thought the problem was frequent night wakings, thus on most day, not feeling refreshed or restored. When I was a kid, even though I knew I wasn't sleeping well, I did enough of it that I did not really feel the effects. As a teenager, it definitely started catching up with me. Between school, working part time (usually 20-25 hrs per week) and my social life, I was beginning to feel drained. I could easily sleep until noon and still be tired all the time. College was the time when I was subjected to being the butt of many jokes about going to bed so early (by 10 p.m. most school nights). True, I was also the one who often scheduled the 8 a.m. classes but there was definitely more sleeping going on by me than my numerous college buddies. My friends often existed on half the amount of sleep than me, and yet our sleep debt was probably equal. I was always tired and my friends razzed me about it frequently.

In the early 90's I did an overnight sleep study and they found nothing of consequence. Yes, I woke frequently probably averaging 5 to 7 wakings in one night but nothing "treatable". Up to that point I could only remember sleeping "through the night" one time. It was the night I came home from Trout Lodge 6th grade camp. I slept 10 hours consecutively without remembering any wakings. That was heaven.

Fast forwarding to the late 90's I attributed my chronic fatigue with the demands of being a new wife, and full time step mom to Tony's two young school aged sons and still working 40 hours a week at the local power company. The demands were great and the quality of my sleep had reached an all-time low. Unfortunately, adding my first newborn child to the mix did not help matters. I was a stay-at-home mom at this point and with the continued demands of (step) mothering and being a wife, while dealing with an interfering ex-wife, I was convinced  that whether I had sleep issues or not, stress would keep the quality low. Adam was sleeping through the night by 9 weeks old and I was wondering what was wrong with me that my newborn son could achieve something I could not--restful, sound sleep.

Elise was my breaking point. God love her, she was a lousy sleeper. She finally slept more than 3 or 4 hours at a time at 13 months old. But by now I was at an all-time critical low. I was literally exhausted and had nothing to give back into my marriage. My marriage--my family---my life was all in crisis. I felt I had nothing left to give Tony once the kids were down for the night. I was too tired to care. Our counselor suggested looking into my sleep issues again. Fifteen years had elapsed since my last sleep test and surely technology had advanced. Maybe someone could get to the bottom of it.

During the summer of 2007 I began treatment at a sleep clinic. The initial visits were profiling my risk factors. The highest risk group for sleep disorders include overweight, smoking and drinking males. Over-weight, no; smoker, no; drinker, social only; male, nope. However, profiling my youth showed strong indicators. Growing up I was prone to frequent (weekly) sleep walking, snoring and night terrors. My risk just got greater. We inventoried my sleep patterns and behaviors and by all accounts by the doctor, I was doing everything right and sleep-conducive.

Once the history and likelihood of finding something was established, I participated in an over-night sleep study through our local hospital sleep clinic. Properly attached to 25 to 30 electrodes I was ready to sleep. I was given from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.. No more, no less. Fortunately, I feel asleep quickly, which actually was quite the norm. Falling asleep was never the issue--staying asleep was. That night was typical, as typical as it can be for having three sleep technicians watching your every movement via the little mini-cameras set up around my bed and having 25 to 30 wires protruding from about every area of your body. I recalled waking up my average 5 to 7 times over the course of the 8 hours, easily falling back to sleep.

Upon wakening I asked the technician 'how I did'. Well, you had some mild sleep apnea episodes-about 3 or 4 an hour, but nothing remarkable, The doctor will let you know". I must say I left there somewhat dejected. OK, so not breathing 3 or 4 times an hour is acceptable and will likely be overlooked. What else could they actually find, I wondered.

Well, wonder no more. My sleep doctor had an impressive file in front of her as she sat me down in her office. She reiterated that I had mild apnea, not necessary to treat. She explains that the average person will have up to 2 to 3 apnea episodes per hour that is acceptable. I am probably pushing the upper limits of acceptable, but we're going to table THAT. However, she continues, I found something almost unimaginable. You woke up 162 times in 8 hours. For good quality sleep you should be in REM stage 40 to 60 percent of your night. Bonnie, you stayed in REM .2 percent. Basically, honey, she says with a sympathetic tone, you aren't sleeping.  Your brain is waking you up idiopathically every 3 minutes. There is no quality of sleep. No wonder you are tired.

Wow! I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or devastated. Perhaps I was a little of both. For the first time in my life I felt validated and actually vindicated that after 40 years of crappy sleep there was a cause--a real medical reason. Over the years I had been harassed and given a hard time by various people in my life. Finally a cause. But the hard part, a solution had to be found. The real work was about to begin.

Unfortunately, sleep medicine research is still a work in progress. Right now, it is more about managing than curing. And, unfortunately, it involves medication along with behavior modification. The good news is that I had already established healthy patterns. I am thin, exercise regularly, eat healthy, non smoker and limited alcohol. I also only consume only 2-3 cups of caffeinated beverages a day. All the right behaviors.

Medications, however, are plentiful but a surprising mix of drugs. For the most part they use old school drugs that were once used to treat psychosis, depression and other mental illness to treat sleep disorders. Quiets the brain and causes drowsiness. Initially there were definitely more misses than hits. All the medications had various side effects: initial drowsiness until the body adapts, often lasting up to 2 weeks, restless leg syndrome, insatiable appetite, weight gain; headaches...the list was endless and, unfortunately, it seemed like I was plagued by the possible side effects, often not tapering off with time. Just one night with the restless leg and I was going to create sleep problem for my poor husband, much less curing mine! The increased appetite was so severe in one case I literally could not stop eating. I was gaining 2 pounds a week. That is fine short term, but long term, it wasn't going to work. Curing one problem but creating another.

During the last two years my dedicated physician has added another doctor to my team. To quote her she said "You are one of the worst cases I've ever seen. I'm a little stumped how to help you You are one of the toughest cases I've ever had".  These two years have been both frustrating and enlightening for me. I guess I had hoped for the "miracle cure" when really all we can do is hope to manage it. Insurance only pays for a sleep study once every two years so I will participate in another one this fall to see if they can see anything new. They are always making advances in medicine and sleep research is no different. They are able to look at brain patterns and see what neurons are firing and misfiring. The medication helps and for that I am grateful. But at the same time now that I know that I should feel better and feel more rested. The doctors and I are curious what sleep patterns I have while on medication. Obviously, I don't remember waking up 162 times so I don't know how much the drugs are really helping.

My current situation is that I sleep anywhere from 4 to 6 hours uninterrupted, but then I have hourly awakenings, if not even more frequent than that. The bottom line is that I am still tired--far more than I had hoped two years down the road. But as I told my doctor. "I feel better today than I did two years ago...if this is as good as I'll ever feel then I'll live with it. In the meantime, we'll keep working toward something better".
My amazingly dedicated doctor left me at my last appointment with encouragement. She said that the fact that I get out of bed each day and am not only functional, but highly functional and contributing is amazing. I should be applauded for not letting this be my excuse for laziness. You fully engage your family, your community and are honest about your limitations.

I silently suffer and I am often met with lack of understanding of how difficult this is because it is not able to be seen or touched. Unless you've been there for extended periods of time, you really can't relate. But I have someone on my side--and for that I am grateful!!

Emparted Words

In a treasure cove of old family documents -- marriage certificates, death certificates, Honorable Discharge papers---I find several hand written poems. The first one, Ode to the Pill Box appears to be an original poem where as the second one is accredited to an anonymous writer. Apparently she found it amusing in her advancing age.  These were handwritten by my great grandma Arliea Longbottom Rau. She had passed away before I was born so I never had the pleasure of meeting her, and honestly, don't know much about her life. I think her sense of humor shows through in these poems and apparently a woman of faith.

Ode to the Pill Box

There are many pills for many ills, your doctor will prescribe 'em.
In different shape and sizes, you eat 'em or imbibe 'em

There are pressure  pills, both high and low,  and pills to help your liver
As well as those for jangled nerves and some to cure a shiver.

Some pills will keep you up when dull
and some when you are duller

In capsule and in tablet form, they bloom in techn-icolor.



My Get-Up-And-Go Has Got Up and Went



Old age is golden, or so I’ve heard said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I crawl into bed,


With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself:
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?


But, though nations are warring, and Congress is vexed,
We’ll still stick around to see what happens next!


How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!


When I was young, my slippers were red;
I could kick up my heels right over my head.
When I was older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.


Now I am older, my slippers are black.
I huff to the store and puff my way back.
But never you laugh; I don’t mind at all:
I’d rather be huffing than not puff at all!


How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!


I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Open the paper, and read the Obits.
If I’m not there, I know I’m not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed!


How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

Journey
 
I do not know what the future holds --
of joy or pain
of loss or gain --
Along life's untrod way
 
But I believe
I can receive
God's promised guidance day by day.
 
So as I securely travel on
And if at times the journey leads
through water's deep, on mountains steep
I know this unseen Friend.
 
This love revealing
His presence healing
Walks with me to  journey's end
So I securely travel on

I wish you enough

Recently I overheard a Father and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure.  Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the Father said, 'I love you, and I wish you enough.'  The daughter replied, 'Dad, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Dad.'

They kissed and the daughter left. The Father walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?'

'Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?'.

'I am old, and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' he said.

'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?'

He began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone...' He paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and he smiled even more. 'When we said, 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.' Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.



He then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them; but then an entire life to forget them.

Take Time To Live..

To all my friends and loved ones, I wish you Enough !

Little Stop of Horrors

Living in my town you'll often be asked "What high school did you attend?" but no matter where you live at some point during the day someone will  probably ask you "What is/was on the adgenda for today?". I don't know about you, but if someone asks what my day looks like, I am likely to gloss over the ordinary tasks of life. Breakfast, personal hygiene--getting the kids off to school. It's the monotonous stuff in life that no one is interested in--not even your mom. I am far more likely to start talking about my work outs at the gym several days a week or Women's Bible Study and Mom's in Touch prayer group.  I might mention a school activity or shopping. Afterall, isn't that really the heart of our day?

Going to the bus stop is one of those rarely mentioned moments in my day. Without much forethought, I make sure Adam is ready to catch the bus.  From kindergarten to second grade our bus stop was across the street and down one house at an older student's house. Taylor and her mom would greet us and we'd gab about the day before or maybe what's going on in our lives. Back then it was no small task for me to be at the bus stop. I was taking care of my niece, who is 5 months younger than Elise. On a typical morning I'd have to shuffle the girls twin stroller in tow since my niece wasn't old enough to walk--and Elise was old enough to get into mischief.  Our old dog Boo would accompany us, too. He looked forward to frollicking in our neighbor's yard, and ultimately, usually leaving a little surprise for me to clean up.

Once Taylor aged out of elementary school our bus stop was moved to the house across the street. No longer caring for Paige and our old dog no longer with us, it was back to just the three of us each morning. Occasionally we would be surprised by a memorable moment at the bus stop. One fell on a bright, windy morning following a steady thunderstorm all night. About half way to the bus stop a bird pooped on Adam's head. Good aim, little birdy! We chuckled as I ran back to the house so I could remove the evidence before the bus arrived.  The only other memorable moment was late in the spring of last school year. We found a giant, dead raccoon waiting for us at our usual bus stop. Thankfully, the city took pity on us and had the raccoon removed from the sidewalk in less than 30 minutes time.

Yesterday, however, will be the most memorable morning thus far. Crossing the street, I notice a clear, baseball sized object in the grass. Upon closer inspection, it appears blood speckled and something is encased inside. Intrigued, and just a little grossed out for lack of a better term, I gently kicked the ball on the other side to see what I could determine. The side that had been hidden in the grass was now staring up at me--and frankly, made the little hairs on the back of my neck raise. Whatever this thing was supposed to be certainly did not belong at our bus stop. By now, I've made the kids have a closer look, and they weren't too happy about it either. Upon close inspection, all I can really tell is that by all accounts it looks like an animal inside, connected by an umbilical-like blood source.  Even looked like it had crab legs projecting from underneath the sheath.  Disgusting! I was all too happy to see the bus arrive so I can cross the street and be away from it. Don't get me wrong. I don't consider myself a squeamish female. I can handle rodents and spiders and insects. Not a problem. This little ball-like alien--a problem!! My first instinct was to call the city again to remove it. But, what what exactly do I tell them, and wouldn't they tell me just to dispose of it myself. My second reaction was to call my husband. Tony is intelligent, especially about nature and animals so I assumed he might know what it is by my description. Upon questioning, he is really perplexed and asked for pictures.

To make a long story shorter, without my knowledge, unable to identify it, Tony contacts the Zoo via e-mail to send them the photographs while I am calling the science laboratory at the Zoo myself. My reason for contacting them was two-fold. First, I wanted to know what the hell this thing was and secondly, I thought they may take an interest in investigating or dissecting it. A woman named Kim asks me to send her the pictures after I explain the object. She looks at the photos and says that no one in the lab can identify it, but agrees whatever it is, it's intriguing and gross!!

Basically, at the end of the day I have no answers from the Zoo despite pictures traveling system-wide, and quite frankly, I didn't want to see it waiting for us at the bus stop. This image was replaying in my mind over and over. I hadn't been so "freaked out" by anything like this in a very long time. My husband eagerly takes matters into his own hands upon arriving home. Final verdict, you ask? A rubber ball. A disgusting child's halloween-like rubber ball. All that for a stupid, scary play thing. If you ask me, whomever created it in the first place should be shot. Really.

I Fear....

I fear...that my children's memories of their grandma will fade.

I pray....that photographs and video will capture her essence and keep her close in their hearts.

I fear...that as they go through their lives they will stop having moments that remind them of her.

I pray....that they will treasure the times they had with her and remember how much she loved them.

I fear...that I will stop telling them what her favorite color is, or her favorite flower.Or how much I loved her.

I pray...that I will be dilligent in explaining who grandma was from the inside out and what made her an amazing mom to me.

I fear...that her friends will stop talking about her in my presence.

I pray....that they know that talking about her is healing and a glorious reminder that despite the lack of her physical presence, her life mattered to them.

I fear...that I will stop dreaming of her.

I pray....that she will live forever in my dreams where I can see her and touch her and talk to her--even if it's not real.

I fear...that I am tainted in my thoughts about what life is really all about and whether or not it really matters that I was a part of it after I am gone.

I pray...that I will have touched many lives and my life will live on in the lives of my children and grandchildren and my life will have meant something to someone.

I fear...that her disappointments and heartache in her life are an unbreakable bond between us.

and I fear that some of these things have already begun to happen.

Legend of the Thorn Bird

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain.... Or so says the legend. 

Political Opinions--Yeah, I've Got 'em

Religion. Sex. Politics. Three subjects that can generate interesting and lively conversations and debates in any setting.

But for the sake of argument, let's talk politics, shall we? Actually, if you were to ask me that, my real answer is "No thanks." The heart of my response comes from feeling a little behind the 8-ball. I don't spend a lot of time educating myself on what people consider "politics". All of it kind of bores me, and quite frankly, I think my ignorance would show through. Religion, I have knowledge. Sex, yeah...but politics...hmm not so much.

I admire people who know their stuff. They can talk about all the issues: the economy, our troops in Afghanistan, Health Care reform, Stimulus package, Missouri AYP --any subject really. Whether I believe what they believe or not, I totally respect that they are educated and informed. I should be paying more attention, I know. Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly not ignorant in the true sense of the word but let's just say that if you want to talk politics you are far more likely to come across intelligently.

What is piquing my curiosity right now is the issue that is at the heart of Facebook politics "Should Obama be allowed to make a nationwide address to children without parental consent?" Personally, I haven't and won't answer the question directly on FB because I like to explain myself. A simple yes or no or don't care just doesn't seem adequate.

From one story I read on line and I've posted below, Obama's intent is to encourage our children to stay in school, set academic goals and to explain the importance of improving schools. Interesting thought and I think it's OK up to a point. Encouragement to be the best you can be is always good and I can sit with that. But I guess in my 40+ years I've grown skeptical. Sure, he's addressing the "children" but he knows full and well adults are listening, too. I imagine some of what he will say will be aimed at the adults--educators, parents, grandparents, caretakers. I think some of it will speak to our children but some of it may be above the average child's understanding.

That is where I am divided in my opinion. It is less about "Do I trust Obama to send a message I want my son to hear" and more about "Do I trust my son to fully understand what Obama is telling him"? I know my child. He is a well-educated, sweet and talkative boy. He is also easily influenced and is swayed by peer pressure and takes a lot of what he hears at full face value, without the discernment to think for himself. In the near decade I've been his parent, I've become aware of how naive and innocent my child is in the ways of the world and in adult matters.  I've listened to him tell me his favorite color is blue until I say my favorite color is orange--in the next breath, he's changing his to orange, too. As a "typical" child my son emulates those of influence. He has certainly lived what he has learned and that has been a blend of positive and negative.

What I do know is that if my son is required to watch the televised address, I won't interfere. But as his mom, you can be sure that I will be watching and taping it at home so that when he gets home from school, we can talk about what he heard and answer any questions he might have. We might even watch it together a second time. It would be naive of me to think that Adam heard what I heard. He will process the information differently than me. As his parent I need to make sure we are on the same page and he takes away from it whatever is age appropriate. The last time I checked, adults elected our President, not my 9 year old son.  I want Adam's biggest concern to be homework, play dates and after school activities.  To quote John Cougar Mellencamp "Hold on to 16 (or 9) as long as you can. Changes come around real soon make us women and men".

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/090309dnmetobamaschools.3ca94f4.html

God Meeting Me (and Wayne Watson) in the 11th Hour

The top picture was taken in early August 1996 in Caesarea on our last day in Israel. I was part of a large choir and orchestra who traveled to Jerusalem to celebrate the 3000th year of the City of David.

I am photographed with Christian singer Wayne Watson and this is one of my most treasured photos taken on my amazing trip. This story actually begins about 6 years earlier. I was fortunate to be part of a large multi-church choir who performed at The Checkerdome and The Arena each December with the touring Handel's Young Messiah artists. The artists ranged from the well known Sandi Patty and BeBe & CeCe Winans to Steve Green, Wayne Watson, Twila Paris, Larnelle Harris, Michael English, 4 Him and Steven Curtis Chapman. The list was long and, for anyone who loves Christian music, the list was impressive. As a special opportunity for the choir members there was a group photo session before each performance where the various artists would be on stage and allow a time for photographs.

If you were lucky, which I seemed to be every year, you would run into one or more artists back stage and sneak a photo with them.  Every year I was blessed to meet these amazing men and women and they would willingly allow us to take more up-close-and-personal photographs (OK, with Michael English he walked by me to use a pay phone I was standing next to. I hovered in his personal space waiting for him to finish so we could take a picture together. I kinda stalked the man, I must say. No I wasn't actually listening to his phone call, but he wasn't getting any privacy either! He was the hottest commodity in town at the time and there was no way he was getting out of it!!)

In all the years of performances each December my heart's desire was to meet Wayne Watson. As a brand new Christian in 1990, I listened to his music more than any other group or vocalist. His music continued to be my all-time favorite for years and years. I kept my eyes peeled annually hoping beyond hope that our chance meeting would happen. It never did and while I was totally in awe each year of the opportunities I was given to be a part of the tour, I left each year with just a little sadness that it was not in the cards for me.

The purpose of the Jerusalem 3000 tour is to perform the final Young Messiah concert, as well as other private concerts we had been rehearsing for 18 months. Allowing time for sight-seeing, word is spreading that Wayne Watson and Larnelle Harris are often sighted midst the various touring groups. My desire was simple and unchanged, silly even. But I wanted to meet Wayne and this was my last chance. But alas, despite many close calls, it just wasn't happening.

God being who He says He is, meeting Wayne Watson came in His timing. (in the proverbial 11th hour I might add.) Our final day, at our final concert following a whirlwind of concerts, rehearsals (call time 4:30 a.m. anybody?!) and touring, it finally happened. Finally. I don't recall the circumstances exactly but I think it was a sighting by a friend, who gently nudged me in his general direction. Cornered. OK, not really in the literal sense, but there he was standing in front of me. I quickly introduced myself and gave a brief testament to how much I love his music and then ask for a photo. My friends later razzed me about this, but if you look at his right hand he is holding a water bottle and his sunglasses. "Uh, Mr. Watson, would you mind taking off your sunglasses for me?" He obliged. I figured, hey, I waited 7 years for this picture. I want to be able to see the man, ya know?  I was a happy girl. Mission accomplished.

Surprisingly, despite my love of his music, I had never seen him in concert as a solo act. So years later in 2003 Tony and I attend a local church to see him in concert. A perfect smaller venue. Fortunately for me he invited his fans to approach the stage and take photographs at the conclusion. My husband, who is fully aware and supportive of my deep affection for him, agrees to the meet and greet. We hung back waiting for the masses to leave because anyone who knows me well knows that if given an opportunity, I will seize the opportunity.  I figured since I patiently waited the first time, God was making it easier on me for the next time. With only a handful of people behind me, I re-introduce myself and explain how we met in our last day in Israel and how taking his picture with me was a dream come true. Hearing that I was part of the trip, he asks if he can finish meeting the other fans and spend a little more time with me to reminisce. So he and I spent a dedicated time talking about the trip, our favorite sites and concert moments--and of course conclude it with pictures. My husband, out of boredom probably more than my benefit, snapped a few candids of us talking.

 

 

Not to discount the majesty and beauty and incredible nature of my trip because words cannot express how awesome that opportunity was--but, when its all said and done, it is the little things that stand out. And this one is the one for me.

People Watching

I'm a people watcher. My earliest memory of actively doing it was with my best friend growing up--hanging out at a local mall on the weekends before we could drive. I remember sitting in the carpeted seating area where a carousel now stands. We would giggle as a whole host of interesting people walked by. We were probably really on the look out for the cute boys for us to embarrass ourselves in front of. But it was definitely more than just the cutsie boys we'd notice. Inappropriately I'm sure, we'd point out a person who caught our eye--probably for all the wrong reasons. After all, you have to remember, this was the 80's. Yep, the valley girl,  the punk look, and big hair 80's. You didn't have to look very long before you would find someone perfect to check out.

Suppose I digress and acknowledge that we were just kids and didn't mean any harm. In reality, we weren't being "mean girls". Our comments were discreet (I hope). But therein lies a few questions to get to the heart of the matter. Was it really people watching?  No, probably more like people judging. After all, even if not verbalized aren't we passing judgement in our hearts and minds about someone by their outward appearance?  Let's call a spade a spade.  I distinctly remember a time or two taking my "people watching" to another level and creating a life for them. What I mean by that is that I would look at them and decide what their lives looked like. Married or single? Children? Maybe a doctor, lawyer, call girl? Rich, poor? The possibilities were endless. One young adult stands out in my memory. I recall this being at the Galleria with the same friend but now we were old enough to drive. We notice him because, well, he was an attractive brunette and probably in his early 20's. He had a slim, attractive build. and wearing nice business clothes. He came out of a nearby store and sat down on the ledge of a planter. Distressed, he leaned forward and placed his hands on his forehead, shielding himself from the world around him. He was obviously pondering circumstances that brought him grief, sadness or angst. Without much care or concern, we created his "deep, dark scenario". After much deliberation, a break up with a girlfriend was our conclusion. Giggling and laughing and being silly we carried on while this young man would pace back and forth and then sit again. In hindsight, he was troubled. Probably far more than we would ever know. Our actions did not harm the man, but it certainly wasn't beneficial either.

So it brings me back to my point that life is swirling around us and from the outside looking in, we judge, We all do. I think it is part of our sin nature. "They're thin, they're fat, they're lazy, they're rich, they're poor, they're mean...." the list is endless. The second question is this: Acknowledging we do it, since it's not with malicious intent, isn't it OK? After all, who is it really hurting? Well, it hurts us, actually. Matthew 7:1-5 talks about being a hypocrite and finding fault in others while thinking you are blameless. Didn't we all grow up hearing the expression "Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones"?  Well, I've got news for you. We all live in glass houses.  We don't like being judged, but aren't we quick to do it?

Everyone has a story. Everyone has heartache and troubles in their lives. No, the grass really isn't greener on the other side. My challenge to my readers is this: When you pass a stranger look beyond the outward appearance and know that there is someone who has lived a life time just like you needing our compassion and the benefit of the doubt and maybe even our prayers. No one has it "all together" and everyone needs someone. It really does take a village. Our smile might be the one that helps them regain perspective or create hope where they were losing hope.

Now as I go through my day, I hold my head up high as I pass people and offer up smiles and encouragement, especially when they have a tantrum-throwing toddler or preschooler in their midst--which is where I can relate. Been there, done that. Just yesterday I waited far too long in the Walgreen's drive through window for our prescriptions. Impatiently, I was watching the clock being mindful of picking up Adam for his orthodontic appointment. To add fuel to the fire, Elise was verbalizing exactly what I was feeling. "Mommy, this is taking forever. Can't we just go in?" No, I tell her, we're next in line. We're sandwiched in between cars. It will be our turn soon. Soon came several minutes later and what I found was a frantic young man working both drive up windows while also working the inside counter. He was doing his best working between the three stations, carefully and politely processing each order correctly. My turn finally came. I thanked him and said "Take a deep breath and a step back. You're doing great...keep it up". Sighing heavily he quietly, almost inaudibly said "thanks...I needed that".  We all do.....I thought to myself....we all do