My door is open and every now and then a breeze tickles the wind chimes.  It’s getting there.  The nights with a little bit of a chill that begs for a sweater.  It’s like the air is clearer, crisper, cleaner.  Sigh.  I love fall.

My daughter wanted me to “make fall” in the house a couple of weeks ago when the weather was stubbornly hanging on to over 100 degree days with no nice dip at night.  In other words, we could still sweat at 10 p.m.  Ugh.   That just doesn’t say “fall” to me.  Pumpkins and flip flops shouldn’t mix.

It’s my favorite time of year and I generally go a little overboard with decor.  To me, fall is about harvest , colorful leaves, apple cider, pumpkin bread, homemade candy buckeyes, caramel dipped apples, soups simmered all day in the crock pot, and a visit to the State Fair.  As a child it meant hayrides to farms near my grandparent’s farm.   And fall must have cool weather –  not cold, but enough to raise a goose bump or two at night.  It demands  a light throw tossed over the sofa to cozy into when watching television.  It says time to start packing away the swimsuits and shorts and unpacking the three-quarter and long sleeves.  It says time to find the sweaters and get ready to layer with jackets and scarves.  It says okay to a new pair of boots and jeans.  And it promises open windows and doors and, soon, silenced air conditioners.  I really love fall.

For years I’ve had two giant storage tubs marked “FALL” where my collection of all things autumn are kept until October and November.  During the past year we’ve rearranged and rearranged and rearranged the rooms where those tubs are possibly stored and somehow, I’ve lost them.  I’m sure they’re buried behind the tubs marked “CHRISTMAS” but since those are quadruple stacked and barricaded by an assortment of items we need to donate, I can’t find them.  I did find the old tub we used when we had the business, though.  This one had the leaves and left over pieces that had come undone from whatever they used to be part of that we used to decorate fall tables for events.  Okay, says I, I can improvise.

Leaves on the chandelier over the dining tables, leaves on the book shelves, leaves over the entry mirror.  Pumpkin colored candles nesting in coffee beans.  And for the centerpiece on the fireplace, everything left in the box – squash in an assortment of shapes and sizes, a few stray leaves, and some fall colored glass garland pieces that had come loose from a longer version lost at some point.  Fall potpourri.  The living room said “fall” but the A/C was still running to keep up with the 100 degree days.

Grouse, grump.  Sweat a little longer.

I’m starting to feel it now though…that sneaking into cooler weather that promises the things that make me smile. Happy dance!  Wind chime tinkle!

Soon I’ll need a blanket on the bed.  Happy sigh.  I just love fall!

The little fishes are going nowhere.  Though it looks from a distance that they are traveling happily through the deep blue sea, they aren’t.  They aren’t even real.  They’re the workmanship of someone who knows how to sculpt metal to look like fish swimming in the ocean even though they’re are fixed in place.

Sometimes that happens to people.  We get fixed or stuck in a certain place yet we still move through life.  The thing that gets us stuck can be a circumstance like my friend who recently lost her husband, her house, her animals, and everything she knew as safe for the past 33 years.  Within a few months of her husband being diagnosed with cancer, poof, all gone. Though she had to keep moving through the daily tasks of living, work, health issues of her own, making decisions about where to live, for a while there she remained fixed in such deep grief that she wasn’t moving forward.  I can’t imagine her pain and still can’t but that she can smile and even joke now says she is somehow healing.  

Sometimes we’re stuck by our expectations like someone who moved miles away from friends to be near family and after getting into a house with a mortgage and other commitments realized that her ideals of what it would be like if she lived there were not the reality and she’d have been better off back where she was originally.  Moving forward was difficult, but when she started taking steps in a forward motion, she found peace.  

Sometimes we’re stuck by our feelings.  We can become so fixed on our feelings that we don’t take action to move ourselves out of the state we’re in toward something better.  We might be paralyzed by fear of something worse and choose to stay with what we know.  We might be consumed with anger, or pain, or hurt, or guilt, and if we let that go, we’ll have to deal with it so we hold on to it and, thus, not move forward.  We’re fixed in misery then.  

God knows we’d have those times in our lives, those times when we’d need Him so desperately because without Him, we’re just stuck there.  Two verses come to mind:  Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10  The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek you. Psalm 9:9 

Instead of concentrating on those things that keep us in that place of misery, we can try to find the things for which we are thankful.  For me, that looks like a job that let’s me make the house payment, that I and the kids have a place to live, that the car hasn’t given out today, that my kids are alive and well and I have the privilege of being their mom one more day, and even that my drive to and from work was safe.  Sometimes I have to reach hard for those things to be thankful for and sometimes they are found in the mundane such as being able to find a parking spot rather than parking in the street because I’m so torn apart inside that I can’t think of anything else.  I try to start the day with thanks and I definitely end the day with thanks no matter how horrible I feel, how upset I may be, or what has happened that day.  I know I need to thank my God who sustains me through it all.  And by doing that, my thoughts shift from being fixed on my pain to being fixed on the awesomeness of Jesus and all He has done for me in countless ways so that even through this, I know I am in His hands. And that moves me forward one little step, one word of thanksgiving at a time, and some of the angst, some of the fear, some of the indecision, some of the grief, some of whatever the feelings are that bind me are replaced with peace.  Just that small step and I get a lift out of the bottom of the mud pit of life and back into motion again. 

     Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known      to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:6-7

No picture…there are too many I see on facebook and on the news and I couldn’t pick just one.  Each of them gave more of themselves, literally, than I’m sure any one of them expected.  I don’t think anyone goes into military service saying, “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna lose an arm and two legs next year.”

I subscribe to military feeds because I love the military, because I’m a military brat, because I’m a military mom, and because no matter what mess we may be in right now I’d still rather be in the USA than anywhere else because at this time we still enjoy and take for granted more freedoms than most have ever dreamed of having.  Because I subscribe to the feeds about our wounded warriors and severely wounded vets I see their photos every day and with the photos comes the story and with the story comes tears and awe.  

Awe that these oh-way-too-young-to-be-injured-like-this men and women are still giving.  They have lost arms or legs and sometimes all of them yet they are still giving with their time, talents, experiences, knowledge, compassion, encouragement, money, and everything they are and have to help and inspire others!  I’m wowed…bowled over.  What awesome people these military veterans are!  

And when I read what they have gone through, my own struggles seem smaller.  What they are accomplishing after their injuries is more than I think anyone ever thought possible.  

They are our heroes.

We may not all agree on politics and policies, we may not all agree on the where and whens and whys of this war, but we should all agree that those who are serving are worthy of our honor and esteem.  And when they come home visibly wounded, how can we not look upon them and see the best in who we are as a nation?  See that these are the men and women of courage who say, “I’ll go” and then give more to us, strangers, than many would even consider giving someone they do know.  

A few weeks ago we had lunch at a little diner and in walked an older man with Vietnam Veteran cap and another man probably in his fifties who appeared to be his son wearing a Navy shirt.  As we ate I watched the men talking and though I have no idea what they talked of, I noticed the crinkling of the older man’s eyes when he smiled.  I remember vividly how Vietnam Veteran’s were treated so badly, shamefully, upon their return.  I recall the name-calling and rudeness and horrible way people would spit on our soldiers.  Yet here was this beautiful man smiling kindly and proudly wearing his Vietnam Veteran cap.  I wanted to go hug him.   I kept thinking about the American attitude projected toward today’s military and hoping that the positive one, the one of thanks and gratitude, was the one that they would remember most.  

As we were leaving I stepped over and thanked him for serving and let him know their meal was covered.  He seemed absolutely stunned and couldn’t thank me enough.  I kept saying, “No, Sir, thank you.”   He was still trying to give more. 

As a nation we need to find and show a grateful heart for our service men and women.  What they do isn’t easy, isn’t fun, isn’t something that makes everyone jump up and down and yell “pick me”, the hours are brutal, the food is often rationed, the living conditions stink, it’s so dangerous that we’ve lost over 2,000 so far, and the pay really sucks; but they do it and for us. 

When I read of the insecurities they feel and the embarrassment they undergo because of the rudeness of those who stare or make ridicule of a prosthetic arm or leg, I want to write scathing, blazing, burning words to those who have caused our heroes to feel that way…but I pray instead.   

Let’s do better this time.  Let’s show them we have more to give, too, and let’s give it.    

In prayer for my son…

I am sharing this on my blog because what Chris and his wife do is my dream…ministry…and I love their story of how they came to this place, the wonderful way they are making a difference in the lives of these kids, and giving hope, joy, and purpose. All praise to God!

I don’t live in a house with stairs.  Just never wanted a two or more story home and probably because heights bother me.  Ironically, my office is upstairs and I travel up and down the stairs a dozen times or so every day.  And everyone is now used to how I do this…holding the rail with my right hand (can’t do it with my left) and letting part of my arm touch the side of the wall as I step slowly and cautiously and carefully down each step.  I can’t let go until I’m at the very bottom…not even two or three steps up.  I have a crazy fear of falling and if I don’t mind my steps but look out instead of down at my feet I get dizzy and wobbly and am sure I will fall.  So I go slow, I say I’m sorry for being slow, I let faster stair descenders go ahead of me, and I come to a complete stop wherever I am on the stairs if I start to feel anxious or nervous.  I’m really fortunate these aren’t floating stairs because those are the worst for me since I can see through them to the ground below with every step I take.  My poor kids have been raised with helping Mom go down the stairs, waiting for Mom to catch up since she’s so slow coming down the stairs, and this even affects riding on the down going escalators.  I have no problem going up…it’s the down action that gives me the heebie-jeebies.  

My idiosyncrasy and/or phobia has encountered courtesy from everyone at work from colleagues to students, however.  They never rush me.  No one goes tearing around me but waits respectfully and patiently for me to stop and tell them to go around before I continue my descent.  Not one person has tried to scare me with a fake push or come up behind me and screamed or anything that would startle me.  In fact, they are usually quietly cheerful and smile when they see me coming down when they are going up and they cling to the left side of the stairwell so as not to jostle me.  I am amazed that something everyone could easily laugh about is treated kindly.  

 So, you might ask, why not take the elevator?  

Do you know this elevator?  It is S L O W.  I can get down the stairs faster at my snail speed than it takes to ride our sloth-like elevator!  It is the sloth box…oh….so….slow….!  I’ll only ride it when I have to carry a load down stairs because that’s something I just can’t do going downstairs.  If I can’t see my feet, I can’t go down. 

So…imagine what it was like for me as teenager when every other girl is prancing cutely up and down the bleachers and I’m clinging to wherever there is a rail…or begging someone to hold my hand and lead me up and down!   And now imagine the embarrassment of my kids as they have lead me up and down the bleachers!   “Come on, Grandma,” Sam would say.  But they never abandoned me no matter how embarrassing for them. 

So why am I afraid of heights?  I can’t say for sure but I recall the horror of being pushed as a kid from the high dive when I was taking swim lessons and the instructor swore they wouldn’t push me but did anyway.  They also had to rescue me.  And I also recall the horror of being tossed from an apartment balcony by someone on speed and landing in the hedges below, something that saved my life. I’m not sure if there were other incidents but those were apparently enough.  

Most people see their lives as stairs to climb to get to the top, to the goal.  I’m reversed.  I see the labor of going down one step at a time to get to solid ground.  And that solid ground is my relationship with Jesus, my faith, my unwavering belief in God and His goodness even if what’s happening hurts and makes no sense.  Just as I hold tightly to the rail of the stairs and make my way to solid ground one slow step at a time, He holds me through whatever I’m experiencing and gets me through it one step at a time, one moment at a time, one day at a time, one verse at a time, one song at a time, one thought at a time, one hug at a time, one message at a time, and so on.  Just as a I watch my feet on the stairs going down, I have to keep my eyes on my Lord to stay on solid ground.    

I was going to write about something else but my friend Donna told me her “walked into the men’s room” at an Olive Garden story and that, of course, got me thinking!

As a mom of boys, I was leery of letting them go into the men’s room when they were old enough to go in there and do their business by themselves.  I would stand outside the men’s room door, shuffling Hannah and my purse between arms, and try to walk through the steps so I’d know if they should be out or not.  Now, when they were young, I’d march them into the ladies room and do my best to keep them from trying to peep under the door.  Aaron would always notice the feet and always say something about the person in the next stall, want to play with the toilet paper, want to take a bath in the sink, play with the hand dryer, etc.  Sam didn’t …he wanted to get in there and get out.

Anyhow, at one point I allowed the boys to go together to a public men’s room with the usual instructions:  Talk to no one, stay with each other, wash your hands and come straight out.  If anyone even looks at you funny or tries to “help you” or touch you, scream at the top of your lungs…I’ll come in and kill them…or something to that affect.

The boys had gone in and I was juggling Hannah at the doorway, listening for their voices since Aaron carried on a conversation nonstop.  I startled several men as they exited by being so near the door, but I didn’t care.  My babies were in there and this Mama Bear was on guard.

It suddenly got too quiet and it seemed to me they were taking longer than I thought it should have taken them.  I started thinking scary thoughts and before you could say boo, I had worked myself into a panic.

I pushed open the door a bit and hollered, “Aaron?  Sam?”

Silence.

Now I’m panicked and ready to tear whoever is in that bathroom limb from limb if they are keeping my babies from answering me.

Securing Hannah on my hip and my purse on my shoulder, I called loudly “I’m coming in now!” and blasted into the men’s room startling the boys who were soaping their hands with the automatic soap dispenser while the water was going full blast.  I was so surprised they were okay that I said a bit harshly, “You have about 2 seconds to finish up and get out of here!”

About that time I heard a flush and a man came scurrying out saying, “Sorry, I thought it was the men’s room….” and hightailed it on out, leaving Hannah, the boys and I standing there in shock.

“Come on,” I whispered, “we need to leave…” just as another man walked in, stopped dead, stepped out to check out the men’s room door sign, peeked back in as I thrust the boys in front of me.  As we were leaving the man shook his head and said, “I hope you didn’t leave the seat down, lady.”

As if I would have even touched it!

The year my sister was dying as a result of a congenital heart defect that is common and successfully treated now with surgery, but then posed an enigma to physicians, she was given these little red dress pins from the American Heart Association.  Because the congenital heart defects wasn’t the mission of the American Heart Association and she had never received support from them, we felt a little funny about them, but then we looked at the dress.  It was flirty.  It was girly,  It was Rosie.  So we wear them proudly because though they are to raise awareness of women’s  heart health, to us, they raise awareness of adults with congenital heart defects and in particular, Rosie.

Like the little red dress, she had spunk and sass and a bit of a quirkiness to her sense of humor that made us laugh often.  A ride anywhere with her was sure to end in giggles because she could find humor in the most prosaic things and quick quips were spoken in the driest tone making the delivery of the message as funny as the message itself.  I don’t know if we’ve ever laughed as much since she’s been gone.  

She also carried herself with a confidence that is portrayed in that little red dress.  She had multiple scars from five open heart surgeries but a dipped neckline didn’t bother her.  She was proud of every one of them and never let it bother her when people stared and pointed and made negative comments.  Those were her scars of life.

So we’ll wear the little red dress pin and celebrate Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Day by delivering heart pillows to pediatric patients, whether they be newborn or 36, like she was when she had her last open heart surgery.  We’ll wear red and “think Rosie”.  We’ll remember the grace and courage and spirit she showed even as her body, her heart, gave out.

Remembering Rosie.  Wearing red.  Feeling sassy through our sadness wearing the little red dress pin. 

God, let her know we love and miss her…we know she’s right there with you.  

The first thing I think I noticed was that she was smart…we both had really good grades.  Bonus was we lived in the same neighborhood and it was an easy trek from her house to mine and mine to hers.  She loved science fiction and fantasy, we both were avid readers, and she tolerated our house of cats.  We talked and talked about everything and spent oodles of time in my bedroom sharing secrets.  Her house always smelled of yummy food, something homemade and I remember lace.  Maybe doilies, not sure.  She was rather shy but had a quick wit and an incredible sense of humor and a huge smile.  

Right after our eighth grade graduation she moved away with her family and neither of us can remember how we lost touch, when the letter exchanges stopped.

A while back she sent me a message but her last name wasn’t there.  I made a guess and sent a message back, maybe six or eight weeks ago. Got a bit worried that I didn’t hear from her. Yesterday she found my message and we exchanged the basics.  

Today we called!

I feel as if for the first time since my friend Kim died (and it’s really odd, Donna, that your friend back there is named Kim – I met my Kim after my daughter was born, about 16 years ago), I actually have a girlfriend again!  Wow!  Praise God!  

I’m thinking about how time goes by and how what we think we know we don’t really know.  As we talked, both Donna and I found out things that were in our lives at the time that we either had never discussed or didn’t recall discussing.  Important things that shaped both of us to be the individuals we are today.  Funny how when you’re a kid you don’t see the whole picture.  Funnier still that when you do as an adult, things that you didn’t know made sense suddenly do.

I knew she was a responsible, good-hearted, kind, beautiful girl…I didn’t know where all the seriousness and responsibility came from until now.  

I knew she was an animal lover…somewhere in the box of photos is a picture of her and I holding our 4 week old kittens outside on the grass, grinning into the sunlight, and when I find it I will scan it in.  I didn’t know she would feel as I do…our pets are our furry babies.

I knew she was smart, smart, smart!  Loved that about her because sometimes being smart can be a stigma and with Donna I didn’t feel that.  I could get great grades and be proud of them, not try to hide them from everyone.  I just learned she graduated college with honors!  I’m so proud of her!

I knew she had a terrific imagination…I didn’t know she was a writer and edits books now!  

I knew I enjoyed our time together…and I’m so thankful we found each other again!  I feel like a kid who has an extra Christmas present and I’ve opened it and it’s the one thing I always wanted!  I feel extra blessed tonight!

I’ve written before about friends and reconnecting with old friends.  Amazing that those we meet and love as kids seem to stay deep in our hearts no matter how much time goes by. It’s as if a childhood feeling of familiarity is experienced but then there’s the part that’s made us who we are now and catching up is infused with a different type of curiosity than if you’ve just met someone…it’s like putting together the edges of a familiar puzzle but the middle pieces create a fuller picture now.  

I can’t wait to talk again…and it better be next week because I don’t want to wait another 40 years!  I can just hear Donny Osmond singing…”I met a girl, Donna was her name…”

🙂

Following last week’s rain several dark clouds scuttled across the sky and I caught these at sunset.  At first it looked as if smoke were dripping from the sky but then I saw the dogs!  Can you see the little Yorkie in the forefront bounding upward, facing right, and the fluffy Cockapoo titled downward just behind him?  Such rascals! They remind me of the mega-balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, floating just above street level.  Within moments they morphed into something shapeless that found no familiarity in my imagination.  I’m glad I captured these playful clouds, dark as they are, when I did!  

I got to thinking how life can be this way sometimes.  An event, tragedy, or change crosses our path and until we stare at it awhile, get used to what’s happening, we act in confusion, feel disconnected.  We look for something, anything, familiar to hold on to and grab it for all we’re worth, Somehow, with time, we adjust and then we change, morph, grow, and it becomes a part of us.  And that can make us stronger, or it can keep us broken.  It’s all in our perspective and who has our heart.  

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for having my heart, for rain, for puppies in the clouds, and for reminding me to ever keep my thoughts on You.