When I was little, I was traumatized by my mother's gray grandma hair and varicose veins (now I sport nasty veins as well- yay...?). All my friends at school had moms who were young. I didn't. I'm the youngest of 6 and my mom was 38 when I was born (yep, I was a "surprise"). I realize that 38 really isn't "old," but when you're 7 or 8, you think having a mom in her 40's really makes you different than everyone else, and that's bad. Sadly enough, my feelings toward her only intensified as a teenager. I mean, really. What teenager thinks his/her mom is cool? Most don't. I was no exception. All growing up I wanted to emulate as many of my father's traits as possible, and to minimize anything resembling my mom. She was so, well, nerdy. I was certain everyone else saw it too.
My first 3 years of college she and my father were serving a church mission in South Korea. The last night I spent in the house where I grew up, before they left, was a memorable one. My mom and I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, in the dark, staring at all the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling and walls, crying and sharing memories. I knew, that even though I never really liked my mom, I loved her. All those years growing up I never once doubted her love for me. Despite my immature and negative feelings, I always knew I could confide in her, that she cared, and always wanted what was best for me.
Years later, after college, a mission of my own in Brazil, and the passing of my father, I was living with her again. Habits of her's still irked me. I hated it when she'd fold my laundry (she didn't do it right). I got annoyed when she'd want to have group prayer. I found myself getting ridiculously irritated with her over things I knew were pointless. Hadn't I matured at all? Perhaps not. I eventually came to the realization that I needed outside help if I was ever going to love my mother freely.
For a while I saw a therapist. He helped me with various issues, including the incorrect ways I viewed my dear, angelic mother. I remember one day watching her speak in church and it hit me. Here was a woman who had struggled with depression, already lost both her parents, and had been trying her upmost to be a good mom, wife, and woman. Maybe I had been expecting perfection out of her. How unfair and cruel of me. I finally saw my mom as a dynamic person. I saw her for who she really was.
The irony of it all is that through all those years she never let my awful treatment towards her really get to her. She kept loving me anyways. I'm sure she had plenty of moments when she wanted to wring my neck. But I never knew. I never felt anything but love from her. I not once deserved it, and was given it anyways.
She is one of the proofs that God does not give up on us. If someone as ornery as I is given such a mother to perhaps learn to love, than we are all given ample chances to be better. Oddly enough, being the mother to a leukemia patient has provided more such opportunities. We have witnessed some of the best of humanity as people have reached out, given presents, money, time, food, etc. This past fall we witnessed even more.
Derek qualifies for Make A Wish. The evening he officially declared his wish was magical. I have been blessed to have lots of loving people in my life, but not once have I been treated like we were that night. I felt like our little family was the most important in the world. Now, come March, we will head to Florida to party it up in Legoland, Disney World, and Sea World! Wahoo! Honestly, it still doesn't seem real. Weird.
A few weeks ago, Make A Wish called. A local high school is doing their yearly fundraiser for them and they like to have the face of a "wish child" to promote their efforts. I was asked if Derek could be that face. What?! How could I decline? In all of this cancer stuff, I've usually wanted to keep it all in the shadows, not talk about it unless it was on my terms. I knew this was a chance to let go of that and just let it all be.
The Friday before Halloween, Derek and I went to the kick-off assembly. I figured we'd be treated kindly, but my expectations were not only exceeded, they were blown out of the water. Derek was pretty much a celebrity. The student council members wanted to know everything about him- interests, favorite movies, favorite toys, friends, etc. The treated him like their favorite younger brother. As a mother, they won me over (secret: if you want to win the heart of a mother, be good to her children).
When Derek and I went up on stage for me to talk a bit about him, his situation, and such, that whole teenage student body stood and cheered. It stunned me. I'm surprised I didn't break in to tears. Poor Derek didn't quite know how to take it. He clung to me. As I started talking, he relaxed. At one point he sat down, right on the stage, because he was bored. Typical 7 year old. 😊 His humility. His natural love for others. His eagerness to be friendly and accept people. I saw all of that in his simple behavior on that stage.
Once again, the generosity of strangers softened my naturally thorny heart. I guess the hardest part of all of it is this: I'm not that nice of a person! Why are they being so nice to me? If they really knew me I don't think they'd bother. But it's for Derek! I can't deny him because of my faults.
I'm learning to be gracious (well, awkwardly). I have a desire to pay it forward more than I knew was possible. I've seen more of the connection we all share as children of God. We honor it when we love and forgive. We deny it when we bicker, blame, and hold on to grudges. I want to do more of the former, not the latter. Denying that connection between us all does not make me happy. Honoring it brings me the most joy and happiness I've yet experienced. So, one day at a time, I'll try to find opportunities to serve, pay it forward, and make people feel special. Who doesn't want more of that?
Monday, November 14, 2016
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Circle of Life
I come from a large family. Both my parents come from large families. I'm the youngest of 6 girls. My dad is the 5th of 9 children. My mom is the eldest of 8. That means I have a lot of cousins. I mean A LOT. I think my dad and I counted once and putting both my mom's and dad's sides together, I have somewhere around 70 cousins. Yep. I know. It's crazy. What can I say? Mormons usually seem to have lots of kids. Fertility is commonly genetic. There you have it.
Where am I going with this? Because of the nature of being part a 2 extremely large families, I've been to a lot of funerals over the years. My Grandfather Waddell passed away when I was in 6th grade- the first grandparent I lost. I've been to funerals for uncles, aunts, grandparents, friends, etc. So far this year, I've attended 4 funerals. 2 were for uncles who lived full and abundant lives into old age. 2 were for young fathers who each left a wife and small children behind. The latter 2 I mentioned have awaken a fear that's been my worst ever since my husband and I devoted ourselves to each other when we got married; what if he dies while our children are still at home and I'm left to be a single mom? It's really hard not to let that eat at me, let my imagination run wild, and be crippled by fear. Maybe it sounds ridiculous. I can be pretty ridiculous at times. But oh well.
Death is hard for those left behind. It's so, well, final. I have no idea what it's like for those who have passed on. No one has come back to enlighten me. My own father has been gone from this life over 11 years now. Is he gone? No. I feel him close quite often and know he's watching over me, my sisters, and my mom his sweetheart.
So what about those funerals? My Uncle LeMoyne was rough around the edges in his youth and over time he changed. He learned temperance, love, forgiveness. He was a highly-decorated Vietnam veteran. My Uncle Fred was what some might call eccentric, but he owned it. He was a fantastic musician, loved trinkets, and was big in to adventures. The husband of Tyler's cousin lit up all around him, was always helping someone, and loved his wife and children like no other. Tyler's high school friend was naturally happy, made his business (literally) to help others change for the better, and was determined to make the world a better place. Since none of us know when our time is up, all of this got me thinking: what are people going to say at my funeral (not that I'm planning on expiring any time soon)? Do I love as much as I'm capable of? Am I changing for the better- at least most of the time? Do I make it a priority to do what I love and do it often? Do I invite happiness in others? Am I service-oriented?
The one theme I noticed was each man knew what mattered and lived accordingly. Each man also was true to himself and let his individuality shine. The thing I love the most about this is that their priorities were the same: faith and family. I remember reading where C. S. Lewis talked about how Christianity makes a person more their true self. He compared it to salt. With salt broccoli tastes more like broccoli, a potato more like a potato, roast beef more like roast beef (yummers). And so it is with us. When we put Christ at the center of our lives we slowly become more of our true selves. I know, sounds a little contradictory, right? Well, the 4 men whose funerals I attended prove otherwise. Besides, I've witnessed it in countless other cases. I see it in myself, friends, family.
Self is probably the most elusive of said cases. Sometimes it's hard to feel original and important in a sea of billions of people on the earth. It becomes easy to wonder: does my life matter, can I really make a difference?
A million years ago I saw a little video clip of Steven R. Covey talking about priorities. He had a rather large jar (probably about 2 gallons), a bunch of rocks, pebbles, small stones, and sand. He claimed it all fit in said jar. It looked a little sketchy. I think he asked the audience what he should put in first. I don't recall the order specifically, but I think the sand was put in first, followed by the other geological items. They didn't fit. Then he did his magic, but order mattered. The largest rocks had to be put in first, followed by the small stones, then pebbles, and then the sand filled in the nooks and crannies (kinda like ice cream after a large meal). He then compared the jar to the amount of time we have and the rocks, stones, and sand to thing we do. If we don't put the largest ones in first, the rest won't fit. It's the same with priorities. We have to put 1st things 1st. Sounds pretty rudimentary, right? Well, I've tried to put the sand in my jar first countless times and of course it always fails. I keep thinking "This time will be different." Um, anyone recalling the definition of insanity? Yep, that's right.
What are those bigger rocks? I think they're things like faith, family, and personal care. I'm sure some of them are a little more individual than that. The fun part: the smaller stuff is where our personalities can really shine. They are different colors, shapes, designs. Each jar can be like those super cool colorful sand jars, but with different sized and colored rocks, jewels, stones, etc. The trick is that if those 1st things aren't put in 1st, the rest doesn't all fit. The fullness of our true selves doesn't get to shine.
The struggle I have is with the monotony of the larger rocks. I know they're crucial, but they're not always very fun. I don't always have an awakening when I read my scriptures. Every prayer doesn't result in a life-changing revelation. Getting my boys breakfast, dinner, doing laundry, getting them to school and such are especially monotonous. Nor are Tyler and I aren't madly in love with each other every second. So why bother? Well, when it comes to laundry I keep asking Tyler when we're moving to a nudist colony, but he hasn't found one for us yet. Still waiting on that, I guess.
I wish knew all of why these larger rocks can be so boring and tedious. Perhaps that's a question for my Maker (my 2 big ones for when we meet are 1. Why are some people fertile and others aren't, and 2. What's up with entropy- why?). Like most moms I want my Alice (think "The Brady Bunch") but I don't want to pay for her, not to mention the fact that she's not real. I get tired of cleaning up dinner bombs in the kitchen- especially when it comes to the wake of the toddler in the house, rushing to be on time for church, finding time for pondering on the Word, making lunches, meal planning, and so on. I could go on for pages, but I'll refrain.
Right now I think I'll go swim some laps. It's Saturday morning and since I can't be out on a long run, I'll go swim back and forth in some water and chemicals. That's close to the same thing, right? Perhaps another day I'll touch on the mental anguish that is my running injury. Let's just say I'm at least moving in the right direction, but painstakingly slow. Patience and I aren't really friends. It makes things a little difficult. For now, I'll go get wet and enjoy the Thomas the Tank Engine that my Benjamin has transformed into. Costumes are amazing like that.
Where am I going with this? Because of the nature of being part a 2 extremely large families, I've been to a lot of funerals over the years. My Grandfather Waddell passed away when I was in 6th grade- the first grandparent I lost. I've been to funerals for uncles, aunts, grandparents, friends, etc. So far this year, I've attended 4 funerals. 2 were for uncles who lived full and abundant lives into old age. 2 were for young fathers who each left a wife and small children behind. The latter 2 I mentioned have awaken a fear that's been my worst ever since my husband and I devoted ourselves to each other when we got married; what if he dies while our children are still at home and I'm left to be a single mom? It's really hard not to let that eat at me, let my imagination run wild, and be crippled by fear. Maybe it sounds ridiculous. I can be pretty ridiculous at times. But oh well.
Death is hard for those left behind. It's so, well, final. I have no idea what it's like for those who have passed on. No one has come back to enlighten me. My own father has been gone from this life over 11 years now. Is he gone? No. I feel him close quite often and know he's watching over me, my sisters, and my mom his sweetheart.
So what about those funerals? My Uncle LeMoyne was rough around the edges in his youth and over time he changed. He learned temperance, love, forgiveness. He was a highly-decorated Vietnam veteran. My Uncle Fred was what some might call eccentric, but he owned it. He was a fantastic musician, loved trinkets, and was big in to adventures. The husband of Tyler's cousin lit up all around him, was always helping someone, and loved his wife and children like no other. Tyler's high school friend was naturally happy, made his business (literally) to help others change for the better, and was determined to make the world a better place. Since none of us know when our time is up, all of this got me thinking: what are people going to say at my funeral (not that I'm planning on expiring any time soon)? Do I love as much as I'm capable of? Am I changing for the better- at least most of the time? Do I make it a priority to do what I love and do it often? Do I invite happiness in others? Am I service-oriented?
The one theme I noticed was each man knew what mattered and lived accordingly. Each man also was true to himself and let his individuality shine. The thing I love the most about this is that their priorities were the same: faith and family. I remember reading where C. S. Lewis talked about how Christianity makes a person more their true self. He compared it to salt. With salt broccoli tastes more like broccoli, a potato more like a potato, roast beef more like roast beef (yummers). And so it is with us. When we put Christ at the center of our lives we slowly become more of our true selves. I know, sounds a little contradictory, right? Well, the 4 men whose funerals I attended prove otherwise. Besides, I've witnessed it in countless other cases. I see it in myself, friends, family.
Self is probably the most elusive of said cases. Sometimes it's hard to feel original and important in a sea of billions of people on the earth. It becomes easy to wonder: does my life matter, can I really make a difference?
A million years ago I saw a little video clip of Steven R. Covey talking about priorities. He had a rather large jar (probably about 2 gallons), a bunch of rocks, pebbles, small stones, and sand. He claimed it all fit in said jar. It looked a little sketchy. I think he asked the audience what he should put in first. I don't recall the order specifically, but I think the sand was put in first, followed by the other geological items. They didn't fit. Then he did his magic, but order mattered. The largest rocks had to be put in first, followed by the small stones, then pebbles, and then the sand filled in the nooks and crannies (kinda like ice cream after a large meal). He then compared the jar to the amount of time we have and the rocks, stones, and sand to thing we do. If we don't put the largest ones in first, the rest won't fit. It's the same with priorities. We have to put 1st things 1st. Sounds pretty rudimentary, right? Well, I've tried to put the sand in my jar first countless times and of course it always fails. I keep thinking "This time will be different." Um, anyone recalling the definition of insanity? Yep, that's right.
What are those bigger rocks? I think they're things like faith, family, and personal care. I'm sure some of them are a little more individual than that. The fun part: the smaller stuff is where our personalities can really shine. They are different colors, shapes, designs. Each jar can be like those super cool colorful sand jars, but with different sized and colored rocks, jewels, stones, etc. The trick is that if those 1st things aren't put in 1st, the rest doesn't all fit. The fullness of our true selves doesn't get to shine.
The struggle I have is with the monotony of the larger rocks. I know they're crucial, but they're not always very fun. I don't always have an awakening when I read my scriptures. Every prayer doesn't result in a life-changing revelation. Getting my boys breakfast, dinner, doing laundry, getting them to school and such are especially monotonous. Nor are Tyler and I aren't madly in love with each other every second. So why bother? Well, when it comes to laundry I keep asking Tyler when we're moving to a nudist colony, but he hasn't found one for us yet. Still waiting on that, I guess.
I wish knew all of why these larger rocks can be so boring and tedious. Perhaps that's a question for my Maker (my 2 big ones for when we meet are 1. Why are some people fertile and others aren't, and 2. What's up with entropy- why?). Like most moms I want my Alice (think "The Brady Bunch") but I don't want to pay for her, not to mention the fact that she's not real. I get tired of cleaning up dinner bombs in the kitchen- especially when it comes to the wake of the toddler in the house, rushing to be on time for church, finding time for pondering on the Word, making lunches, meal planning, and so on. I could go on for pages, but I'll refrain.
Right now I think I'll go swim some laps. It's Saturday morning and since I can't be out on a long run, I'll go swim back and forth in some water and chemicals. That's close to the same thing, right? Perhaps another day I'll touch on the mental anguish that is my running injury. Let's just say I'm at least moving in the right direction, but painstakingly slow. Patience and I aren't really friends. It makes things a little difficult. For now, I'll go get wet and enjoy the Thomas the Tank Engine that my Benjamin has transformed into. Costumes are amazing like that.
Friday, September 9, 2016
The Two-Edged Sword
I went and got a haircut yesterday. No, I did not do anythings dramatic to my hair. But like you really care about that. My dear friend, who I drive 30 minutes one-way to have cut my hair, asked how things were going. I usually only have her do my hair 2 or 3 times a year so we always have a lot to catch up on. I told her about my dumb SI joint that's causing me pain, about Tyler's new job as a parole agent and how he's currently in the police academy for it. I told her some of the things I'm learning these days. Blah, blah, blah. Typical girl talk stuff. She asked me how I'm managing. I really didn't have any answer for her. Um, do any of us ever feel like we're actually successfully dealing with our lives? Sure, I have moments when I think, "Wow! I've really got it together." That happened yesterday morning. It was all shattered by about 8:15 am. Yep, that's how that usually goes. Maybe I'm the only one, but I'm kinda thinking that if anyone thinks they actually have it all together, they be a lying to themselves, or need to wait a little while. It's kinda like Utah weather. If you don't like it, wait 10 minutes.
My point: crap happens to us all. Sure, we could throw our hands in the air and give up. I personally have too much fire in my soul for that. Giving up isn't really in my DNA. My maiden name is Waddell. I come from a line of overly stubborn farmers who helped settle the Teton Valley. My mother's maiden name is Stevens. Again, a geneology of fighters. Both sides of my family have pioneer stock. Um these people did not back down. Then again, you look back 150+ years and most everyone was that way. What other choice did they have? What happened to our generation? I dunno, but that's a conversation for another day.
The way I see it, the unpleasantries that happen to us can be opportunities. Yeah, I know, you've heard that before and if you're like me, you usually want to crawl into a hole and not exist for a while when seriously hard things hit the fan hoping they'll disappear. It wasn't too long ago that I looked at my life and seriously didn't believe I had what it took to live it and come out on top. I wanted to run away and literally not exist anymore. I knew my life was OK and that it was full of so many wonderful things, despite Derek's leukemia, but I didn't like myself in it. I felt like I just kept botching it up, like I couldn't get it together, like everything was going to break because I kept failing.
First of all, I wasn't failing, but my perfectionism didn't let me see it that way. Second, the whole saying of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger began to mean a whole lot more. I kept surviving day after day, month after month. Crazy. Third, that second thing is true because of Jesus Christ. He paid the ultimate price and part of his infinite sacrifice includes something called Grace. It's divine assistance given when we, as humans, don't have the capacity to do what our lives require. In the period of my life I just mentioned, when I thought my life would fall apart at the seams, I sure didn't have what it took, of myself, to do all that was required. But everything worked out and moved on because of Grace. We get to try again tomorrow because of Grace. Second and thirty-second chances are because of Grace.
Ok, back to Life's crap being an opportunity... We all have a choice to let God in or not. He will never force us. He gave us agency. Why would He mess with it? He doesn't. If we choose to let God in, especially during times of upheaval, we feel His love, His comfort, His help. His love is perfect and can heal all. I've felt it time and time again. I felt it when my father passed away all-of-a-sudden, when my own emotions were so raw and my whole system was in shock. I felt it the day before we found out Derek has leukemia because God knew I would need an extra dose due to what was about to go down. I feel it when I look at my darling children (I'm not talking about the moments when I want to sell them to the gypsies). I feel it when I read His word, go to church, etc.
Another time I feel that love is when I serve others. Is it hard to reach out when your own life feels so outta control? Um, A LOT- at least for me. But our trials give us the maximum opportunity to develop that perfect Christlike love. Yes, we feel it as we struggle coming directly from Him, but there's another avenue: outward.
Every time I hear of someone's father dying there's a part of me that aches and mourns and weeps for them. I know how much I still miss my own father, how I long to talk to him, hug him, watch him play with my children. I cannot describe how that all hurts, still, after 11 years. Is he where he needs to be? Yes. Will I see him again? I'm 100% sure. I still miss him though. That's why I feel the way I do when I know of someone else who has recently lost their father. I "get it." Is my life identical to theirs? No, duh. But I have a new level of compassion. I wouldn't have that if I hadn't been through my own father passing.
That's where the other avenue of Christ's love comes in. In the Garden of Gethsemane He suffered for our sins, and everything else. He literally felt all that we have ever felt or will feel. He really does "get it" as if he really were you and me. So, when we have been through something similar to that of someone else, we can feel a new love and compassion for that person. We know better how to comfort them. We have a better idea of what to say, what to do, etc. We are given challenges in life to provide such opportunities, to develop charity: the pure love of Christ.
I don't know about anyone else, but in my efforts to turn the lemons of my life into refreshing lemonade, I make lots and lots of messes. I yell at my kids, I over-react to things, I get a certain degree of road rage, my husband drives me crazy, I get extremely frustrated with myself. Guess what? I'm finding that most of us do. And it's okay. It's just like learning music or a sport, or anything else: keep practicing. When you see someone at their worst, keep in mind they're in practice mode too. When you're the one in the vulnerable state having a messy day and others see it, don't be afraid. Own it. I think we could do a lot less pretending we've got it together (or thinking everyone else does), and a lot more opening up to others- listening to someone in need, smiling and encouraging the mother in the supermarket whose child is throwing a tantrum, not judging the woman who is picking up her kid from school in her PJs, and not worrying about what others might think. It's not worth it! Life is too short for such nonsense, and yet, here we find ourselves time and time again stuck in such ruts. At least I do. Someone please tell me I'm not the only one with lemon juice, sugar, water, and lemon zest all over my kitchen. And if I am, oh well. The cat is out of the bag now. Oh wait, I don't like cats. Too late.
One more thing: my SI joint (where your tailbone connects to your hip bone- sing the song if you'd like). It moves too much because my most inner abdominal muscle is significantly weaker than the 3 more superficial ab muscles. Yeah I know you really wanted to know that, not really. It's got me thinking: what's the soft under belly that needs strengthening metaphorically? My conclusion: gratitude. Gratitude is a catalyst that leads to all other virtues. It leads to faith, obedience to God, hope, love, true conversion, etc. Anywho, that's some cud I'm still chewing on a lot.
Tally ho!
My point: crap happens to us all. Sure, we could throw our hands in the air and give up. I personally have too much fire in my soul for that. Giving up isn't really in my DNA. My maiden name is Waddell. I come from a line of overly stubborn farmers who helped settle the Teton Valley. My mother's maiden name is Stevens. Again, a geneology of fighters. Both sides of my family have pioneer stock. Um these people did not back down. Then again, you look back 150+ years and most everyone was that way. What other choice did they have? What happened to our generation? I dunno, but that's a conversation for another day.
The way I see it, the unpleasantries that happen to us can be opportunities. Yeah, I know, you've heard that before and if you're like me, you usually want to crawl into a hole and not exist for a while when seriously hard things hit the fan hoping they'll disappear. It wasn't too long ago that I looked at my life and seriously didn't believe I had what it took to live it and come out on top. I wanted to run away and literally not exist anymore. I knew my life was OK and that it was full of so many wonderful things, despite Derek's leukemia, but I didn't like myself in it. I felt like I just kept botching it up, like I couldn't get it together, like everything was going to break because I kept failing.
First of all, I wasn't failing, but my perfectionism didn't let me see it that way. Second, the whole saying of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger began to mean a whole lot more. I kept surviving day after day, month after month. Crazy. Third, that second thing is true because of Jesus Christ. He paid the ultimate price and part of his infinite sacrifice includes something called Grace. It's divine assistance given when we, as humans, don't have the capacity to do what our lives require. In the period of my life I just mentioned, when I thought my life would fall apart at the seams, I sure didn't have what it took, of myself, to do all that was required. But everything worked out and moved on because of Grace. We get to try again tomorrow because of Grace. Second and thirty-second chances are because of Grace.
Ok, back to Life's crap being an opportunity... We all have a choice to let God in or not. He will never force us. He gave us agency. Why would He mess with it? He doesn't. If we choose to let God in, especially during times of upheaval, we feel His love, His comfort, His help. His love is perfect and can heal all. I've felt it time and time again. I felt it when my father passed away all-of-a-sudden, when my own emotions were so raw and my whole system was in shock. I felt it the day before we found out Derek has leukemia because God knew I would need an extra dose due to what was about to go down. I feel it when I look at my darling children (I'm not talking about the moments when I want to sell them to the gypsies). I feel it when I read His word, go to church, etc.
Another time I feel that love is when I serve others. Is it hard to reach out when your own life feels so outta control? Um, A LOT- at least for me. But our trials give us the maximum opportunity to develop that perfect Christlike love. Yes, we feel it as we struggle coming directly from Him, but there's another avenue: outward.
Every time I hear of someone's father dying there's a part of me that aches and mourns and weeps for them. I know how much I still miss my own father, how I long to talk to him, hug him, watch him play with my children. I cannot describe how that all hurts, still, after 11 years. Is he where he needs to be? Yes. Will I see him again? I'm 100% sure. I still miss him though. That's why I feel the way I do when I know of someone else who has recently lost their father. I "get it." Is my life identical to theirs? No, duh. But I have a new level of compassion. I wouldn't have that if I hadn't been through my own father passing.
That's where the other avenue of Christ's love comes in. In the Garden of Gethsemane He suffered for our sins, and everything else. He literally felt all that we have ever felt or will feel. He really does "get it" as if he really were you and me. So, when we have been through something similar to that of someone else, we can feel a new love and compassion for that person. We know better how to comfort them. We have a better idea of what to say, what to do, etc. We are given challenges in life to provide such opportunities, to develop charity: the pure love of Christ.
I don't know about anyone else, but in my efforts to turn the lemons of my life into refreshing lemonade, I make lots and lots of messes. I yell at my kids, I over-react to things, I get a certain degree of road rage, my husband drives me crazy, I get extremely frustrated with myself. Guess what? I'm finding that most of us do. And it's okay. It's just like learning music or a sport, or anything else: keep practicing. When you see someone at their worst, keep in mind they're in practice mode too. When you're the one in the vulnerable state having a messy day and others see it, don't be afraid. Own it. I think we could do a lot less pretending we've got it together (or thinking everyone else does), and a lot more opening up to others- listening to someone in need, smiling and encouraging the mother in the supermarket whose child is throwing a tantrum, not judging the woman who is picking up her kid from school in her PJs, and not worrying about what others might think. It's not worth it! Life is too short for such nonsense, and yet, here we find ourselves time and time again stuck in such ruts. At least I do. Someone please tell me I'm not the only one with lemon juice, sugar, water, and lemon zest all over my kitchen. And if I am, oh well. The cat is out of the bag now. Oh wait, I don't like cats. Too late.
One more thing: my SI joint (where your tailbone connects to your hip bone- sing the song if you'd like). It moves too much because my most inner abdominal muscle is significantly weaker than the 3 more superficial ab muscles. Yeah I know you really wanted to know that, not really. It's got me thinking: what's the soft under belly that needs strengthening metaphorically? My conclusion: gratitude. Gratitude is a catalyst that leads to all other virtues. It leads to faith, obedience to God, hope, love, true conversion, etc. Anywho, that's some cud I'm still chewing on a lot.
Tally ho!
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