The Gift of Friends

This past year has been an adventure for my family. It's been good, but tough. The pinnacle of the year was last August. My mom sold our family home and she bought a new home closer to my sister. The move was tough on my entire family, and although we are very close, this change took a toll on us, but the blessing is that God heals, and family is...well...still family. And we've been able to share other blessings that remind us of how important family is.

As this year comes to a close, it is a different kind of family that I find myself reflecting on: Friends. If this year had a theme, I'd say that 2014 was the year for friends. As much as my family has come through in the past few years, the one constant has been the love and support of my friends. Read on:

Olga is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We have known each other for almost 40 years. The benefit of being friends with someone this long, is that she knows me better than anyone else in my life. She sees through me. And she doesn't put up with any BS (excuse that). But that goes both ways too. When I got sick last summer and was in bed for 4 days recovering from a kidney infection, she checked on me, got me lunch, and made sure I took my antibiotics and drank tons of water. She's very  perceptive, intuitive, giving, kind and quite the trouble maker. I know I can count on her.

When I ran my first 5k last October, I began the process on my own, arriving at Chapman University all alone. Fortunately, I found my friends who were running, but shortly after the race began, they took off. I had chosen not to try to keep up, because I had my own pace and routine to follow. Right before the finish line, I saw my friends--Marian, Katie, Wendy, Rhonda and others and they yelled and cheered as I crossed the finish line. With tears streaming down my face, they came after me, hugging me, with words of praise and admiration, because they knew what this race meant to me. Marian especially. She's been my friend for 30 years. She has a kind heart, is wise, caring, encouraging and a woman of faith that I will admire for the rest of my life. I am also excited to spend more time with all these friends as I venture into the healthy world of running races-they all encourage me! I know I can count on them.

Then there are the new friendships that are being forged. Friends that I have made at work. I love my job and I am always cheerful and happy when I am there. I revel in the opportunity to spread happiness and help my fellow cast members enjoy spreading magic, as well as have work be magical for all of us. What I didn't expect is an out pouring of comfort and care from them. Thanksgiving day, I was excited to share my big pot of potato soup with work mates, but that didn't happen. The soup spilled before I could get it to work. I was devastated and couldn't shake the anger and frustration I felt. The unexpected happened. One girl chased me down in the bathroom as I washed up to grab me and hug me until my shoulders relaxed and I dumped on her what happened. She dried my tears and stayed with me as I washed the soup off my jacket. Others walked by, saw the devastation on my face and comforted me, and worked their magic to cheer me up. I was in shock. The roles of encourager, and magic maker were reversed. Instead of me reaching out to others, they reached out to me. This still brings tears to my eyes. What a joy to discover that I have work-mates that I can count on!

I also suggest that you have young friends. It has been such a great blessing to have former students from my church's youth ministry become very dear friends of mine. I love watching them grow into young adults and forge ahead into their adventures in life. And they pray for me too! Although I want to pour out a ministry of love into their hearts, they continue to pour love and let me know that I can count on them.

There have been so many other moments where my friends have ministered to me, prayed for me, and comforted me. I am always shocked in these instances because (like we all think) it is so much easier to give these things than to accept it. I look stronger if I'm giving, rather than receiving friendship. The thing is, though, if I don't receive the friendship, how are my friends ever going to be able to give? How can I give friendship if I can't receive it? This year has taught me to receive friendship, and let others be there for me. This is a great gift--to know that someone can count on you.

My first 5k run

It's early in the afternoon and I'm recovering from running (ok, walk/running) my first 5k. I've showered, had a bite to eat, and I'm on my 4th cup of coffee. I'm having a difficult time concentrating on writing my 8 page paper that's due by midnight tonight. I'm a jumble of emotions, reflecting on my first experience of joining over 1800 participants in the  Chapman University 5k walk/run for scholarship funds.

I need to write this down. So, with only 1 page done, 7 pages to go on my paper, I'm putting it aside to share with you my first 5k running experience.

I was so nervous, I had to pee. Before, during and after the race. Why was I nervous? I have no idea! Maybe because it was a public venue and I'm out there with tons of other people-kind of intimidating when I'm used to just focusing on a treadmill in a gym. Now I'm here and there's real athletes out there, pros who do this all the time!

Then I met up with my friends. And they've all done this before, but they love me and hug me and encourage me. Then the race starts and there they go!!! I thought about pushing myself to keep up with them, but I heard my trainer's voice in my head, "pace yourself, do your best, but don't push it." So, I walked 8 minutes, ran 1 minute, walked 4 minutes, ran 1 minute, walked 4 minutes, ran 1 minute....holy crap this is hard! What am I doing? Just keep going....

At about the 1 1/2 mile mark I wanted to stop. My shins hurt and people just kept passing me by...but I kept going. At the 2 mile mark, after watching several volunteers clap and cheer me on, and pass me water, I had tears in my eyes. I'm doing this! And it doesn't matter when I finish, the point is I'm doing it, and I'm gonna finish. AND if you would have asked me just 1 year ago if I wanted to run a 5k I would have laughed in your face and said "NO WAY!" But I am. Right now.

About 1/4 mile from the finish line, 2 of my friends came back looking for me. One of them walked with me. She cheered, told me to match her pace, stretch my stride, and told me a story about a mountain run she did (mountain run? there's an idea! hmmmm...) About a minute from the finish line, I picked up my pace and ran for it, with the rest of my friends right next to the finish line, cheering, clapping, snapping photos...

And I ran through the finish line. I did it. I did it. I did it.

Oh my goodness gracious. I did it!!! And I got a medal!!! And I cried. And I wasn't nervous or intimidated anymore. My friends hugged me, congratulated me. We congratulated each other! (See why it's hard to concentrate on writing an 8 page paper?)

Oh I need to do this again...

What the F%$* am I Doing????

Yep, I used foul language. Out loud.

Ok, I didn't exactly say it out loud. I looked at Olga and whispered the word and she knew exactly what I said. And she laughed cuz she knows how uncharacteristic it is for me to even think this way.

But I must be honest and confess that this is exactly what I thought when I signed my lease and handed over a check for $$$$ for my new home. My stomach was in knots. The feeling I had was the exact same feeling I have when I go on a first date. Panic attack. Freak out. Can't breathe. Sweaty palms. Yep. First date.

There are very few things that make me nervous. Stand in front of 500 people and speak: piece of cake!!! First date: No thanks, which is probably why it's been a few years since I've been on a first date. Cuz I get so nervous I have to go pee every 5 minutes!!! (Note to self: make sure to take toilet paper with me to the new home on moving day)

So what does a first date and a new home have in common? And why am I so nervous about the experience? I think it's due to the level of uncertainty involved with it.

First date: Go out with a guy that either I've never met, or in a social environment that is new to how we relate to each other. My mind is in overdrive: Do I look ok? What do I talk about? Am I making a fool out of myself (which I usually do cuz I say things I don't even remember!) Will he laugh at my jokes? Do I want to see this guy again? I hope I don't fart. Now what?!

New Home: This is the first time in my entire life that I am moving out all by myself. The kids are grown and going their separate ways. I'm doing this all by myself! I'm finally all alone! OMG-I'm all alone! Can I do this? Will I balance my budget and pay my rent on time? OMG-I need to buy dish towels! And dish soap! Can I really do this? What if all the necessary variables don't work? Don't forget the toilet paper.

What the ---- am I doing?

Some people, like a few friends of mine, love uncertainty. I had one friend (who's married now, go figure) who loved first dates. She would get so excited, looking forward to meeting someone new and learning about him. She's nuts! (no, she's not. Tracy's one of my best friends, and the one who'd usually calm me while I waited for my date to show up) She handles uncertainty so well! I really admire her.

I love challenges and taking on new experiences and learning new things. But uncertainty? I have a very difficult time with uncertainty. And this moving into my new home thing? There's so much uncertainty involved.

Which is why praying is such a good idea. I'm so glad that God forgives me when I use a foul word.

June 24, 2011 The day listening ended.

The above day is the day my dad left this world and went to heaven to spend the rest of eternity singing Jesus' praises. 3 years ago.

There has been no other loss of a person that has affected me (and many others) so deeply.  What has been significant about this last year is I that my grieving process has left me feeling alone, with no one to listen to me.

Now, before you run to my side, let me clarify something. My dad was my listener. He listened to me when I needed someone to talk over stuff. What kind of stuff? Life stuff. Like raising kids, dealing with ex-husband, changing jobs, going back to school, life changes.  In fact, he's the reason I volunteered to be a camp counselor for my church's high school summer camp to Hume Lake. He's the reason I volunteered to be a chaperone for the high school missions trip. He's the reason I went back to school.  Ok, he's not the reason for all these choices, but when I talked to him about these ideas, he listened. He didn't decide for me, in fact, he would usually say, "Well, if God wants you to do it, you need to be open to it and let God work it out." Usually when I talked to him, I would come up with my own solution. The conversation would be me saying "this is what's going on" and "this is what I'm gonna do," and "what do you think?" He would just listen.

Is this what you would call a "Sounding board?" Yeah, dad was that for me. And I've really needed him this year. My life is going through so many changes with school, work, grown up children, moving and growing up myself! He is not here to listen to me. For some reason, listening and watching others grieve became extremely difficult for me to endure. So much so that at some point over a year ago, I isolated myself in a few areas of my life.

In the last 3 years, someone, anyone will come up to me and tell me how much they miss my dad. Because I inherited my dad's sense of responsibility and caring, I automatically wanted to help and comfort those who miss my dad too. But for a long time I just couldn't. In fact, it caused me pain to hear it. So much so that I couldn't even go to church on a regular basis. I know it seems crazy, but because I lost my listener, my comfort, I couldn't comfort those who felt the loss of my dad. I couldn't listen. To be honest, at this point, I'm not sure I'm ready to listen.  Thankfully, I'm just like my dad and I know I need to just get up and get going. Life goes on. My life must go on. And my friends and family who are grieving as well, I need to be a part of them. I know I'm not responsible for their comfort, but we can comfort together.

And I need to listen. Because I am my father's daughter. And I know that with God's strength and comfort, I can come out of my isolation and serve God in the way I'm supposed to.

What's been helping me through this past year? A few people. One of them is my long time childhood best friend, Olga. She lives next door and we've known each other for 38 years. She's the one friend who knows me better than anyone. And she knows what I'm missing.  She's listened. A lot. We've listened to each other as we watch our children become grown ups. She's a comfort because she knows me so well, even when she doesn't know what to say, I know she still cares for me.

The others are my kids. I've had several opportunities this year to have my own little family together and that blesses me more than anything. My kids are all grown and I watch them as they go through their adult lives and just sit back and wait for them to come to me with their joys and troubles. So I can listen to them. What is significant about this is that they all listen to me when I need to share my joys and troubles.  As grown ups, they are all willing to let me talk about my stuff and they just listen. Of course, sometimes the advice they give is...well...not advice I would use, but the point is they listen.

There is one more thing that helps. And I just realized this a few days ago: Talking and sharing with others who will listen. This is what happened: I'm volunteering at Vacation Bible School at church this week. I was chatting with a boy and I mentioned my dad. Another lady standing next to us mentioned meeting my dad a few years ago, on her first Sunday visiting our church. I carried on the conversation with them as I shared a few memories of my dad. We were all in smiles and I realized I enjoyed the conversation. It warmed my heart. I talked and they listened.

I miss my dad. Grieving is not easy. And I share my grieving process in the hopes that it helps someone else, like my readers, and gives comfort in the understanding of what grieving is like. It's been 3 years, but like I said, when you lose someone very significant, it makes a huge impact on you, and everyone else.

Then  you find stuff that helps. Like talking. And sharing. And allowing others the opportunity to listen.

And becoming the listener.

#Running

I hate running. Always have. When I was a kid and dad thought I needed to get more exercise, he'd make me run around the block with him. And I hated it.  In high school P.E. class, we were required to run the track for physical education testing. I failed the test cuz I walked. CUZ I HATE RUNNING!!!!!

(By the way, I know 'cuz' isn't proper English, but it's my thing. I write it all the time, except when I'm writing papers for school.)

If you don't already know, I started running about 2 months ago. Why?

Cuz I hate it, that's why!

It's true! That's the reason!

It's just that I feel like running is something I need to conquer. And I've been making life changes--living healthier, eating healthier, exercising, losing weight--and I needed an exercise regimen that would keep the weight loss going-30 more pounds and I will officially be a healthy weight! So, I met with an athletic trainer and am learning how to run. I've only lost 1/2 pound in the last 2 months, but my clothes are fitting better, my joints don't hurt as much and my body feels better! Hey-I can squat and pick something up off the floor, and it doesn't hurt to get back up! I think this is awesome!

The run is always tough for me, though. Walk a bit...then run...then walk...run...my legs are killing me...I can't breath...run... Then I finish and...Wow! I feel so good! Like I'm conquering the cement, or treadmill. Heck, I feel like I can conquer the world! I went on a run today and actually looked forward to it. I know-so weird, huh?

This is what I've learned about running: It's not for everyone. It's painful. It feels wonderful. The last few weeks, I have found myself thinking "I need to go on a run." But it's not easy. There are times when I don't think I'll make it, or my legs hurt so much a few hours later, I swear I'll never do it again. But I must.

What a metaphor for life, huh? Running is a pain, and I know I will struggle to increase my time, work through losing weight, and regulate my breathing (that's the toughest part for me), but in the end, this running is good for me and I feel fantastic about making it through! Running is changing me and that change is hard, but it's good for me.

Life is hard. Life is painful. But life is also good. Thank God that He is there to help me through the pain, so I can experience the good.

So, what's the end goal of all this running? Well, I'm running my first 5k in October, and I'll run a 10k in January. Will I keep up the running after that? Stay tuned...

The art of humiliation

I'm a show-off. I know I am. And if I get the opportunity to strut my stuff, I usually will. However, I am learning that being a show-off is really not that great. In fact, if I'm not careful, I can become a know-it-all, self-righteous, you-know-what (no foul language allowed).

Last week, I had the opportunity to really show-off.  I saw my ex-husband for the first time in 13 years.  I even posted the life-moment on Facebook and received some great comments of encouragement, reminding me that I have a lot to be proud of and I should just "strut my stuff" right in front of him. And I was planning on it too! I was going to show him what this "hot grandma" was made out of and really put him in his place. Of course I wasn't going to blatantly humiliate him, but in a subtle way...

...until I saw his face. Our lifetime together flashed in a very fast moment and when I looked at him, I was humbled and just couldn't do more than be friendly. What changed? I just didn't see the point in being cocky. I wanted to show him up, but in an instant I knew that what that cockiness would say about me would just be horrible. And I just didn't want to be that person. So, if you've been wondering how the afternoon went, I'll tell you.

It was fine. We said hello, chatted about the weather and how beautiful our daughter is. That's it. No humiliation whatsoever.

Now I'm going to get on my soap box and complain to you about an incident I recently experience. Someone came to me in the guise of "Christian conviction" and expressed concern about an innocent activity of mine. I thanked this person for the concern and then expressed my reassurance that I use care and concern and cautious discernment in said activity.

Now, if you don't already know, then read some of my blog entries, and you'll know how seriously I take my faith and my Christianity. I have learned the hard way that my best witness to all of my friends and family who share (or don't share) my faith is to seek God's wisdom in all I do and say (well, I try to, but I falter). I chose my words carefully with the above person.

Well, the person didn't stop. In fact, the following words were used to further express the point: "not being judgmental, but..." Don't get me wrong. I think this person's heart may have been in the right place, but the conversation just kept going in a direction that when this person finally had the last word, judgement and self-righteousness permeated completely. After one last public, cocky comment, I was humiliated. And I'm still angry about it.

Which is why I'm writing about the subject of humiliation. This is my blog. And I'm learning to accept that I'm a good writer, and this is a good outlet for me. Part of me feels that I'm vindicated if I express my feelings about this incident here. After all, I could simply go to the above person to clear things up, but no...I'm showing off and writing about it on my blog. For that, I ask your forgiveness, especially if you think that I'm not handling this too well.

But humiliation? It's a horrible thing. Even when it's subtle, humiliation is about showing off and making one's self bigger than someone else's self. You know what? In the end... no one wins.

And now I'll get off my soap box. For now.

Mary Welty

Grandma, my dad and Uncle George

My grandma, Mary Welty, passed away about 2 weeks ago, on March 8th. Today would have been her 93rd birthday.

However, from her point of view, it was still her 39th birthday. This was my favorite thing about my grandma. Her vivacious way of living life. In her mind, she never grew older. She stayed young. One of my favorite memories that I will always cherish is the day that I called her for consolation. This is how the phone call went:


ME: Hi grandma.

Grandma: Hi Paula dear, how are you? Oh my goodness, it's your birthday tomorrow!!!

ME: Yeah, that's what I'm calling you about. I'm having a really hard time. How did you feel when you turned 40?

Grandma (laughing): Oh honey, I don't know! I'm still 39!!!

So, she and I laughed some more, then she asked me if I was happier than when I was 30. I realized that I was, and I looked better too! She agreed, laughed some more, and gave me permission to be 39 with her.

This 39 year old woman never stopped. In fact, I think my dad got his "doer," "serve" and "work-hard" qualities from her. When grandma got an idea in her head to do something, you couldn't stop her. Dad too. They drove us crazy sometimes, but it was the best thing about them both. (By the way, today would have been my parents' 50th wedding anniversary).

Grandma also knew how to make friends with everyone around her. Even when she went on vacation-a cruise, or tour-she and grandpa always had photos with strangers and she would say-"Oh that's Maria from Chile and her husband-we met them on the boat-nice couple-good friends" like she knew them forever! I think this quality is due to her transparency. She was just very approachable and you knew where you stood with her.

I think that's why I'm so transparent. I have that face that says, "ask me, I'll help, I'll even be your friend!" And I wear all of my emotions on my face-I don't lie very well at all! Sometimes I think this transparency is detrimental to me, but it really isn't. You'll always know where you stand with me.

Of all the wonderful memories, there is one moment that made a great impact on my life. I was going through my divorce-a very painful time. I felt like an ultimate failure. Grandma and I were discussing the divorce when she said to me, "Paula dear, I want you to know that I think you are very brave to do this. And I am proud of you. Plus I never liked him anyway."

Thanks Grandma.

Talk

Lately, I've been listening to a Christian radio station while driving to work. With my work schedule, I'm rarely at church and I really miss the teaching. When I hear old stuff from J. Vernon McGee, or Chuck Smith's archived stuff, I listen intently. I have learned, though, to take some of what I hear with a grain of salt. It will occasionally get a little judgmental or self-righteous, which is when I radio channel surf.

The other day I heard a commercial that I had a hard time understanding. It was for a book, and, well, to be honest, I didn't hear the whole commercial, but I did hear that it was a book on prayer AND if you read this book, and learn how to pray the right way, ALL your prayers will be heard and answered! What?

I just…what?

I don't think prayer works that way. Now, I do know that in the bible, in the book of Matthew, Jesus gives us advice on how to pray, and gives us The Lord's Prayer.  And that does give us a type of traditional form to follow when praying. "Our Father, who art in heaven…" What beautiful words.

But I don't think we need to adhere to traditional form for God to hear us. I think all we need to do is just talk to Him.

I can't count how many times in one day that I just lift up a simple prayer. I just talk. Ask God to comfort this person, or take care of that person's needs. And I don't think there's anything wrong with asking God for good traffic when I'm late for work. And when things are really tough, or traumatic, I don't want to think about a traditional form of praying just to make sure that my prayer gets answered. I talk, I plead, and I cry. And God hears that too. I know He does. How do I know? I just do.

Jesus is the perfect example of talking to our Heavenly Father, and pleading to Him. When Jesus was in the garden, before His arrest, was He concerned about form while He cried out to God? Sure, Jesus knew what had to happen, but he still talked to God anyway. Did Jesus remember to pray a certain kind of prayer while He hung on the cross? As He pleaded for the people who crucified and condemned Him? He cried out to God, "Why have You forsaken Me?" He was in agony! Of course He cried out! How many times have we cried out when we felt abandoned, in pain, in agony? And yet, Jesus came back. He Lives.

I don't know how to pray like that book says we should pray. At least I don't think so, I haven't read it. And when it comes to praying in public? I'm definitely not that great at that. But I do know how to talk to God, and I talk to Him. A lot. And I thank Him. A lot. Because I see when my prayers are answered, whether it be with a 'Yes,' or a 'No,' or a 'Not right now.'

Just talk to God. I think He would love to hear from you. He listens too.

2013

This last week, I've been reflecting on what 2013 has meant for me. It was a pretty fantastic year, if I say so myself. It's still hard for me to see and accept what I have accomplished these past few years. What I realized, though, is that there was 1 constant through this year that supported my success.

Family. 

There were quite a few precious moments this year, and all those precious moments had to do with my family. I'd like to share those moments with you.

Most of you know that I graduated from CSU Fullerton this year. I walked in my ceremony last May, with my friend, Alyse, by my side, and my family in the audience, cheering me on. My mom and brother Joel were there, along with my kids: Nathaniel, Ethan, Ethan's girlfriend, Jasmin and Jennifer with her husband, Henry and my grandson, Brandon. They took pictures, I got flowers, I danced a little jig onstage as I accepted my degree…it was an indescribable experience. After the ceremony, I proudly took more pictures with my kids, but there was 1 person who made the experience complete: my mom. She had tears in her eyes and beamed a smile from ear to ear with a look on her face that seemed to say "that's my daughter!" After the graduation we had a party at home and my family stepped in to help me put it on. Mom bought the stuff, Joel made ribs, my sister Jen held my hand and prayed over our feast. My kids all helped fix food and clean up. So many of my friends (of whom I am eternally grateful for!) came to help celebrate. What a glorious day.

Fast forward a few months to November. Brandon's 5th birthday and I get to take my family to Disneyland for the day. Brandon is a great bundle of energy and I get a kick out of watching Jennifer chase him around because it reminds me of when she was little and I chased her around. Yep, I was entertained. I also enjoyed the day because along with Nathaniel and Ethan, Jasmin brought her little girl with her. Such fun to have a toddler girl in tow! The night came to an end with watching the fireworks show from Main St. I stood back and watched my family, all grown up and with little ones, as they ooooh'd and aaaah'd at the fireworks and then they smiled and squealed as it snowed on Main st. I had tears in my eyes and pride in my heart as I watched them.

This. This. This is my family. 

I can't begin to describe the joy I felt as I watched them. And thanked God for them, who they are and how they turned out.

My family. 

Ok, I'll share 1 more memory, but it's not a pretty one. It happened just last week, when I got sick and decided to go the the emergency room after work. I came home to change and told Nathaniel what was going on and he asked me if I wanted him to go with me. I told him no, but he insisted and went with me at 1am to the ER. Good thing he did because 5 minutes after we arrived, I became very ill and nauseous. Nathaniel immediately jumped in, found a trash can and held it under my chin as I vomited. He just stood there and put his hand on my back and waited. He didn't buckle, move or anything! I was very shaken up (considering I haven't barfed since I gave birth to him) and he steadied me and tried to calm me. Afterwards, he stayed with me in the examining room until I was released at 6am. (I'm fine, by the way. Just dealing with gallstones, but I'm eating healthier and losing weight along the way!)

Now, you may think that this should be as expected-he should be good at taking care of his mom-he's 25 and this is no big deal. This is a big deal to me because I realized that he is grown up! In fact, all my kids are grown up! No matter  where I go, or what I do, they will be okay. I also realized that I can depend on my kids if I need them-such a wild concept! Ok, it's not that wild, but you know what? I must have done something right in raising these kids!

This. This. This is my family. 

Thank God for 2013 and for every year.