Uncle Roy

When I first created this blog many years ago, it was supposed to be about my journey thru college as a "mature" student. Then it evolved into me writing about my life. When my dad passed away, the grief was extremely heavy, and writing about him helped me go through the process. It still does.

Which is why I decided to write today. Another Welty went home recently--my dad's youngest brother, Uncle Roy.  His death was very sudden and unexpected. If you've been thru this experience, then you know how it can throw everyone and put you thru an indescribable shock. Just like my dad and grandma, Uncle Roy had this "larger than life" personality. Just one of those you thought would be around forever. 

One thing about the Welty men is they've got tough exteriors. They can even be a little scary. 

Actually, scratch that--I think all us Welty's are like that--we're definitely tough on the outside.

But we also tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. And my Uncle Roy, he definitely had a tender heart. I don't have any specific memories of things, but just moments of him being kind and tender towards me, my kids, even my ex-husband. 

Years ago, when we battled my ex-husbands addictions, Uncle Roy came to me in kind encouragement and relayed to me how blessed he was to have my dad stand with him and his experiences. He also shared with me how much he loved his wife and kids, how grateful he was for them. He gave me hope. Then he backed me when I decided to come home with my kids. He was very tender towards me. Dare I say, more tender than my dad was, but I've written about all of that already and it's all good. 

My dad and Uncle Roy got along just like every youngest and oldest siblings do. 

Hey, I love Joel, but he's a butthead. We'd bicker at each other all the time. He'd pick on me, I'd pick on him, but he's a butthead that I'm proud to say is my brother. He's taken on reigns in this family and shown so much love to all of us--he's a good man. 

At holiday gatherings, it was comical to watch Uncle Roy and dad pick on and bicker at each other, but we'd always end up praying together, eating good food, singing Christmas carols and laughing about the whole thing. They helped each other out on house projects, go on fishing trips with Uncle George, and love on Grandma and Grandpa. 

One of the only times I saw Uncle Roy cry was at my dad's memorial service. His big brother was gone. He felt as lost as we did. Yet he was so kind towards my boys. He even helped Nathaniel get a job. He was tough on Nathaniel at the same time, but Nathaniel learned some tough life lessons that he'll always appreciate Uncle Roy for. 

Now his own family is feeling this loss of a husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, that gave so much from his tender-heart. 

But then I get this picture of heaven. And he and dad are picking on each other. 

The legacy of fathers

Another Christmas time has come and gone and my family continues to remember my dad's birthday and miss him dearly. The legacy my dad left us is a tremendous one. A good one. And whenever we think of him, we can't help but let our memories bring joyous tears to our eyes.

But rather than dedicate this writing to my dad, I've decided to dedicate it to my ex-husband.

Some of you may know that my ex-husband, the father of my 3 children, passed away last January, right after the holiday season. My kids and I went through a ton of mixed feelings about his passing--good, bad, sad and relief, even feeling guiltily happy (I think that one is more me).  Because of his history, it's been a struggle. And that's part of the reason why I decided to write about Brent. He's part of my past, and the father of my children. And I'm hoping his story can help others who may relate to his story. And I'm also hoping that my thoughts will help us, Brent's family.

Brent struggled for most of his life with his own personal demons--addiction and mental health. In the beginning years of our marriage, I think he tried as hard as he could to keep it together, to be a good husband and dad. But when his demons took over, his struggles came to light and for him, the demons became his life.

I used to bitterly believe that he chose his demons over me and his family, but as I look back, I can't help but...well...feel guilty for my bitterness, but also realize that for Brent, addiction and mental illness were not choices for him. For years we prayed, and he tried to battle his demons. With help, without help, in hundreds of rehabs and programs.

And in the end, it didn't work. The demons won. Or so they think.

I was very worried about how my kids would handle the passing of their dad. My boys haven't had any type of relationship with their dad in years and I prayed they wouldn't harbor anger and bitterness. My daughter tried to have a relationship with her dad, but it was not successful. We've all dealt with feelings of what we wish it would have been, what we wanted from him and never got, but we're learning to accept Brent's life and lack of relationship for the past years. And choose how to deal with addiction and mental health.

What we are choosing is Brent's legacy. Because of his demons, we've worked very hard to keep our communication open about addiction and mental health. All 3 of my kids have looked at what addiction was to Brent. All of us know we need to be very careful when it comes to indulgence. We also know that we need to be proactive when mental health issues arise.

Then I look at my 3 kids and who they are today. Jennifer is married with 2 kids. Nathaniel is pursuing his music education, out on his own, and playing his trombone and singing. Ethan is married, working and a budding professional musician. All 3 of my kids are a productive part of society.

And we're very close. Oh it could be so different. If they followed their dad's legacy, they'd be drowning in addiction, in jail, and running from life, letting the demons win. But all 3 of them looked at that and said "NO" out loud. There's a greater hope that my kids will turn their dad's legacy into something wonderful.

One more thing: I pray. Every day. For my kids. For their spouses. For my grandkids. And I thank God for the protection and love He gave us through my family--my dad, mom, brothers, sister and the support we have from friends as well. Because of them, the legacy that Brent leaves is us looking forward in hope and good things.

Clam digging

If you knew me when I was a kid, then you most likely know what the title of today's blog refers to.

But first some back story...

6 years ago today, my dad passed away. He's in heaven, with a few good friends and family members, busy singing Jesus' praises, or fishing, or building something, or whatever it is God's got him doing.

The last few weeks I've had what seems like more than usual opportunities to talk about Dad. Whether it is to console a friend who recently lost his dad, or to relay Father's day memories to another friend. But then I had a great conversation with my grandson, Brandon, about my dad--a great grandpa that he's too young to remember.

We were at a San Diego beach watching Brandon play soccer (talented kid!) and on our way out of the parking lot, we saw the bonfire pits. How fun if we could do that!

As we chatted on, I shared my memories of my summers at the beach, having bonfires, and watching my dad go clam-digging. He'd wade out into the surf, with some strange concoction of a wetsuit he made, experimenting with various sorts of covering for his feet--I remember plastic bags with rubber bands, socks--1 pair then maybe 2 pair, and seeing his footprints in the sand. He'd go out into the surf with some strange pitch fork and a bag slung over his shoulder. And he'd come back with a bunch of clams in his bag. He'd show the clams to my sister and me, then sit around the bonfire.

And what did we do with those clams? Clam chowder on 4th of July!

Which is my birthday, by the way.

And I don't like clams, by the way.

The best part of this story? The endearing memories that I can share with my family in telling this story. My son-in-law got a kick that something I didn't like (clams) became such a great memory for me. Brandon and Enrique think that having a bonfire at the beach is a great idea! And they learned about clam-digging.

And my heart was full. My heart is still full. Yes, sometimes my heart aches and I wish so much to talk to my dad, but I have memories. Life memories, about clam-digging, that I can share over and over and over again.

My dad loved to tell stories. That he passed down that love to me is something I should cherish. And hold dear to memories and stories that I can pass down.

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...

Memories

Have you ever had one of those moments that you want to share with everyone you know? The moment has become such a blessed memory that you have to tell your friends and family about because it was profound, magical, hey--even horrendous! (did I spell horrendous correctly?) The moment--the memory--is something that will stay with you for the rest of your life.

This last weekend-the weekend after Thanksgiving-was just that type of memory for me. It was crazy, fun, frustrating, but overwhelmingly joyous, I had to find a way to share it with you. And since I haven't blogged for awhile...

Read along:

I had to work on Thanksgiving, so my family came over 2 days later, Saturday evening. This is the first Thanksgiving in quite a while that I've had my entire family-all 3 kids and grandkids. I cooked dinner, of course. I dealt with a little frustration--who's coming, when are the boys getting here, but in the end, we assembled in the living room, held hands as I prayed for our Thanksgiving dinner.

Here I am, in a circle, with my family. My grown children, the little additions to our family, grandchildren, in-laws. I looked at these young faces and I had tears in my eyes and I said, "I could just stand like this forever, looking at each of you, thanking God for you. I'm so blessed." They all smiled and endured my moment--a moment where I could just soak in the blessing of my family.

Another favorite moment is with the youngest ones: Brandon, my grandson, and the newest addition, Audrina (Jasmin's little girl-Jasmin is Ethan's girlfriend). They both ran to the fridge to get a can of whipped cream for the pumpkin pie and I told them, "no, I make whip cream." Audrina was shocked, "wait, this isn't real whipped cream?" "No," I said, "Would you like to learn how to make whipped cream?" Her face lit up, and Brandon stood in shock and asked, "REAL Whipped cream?"

So, I sat at the dining table with the 2 little ones as they helped me blend heavy whipping cream with a touch of honey to make a lustrous "real" whipped cream. After, they each got a beater with a dollop of whipped cream, and the shenanigans began:

Whipped cream everywhere!!!! Was it worth it? Look at those faces!!! Yes! So worth it!
I had that moment where I realized that this is what family is about-craziness, frustration, messes, but in the end, I love them all and it's all worth it. My kids even reminded me that I'm worth it-they love and value what I do for them. Wow!

Don't get me wrong--our lives are not perfect. There's tons of crappy stuff going on and times when I just don't want to be a mommy. I was one exhausted grandma at the end of the night and enjoyed the peace and quiet after everyone left. But I'm telling you right now: Family. Family. Family. And family comes in all shapes and sizes, not just by blood. My family is proof of that.

I am blessed.

15 years ago...

Yesterday I attended the wedding of my friend's daughter. The bride asked me to  make 200+ cupcakes for the reception. It was an exhausting task, but I found myself so fulfilled to be able to contribute. I felt like I was part of the marriage celebration. Watching this lovely couple begin their journey together just brought joy to my heart. It was a very significant day for me, but for a very different reason than you might think.

October 10, 2000: I took the first step in ending my marriage. The boys and I packed our stuff in my car, and we came home. Three days before, I was on the phone with my sister and her husband, talking this through, and listening to Lloyd say, "Leave now, come home, we're here to help." So, I did. Ironically, deciding to leave was not the difficult choice, I knew I had to leave. The most difficult choice that I finally made was to not go back. It took another two weeks to painstakingly decide and accept that my marriage story was finished.

Wow, some 180 degree turn of events, huh?

Look, for anyone who's ever experienced divorce, whether it was yours, your parents, friends, family members, you know that it's not fun, easy, simple, or something you want to re-live ever again. It feels like you're a piece of paper being torn to shreds. A very, very long piece of paper. Being torn constantly. It's a story with a very unhappy ending. And in the end, even if you think this is a good thing, there is still shredded pain that must be taped together and healed.

Or just get another piece of paper and start over.

Watching a newly married couple dance their first dance as husband and wife, watching as that story began, full of love, joy and intentions of a beautiful life together just warmed my heart. For me, it was hoping that marriage can work--it does work. This wedding is just the beginning, and just a corner of the many pages of what could be a great marriage story.

Don't get me wrong, I know well enough that we humans are selfish and proud. In the years of marriage, many pages will get bent, torn, burnt and ripped. My prayer for this young couple is that they will work together, and with God's glue and tape, more pages will be added to their story and last a lifetime. Because that's what marriage is, a grand story that begins with God's hand on 2 people coming together in love, and the willingness to work together to build unlimited pages in a beautiful story.

And those bent, torn, slightly burnt pages--if the book is still bound, it's a grand story: filled with joy, excitement and turmoil. With characters that, if they're willing to do the work, and let God work through them, can live happily ever after.

Hey! I can't help it! I still love happy endings! Reality or not-that's what a story is all about!

Paula in charge

"But you're always in charge," is something I keep hearing lately. Why? Well, because it's true. I'm always in charge, always in control. It's not that I want to be, it just always happens that way. Someone needs to make a decision, I step up and decide. Being in charge began at a very young age with my dad constantly reminding me, "you're responsible for your sister and brothers-you're in charge!" So, it's in my nature to be in control. 

Then my daughter hits me between the eyes, "Mom, you don't always have to make things happen! You need to just relax, be patient and don't always be in control!" (she was advising me on dating, ugh). However, she made a valid point, I am realizing that I need to just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride...and not jump to take control of the situation. 

This is tougher than I thought. Again, it's not that I want to be in charge, I just... am.... Especially when it comes to my personal life. I get anxious about stuff and just take control. Until God reminds me that He actually is the one in charge. I am reminded that when I take charge of my own life, I take away from the plans He has for me. And I'm realizing that I am not as patient as I thought I was. 

Great, not only do I need to learn to let go of control, but I need to learn to be patient too! 

After all: 

30But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 
34  Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.     *Matthew 6:30, 34

Look, I know I'm the kind of person who just naturally takes charge, but I also need to be reflective and willing to change, or improve myself--learn to take a breath, learn to let someone else take charge and I need to be kind. Part of this is learning that God is in control and will provide. Oh how I am blessed with this truth every day! God provides! He is in control. 

So, sit back, relax, be patient, and let someone else drive... I think I can do that. 

Happy Birthday Disneyland!

Today is a big day in Disney history. If you haven't heard the news already, Disneyland celebrates 60 years of making magic for all who enter the gates.

I love Disneyland. In fact, I love it so much that I have been working there for almost 3 years. It is not everyone that can say they enjoy their job and look forward to going everyday, but I count myself as one of the blessed ones that expresses that I love my job. I remember going to the interview 3 years ago and saying to the recruiter, "There are many reasons that Disneyland means so much to my family and me, deep-rooted reasons that would take way too much time to express, but the happy memories..."

The boys and I had annual passes for years, and we loved coming into the park for a few hours to go on a few rides, eat a burger and play video games at the Starcade (ok, they played, I shopped). And I have said this several times to cast members, especially those in leadership roles. I don't share those memories because they're long stories, and bring tears to my eyes and well...that would just be awkward (not like I get teary-eyed enough!) So, I'll share a pivotal memory here with you.

It was a sunny day and the boys (then 10 and 13) and I were enjoying the day at Disneyland (of course). At the time, the boys and I had lived with my folks for more than a year and going to Disneyland was a great opportunity for us to spend time together as a little family. On this occasion, we decided to take a ride on the train to the other side of the park, and of course, their conversation turned to their dad. The week before this trip, I made one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made--to divorce their dad, and I hadn't told them yet.

Mind you, I had not at all planned to tell them while we were having a happy time, but the opportunity just presented itself. I don't even remember who mentioned it first--something about being married and I just very carefully, with as much love and care that I could muster while on the train...at Disneyland... told them that I was getting a divorce.

Needless to say our train ride lasted a little longer than planned, but we talked. They asked questions, they were not surprised, but sad. I reassured them that I was not leaving them (that's what they were worried about) and that we needed to keep praying for their dad. Then we got off the training, and held hands as we entered Pirates of the Caribbean.

This memory became the catalyst for many memories with my boys. From then on, we took many train rides, or walked through 45-minute wait lines because it gave us a chance to talk about stuff. We talked about school, puberty, living with grandma and papa, and eventually we even talked about my decision to start dating again. Disneyland gave us a place that was neutral, safe and comforting to help us deal with many of life's ups and downs. And even just to spend time together as a family.

The boys gave up their annual passes when Nathaniel finished high school. Ethan was beginning high school and the teenage boys were just too cool to go to Disneyland with mom, but we did go on one visit right before their passes expired. Sure enough, the boys suggested we take a train ride, just to relax and chat. And we did. All the way around the park. I don't even remember what we talked about, but I know we laughed and enjoyed each other's company. Now, more than anything, I am grateful that those train rides are memories that I can cherish for the rest of my life.

Big Five-Oh!

I have been in denial for almost an entire year. How could I be 50 this year? How? 

No, I couldn't admit it. Never. I will never be 50. Never. 

How about I just start lying about my age? I'll just tell everyone I'm 39, like my grandma did. Hey, it worked for her, I think. I had a conversation with my grandma right before I turned 40. She reminded me that I was happier at 40 than I was at 30. That got me thinking...

What if I embrace this whole turning 50 thing? What's different now than, say, 10 years ago? 

Well, let's see: Smile lines, crow's feet, a touch of arthritis in my wrists and ankles. That's the details, the little pictures. 

But the big picture: I weigh 20 pounds less than I did 10 years ago. My running and workouts help my arthritis. And I may have a few small wrinkles but I still get pimples. 

The thing is, I looked better and was happier at 40 than at 30. The other day, I found a photo of me at the age of 40 and you know what? I look better now and I am way healthier and happier than when I was 40. 

I'm showing off. I know. But hey-this is my blog and that's the point--to give me an opportunity to be narcissistic and show off. 

Look, I'm not looking for a pat on the back-truly. I am a work in progress. I still have 20 pounds to lose before I am at a healthy weight and this 20 pounds has kicked my butt! I've been trying to lose this last 20 pounds for over 6 months and it all just won't go. 

My point is that I just need to keep going. Keep working at it. And keep living. 

The cool thing is that it looks like I got the "young genes" from my mom. When I was in college no one would believe she was my mom-she looks too young! She still has a youthful look about her. And I've already had a few people say, "You're gonna be 50?" NO WAY!"

So, here's to embracing the Big Five-Oh!

Being a father

Has it really been 4 years since dad passed away? It's hard to believe that so much time has gone by. Sure, the grieving and missing him gets easier with time, but when I look back, it just doesn't seem like it has been 4 years. Then I think about it, and I have a moment where I really miss dad. So, on the anniversary of his going home to spend eternity singing praises to Jesus, I'm writing about him.

You know, all four of us kids would agree that dad was a great dad. But we weren't the only ones who thought this. Throughout his life and ministries, he made an impact on many lives--young and old. His lasting impact was that of a Godly man and a wonderful father figure to many.

It's something I learned from him: how to be a father. You see, the boys and I moved in with my folks almost 15 years ago. I will always be grateful for the help I received from both of my parents in raising my boys, but the role my dad played in my boys' lives will always be cherished. He (along with my brother Joel) was the first man to teach my boys that they need to respect me because not only was I their mom, but I was his daughter and deserved honor and respect.

Then I had the humbling experience of having my dad teach me that I had to be their father. At one point dad and I argued about how to handle a discipline issue with Nathaniel. Dad pretty much got in my face and told me if I didn't get tough and stand up to Nathaniel, that he would. I didn't want to be tougher than nails and fight with my son. I wanted to just make it better, but I also didn't want my dad showing me up--dad's threat really pissed me off. I was gonna show him and be tough. I realized that there were times I would have to set the rules and stand firm, on my own, in the dual role of mother and father--I couldn't let anyone take that from me, not even my dad. There were many times that I took my dad's cue in dealing with my boys, and ask my dad to back me up. It was worth it.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know how blessed I was to have my dad around. I had support in a way that most single parents don't have, and those single parents don't have someone to fall back on in helping them play that dual role. I also know that both moms and dads can be tough, but it helps if someone's got your back. My heart aches for those parents who are doing it alone. And I know how it feels to do the parenting thing alone even when the other parent is there.

But thanks to my dad, I learned how to be a father. Thanks to the role he played in my sons' lives, and even my daughter's, their lives will be forever impacted. So will mine.

You gotta take what you can get!

A friend of mine said this to me in a conversation about men. It has been a point of contention between us for a long time.

Take what you can get, or settle for something--anything--because it is better than nothing, and happiness just is not a factor.  And be happy with it, even if it  means less than true happiness.

Believe me, I understand this concept completely. I am an adult and, thanks to the life experiences we all have, I know that feeling of just accepting what I can get and trying to be happy with it.

But don't I deserve to be truly happy? Don't we all? Some of us, rather, most of us don't believe we deserve to be happy. And you know what? We are absolutely correct--we don't deserve to be truly happy.

Think about it--we humans are horrible! We value power, greed and self-fulfillment. We hurt each other, pervert each other, and are willing to kill each other to promote our own agendas.

Yes, I know I am over-generalizing here. I know that there are inherent good people out there and I consider myself a good person: I love Jesus and pray and want to do the right thing. However, I am human and I have sinned, and I have harbored ill-will in my heart. There is no way that I deserve to be happy.

Here's the thing though: I still want it. I don't want to take what I can get.

And guess what: My heavenly father--I think He wants me to be happy. How do I know? Oh, I'm sure there's a bible verse--or 2 or 3--that shows this, but think about it from a parental stand point: I raised 3 kids and there were times when I was so frustrated as a parent that I didn't even feel that my children deserved to be on this planet! But I love my kids, I cherish them, and as much as we went through, I want them to be happy with their lives. I want them to pursue their dreams and be happy in whatever lives they choose to have. And my kids--they want me to be happy too.

As much as I don't deserve to be happy, I think God, my heavenly Father, loves me so much that He wants me to be happy. Happy in serving Him, happy in my career choices and pursuing my dreams, and happy in my relationships.

I don't have to take what I can get. I have experienced something wonderful, something that made me happy, something that made me realize my own worth. Because of that, if I just settle, or take what I can get, then I get in God's way of His plan for my life.

And I have been praying about that a lot lately.

Gradschool

I am about to finish a class on Content Area Instruction and Assessment and part of my last assignment is to post an update on my blog.

Geez, has it been that long since I wrote on here? Last year? Well, the only excuse I have is that I have found these past few months of my pursuits of a master's in education and a teaching credential via online education where I take 1 class every 4 weeks absolutely exhausting (notice the long run-on sentence?).

I'm burnt out. Even after taking a 5-week break and actually taking a vacation (which was wonderful) I'm still having a difficult time staying focused. But the reality is I really need to stick with it and finish. In fact, I need to finish well. And I'm not too far from the end.

What have I learned in the current class I'm taking right now? That I still have so much to learn.

I took a pretty hard hit in the second week of this class when I got the grades back for my assignments (well, not that hard, but anything lower than an A is very difficult for me to take). But I had to agree with the feedback I received from my prof. I have no formal teaching experience (aside from teaching preschool 100 years ago and being a bible study teacher) and the lessons I created were, well...unrealistic. Some subjects I had to expect more from students, other subjects I needed to spend more time on and well...there are things I just won't know until I get in the classroom.

I have learned to listen to my profs and heed their advice. So, in the assignments in week 3, I followed the prof's advice and changed gears in my lesson presentations. I still have a lot to learn, but this time, I focused on a few things, rather than cramming tons of stuff in one lesson, and focused on giving students a little more credit as far as what they should know by the time they do the type of lesson I created.

I have learned that there is hope at the end of the Grad School tunnel. Although my prof gave very good feedback on my assignments, it was a little kick in my pants to read it. But he also gave encouraging comments. I have to admit, I am a little concerned about how it will be when I actually get my own class--a little more overwhelming than just visiting someone else's class once in awhile. However, after some life experiences I have had recently--standing up in front of people and just having presence and taking command of the room--I have hope that I have potential.

As long as I am willing to learn.

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.