God Works

When it rains...
It pours...

You've heard the saying, and you know what it means.

I hate rain. Ok, that's a little harsh, but I really don't like rain! I understand why it's necessary, and appreciate it when the season has been dry, but I don't like it. It soaks my glasses like a windshield, messes up my hair and gets my feet so wet and cold! Which is why, when you see me out in the rain, I use a very big umbrella. Inevitably, though, the rain does what it set out to do and gets me wet.

Rain gets everything wet. In fact, rain can be so powerful that it washes out everything in it's path. Storms, hurricanes, tidal waves (does rain have anything to do with tidal waves? Maybe I should just title this "water.") Rain can destroy homes, towns, and move mountains. Inevitably, though, the rain subsides, life rebuilds and there is always-yes, always-healing and growth. It may take time, it may be painful, it may not go the way we want, but the healing and growth is always there.

Here's another saying for you:
God works in mysterious ways.
We've all heard the saying, and we think we know what it means, but I don't think we really do.

And I don't think the "mystery" is the point. I think the point is that God Works. Whether in mysterious ways, amazing ways, unknown, blah, blah, whatever ways-God Works. God created the rain, He created seasons in our lives, and we all have those seasons of pouring rain. When the rain is done, there is always-yes, I believe eventually always-healing and growth. God Works. Whether we want Him to or not. God Works. (I should put that on a t-shirt and sell it).

I decided to look up bible references on God's work and this is what I came up with:

Psalm 19:1--The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.
Psalm 66:5--Come see what God has done, how awesome His works in man's behalf,
John 9:3--"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."
Romans 8:28--And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love HIm, who have been called according to His purpose.
1 Corinthians 12:6--There are different kinds of working but the same God works all of them in all men.
Ephesians 2:10--For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God prepared in advance for us to do.

This is where you ask me why I'm writing about this. I'm writing about this because right now I'm angry. And I don't like being angry at God. I don't like being angry at all. I don't like how anger makes me feel. Right now, the season my family is in, it's pouring. My loved ones are in the midst of hurricanes. I wish the rain would just stop.

Then I look at my life, and where I'm at. I am blessed. I am healing, and I am growing. Because of where I am, I continually see God working through the rain and I know my job is just to hold up my umbrella and give cover in whatever way I can. In my life I have seen seasons of storms and hurricanes and I have felt healing and I have grown. God Works.

There is one little thing I like about rain...jumping in the puddles.

Yes, God Works.

An interesting thing happened in class today...

There was a minor incident right before class began this morning. Actually, it was so minor it really doesn't bear worth mentioning, but it struck me as strange. In fact, so odd I decided to write about it and maybe get some feed back from you:

Students were filtering into the class, no prof yet. One student, a woman (she looks to be a few years older than me) walked in holding up a textbook for this class and loudly announced she found it outside the door. The young girl sitting one seat over on my right put up her hand and said, "Oh that's mine, oh I'm sorry! Oh thank you so much!"

The woman (whom neither of us know because she sits on the other side of the classroom) walked up to where the girl was sitting and slammed the book on the table in front of the girl. She slammed so hard that I, the girl, and at least 3 other students sitting around us jumped. The woman continued to walk to the far end of the table where she usually sits, looked at the students on that end and loudly proclaimed, "Once a mother, always a mother" then sat down. I watched the girl sitting next to me-she put her head down and didn't look back up. I waited a few minutes and asked the girl if she was ok. She said yes, and that she also heard the woman's statement after. I reassured her that not all mothers are like that, and that the woman's response was probably more about her and not about the girl. The girl smiled at me, said thank you, and the professor walked in.

This just keeps bugging me! I thought about myself, what kind of mother I am, not to mention how I treat others around me. In class, it's natural for me to lend a pen or paper, or stapler. I even gave a young man a cough drop once. If I found a book outside the door, I'd bring it in, find out who it belonged to and say, "here you go sweetie." (yes, I do say sweetie to the young students-especially if I don't remember their names).

Then again, there are times when I am...well...impatient. You know those times: like being in a hurry and wanting to drive 70 on the freeway when every other car is driving 60 and you can't get around them and you get impatient (well, I do). Do I really want them hearing what I'm saying to them? (Olga would be laughing at me right now because she knows what I'm saying and she just tells me to relax and don't worry. We'll get there when we get there.)

But the point is: Do I want them hearing what I'm saying? Should I be saying what I'm saying? Do I want to turn into that woman?

I definitely don't think I'm that kind of mom. AND I don't want to be that kind of person.

Impulse

"What did you do!!!?" Says my 19 year old son, Ethan, after seeing my new hair cut. He was very upset. My only saving grace-he liked the color. Red, of course.

Yesterday, I made the impulsive decision to chop off most of my hair. My hair has never, in my entire life, been this short. Plus all 3 of my children  have told me that I MUST have long hair.

But there was a very important reason for my decision to cut my hair: Because my sister doesn't have any.

By the way, please don't tell my sister I wrote this, she'd kill me for being this transparent and to be honest, she really isn't the total reason I did it.

Allow me to begin at, well, the beginning of my story:  For many weeks I had been thinking about ways to show support for my sister as she fights breast cancer. I could lose weight-I have plenty. I could get more exercise, etc...and I confess, I was pretty much half-hearted about it all. Then I had a check up a couple of weeks ago. My blood-pressure is high. Not too high, but just out of the "normal" range. The doctor isn't too concerned, but I will need to check it in 6 weeks. She asked about my stress level and how much exercise I get. When I told her about life for the past few months, she understood. That was the beginning of a wake up call for me.

Then I did my first breast cancer walk last weekend. Jen, my sister, was there. She had a beautiful white and pink head dressing and was ready to walk the 5k. She had been in bed for 5 days after beginning a new chemo "cocktail." All I could think was...this is my baby sister-her stress level is 1000 times more than mine right now! If she can be here and do this, I need to do more. My body made it through the walk, but I huffed and puffed as my best friend, Olga, pushed me. And Jen just kept walking. After that, I whole-heartedly decided to keep up a walking regime-walk at least every other day. I need to be healthy for me, first and foremost, but I also need to be healthy for my sister.

The 5k was Sunday. I walked Monday. On Tuesday, I didn't walk, but I started thinking about my hair. What if I just cut my hair really short (Hey, I love my sister, but my hair is very fine. If I buzz it, it may not grow back!) and keep it short until Jen's hair begins to grow again? I talked to my friend, Amy, about it that night. She thought it was a great idea. Maybe I'll wait until Jen finishes chemo, then cut it. Amy reminded me that Jen doesn't have any hair now.

I wake up Wednesday morning and that's all I think about. I realize that if I don't do this now, I'll lose the nerve and not do it at all. I call Amy, thinking we'll go when she gets off work. Then I see my mom at Target and I tell her that I think I should go right at that moment (it was about 1pm) and she offers to go with me. On impulse, I just do it. I tell the stylist the story. She cries. After she cuts it, I cry. Hey-my hair is gone, what do you expect me to do!

So, it's time for life changes. Get more exercise. Be active. And get a hair cut every 6 weeks to keep it super short until Jen's hair starts growing back. I may need to get a job just to keep up with the hair cuts, but it will be worth it.

Yes, I love being impulsive.

4 days of nothing...

Today is a good hair day. Simply due to the fact that I had much leisure time this morning and was not rushed into a quick flat iron or pony tail.

Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday are completely open. Well, not completely, but it's not like I have kids to rush to games, or school, or work...Ok, ok. It's not all nothingness. I do have a ton of reading to do (English major, duh!) and Geography of China homework. Yesterday, Friday morning, I went on a field trip with my Geo class-a Buddhist temple, but when I arrived home, there was no one there and I reveled in the solitude. Quiet.

This morning, like most Saturday mornings, I woke up to my neighbor's phone call to either make sure I was up so she could come over for coffee, or have a quick discussion over plans for the day. I drank coffee, finished reading a book for a class, and contemplated my weekly schedule. I joyously listened to the silence, and loved the nothingness. Most of the time, these 4 days are just nothing. Studying, laundry, cooking, solitude. I started reading Shakespeare's Tempest.

Now it's late Saturday evening. After spending the day reading, hanging out with my neighbor, I am now sitting in an empty house...again. My hair is up, Netflix is on.

Sundays are great. Church, lunch with my boys. But this Sunday I'm off to Jen's. A breast cancer walk.

Monday I'm going to try a monkey bread recipe I found online. Read some more Tempest. And Ben Franklin's Autobiography. I definitely prefer Shakespeare.

(By the way, British Lit is my favorite class. In the last class meeting, I got a little excited about what we're reading and my classmate joked that I was possibly born in the wrong century.)

Ok, so there's a few somethings, but I guess it feels like nothing.

I am truly blessed.

Raw

I am in the swing of the fall semester and my hands, or book bag, is very full.  After all, this is what this blog is supposed to be about, but if you've been reading, you know my life has been over flowing with, well...stuff.

Since June 24th, practically every single person I know has been going through the grieving process. I have been grieving. I've grieved the death of loved ones before, but if you've lost a parent, you know how it's different. Especially my dad. I always joked that he was "a pain in the butt," but the impact of his finishing this life and going home is felt everywhere I turn. The grieving is prolonged.

I feel...raw.

Last Spring I sliced off my finger tip. My dad was there after the fact-he just shook his head and, with a little grin on his face, he wrapped my up my finger. He joked that it would be at least 8 months before my finger completely healed. At the doctor's office the next day, the nurse unwrapped the bandage and I almost fainted from the excruciating pain surging through the exposed nerve endings on my finger. It was raw and painful for a long time. I had to keep a padded bandage on it for two weeks. Even now, because the nerves are still healing, it feels like a sharp needle going through my finger if I'm not careful and bump my finger. You can see the dent on my finger, and although it looks healed, it isn't.

I am learning that grieving is the same. I look fine, even feel good most of the time, but sometimes I'm not, and I have to accept that process, because it's not just going away. I am learning that this is going to be a long healing process. In this healing, the grieving will get better, but there will be times when I have a bump and it will twinge my heart. I need to accept that, even embrace it.

I have two more points that I want to share with you:

1) A friend was telling me about friends of hers who are dealing with a terminal illness in the family and she had been wanting to write to them, but was in pain as to what to say. What could she say?

Normally, it would be very easy to relay my personal experiences and help my friend. I would have told her that in my grieving I have loved and appreciated every single person who has said "I'm sorry for your loss," "he will be missed," or "my condolences." But in all of this comforting there were quite a few that stood out. The ones that didn't really say anything. One was a pastor's wife who just came up to me, put her arms around me and with tears in her eyes said, "I don't know what to say." We hugged for a number of minutes. That same day, another friend from church, a young man, walked up, stood next to me and just put his arm around me. For a few minutes he didn't say anything, just hugged me. Finally he said 2 things: "How are you?" and "I'm praying for you." I could go on, but my point is: Don't worry about what to say, just go with it from the heart.

2) Unfortunately, I couldn't tell my friend. I choked. I felt myself wanting to help and comfort my friend, but aching inside as well. Those grieving nerves were reminding me that they were still there. Fortunately the other friend that was sitting with us at the time picked up on it and comforted me-that just blew me away! I am learning that I need to pace myself. That I can let others take on the load that I usually carry. Yes, I need to keep going, keep living, but I don't have to overburden myself either.

Because of this, I have decided to go from taking 5 classes this semester to just 4-just 12 units. I hate admitting defeat, but all summer I was overwhelmed with grief and 10 weeks of summer school. That overwhelming feeling gets exhausting! It's not a matter of whether or not I can do it, but whether or not I will do well. I need time to breath, and thinking about my 27 books, 10 page term paper and 3 other essays due this week won't help.

I am still raw.

I need to let the padded bandage of time, my friends, family and life help me continue to heal.

What does a picture say to you?

I am not a photographer, but I do now how to use a good camera. I've even framed a few pictures-the flamingo below is one. I've decided to make this blog my photo blog...because...well, I'm on vacation so I don't have any college stuff to write about. Let's see if this works...

The Letter 'A'

I have come to love the letter 'A'.

There are many uses for the 'A':
A is for apple.
A is always, always, always the beginning of the alphabet. (duh)
A is for the ants that keep invading my house this summer-I think we've finally conquered them.
"The Scarlet Letter" was an 'A'. (Good book!)
A is the Health Dept. grade we want to see on a restaurant. (What goes through the mind when you see a 'B'?)
Ah...the 'A' grade-that's why I love the letter 'A'.

10 weeks of summer school (something I will never do again, hopefully) 2 intense classes, plus all the family stuff. And I get an 'A'. I give myself an 'A' for getting through it (yes, I am patting myself on the back) and my college transcripts will show an 'A'. In case you're wondering, I've earned quite a few 'A's lately.

Especially when I was so extremely close to throwing in the towel, giving up, and crawling into bed and never getting out, but no, I sit on the couch, or at the table, with laptop in front of me and keep on the college work.

And I get an 'A'.

Right now, I thank God for the letter 'A'.