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