Finding growth in acceptance

Traumatic events change people, and forever alter their lives. Outlook has everything to do with how people come out on the other side.

Today, I read my umpteenth (and that is an official number) book on survival. This was one of those days that I read almost the whole book in one day – not because I was having a necessarily difficult day, but the author really spoke to me about surviving one of life’s most terrible blows and coming out stronger and better.

Acceptance and “moving on” are two concepts that I have avoided at all costs and stayed away from even the thought. How could one ever accept the tragic loss of a child in the prime of his life? I have felt that moving forward would be a way of leaving my son behind – and this is something I am not willing to do. In Surviving the Loss of a Child, author Elizabeth Brown advises that people who move more rapidly through the grief process find a sense of acceptance in the new order of life.

She states to do this one must accept the reality of the child’s death and stop wishing for what used to be. As I turned the pages, I came to my own realization that I now have a distinctively different relationship with Nicholas. He is still in our lives, will always have his place as our son and brother, but we relate to him on a spiritual level, rather than a physical one. Roger said it best when he told me that as parents our role was to advise and guide Nick through the trials and triumphs of life. Now, the roles have reversed and he is the one who can see the bigger picture – the one who knows what we do not know. Obviously, we cannot go to him for advice, but we can feel the comfort of his presence looking over us through our walk of life.

I smile when I think of the mysteries of science and the universe that Nick could debate with fire in his belly. Now, he indisputably knows the answers. Pretty cool.

The key to acceptance is not to accept the loss, but rather to accept the grief process, Brown states. A psychologist who lost a child herself fully acknowledges the pain of it all, but because of her own tragedy can spell out from the heart the importance of finding firm ground in the tumultuous storm. She verifies that people who experience trauma weave in and out of the grief phases with doors opening and closing at different times.

I feel in a strong phase at the moment, where I can gain perspective and keep the emotional tsunami in check, but that phase can give way at any given time; I have learned to live with that roller coaster and know that with God’s help, I always find myself back to peace and calm.

In this journey, upon which I know I have just embarked and will continue for many years, if not the rest of my life, I have learned many things about myself and am seeing sparks of personal growth. Life problems are just problems, not catastrophes. There is a difference between a speed bump and a brick wall, and most of life’s problems we encounter are really just speed bumps that slow us down. I am more realistic about having perspective on what is truly important, and I hope I keep that perspective.

I am finding a way to feel happiness through the fog, and in this journey I am realizing that I will find joy on the other side. Relationships, I have decided are the single most important element of life and I hope to handle them very differently as a result of our tragedy. I find myself to be much more forgiving than I used to be. Holding grudges, I have decided is destructive to all parties involved and really accomplishes nothing. I hope I always remember that fact in my relationships.

One day, I am told by reliable sources, we will find blessings through our tragedy, and I already see beauty emerging. This does not minimize the pain of our loss and if I could give away my last nickel to have my boy, I would, but sunshine does come from behind clouds and it is my choice to continue the search for acceptance in this process – but with a heavy heart.

Gratitude: A powerful healer

Sometimes, when I find myself diving into the pool, touching the bottom and somehow unable to surface for air, I have to stop and ask myself just how a person of resilience does it. What is the secret that resilient people know? How do those strong folks keep going with their attitudes straight?

These are the hard questions that I continue asking myself in this quest to define resilience. A powerful strategy in facing hardship and adversity is gratitude. Yep – the face of grace and a spirit of thankfulness can be as powerful a healer as any other I have encountered.

Since our tragedy, I began a new life of seeing every single organism and occurrence through a different set of lenses – my old ones broke. I have found that in my deepest lows, a positive heart pulls me through to surface where I can get air. One time this winter I was driving to Ohio and one of those familiar waves of grief seemed like it was going to wash me away. I looked out at the countryside and created stories in my head of what was happening in the farm houses within sight. I pictured a cranky old farmer in stinky bib overalls coming in from the fields and griping about his wife’s cooking – and a wife who deliberately tarnishes his food and serves it with a smile just to give the old codger cause for complaint.

Soon, I had kind of a smile on my face and was able to pull myself to where I could feel a bit thankful for the happiness in my life. At that particular moment, driving on Interstate 75, I had Clover the Wheaten sitting shotgun with her chin resting on the console and button eyes looking up at me. Bing the Schnoodle snored in the back, taking up the whole seat. Now, if having those sweet pups doesn’t fill me with gratitude, what can?

I read recently that a positive heart is one that is able to receive mercy and healing. I notice that when I hold grudges and feelings of anger, my whole being is closed, charred, and my grief increases. Earlier this week, I watched a news story of a judge being tried for a scheme to gain money for sending minors with misdemeanor convictions to prison. One young boy took his life after spending the stiff sentence of six months in jail for a marijuana possession charge. The boy’s mother very understandably tore into the judge accusing him of murdering her son. She confronted him with anger and grief that anyone can understand, and then she and her lawyer appeared later on NBC News harboring the same resentments.

Whether the judge is at fault or not at fault, the anger does not bring back that boy. The judge will be held accountable, but it broke my heart to see this mom’s pain – I know the pain of losing a son, and I know that blame only serves to rip the gripping muscles and tendons of grief. It is easier in her deep pain to shoot blame at the judge, but if the people who encourage and support her could redirect her to the positives in her life, it would lessen the pain, rather than the anger, however justified, that drives it.

I have found that hope can only enter when the heart is open to receive it. When adversity heightens, and spirits delve low, the simple act of visualizing something. If I look for just one thing that is really right in my life and fixate on that one thing and my gratefulness for it, that feel will bring me to a place where my heart can receive hope. I don’t want to sound patronizing or to minimize the pain of adversity, but there is always a light somewhere in anyone’s darkness that can bring hope.

In my despair during my drive last month, I redirected my painful thoughts, and then looked at my dogs who give me their complete devotion. Just knowing they were in the car with me and depending on me gave me that little flash of gratefulness that cooled the searing fire in my chest and opened my heart to receive hope.

Have we unfolded the secrets of resilience? No, we just peeled back a layer, but layer by layer, just as the phoenix rises from the ashes, strength emerges.

Live in the present rather than ruminate on the past

"Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy; you can't build on it; it's only good for wallowing in." ~ Katherine Mansfield

We all know that regrets gain us nothing, but somehow, most people I know have at least some and just do not know what to do with them. I came across this quote in reading Face Book posts this morning and have been mulling it over all day. I looked up a background on the author, Katherine Mansfield just to see what she had been up to in her life to lead her to make such a bold and intuitive statement.

Turns out Ms. Mansfield, a modernist writer on the early 1900s did plenty of things that we enlightened folks of the 21st century could find regrettable. She left her home in New Zealand alone in the late Victorian Era against her parents’ wishes and settled into the pre-bohemian life of a writer in Great Britain, hung out with brilliant minds and unsavory characters, and wrote some spooky, yet very good stuff. Her mother came to visit in England at one time and so disapproved of her daughter’s lifestyle that she travelled back to New Zealand to write her out of the will. Ms. Mansfield contracted tuberculosis, could not return to her homeland and died from the disease at age 34.

I read her short story, The Kidnapping of Pearl Button, where her character is kidnapped by gypsies who introduce her to a fascinating place, and give her a first-time glimpse of the sea – the little girl is rescued in the end, so – no wallowing in regrets.

I think it would be accurate to state that most people reading this harbor some remorse for acts done or business undone. In our culture, it would be considered regrettable to say there is nothing in our lives we wish we could undo, but is the act of regret an appalling waste of energy? I tread lightly on the regret path in my life as this is a tender time for me. Yet, as I ponder this issue, I can tell you with absolute certainty that there may be some do-overs in life, and are so thankful for this form of grace, but we just cannot change the past. The past is over and reliving it in our minds only serves to make our heads hurt.

To look back and wish we spent more time with family could be viewed as regret, but can also be considered healthy if looking back affects the present in a positive way. Maybe the children are not still small, but we still have family and significant people in our lives with whom we can spend time and give our attention. This action improves not only our daily walk, but our future relationships as well.

We can affect the future best, I believe by living in the present and enjoying it for exactly what it is – the present. We cannot control the past in any way, and only the future by maximizing our present lives.

I think back to when I was in school --- I wanted to graduate and get going with my life. I wanted to marry Roger as soon as I graduated. Then, I looked forward to buying a house, having children, well you know the list. It seems like we are programmed to look ahead to find happiness. At my age now everyone seems to talk about retirement ages and plans, as if happiness can begin when work ends.

The time is now to follow our dreams, build fullness in our lives and in doing so, we will plan for the future. This does not mean that we drain our bank accounts throwing a great big party, it simply means that we need to live in today and soak in happiness from the present rather that looking for it in the future, or needlessly regretting past actions.

Living in the present is a concept that is difficult for me, as I think I was born with my brow furrowed in worry. But, life is happening now, the future does not yet exist, and the past is where it is and out of our control. I agree with Mansfield that we cannot build a life on regrets, and marinating in them only sours the moments we can enjoy.

Cheering for the good guy

Adventure. Intrigue. Lies. Deception. Revenge. Redemption. Friendship. Betrayal.

Charles Darwin penned theories that the fittest survive, and the weak eventually succumb to those who demonstrate strength. I am not a scientist, nor do I ponder such theories in my daily walk, but I will say I am a huge fan of Survivor – the reality show, that is.

From basest of relational strategizing to the manipulation and sheer voyeurism of it all – I just love Survivor and have watched nearly every episode in the last 10 years. The very first season had me intrigued as the flagship for what would become a string of reality-based shows (OK, I know it is not really reality, but I have great imagination, and pretend it is). After the first couple shows, I took note that the “story” is based on William Golding’s Lord of the Flies – a novel about boys abandoned on a deserted island. I enjoy the human relational element of strategy and the concept of players working with and against each other on this elaborate “game show.” Right down to last sole survivor, it keeps me hooked every season.

I have been known to teach archetypes using Survivor as an example: every season’s cast includes the simple farm boy, the aggressive attorney who shows up to the island in a suit, the mean-spirited female, the easily manipulated female, the egotistical and manipulative male, the Adonis male, and so on. Producers know what they are doing, and in the 20th season, cast members might as well wear their roles on name tags in the first episode. And maybe this is why I watch. I like to figure people out, find out their intentions, their secrets, and how they use them to succeed or fail.

The intentions of people and how they use their smarts or lack thereof, and morals or lack thereof, can imitate life in some ways, with the understanding that this is just cool television, and not life. Or is it? Does what makes one successful on Survivor gain anything in the real world without the ubiquitous camera, and where it is socially unacceptable to carry on deep conversation with strangers in underwear? I think there are parallels, but thankfully, not too many.

Last week we met Phillip, a guy claiming to be a former special agent who worked for three branches, including the CIA. Now, I have never actually known a special agent, but upon learning a secret, this guy who says he is an expert in reading people, tattled like a school girl and sang like a canary. Really? Aren’t they were trained in keeping information hushed? I am going to enjoy watching Phillip, however, who grapples for authority in a faded pair of saggy pinkish BVD’s.

Lies and unkindness mark Survival success on this show. I sit on my couch and rally against the evil mongers, but they almost always come out ahead. This is definitely where I am going to break any weak parallels of Survivor to real reality. The folks I most look up to in this world and consider successful are the kind, the thoughtful, the caring. When I sit down to talk with a friend, I value trust and honesty. These attributes do not survive on television reality, but they are vital to true success in life.

When the kids were growing up, I used to say that friends are like the buttons on an elevator – they can bring you up or take you down. In life this is true, as well as the reality show. The friends who make us feel good just being in their presence are the buttons who bring us up, and such a hallmark of a successful life – not only having friends like these, but being one – and keeping them close.

Each week, someone who has made a relational mistake gets “voted off” the island. I am so glad I can make mistakes around friends, family, and co-workers in a world where they do not have the opportunity to vote me gone.

Life does not always mimic art and it this case that is a very good thing. Good prevails over evil and honesty wins over deception. With that understanding, and sometimes needing a good respite, I will continue to enjoy Survivor, but I always cheer for the good guy, no matter what the outcome.

Hooray for the high five!

I believe in coincidences...and I believe some things are simply not coincidences. Actually, anymore, I am not even sure how to identify a coincidence.

Today marks four months since the passing of my sweet boy, Nicholas. In those four months, I have felt emotion more deeply than my fingers can describe by plinking out on a key board. Things I used to take lightly or inconsequentially have become very important. Seeing Elise or Roger’s names light up on my ringing phone give my heart warmth before I hear their voices. On the other hand, some things that were once of dire importance take a back seat in importance these days. I used to worry about finances more and whether I need to dust much more frequently. I just feel things differently these days. I also feel the presence of Nick in ways that I cannot easily describe.

When I say Nick is with us, I am not using a cliché. I really feel his presence in our lives.

This sounds strange and weird to many, and quite frankly, six months ago I likely would have described my words as kooky, but I know what I feel and I know my boy. Roger, Elise, Scott and I have spotted hawks at various times since his passing and felt the great birds bring us peace at the most tumultuous times.

One day during the Christmas season, I was working in the kitchen and grief weighed heavy on my heart and body. Aloud, I let out a sigh and audibly asked for assurance Nick felt peaceful and comfortable. I kept working and eventually looked out my kitchen window. At the closest range I have ever seen, I saw a hawk on a tree branch in my direct line of vision...I took a double take as this was a most unusual sight, and he slowly flew off through our little woods and into open sky. An unexplainable sense of peace and security washed over me. Coincidence? We are not given the privilege to know.

Last Sunday, Elise called while I waited in the grocery checkout. She warned me she had a strange story, one that she said may be a little heavy to digest, and gave me the chance to opt out until I got home. "Go ahead, I said. I can handle it."

Elise cautiously proceeded, all the while repeating a disclaimer that she just could not wrap her brain around the story.

Riley, her dog is as smart as a dog can be, but does not prefer the mundane canine treatment of tricks. A year ago, Nick taught Clover the cute trick of "high five,” Elise and Scott tried adding "high five" to Riley's repertoire. Riley resisted and saw no need to slap his paw on demand. They handed out treats and worked on “high five” for a day and dropped the tutorial, as Riley showed no interest. Because of several hundred miles distance, Riley and Clover are almost never together.

Sunday, Scott told Riley to "sit." He responds to this command and sat down, but this time, he raised his paw to slap Scott's hand. Confused, Scott gave the command of "high five." Riley immediately lifted his paw and reached to Scott. Elise called for a high five and Riley responded in kind. No treats. No training. And, Riley followed them around the apartment wanting to give high fives.

So, Elise mused with me on the phone, and still in long Sunday grocery checkout lane, was Riley activating his long-term memory to pull up a trick he had no interest in a full year ago? Could it be her brother's way of communicating to them that he is happy, wonderful, and has her back? I guess that is up to us to take it or leave it. Nick always loved his sister and was certainly dog's best friend; if he could reach out in this manner, it would certainly be his style.

Coincidence or a visit? It does give me pause for thought, and a very warm feeling when I watch the video Elise and Scott sent of Riley’s special trick.

Keep your eye on the blue sky

Yesterday we awoke to sunshine here in Michigan. The air held a chill, but blue skies and billowy clouds watched over us as we drove to church. The minister greeted the congregation by welcoming the blue skies and brisk temperatures and followed with the warning to check the forecast. Enjoy what we have for now without worrying about what is to come later, he advised.

The forecast. A concept in itself. As time would have it, the forecast held true; snow began to fall about 3 p.m. Sunday, and continued until dawn with a whopping 10 inches on the ground. But what about the forecast, should it ruin the blue skies as they come or should we live in the moment savoring the time we have in sunshine without worrying for tomorrow and how we are going to get out of the driveway?

I pondered this subject throughout yesterday morning, awaiting the inevitable snow. Nowadays, we can clearly see the radar and know snow is coming; weather guesswork becomes more often a rarity.

I think of times in the past when fear of tomorrow stymied me so much I could not savor my moments. Years ago, when Elise and Nick were in elementary school, we took them to dinner to announce an upcoming move - a most unwelcome announcement, we knew, but thought it would be unfair wake them up one morning with a moving truck in the driveway, even though we don’t like delivering unwelcome news.

In a very typical reaction of those two, Nick stared a bit stunned and Elise responded by throwing French fries at her dad and declaring in no uncertain terms that this move would not include her. We moved about six months afterward and rather than preparing the kids and myself with musings of adventure and the positive outlook of the change in our lives, I focused on the "last" time we did everything...the last time we would go to our pool...the last time we would pass Kroger...the last time they would play on their play set. Looking back, one would think we were loading up on a cattle car to Auschwitz.

When I think of those months of anticipation, rather than learning new things about our new home and enjoying the best of our current home, I unwittingly robbed them of their blue skies; I disallowed them to live in the moment by focusing on the forecast.

A winter storm warning may seem like a nasty forecast, but, once again life is pure perspective - yes, our snow came, but it was absolutely beautiful as it fell. Because it was Sunday, we had the privilege of watching the snow fall from a warm house, in front of tall windows and against a wooded backdrop. It would have been perfect if Roger had remembered to bring in firewood in from the elements - but seriously, who needs perfect? Because we are rounding out the month of February, we know the snow will not last long, and, thanks to Michigan winter mobility, I safely left the house today at 9 a.m.

Blue skies will follow, they always do eventually - and the gray weather becomes a memory.

Back in 1996 when we engaged in the aforementioned move, we all learned that anticipation is usually worse than the actual event. We spent less than two nights in the new house before a girl and boy, brother and sister, exactly Nick and Elise's ages appeared at the mail box. These two shy kids sucked it up to wait until my two shy kids were brave enough to walk out the door. The foursome became heart friends and spent most waking moments together that summer. They introduced a new culture to Nick and Elise - along with their food, and practices and I gave the neighbor kids their first tastes of Pop Tarts and Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese.

When we returned to live in Franklin a year later, blue skies shined with happy memories. Sometimes the dark clouds seem unending and there are no cool new kids waiting at the mailbox, bluer skies still do come, and even in the storms, hints of the beauty of the storm peek around the corners.

I believe in living in today, in relishing the moment without fear of tomorrow, but the actual practice is a challenge I continually strive to learn. The scripture the minister referenced yesterday morning was "I will not fear tomorrow for God is with me..." (Matt. 6:34). With those words in my pocket, I can enjoy the snow bending down the pine branches and not stress over the second-wave forecast for Roger's evening commute.

Nothing like a good cup of tea

Steam wafts up from my tea cup as I take in the aroma and relax more with each breath. I think those three or four inhales that I take before the first sip of my tea is almost the best part.

Tonight, I am drinking a chai blend that I bought at a fancy pants tea shop in a mall. Usually, I drink a black tea with milk in the mornings, then move to herbals in the afternoons. No matter what time of day- I can turn it into a tea time.

The fine art of drinking tea is one I learned from my mother, and have honed it over the years by drinking local teas most everywhere I visit, which, at least once got me in trouble, but usually just brings out the best in places. Growing up, one could not open the door of my mom’s microwave without encountering a cold overly brewed forgotten cup. I hesitate to admit I am too much of a snob to drink tea from the microwave, the flavor releases better when the leaves plunge into boiling water.

In China, purchasing tea is not like picking up a box in Kroger and placing it in the buggy. Procuring tea involves ceremony, and the ceremony just makes the tea experience. When we lived in Shanghai, my favorite place to buy tea was on Weifeng Lu, just outside our building. The young lady who worked there had quite good English and loved to practice her language skills. Upon arriving in the store, she would begin brewing green tea, a Chinese specialty and favorite.

Once the tea has brewed, ceremony dictates that the tea be poured over a slotted tray to and on a little clay thing to make sure the water is hot enough. Then, they ask you to inhale the brew. You breathe in the tea slowly with your eyes closed. Properly brewed, good tea will give an experience very similar to breathing in a fine red wine.

Several steps later, I would get a sip of the tea I was about to purchase. One kind of feels obligated at this point, but I loved shopping for, and later enjoying the tea.

Back in Tennessee before leaving for school in the mornings, I would fix my tea in a large coffee container, add just the right amount of milk and pay attention to the brewing time. This was a ritual as important as brushing my teeth. On those rare occasions when I drove off without my tea, it took me until third period to shake off the disappointment, and poor first and second period students had to suffer for my mistake. I would like to say that my morning cup does not determine the quality of the day, but enough evidence tells me otherwise.

My most memorable and harrowing tea experience took place after a trip to Cambodia two years ago. I enjoyed lemongrass tea in restaurants and in the hotel on the entire week-long trip. When it was time to leave, I just had to buy some tea to take back home to China. We flew through the night to get back to Shanghai, so the entire next day, I brewed lemongrass tea and enjoyed the experience to help me recover from the overnight trip. By that night, I was completely covered in hives and ended up spending two days in the hospital. Apparently, I did not buy the lemongrass from a reliable source. Lesson learned, and I still drink lemongrass tea, just not that batch.

To sum up my tea experience, I will quote a plaque my sister Joy has in her kitchen. It is one that really helps in my quest for defining resiliency. “Women are like tea bags; they don’t know how strong they are until they get into hot water.” Amen.

Dog park fright

My sweet Bing endured a harrowing experience yesterday afternoon and came through like a champion of resilience. Because she so enjoyed sharing her story a couple days ago, I will let her share her story of emerging through terror at the dog park.

The snow changes every day this week. In the early morning, our snow that was once soft and powdery becomes crusty on top and smooshy underneath. Yesterday afternoon, with the snow a perfect soupy slosh, Mom let Clover and me run through the woods to the mailbox. We have not gone down the hill and through the woods to the mail box with Mom since the temperatures have been so cold, so Clover and I romped and rolled.

The woods delight us this time of year. We follow the deer tracks and stick our noses down mysterious holes not knowing what we are going to find. After Mom watched our hilarity for a few minutes, she made a quick decision that will not be repeated, at least with me.

“Hey, Clove, wanna go to the DOG PARK?” she called above our chase. Clover stopped still in her tracks and cocked her head. Obviously, Mom used one of those words that Clover knows and I don’t. See, when Clover lived with Nicholas, they went to the dog park in Murfreesboro every day just before dinner. Both the boy and his dog loved the interaction, and Clover enjoyed everything about the daily ritual except the bath afterward.

Clover is a social dog and can hold her own against everything from a Great Dane to a Pekinese. Not me. But, if Clover is so excited about this dog park thing, I should be too. After all, Mom says my middle name is “me too.” There were no more deer tracks in the driveway section of our woods after Mom called out the magic “dog park” words. Clover raced around and made circles; she got me going so fast around the trees that I had to sit down from being dizzy.

Finally, Mom was able to corral us into the car and we drove a couple minutes up the road to the nasty place that I never want to see again as long as I live. Upon arriving at the dog park, Mom looked at her sneakers and informed both of us something about wishing she had boots for the 20 plus inches of melted slush on the ground. She leashed us before leaving the house because she knows Clover gets just a little jumpy when she is excited – ok, out of control, but Mom just does not like to admit it.

Clover took off out of the car and pulled us both through a field with gray slush up past my knee caps, about ankle-bone height with Mom’s big sneakered feet. She took off Clover’s collar and that was the last I would see for a good while of my sister who usually has my back in every circumstance. There were probably 15 dogs at the park running, playing in the slush and having such good playtime in the sunshine that I just had to join.

I convinced Mom to remove my leash and let me go. I really wanted to play “me too,” and after all, Clover was rolling with a Rottweiler, and having a blast. I ran immediately toward a Portuguese waterdog who seemed to be very nice. She let me chase her, but when she turned around to look at me, I froze. I don’t like strange dogs looking me in the eye. I get scared, so I started to weave around and try, try, try to take on invisibility. It did not work.

Dogs came from everywhere and surrounded me. I could not detect wagging tails; I just saw steam coming from their noses and fire in their eyes. They were after me and they were everywhere. I yelped at the top of my lungs. My bowels released, and I heard the most piteous sound from deep in my diaphragm. I have never even heard the sound, and don’t know if I could repeat it on demand. Looming carnivorous canines with large, pointy teeth filled my vision. People ran from everywhere, not knowing if I were attacking, or being attacked.

I forgot about Clover and I found out later, she was off running with other dogs in the woods, or she would have helped me; I know she would. I heard Mom saying my name and, I think she was holding me back. People pulled their vicious beasts off me and Mom fell on her back. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and I could not quit yelping. I am too large for Mom to lift, but she completely covered me and kept saying my name softly.
I calmed down slowly, as nice people held their dogs. I felt ashamed and embarrassed as Mom walked me to the car where I would be safe until she could find and gather up the party pooch.

Survival is just like that. As bad as it gets, we just have to breathe deeply, picture peace and find a safe place. As soon as I hopped into my familiar back seat with the blanket that smells just like Clover, me and home; I felt better. I was able to lie down and find peace before Mom and Clover came back to the car to give me assurance that I was safe and sound with my family.

Mom drove and cried a little. She does that these days. She explained to me that there are times when she gets panicky and has to remove herself from a situation because grief just takes over and there is nothing you can do but get away and find a place of solace. That is ok, she tells me; I am loved and will always be safe at home.

I breathe deeply and am thankful that I have the strength to get me through that panic. Whenever Mom says “Dog Park” again, I will not say “me too,” but “have fun, Clover – see ya!”

Keep attacking and don't let 'em in your body space

“In for a penny, in for a pound” said London’s 71-year-old “Super Granny” on the Today Show this morning when she described single-handedly thwarting six thugs from robbing a jewelry store.

Half a block away, and thinking she saw a mugging in progress, the arthritic woman with her legs tightly bandaged on her way to dance class, Ann Timson of Northampton, England, ran across a busy street carrying a handbag and started pounding the young men as they used sledgehammers to attempt breaking into the jewelry store. Two of the men were on a motor scooter. She told Meredith Viera on Today “I am not a hero…I am just a mum that went in thinking a kid was getting hit.”

Now, I have never condoned violence, nor would I ever promote taking the law into one’s own hands, but I do encourage guts, and this brave lady certainly espouses the epitome of guts. She heard a ruckus, thought someone was getting hurt and simply forgot she was 71 years old; forgot she has rheumatoid arthritis; and forgot she was heading to dance class. My goodness.

So, how did she pull off a feat that could have gotten her shot – or worse? A martial arts expert said she made all the right moves to protect herself. She kept attacking, not allowing them to enter her body space. Timson said she had choice words for the thieves with every whack. One held a sledgehammer up to her, she wacked him in the face, and he put it down. “I think he realized I was just an old bitty, anyway,” she explained.

I love the words of the martial arts expert. She kept attacking, not allowing them to enter her body space. Amazed at the tenacity of this woman, I thought of those words and how we can use them to control much of the ugly stuff in our lives that does not even wield sledgehammers. When bad times come, plow through adversity, never allowing the cancerous nastiness to penetrate our body space. I love that she did not take into account that these guys were much younger, stronger, and possibly armed.

Obviously, I am speaking in metaphors --- goodness knows I think she should have called 911 from the other side of the street. Her son sat next to her on the set of Today and still seemed stunned. Onlookers stood and watched. Someone recorded the scene on a cell phone video recorder. Timson said she does not blame the people who watched. “They were mesmerized.” In spite of her difficult situation, she did not take even a minute to point the finger in blame.

As soon as she wacked the scooter rider and knocked the vehicle over, people on the street and in the stores realized what was happening and ran to her aid, but it took her keen intuition to take matters into her own hands and not join in the mesmerization. I can only wonder into which camp I would have fallen.

As one who recently received an AARP card in the mail, I was hoping that my agedness and frailty would gain me some excuses eventually, but after reading this account, I see this is not the case. Drats. I kind of hoped that I could sneak into old age allowing all the mouthy young people to fight life’s battles, but this little granny who is sometimes wheelchair ridden from arthritis, demonstrates otherwise. When we see potential destruction or unfairness in our world – either our personal worlds, or the big bad world, we can make the choice to keep attacking, not allowing them to enter our body space.

“Great acts are made up of small deeds.” These words of Lai Tzu, Chinese philosopher and father of Taoism, remind me of Timson’s brave act. She saw what she doing as helping what she was thought was a young person in need. I seriously doubt she planned to whack robbers or even muggers, and probably just planned to yell for help. What began as a small deed became a truly great act.

I don’t plan to take on any muggers or thieves any time soon, but difficulties do creep into my little stratosphere, and I now have a 71-year-old red headed brave role model who showed me how to keep attacking, not allowing the bad stuff to enter my body space.

By the way, her son plans to sell Tomson’s handbag on E Bay and donate the proceeds to charity. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/41617717/ns/today-today_people/

Introduction of a two-pack

I would like to introduce guest Blogger, Bing Fender to share with you today. Bing, our “giant schnoodle” who was once known as Princess Only Pup and now shares her home as a pup two-pack.

I am Bing and came to live with my family last summer as Mom was getting ready to move to my Michigan home she refers to as the “Little House in the Big Woods.” I am timid and shy. It takes me a while to get to know folks, and I tend to be very afraid when encountered by dogs, most of whom are much smaller.

Last summer when it was very, very hot and we lived in Tennessee, Nick came by almost every day with his dog Clover who scared me nearly to the bone. Nick was very good about making sure Clover did not get too pushy with me, but Clover sometimes just cannot contain herself. She would jump in a circle around me, poke me with her nose, bark at me and pin my neck to the ground, and about the time I wanted to wet on the floor, Nick would step in, say “now, Clover” and pull her away from me.

Just before Mom moved to Michigan, Nick brought Clover and me on the great big car ride and we spent about five days exploring the woods with him. Actually, he worked clearing out the woods and we dragged around the brush he cleared. We love helping, especially in the woods. I got to know Clover then and became more used to her, but she still made a shy introvert like me nervous.

Clover has never met a stranger and nothing is more exciting to her than checking out new dogs on a walk. I try to make myself invisible. Just as Clover and I were becoming buddies, he loaded her up for the big car ride back to Tennessee and I stayed with Mom and Dad in the woods. Everything was great and I loved taking daily walks with Mom, and sitting at her feet when she read or knitted. She would build fires in the fire pit, and I would dutifully drag firewood all over the yard, just as Clover taught me.

Life was pretty good as Princess Only Pup, and one day things changed very much in a most confusing way. Mom and Dad were gone for a while, and then brought Clover home. I loved seeing her again, but this time was very, very different. I had never seen Clover without Nick, and I looked around everywhere for him. Who would calm down that crazy wheaten when she gets out of control?

Mom and Dad’s demeanor changed when they brought Clover home. They walked slowly and got very little done around the house. They did not talk much, and kept their heads bowed a good bit of the time. The television did not wake up and keep them company, and Mom stopped our walks. I did not understand the difference, and probably would not have paid much attention, except Clover really noticed the changes.

Around me, Clover was the same old Clover. She could wrestle for hours and never get tired. I got to be much more comfortable with her on her visit with Nick in August, and just love to wrestle now. I am not afraid of her anymore and don’t need Nick to protect me; it was just so much more fun to play with both of them. He played on the floor, batted at us, and rolled with us. Now, they pretty much just watch us play as if we are their entertainment.

Around Mom and Dad, Clover really got the differences in our house. Whenever they had their heads down and sat quietly, Clover would notice immediately and drop her side of the toy we were tearing apart. She would walk over to their feet and lie down, chin flat on the floor. Mom and Dad would always, as if on cue, drop to the floor and hold her as if she were the last wheaten terrier on the planet – and Clover, who sat still for nothing, would not move.

Last fall when Clover came to our house and we changed from a one pup house to a two-pack, she used to go to the edge of the hill and look down the driveway. She did this every time we went outside. I wanted to play chase around the pine trees, but Clover would first sit and watch for something for a while. I decided to check it out with her and I watched; didn’t see much. Mom and Dad say “he” may be communicating with her, and that is why such a busy girl stays so quiet.

Things have settled so much into routine here that I almost forget that Clover did not always live with me as a two-pack; her toys now mingle in the same basket as mine and I love living with my sister.

The ebbs and flows

The books tell me that grief ebbs and flows like waves. Good. Then we can describe last weekend as a tsunami.

This business of grief is not easy, it is not simple, nor is it for the faint of heart, and I don’t want to package it that way in my tidy little 800-word blog vignettes. Grief is the big-bad wolf dressed in grandma’s nightgown waiting to pounce at any second. Sometimes I am strong enough to say “what big teeth you have,” then pull out the hunter’s shot gun and shoot, and other times the big bad wolf jumps out of the bed and gobbles me up in one mouthful.

Fortunately for me, when the nasty monster gobbles me up in one mouthful, I remain whole and can dig my way up from his greasy, acidic stomach cavity, up through his slimy, dirty esophagus, past his yellowed, sour smelling teeth, and into fresh air where I can regroup and rebuild.

In the three plus months since my son, Nicholas’ passing, I have experienced a range of emotion that no one ever wants to have on his or her resume; they are my emotions, part of the life I now lead, and so I will own them. I experience highs and lows, and as a result, I get stronger. In this amount of time, I have observed human strength and tenacity that boggles my mind and gives me more and more hope for tomorrow.

My daughter, Elise, has learned to power up inner strength all the way from the depths of her big toe and successfully manages her first year of marriage, an accelerated master’s program, as well as an internship through this difficult time. She epitomizes resilience and serves as such a positive role model for Roger and me. Scott, my son in law, goes so far above and beyond the expectations of a first year husband in his support. We are blessed beyond words.

Roger walks down the basement stairs to his crossover vehicle at six every morning, whether he feels like it or not, and does not return until early evening. It is his job, and he knows how to do it.

Me. I put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes in my mouth. I manage as I see fit and feel that I am growing into myself more each day. I can now look into the mirror and kind of sort of see remnants of the person I used to be and that feels good. Life seems to gain speed each day, and my step almost has a bit of spring in it. In other words, I feel progress happening in my life and in the lives of the family.

So, what happened Saturday? Grief is like that - a monster that hides in corners and jumps out to grab. Saturday, we decided to sort through Nick’s things for the first time. I wanted to open suitcases of his clothes and surround myself with them. I needed to hold up pajama pants that I could picture at the breakfast table, socks that needed balled, and t shirts that proclaimed “Life is Good.” But the waves overwhelmed.

I took the dogs for a walk and brought in the mail. Fresh air and exercise, I thought, would revitalize my soul, but did not anticipate the fire-breathing mailbox holding documents regarding his death. The swells grew, and that was about the time that the lace-edged wolf bared his teeth at me.

Things fell apart. I fell apart. Grief waves swelled.

The purpose of sharing these great revelations is that grief is real. It hurts. But, through it all these past few days, I kept in the back of my shriveled little mind that I have been strong before, and with God’s help, I can reside in the place of peace again.

I read the words “Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9. I know this and believe it. So, from deep inside, I visualize the times when I have managed grief, when I rode the waves onto a warm beach, rather than fighting and thrashing in a rip tide. I know what peace feels like and I can pull from that feeling to revive my strength.

The road is not easy, but I can do this, one day at a time. People who have been through tragedy tell me there is sunshine ahead, and on rainy days, I like to think of sunshine.
So, for now, it is Valentine’s Day and if Roger is going to have a Valentine’s Day dinner, I need to wrap up and go in the kitchen to cook.

Write what you know

“Write what you know.”

Years ago, when Elise was in the fifth grade, she won a writing contest and fifth graders from around the state were invited to a fancy luncheon with guest speaker Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, author of children’s novel Shiloh and now dozens more books. Elise was quite excited; I was smitten. Beyond the chicken fingers with honey mustard and tater tots, I got to meet and hear the wisdom of the creator of such poignant stories. A rock star in my book.

After a delightful meal of the aforementioned menu, a couple hundred 10-year-olds with combed hair, pinchy shoes and scratchy clothes stood in line for this famous author to sign their tattered copies of Shiloh and the opportunity to purchase new books for signing. The kids shuffled by, impressed because they were all writers, and we know one is only as good a writer as he/she is a reader, but connecting a school-teacherly looking lady sitting at a desk to penning the emotion-evoking words on the very pages they held – well, let’s say they weren’t seemingly making the connection.

I walked through the line star struck and as Elise pushed out her hand for a firm shake and a sweet smile, just as she had been taught. I found myself awestruck and tongue tied. I think my profound comment to the author was something as meaningful as “oh wow.” We adjourned to an auditorium and Naylor spoke to the group of budding authors on her area of expertise. “Write what you know,” she said.

I pondered her words, as I was used to wearing scratchy clothes and pinchy shoes, which afforded me the ability to sit still and listen. She advised the talented children listening to know their audiences and investigate topics that they can believe in, ponder over, and write with confidence. Over the 14 years since that encounter, I can still remember her looking out into the crowd with the most simple of advice for anyone in the writing realm, or really any venue of life. Sink your teeth into what you know and what jazzes you enough to learn and create more.

The last couple days, I have been reading blogs that bounce me from one subject to another. I have been reading passages on travel, life in Downtown Franklin, living abroad, writing, and even professional gaming, of which I could fill a thimble with my knowledge, but the blogger’s prose kept me reading.

A blogger by the name of Brooke who writes daily about travel at brookevstheworld.com stated so succinctly, “Let’s get it straight. Blogging is not a standalone job. You cannot blog in a space that doesn’t exist and to a group of virtual people. In other words, I must realize you are not virtual eyeballs who live behind my screen. I know many of you, and when I write down this avenue, I must keep you in mind.

The purpose of this blog is for both of us, and I intend to develop a relationship with both you, my reader and myself. I write for me because this blog’s purpose is to investigate and mull over the concept of resilience. I need to find a new reality, a new sense of normal in the aftermath of the series of events in the last few months that came to a head with the passing of my dear son. Last I checked, my elbows and knee caps are not made of rubber, so I must dig deep from inside of me to pull out inner strength that allows me to get out of bed in the morning and figure out how to get the cream cheese on the bagel.

Because, to my estimation, there is no rubber content in my body, so we know I will never bounce back to the be the exact person many of you have known for years, but I am seeking knowledge, teaching myself, and looking to God for guidance to find a new me from who will emerge from the ashes and certainly come out stronger.

And, of course, I write for you, as you are the most important cog in this wheel. I write to give you different perspectives, thoughts, and suggestions. I write to share with you, so that maybe through my meanderings, you can relate my experiences to your own, and you can give me feedback and support from your side of the fence. And finally, I write to you because you are good people who encounter complications in your lives, just as I do and are strong enough to delve into yourself and elsewhere for answers.

So, as we can never fully chart our paths, I write what I know about seeking strength, and I hope you can find meaning from the words.

And, speaking of words --- I learned the meaning of “blog.” It is a contraction of the words “web log.” Now, you know.

A flush and a smile

Today, I reunited with a friend from another world. I knew Amie back in China, and a wonderful aspect of living here in the Great White North is that so many of the Americans I knew in Shanghai are auto employees and hail from Detroit. So, I have the special privilege of meeting up with folks I knew “on the other side.”

Amie has just moved home to begin a new job in the States and we took in a Thai luncheon. She brought me gifts from special people whose lives crossed both our paths. Amie’s beloved household helper, Mary also worked in our home and I enjoyed her so much. She sent me the gift of green tea that emanates steam from my cup as I write. Roger loved Mary’s cooking and she made the year he spent over there with me in Tennessee so much easier. Amie also brought Chinese candy from Bing whose talent at the wheel took me everywhere and whom we truly consider family.

Seeing the gifts and a friend whom I have never before seen in a “normal” world where we drive cars, read menus with ease, and order Asian food while really understanding the ingredient list gave me pause for nostalgia of another time. We did not talk much of our time in China today, but seeing her reminded me of some of the fun. And that “fun” sometimes took us way out of our comfort zone. Now and here, when I get together with friends in a restaurant, the restrooms are so easy, so familiar, and so convenient, but that was not always the case.

Moving to China back in spring 2007, we encountered so many wonders, concerns, anxieties and fears with uprooting our lives and blowing holes in our paradigms, but one little detail over which I failed to consider was public restrooms.

On my first full day living in China, my first official duty was to go through immigration’s required health check. I was to meet “Cherry,” a young woman whose job was to help new expatriates navigate the labyrinth of settling into this ancient, yet new-to-me world. First up on the morning’s agenda, Bing drove Roger to work with me in tow. He then drove me to Hong Qiou. We arrived a little early and Cherry, whom I had not yet met, was still on her way. I still remember how Bing, so kind, waited with me, until Cherry arrived. Amidst what was so normal to him, he sensed – and rightly so – that I was nervous as a cat.

Cherry met with me and started the process of the health care check. It was very simple to her, and I do not know how I could have accomplished the 30-minute task without her. But, the aforementioned restroom issue is what caused me to smile, roll my eyes, and sigh to myself.

“When in Rome…” The ladies’ room consisted of two stalls, each elevated by a step before getting to the door. I waited my turn, and to my surprise, I saw the shape of a toilet seat “flush” with the floor. This, I came to know oh so well, as a “squatty potty.” Later, in public with foreigners as myself, whenever anyone took a restroom break, I would ask, “Is it a squatty?” The answer to that question had a direct determination on how many Diet Cokes I would drink in the course of the outing.

The concept and usage of a squatty is pretty self-explanatory, and I don’t think any gentle readers want me to go into too much description, let me just say that rolling up pants legs and hanging the strap of one’s purse around the neck was involved. Believe it or not, we actually got used to the drill – to a point. Point being the toilet tissue in the trash can issue.

I miss those days… OK, some things more than others, but when I have a chance to reconnect with friends “from the other side,” the memories are always good. There were times when I had to face things so foreign and strange to me when I just could not handle the stress. I wanted to be home in America with familiarity and comfort surrounding me. But, I was not home – far from it. I had to, as they say, “wear my big girl panties,” and deal with whatever my new environment threw at me.

On those days that culture stress took over, I told myself that at some point I would get used to things, and the easier I rolled with the program, the sooner that would be. It was true, and now that I am back in the familiarity of the US and learning to live in a new part of the country and a new family lifestyle; I have to take my same medicine and tell myself to wear those big girl panties and the sooner I do, the sooner I roll with the program.

I am just glad I can hang my purse from a hook in the bathroom and take care of business the way I was taught.

Take a hike

“Look deep into nature and you will understand everything better.” Albert Einstein

I belong to a family of hikers. Each member of my family would much rather awaken to the sounds of birds outside a tent and wind rustling through the pines, with the glint of a sunrise coming in through the seams much rather than hear the clink of dishes to indicate room service is coming down the hall.

Now, as much as I love nature, I don’t turn down a cup of hot tea, bagel and fresh fruit brought to my bedside, but one thing I enjoy most is hearing my husband describe is the feeling of a crisp walk in the woods. If you listen with your eyes and ears to the sounds of nature, you can hear most anything, Roger tells me.

He enjoys reading trail descriptions, and can almost take a hike in his mind just by reading a detailed description of a trail. When we eventually hike the trail, he visualizes its nuances before our boots touch dirt. I remember a hike this fall in New England where we were climbing a hill, only to have him tell me there would be a sharp bend, then a downhill slope, and we would then be close enough to hear the waterfalls. Knowing you are going to hear a waterfall long before you see it is an exciting notion and can really bring out the quiet in me. Sure enough, just as he described, we walked around a sharp end and down a steep incline and I heard the roar. This waterfall carried a ferocious, angry rumble that could be heard long before seen. We descended to the bottom of the hill and around a bend and there was the waterfall in its entire splendor, crashing on the rocks and squirting spray far beyond the water’s path. We listened for a very long time, even though we knew rain was coming because as the falls spoke to us, we wanted to hear what she had to say.

We sat for a very long time just absorbing the smell of the water, feeling occasional bits of spray brought in by the breeze, and hearing the angry crash.
In our spellbound state, we decided to take a longer route back to the car – with rain in the distance - which turned out to be a lousy decision, but I digress... Our rain-soaked state did actually afford us a delightful and dry respite back at the bed and breakfast (complete with the clink and clank of dishes and hot tea).

Nature has a way of speaking to us if we will listen. I think back to the many hikes I have taken with my family when Roger offered up a shopping excursion if I could manage to make it to trails’ end without whining. But, when I take the time to bring my blisters and sore muscles out of focus and listen to the world around me, I hear beauty speaking.

Recently, we expanded our hiking repertoire to snowshoeing. We donned our new snowshoes and hiked across the deepest snow near the Sleeping Bear Dunes on Lake Michigan. We hiked in freshly-fallen deep snow on a crisp sunny day. At the end of the hike, the sun began its descent, and the snow took on a crystalized hue with colors that seemed to bounce off the newly-blazed trailside snowy peaks.

As I walked silently, I breathed in the aura around me and allowed it to speak. The first thing that came to mind was one of Nick’s favorite poems, and one that I found scribbled in his notes from last semester. This treasure, I found among notes from an education class, is a Navajo walking meditation. He quoted this poem to me once last spring, but finding it written in his own hand was as much of a treasure as nature itself:

“I walk in beauty;
With beauty before me, I walk;
With beauty behind me, I walk;
With beauty above me, I walk;
With beauty about me, I walk;
It ends in beauty.”

As my shoes carried me on top of the great dune in snow like I have never before experienced, those words took over my thoughts and my mind drifted to ponder beauty in our world and where we find it. With the sting of cold air on my face, I felt love; with the sound of snow falling from the trees, I felt security; with the sparkle emanating off the snow, I felt wonder.

Yes, no matter where we go, we walk in beauty; only when we stop to listen do we understand.

When sinking in quicksand, move slowly to firmer ground

In order to escape from quicksand, one should “take the shortest route to firmer ground, moving slowly,” according to the Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook.

I like that bit of adv ice, take the shortest route to firmer ground, moving slowly. As a matter of fact, I can think of so many aspects of my life that could be solved by taking the shortest route to firmer ground, moving slowly. When in the presence of people who annoy me, I do have the choice of taking the shortest route to firmer ground, moving slowly with my lips pursed together, or struggling – pushing and shoving with my mouth engaged. Much like the trap of quicksand, we can improve the outcome of many of our messes by moving slowly to the best possible end.

When teaching high school English, I often refer to the Worst Case Scenario Handbook as a discussion starter. Many of the outrageous and quite fun instructions, such as escaping the jaws of a crocodile can be used in a metaphorical way in the general walk of life. Resilience and adaptability to adversity comes easier for some and not for others – children learn coping strategies at young ages, and I believe our modeling can bring out inner strength in children, so they can find the firmer ground.

I had a conversation today with an education mentor of mine. We talked about what brings out resilience in children, and how they can pull from their inner resources to cope with adversity. A couple things came up from our conversation that are so obvious, solutions we all know, yet we often overlook on a day-to-day basis. First, all children need an adult – at least one person beyond parents – whom they feel cares and takes a specific interest in them. One of the most universal claims students make just before dropping out is they feel no one cares.

Once, I had a student who loved to draw. Suggest any model of an American muscle car classic and he could draw it in detail from memory. Vocabulary assignments sat by the way side, but he could use a pencil with amazing deftness. I am told this student did not pass art class, nor most any class, but he loved to draw cars. So, when we began a research unit, I allowed him to research the Pontiac Trans Am. To me, what was important was the act of research, not the subject, and he did the work, knowing I cared about his field of interest. In fact, I never learned so much about the Trans Am as I did that winter.

Optimism is a concept we all know and use with various levels of sincerity, but when children see and hear optimism in the face of difficult times, they will surely develop a coping strategy toward resilience. Taking another visual stroll through Worst Case Scenario, I read that when dealing with downed power lines, “assume that all power lines, whether sparking or not, are live.” This valuable manual goes on to instruct that one must stay away from downed lines and not assume non-sparking lines are safe.

The spirit of optimism dictates that when faced with situations that could be dangerous, harmful, or just downright contrary to our inner codes, just stay away from them. Don’t make excuses, lick your fingers and touch the power lines, just stay away from the daggone wires. Rather than nagging the kids about all the harms and ills out there in our scary worlds, just show them by example the positive side of avoiding that which leaves us heartbroken and in snares. Then, when trouble invariably comes, they will have the coping strategy of looking hardship in the face, turning and walking away.

One of my favorite tid bits of advice from this handy little manual is instruction on how to fend off a shark attack. “Hit back.” The passage continues that when attacked by a shark, “make quick, sharp, repeated jabs” in the eyes or gills. Now that we know to stay away from power lines in case they are live, we now know that if trouble comes into our waters and gives us no choice but to face it, just make a tight fist, aim for the gills, close your eyes and power away.

Each new day the sun rises in the same way, but we have no idea what will befall us that day. Sharks could attack, power lines could fall, and quick sand could engulf us, but in the face of difficulty, a positive outlook dictates that we “take the shortest route to firmer ground, moving slowly.” And in the end, hope that the worst thing that happens in the day is the coffee machine goes on the blitz.

A little sugar

When I was a child, my mother used to tell me a little bit of sugar goes a long way.

Three months ago our family’s lives changed forever. Our boy, Nicholas, age 22, died suddenly. At that frightful moment, I entered a club to which no one wants to belong. The dues are exorbitant, the physical and emotional strain immense, but the club of grief is one we enter without an invitation and against our will.

The heavens smiled in the dear response of our church family, friends and family. Your help and support served as a lifeline in our darkest hours, and we will never forget the kindness and compassion. I would like to offer advice for interaction with those who suffer grief, as we don’t have a road map of how to approach them.

On this new path that Roger and I strive to take with grace, I see many signs of confusion, discomfort, and aversion. Whether it is arranging my mat in yoga class, or entering a social occasion, I know the look of discomfort in the eyes of people who want to say something; they just don’t know where to start.

I hope to give you assurance that avoidance is worse than saying the wrong thing. I am grateful for the wise words of Elizabeth Edwards, who is now reunited in heaven with her 16-year-old son. "If you know somebody who has lost a child and you're afraid of mentioning him or her for fear of reminding that person of their loss--you're not reminding them, they haven't forgotten. What you are reminding them of is that you acknowledge their child lived, and that is a ...precious gift."

In the painful days after Nick’s passing, so many people looked at me with incredulous tear stained faces and shook their heads dumfounded. That was OK, I did not need words; their presence comforted me.

People so fear saying the wrong thing to us, and in actuality, there is no guide for the right thing to say. I am in the middle of this mess, and still cannot advise on “what to say.” True, some words do sting, as no one has a manual of how to react to a person’s grief, but just as often, the expression of caring and condolence is a balm that takes away any sting from ill-placed words. Quite honestly, it just helps to feel someone else hoisting up a shoulder full of pain from our burden for just a minute or two.

I don’t think Nick would mind if I compared him to the elephant in the middle of the living room. I am sure he would prefer to be the alligator or frog, but that is another story. When we enter a social occasion and no one mentions our boy’s name, I feel he is the proverbial elephant that we all must peek around and painfully avoid.

While Elise was visiting over the holidays, we met with friends from our time in China. Each member of this extended family greeted us with a hug and a few words of condolence. With that small gesture, Nick, as an elephant bulging over the edges of the table disappeared, and we had the memory of our sweet son honored. Discomfort dissolved and conversation turned to laughter and stories of the shared memories we have of a place far away.

God calls us to be kind to one another. Sometimes showing kindness means breaking through the barriers of embarrassment and awkwardness to share the pain of those in grief. You have a much greater chance of giving their hearts a hug than hurting their feelings because a little sugar goes a long way.

Oh the weather outside is frightful

The Weather Channel announces blizzard conditions tonight over all of the Midwest and up the East Coast. For those of us who are competitive weather watchers, tonight and tomorrow are the nights. All we need to do is keep Jim Cantore in our sites, and the remote positioned on the Weather Channel and let the blast begin.

This week will be the span of winter experience for me, and we will see how it plays out. Last weekend, a family from the church here in Michigan kindly invited us to their home in the northern tip of the state. From the time we drove up the drive to the peaked chalet on a frozen lake until I awoke to eight inches of new powder on top of the huge amount of snow already on the ground, I knew it would be special.

We tooled through the idyllic town of Victorian homes with icicles hanging up across their entire roof lines. Some houses had ice formations that harkened my memory to cave stalactites. Along with Mack and Marilyn, Roger and I strapped on our new snow shoes and hiked on dunes overlooking Lake Michigan. At one point, we stopped at a view of Lake Michigan. Marilyn joked that we would not be sitting on the bench. I finally caught the joke that we were standing on top of the bench buried in the white stuff. I would have never known.

We came back “down south” to the Detroit area to find a blizzard on the way. We are expected to get up to 16 inches tonight alone. My Old Faithful, The Weather Channel, is showing pictures of Chicago who is playing host to the storm expected to knock at my door as I sleep. The airport is shut down and interstates are at a standstill.
A visit to the local food and stuff super center made me feel as though I were entering the stadium for the Super Bowl. People stood in line, pushed a little in anticipation, and loaded their buggies. I was tickled to see spontaneous displays of essentials all in a row: beer, wine, chips, salsa, and chocolate milk.

Supermarket rushes with snow in the forecast are not new to me. I can remember many times seeing most of everyone I knew in Franklin, Tennessee at the same time, buying the last of Kroger’s bread and milk. Note to all Michiganders in the South --- you may no longer harass Southerners for hoarding supplies at the winter forecast. I now know you do it too.

Weather – such a funny phenomenon where perspective is complete reality. “Up North” in the tippy top of Michigan, snow is a welcome adventure. The roads are cleared immediately. Ski resorts hear snowflakes falling to the sound of “cha-ching.” Townspeople and visitors speak of snow in excitable voices, as if a rock star were expected in town. Snow up there takes a pristine setting and makes it downright idyllic – and full of adventure.

Here in the city – we don’t know if we are going to be able to plow out of the neighborhood until the weekend. Businesses will close, power outages are imminent, and emergency conditions will certainly exist. One wonders. Snow, the same substance creates delight and disaster in the same swoop.

I think of beach holidays, where we want nothing more than hot, dry weather. Farmers who work in the fields pray for rain to relieve their parched crops, and construction workers who swelter in the heat and hope for a cool day.

Perspective. I think of how many issues and occurrences in life are bane for one and blessings for others. A young couple finds out they have the much hoped for and anticipated baby on the way, who will be born on the same day as another to the family with many children and unemployed parents who tremble at the thought of how they will feed their entire brood. Both will be blessed with babies, but the perspective of hard times complicates the matter for one family.

In today’s world, reality dictates that jobs will relocate; I remember the news that, as a young adult, I had the opportunity to move to Tennessee. I was thrilled at the adventure. Later in life, when similar news came, my perspectives changed and moving did not look as enticing.

When we make judgments on issues and situations, sometimes we need to take a deep breath and consider perspective. Is our situation so dire? Sometimes a dire situation is just that, and at others, we simply need to adjust perspective and consider the possibilities.

In other words: Do we feel powder under our snow shoes or slush under our tires?

Stay safe everyone, tonight is going to be harrowing for many. And, Elise ---- I will be on pins and needles until you get home from your late class tonight.