Fear

I had my gall bladder ripped out of my body a few weeks ago.

Ok, ok, it really wasn't "ripped out" of me. I was well taken care of by my nurses and doctors. My surgery was textbook smooth and my recovery, although slower than expected, is going well.

But hey! If you think about it-or if you've experienced any type of surgery, doesn't that sentiment make sense? A part of my body betrayed me and needed to get ripped out of me! (At least that's how I saw it)

And these feelings began before I had the surgery-feelings of betrayal, anxiety, and then foolishness because it's just a gall bladder. It's not that life altering, like some friends and family have had surgeries that were more serious than a silly gall bladder. I tried so hard to be brave, but I couldn't.

Before the surgery, I broke down in front of my children and cried. I felt stupid as my daughter hugged me, comforted me and assured me that I would be just fine. This was nothing, compared to what it could be.

While discussing the surgery with my surgeon, she asked me if I had any questions. I asked the first thing that came to mind: "Will I wake up?" My kids laughed. The surgeon smiled and said, "Not to worry, yes."

When the nurse asked if I had any questions, I asked, "Will I wake up?" I asked this question several times, to every nurse and doctor that came into my room. I received the same answer, but I was anxious, and I felt bad for being so anxious, but I was. I even exasperated my kids.

Then the nurse grabbed my hand, looked at my kids and said, "She's scared." A light went on in my daughter and son's eyes and they looked at me asked "Why?"

I'm about to get my gall bladder ripped out of me and I have no control over that!

(Allow me to interject here that I instantly thanked God that HE is in control of what is happening, no matter what!)

But I was still scared. Frightened. In tears.

Then the nurse looked at me and said, "It's ok, it's normal to be scared."

It is? Really? Well, for me it's not normal! For me it's normal to face my fears and conquer them! I absolutely didn't want to conquer this! I wanted it not to happen!

But in that moment, to have the nurse assure me that it's normal to be scared, it's ok to be scared and that I was also not alone in my fear--I knew I would get through it.

And this is how I faced this fear--this fear of giving my life and ability to wake up to someone else--I survived it. And I hope and pray to God that I never have to have surgery ever again.

I didn't conquer this fear. I was forced to face it and I survived. And gall bladder surgery is actually more serious than I thought--Did you know that your liver gets cauterized when the gall bladder is cut away? It's the only way to seal the incision on the liver--thus a wonderful burning sensation in my abdomen that reminds me of having my gall bladder ripped out of me. (Dark humor)

And I survived.

Day 7 of a Week of Writing

I almost went to bed without writing! It was an excruciatingly hot day today and a very crazy day at work and I'm sick of looking at a computer screen.

But it's Father's day.

And I miss my dad. So much.

Next week will be the 5th anniversary of the day he went Home to spend eternity singing Jesus' praises. He always said it just like that: "When I get to heaven, I'll be busy singing Jesus' praises!" And every time I start singing, I think of him. He had a great voice, and I think he passed down that voice to my son Nathaniel. It's a joy to listen to Nathaniel sing.

My dad not only passed down his voice, and other traits, to his family, but a legacy that touched many lives. He knew that what he did in this life mattered, but not for his glory. No, he never sought glory. As he said it, it was the "treasures in heaven" that he sought. However, while he was on this earth, he knew that his life, his actions and what he stood for would affect everyone he encountered.

You've heard the many renditions of living life the way you want to. "Be who you are and don't care about what others think." "People are gonna judge you, so just do what you're gonna do!" "I don't care what other people think, I'm gonna live life the way I want to!"

Don't get me wrong, there is merit in that. We shouldn't pretend to be something we're not. We should live genuinely. But we should care about the legacy we leave behind. Yes, we will be judged by how we live our lives. We can't help ourselves, it's in our human nature to judge, gossip and compare. As wrong as this can be, we will continue to do this forever. And that's why what we do affects others. Because others watch, others see, others follow our example.

How do I know this is true? Because there were hundreds of people at my dad's memorial service. They were there to honor him. They saw the example he set forth in his life. Get this--there were people who attended his service who had never met him before. Why? These friends of dad's kids, siblings, and other family had never met this man, but heard so much about him, they wanted to honor him, to be there for his family. Because they saw his living legacy and who he was in the lives that mattered-his family.

My dad was hard-headed, strong minded, and driven. I watched him grow into a man with a soft, kind, loving heart. He was genuine. He knew what he stood for-the faith in knowing that Jesus Christ died for our sins and lives again so we can live in eternity with Him.  And my dad didn't struggle with sharing that with anyone who came around. Some may not have agreed with him, but they respected him, and remembered with fondness any interaction they had with my dad.

I remember my dad telling his grandsons how their actions affected others. That if they screw up, it would hurt others, even if they didn't think so. He drilled into my boys and nephew how important it was to stand up for something, to do good, to do the right thing, because what they did would be with them the rest of their lives.

We do judge. Should we care about what other people think of us? Not to the extent that we live our lives solely to make people see us in ways that are not truly us, or to think of us in ways that are not genuine. But we should think about the legacy we leave. Because in the end, what people think about us won't really matter to us. But it will matter to others, to who we leave behind.

What dreams may come...

I had a very strange dream last night. I was in a thrift shop and I bought all of these stuffed animals. I remember seeing this new line of plush called Tsum Tsums-they're my newest favorite-cutest things ever--and you should be proud of me-I only have 3! I had bags of stuff that I was packing into my SUV and left my purse on the floor of the driver's side. Then I watched this woman just get into my car through the driver's side, crawl into the back seat and just sit there, next to my bags of stuff. I approached her, asked her if I could help her and she just said, "no, your door was open so I thought I'd get in and stay awhile."

Uh, NO! I remember saying that to her. Politely reminding her that I don't know her and that she needed to get out. "no," she said, "you left the door open, so I'm staying." Keep in mind that I have no idea who she is. I think about it now and she is not familiar to me at all!

I don't care if I left the door open! This is not your car! Get out!

"No."

Then this other woman walks up to take a bag out of my car.

What are you doing? That's my stuff!

"Um...you accidentally picked up one of my bags. I bought that blanket."

Oh, yes, it's not mine. Sorry, here, let me help you. Then I turn around and that first lady is still in the back seat of my car!

Please leave.

"Nope, you left the door open, I'm staying."

So I get into the driver's seat, called 911 and wait for the police to come take her (while she argues with me that calling the police is pointless). As the officer approached and assured me he could help me, I woke up.

Freaky, huh? Look, I'm not a dream interpreter and have no idea what this means, but it's bugging me. So I thought I'd write about it.

Day 6 of a week of writing.

Room for improvement

Day 5 of a week of writing.

I thought this writing everyday would be easy. It really isn't. I look back at what I've written so far this week and I'm forcing myself to not go back and edit what I've written. I could expand on one idea, or delete a sentence and re-write another thought...

After all, there's always room for improvement.

Isn't there?

You may have heard me mention this before--that for the last 15+ years, since I've been single mom, I want to make my life about moving forward, growth, and new challenges. When the boys were younger, part of my focus was on my career and earning more money to support us as well as I could.

Later, it was my education. I love learning new things. I fell in love with Shakespeare's works and wanted to expand my knowledge on British literature. I then challenged myself to work at take classes at the same time.

In the last few years, I've tried to live a healthier life. Eat healthier, exercise more and conquer my fear of running and go on adventures, whether it's a road trip, or having a social life.

Sometimes, though, this moving forward and challenging myself--it can be exhausting! Can't I just curl up in bed with a good book, or my Downton Abbey DVDs and do nothing for a few weeks? Please?

Uh, no. Well, okay, maybe for a few hours, but not for a few weeks.

After all, what happens if i stop, stay in bed, and do nothing? I stop moving forward. I get stagnate, I get unhealthy, and gross (come on-stay in bed for a few weeks- no showers, nothing...gross!) Definitely not improving anything!

Sometimes the struggle seems futile and I just want to give up. And then what? Stop living? I don't even want to go there. So, I pick myself up, take a shower (thank God!) and keep going.

What's my next adventure? At this point, I'm not sure, but I know I need to just keep moving forward. Just keep swimming (oh you know I had to put this in here somewhere!) and see where life takes me. And keep improving.

Young at heart

I finally get home from work, eat a late dinner, and crawl into bed because I feel like crap.

It was just a long day, that's all.

As I lay in bed, watching some random show on Netflix, I realize the time and--oh crap--I need to write in my blog today. Oh why did I commit to this writing every day for a week?! I feel so yucky even my fingers hurt. Ugh. Okay, I get my computer out and start writing at 11:25pm.

This got me thinking about a conversation with an old friend a few weeks ago. We were talking about getting older and he said, "You know, I don't feel as old as I am, I mean, I'm getting older, but I don't think I'm older." I found myself agreeing with him! I want so bad to just keep going and going. Hey-when I was younger I could work a full day, do homework and play all night! And you know what? I still can!

Okay, no, I can't. I don't want to.

And it's not that I'm too old, it's too much work! And I would pay for it for a few days.

Okay, it's cuz I'm too old.

I'll compromise. Since I'm done with school, I'll just work all day and play all night.

Just not tonight cuz I feel like crap. Maybe in a couple of days.

My dad struggled with this too. He would get so frustrated with getting older. He hated that he didn't feel old, or think old, as his age crept up on him, it was hard for him to accept. I find myself thinking the same way.

The other epiphany is this: I want to stay young at heart. I may be getting older, but I can still live. I can still enjoy the things that bring me joy. I'll go out, play, run, chase grandchildren and hot dudes (ok, not so much chase hot dudes...well, maybe flirt with them) and enjoy being young at heart.

And not think about how old I actually am. Cuz feeling like crap sucks.

I'll try to focus on thinking about flirting with hot dudes.

Day 4 of a week of writing.

When a man loves

"So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself." Ephesians 5:28 

Why am I sharing this bible verse? Because it came to mind as I watched my friend, Monica's husband dote on her during a recent visit. I've seen these two together in the past, and the happiness on Monica's face was always very clear-she loved her husband. But the last time I saw them, she was in the throes of battling cancer. She was recovering, but her body was ravaged and healing. As I visited with them, I watched him as he sat close to her during dinner. The love and deep concern on his face as he stroked her cheek, encouraging her to eat while she and I tried to have a girly conversation about grandchildren, children and boobs.  It was a wonderful visit, but I mostly remember his face. It was evident to anyone who paid attention-he truly loves her and would do anything for her. The great thing about watching these two together-she never once winced from him, or frowned or became exasperated. I could see that she knew he loved her. 

It reminded me of my parents' marriage. They were married 47 years until dad passed away. All four of us kids knew that my mom was the love of his life. He was silly in showing her ways how he loved her-even making out with her in the kitchen, which sort of embarrassed my mom (and us, ew!) if we were around, but we could tell she loved him too. They were both strong-headed, but knew how to make up and get over it. He did whatever it took to make her happy. 

So is this kind of love a rare thing? I don't think so. I think that both of these men just knew what they had and understood the work and commitment it took to love their wives. And I don't think it's as old-fashioned or out-dated as modern society makes it out to be.

My son, Ethan, has been with his girlfriend, Jasmin for 3 years. I knew a long time ago that this girl was the one for him. The evidence on his face and in his actions is very clear. He loves her. Last Thanksgiving I watched as she sat in the living room while he dished up her dinner to give to her-because that's what he does for her. And she knows he loves her-she smiles and watches him in a way that I know she's happy. Then a few months later, after Ethan's graduation, I'm visiting with Jasmin's mom and she says to me, "Ethan is such a good man! He spoils Jasmin, and loves her and does so much for her! He is so wonderful!" My son, at 24 years old is proof enough for me to believe that even in the young, there is hope for love.

Look, I'm not saying it's easy. It definitely isn't. Ethan and Jasmin are two young people trying to navigate adulthood, making ends meet and then deal with both of their moms pressuring them into marriage and more grand babies. My mom lost the love of her life, and sometimes thinking about the good times is heart breaking. Monica and her husband have weathered storms that only those who have battled cancer would understand-it's wretched, horrendous, and that they both have made it through together-that's a feat in itself.

But God knew what He was doing when He commanded men to love. When a man loves, and a woman loves him back--there is evidence in the endurance in the complications of life.

Day 3 of a week of writing.

You get more bees with honey

There's all kinds of variations of this saying:
more bees with honey
more flies with honey
you CATCH more bees/flies with honey than with vinegar

There are also very many definitions of origins of what that saying means, but I like to think that it has to do with our words-how we communicate with each other. There's this one definition from dictionary.com

"You can win people to your side more easily by gentle persuasion and flattery than by hostile confrontation."

If you know me very well, you know how good I am at smiling my sweet smile, saying "pretty please" to get people to do what I want them to do. Hey-I got the bartender at a Dodger game to let me taste all of the beers on tap before buying! Just a little flattery and a smile-I know exactly what I'm doing!

The reality is, though, that bees sting (hey, it's me, Captain Obvious!) and we are all afraid of bees when they flutter by, because of that sting. But that same bee is an incredible value to our environment. It's because of that bee that our beautiful flowers continue to bloom, or the oranges and lemons continue to grow on the trees in the backyard, and also creates that lusciously sweet honey that we all know and love. I have a deep respect for the bee.

And when that bee feels threatened or attacked, it's gonna sting. When we accidentally step on it, it fights back in the only way it knows how-by stinging as it gives up its own life.

What do we do when we feel attacked by someone's words? We fight back, with our entire sting, until we shut down and have no more to give. Maybe not in that instant, sometimes we fester it, until we have the opportune moment of being underfoot and we can sting back when it really counts, and risk getting stepped on. And everyone ends up hurt, swollen with brokenness.

Throughout my life I've had to practice various types of communication as a mom, daughter, wife, friend, manager, leader, teacher, etc... and there's is one thing I have learned: to be kind and respectful in my approach to how I communicate, in the words that I use. Especially when the words are going to sting.

And there are times when I must have words with someone that, no matter what I do, are going to sting with correction or constructive criticism. The trick is knowing how to communicate so those words will have a better outcome in the future. That in being firm and respectful, I'm expressing the sweet opportunity for growth. My goal-to encourage them to improve, change focus and bloom. They may not like what they hear, but they can grow from it, even if it's not pretty at first. In the end, I want them to bloom like the blossoms on the rose bushes, not wither in defeat and sadness.

Look, all I know is I get more bees with honey than with vinegar.

Day 2 of a week of writing.

A week of writing

I celebrated a fantastic accomplishment last week. I finished my Master's of Arts in Education, specializing in eTeaching and Learning. Quite a mouthful, isn't it? I was quite overwhelmed and dumbfounded for a few days as I soaked in the reality that, after 6 years of college life, I am finished. I'm done.

Now what?

Well, I'm still dealing with this overwhelming feeling, like this last weekend I still had that feeling that I needed to find time to write a thesis, or paper, or do research on the quality of remedial English education in our community college sector...

OH WAIT! No, I don't! I'm done!

So, I'm going to enjoy life for awhile, go on vacation, pursue a few opportunities at work, pursue other part-time teaching opportunities.

And write. That's how I came up with the idea of writing in my blog every day for a week. Just 1 week for now. After all, I'm good at it (so everyone says) and I don't write enough, and I should. So this is day one. And what is my mind on for day one? My dad, of course.

I miss him. This last weekend, I got to hug my mom as she expressed her love and pride in me and my accomplishment and that meant so much to me. But then I imagined my dad, and how much I wished I could share this with him. How he would beam and brag-and the way he brags about his kids-I'm just like him in that, how we brag.

But my mom-she expresses pride in her kids that just lights up a room. It's in her looks--her smile, the way she throws her hands up in the air and cheers-(I do that too-throw my hands up in the air and cheer loudly)You know she loves her children. And it was in that moment when she hugged me and said how proud she was of me that my heart was comforted.

I tell you, it doesn't matter how old you are-knowing your parents are proud of you-that's everything.

And thus begins my week of writing. Until tomorrow...