Come Home

I recently heard a sermon series entitled "Home."  One of the things that has continued to resonate with me about the concept of home is that it's a series of events related to peace and chaos ultimately landing back on peace. I have experienced lots of that in my life as a whole, but more so in recent years. It was mostly out of the view of people, because I'm not particularly fond of vulnerability.

When you're experiencing your darkest days, you don't necessarily want witnesses. I'm exactly that way. I am a very private person. I keep lots of things close to my chest. I cry often and mostly alone, it's one of the things I do for me. (Tears are healthy and there are scientifically proven therapeutic benefits.)  I don't have pity parties, and when I do they don't last a long time. I say what I need to say, I cry about it ahead of time and/or after the fact, and I take a step forward. Change is hard, y'all.

I am often accused of trying to handle "all the things" on my own. I have people in my life who know me well and hold me accountable for that. I have a few really close friends, but only a handful of people that I hang out with regularly. I value my quiet time. I have been known to go an entire week without turning on the tv. I have music playing almost constantly.

I have also experienced my share of big life changes. I recently accepted a new job that has a LOT of autonomy and a lot more responsibility. It requires a lot of personal study at this point to learn the material I will eventually be teaching. In the past year, I've gone back into paid church work, on a very part time basis, after a several years break. I also changed the physical location of home. That change of address led to a tweaking of my definition of home. Home for me is a safe space where I can be unapologetically me. 

Several events in my life have shaped my outlook. They shook me to the very core and have required a lot of energy in order to make the adjustments necessary to survive them with my sanity mostly intact. My divorce was probably one of the most pivotal moments in recent years with regards to my definition of home. I was married for just over 21 years. We were high school sweethearts, and we signed up for forever. Life threw all the curveballs and eventually we made the decision to go our separate ways. It was mostly amicable and completely gut-wrenching.  There's still a great deal of love and respect present even though our relationship has changed.  We still talk a few times per month and we bounce ideas off of one another when there's some big "something" nagging at one of us. I still have to work through things from time to time, but overall I'm happy with the level of respect we managed during that transition.

I'm also an empty-nester. I'm a Cici to three really cool kiddos, even though I'm WAY too young to have little people that claim me as a grandparent. I'm still learning how to sit in silence, especially when the music isn't playing or my thoughts are screaming at me. My definition of home no longer focuses on things I've accumulated. It's about stronger relationships and extending grace. It's about love. It's about knowing myself well enough to be okay with the chaos in order to relish the peace.  It's about knowing my reasons for the decisions I've made without needing to explain myself to others.

It was in the times of chaos that I redefined myself. I have had to reinvent my personal identity a lot. After my brother died, I felt like I lost the title of sister. Through my mom's illness and later her death, my definition of daughter shifted. After my divorce, I was no longer someone's wife.  While I may now be an ex-wife, I don't handle myself as one. My reality changed, and it wasn't always pretty and neat. 

All of this is to say, we have a choice in how we deal with change. We could easily let negativity take root and break us down. We can also find the lesson in the struggle, meet chaos head on, and savor the peace that follows. We can't be idly complacent and expect peace to find us though. We have to be active participants in the process.

People struggle. We also have the capacity to pick ourselves up, and dust off the mess that feels chaotic, in order to work through the challenges and move toward peace. Home doesn't have to be just a physical location. My prayer is that in the midst of whatever chaos we experience, we manage to also find peace in a way that allows us to come home.

This One is for Me

You will look back on this time in your life and realize that the storms you struggled through really did bring you to the other side. Every obstacle in your path is a moment to strengthen your character. Every irritation presents the opportunity to extend mercy. Every disappointment needs to be carefully handled with grace. You are not the sum of all the things that have "gone wrong" in your life. So don't be afraid to live.

Stop allowing yourself to build walls; they don't serve a purpose other than to alienate you from all the good that exists.

Take special care of those relationships that bring discord. Don't let yourself become a doormat, but don't be so quick to write someone off just because the situation isn't to your liking.

Stop talking to yourself in the mirror unless you are going to use those words to build something beautiful. The words that other people say are painful; the words you say to yourself leave permanent scars.

Make sure in the living, you take time to count the blessings that have been brought to you in the form of relationships -- with family and friends, with friends who became family, with people you had the good privilege to meet on a certain day of your journey. These are the things that define you.

Don't expect an apology to live up to your expectation. "I'm sorry.” has to be good enough. Don't settle for "I'm sorry, but...” that isn't an apology, it's an excuse. Feel free to rip off the band-aid and end relationships that no longer suit you. Don't be careless in that endeavor, but don't keep someone close just because you are afraid.

Your job is just that, a job. It allows you the resources to live. It allows you to make a difference in your corner of the world. There are only so many hours in the day, and so many workdays in a year. You are entitled to enjoy your vacation and not feel guilty.

Take better care of yourself. Drink more water. Eat your vegetables. Go for a run. Read for enjoyment. Spend as much time with you, as you do with your electronics. Be still. Don't be afraid of the silence. Sleep.

Get more involved in something. Take a photography class. Write more, it's cleansing. Sing more. Create something with your hands. Pray, but keep in mind the answer you want may not be the answer you need.

You are really great at loving people, sometimes to your own detriment. Don't be so focused on loving someone else that you forget to love yourself even more. You only get back what you have to give. Sometimes you get more because life is funny that way, sometimes less because people are selfish. It's okay to be mad in those situations.

Watch your words. They bite. You don't intend for them to be sharp, but sometimes they leave a mark and cause unintentional pain. Do not take your anger with yourself out on other people; they don't deserve that. Don't call someone by a name unless it is his or her ACTUAL name. Imagine that every word you say is a permanent presence in the world. It leaves a visible reminder. Create something beautiful with your words.

Own your mistakes. Say, "I'm sorry.” and mean it. You are not perfect, neither is the person reading this and silently judging you. (They aren't really judging you, or maybe they are, it doesn't matter. Let it go.)

Get out more. Spend time in situations that make you uncomfortable. You don't have to be an extrovert, but you also can't be a hermit. Take advantage of the people who said they would be there, and let them be there for you on the days you can't be there for yourself.

Crying is okay. It's healthy and cleansing. Don't be so afraid of your tears. And don't be so intimidated when they sneak up on you at some less than convenient time. You don't have to be strong all the time.

You can't change the past, so stop trying. Plan for the future, but don't live there. Be present.

Nurture relationships, don't expect someone to stick around and wait while you are busy being self-absorbed.

Don't gossip. If someone is willing to say something to you about someone else, they are likely saying the same things about you. "Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people."

Control your stress. Every situation in life involves stress; some of it is good, some of it is downright ugly. Try to maintain balance. The bad stress keeps you on your toes and makes you appreciate the good that much more. Learn to relax and breathe. Repeat as necessary.

Downsize. Don't let your stuff, or lack thereof, define you -- it is just stuff. If you're going to collect something, collect photographs and memories. Those are better anyway. Be content with what you have and quit wishing for what everyone else has. (Their stuff might be cooler, and it just might also come with a lot of baggage.) More stuff does not equal happiness. You know a lot of unhappy people with lots of stuff.

Laugh more. You have an infectious laugh. Learn to use it more often. Humor is never a bad thing unless you use it to tear someone else down, and that is just plain mean.

Smile. Being sad is okay. Staying in a place of sadness serves no purpose; there are resources for that kind of sadness. Your skin will wrinkle whether you smile or frown, so make those tiny lines a byproduct of something you enjoyed.

Be yourself. You're smart, funny, intelligent, and beautiful. No one else possesses the same characteristics and talents. You are good enough. You are good.


~s

It's kind of a funny story

I had a call from a doctor yesterday. He was giving me the results of a recent scan because my PCP is on Maternity leave and everyone in the clinic is picking up her slack and communicating with patients about tests/results that have come in since her departure. (I'm fine, nothing major, just following up on a sketchy test result from several months ago, and the problem has resolved on its own.)

That call went something like this:

"Ms. Bentley, I'm doctor Mark Jansen with UAMS Family Medical Clinic. Blah, blah, blah. Someone in the clinic will be seeing you at your next follow-up appointment in March. Again, my name is Mark Jansen, J-A-N-S-E-N. If you need anything in the meantime, don't hesitate to call our office."

The fact that he said his name no less than 5 times, and spelled it the last time, perked my ears up a bit. I know a Mark Jansen from when I lived in southern Arkansas for a time. He was actually my physician during that time. He was also the senior partner at the clinic where my mom worked until she entered hospice. (I should add, she had an INCREDIBLE work ethic. She never missed a single day during 5 weeks of radiation and 6 months of chemo therapy. She would go in early and stay late to make up her hours.)

So, me and my perky ears started processing everything that just happened. I do a quick doctor search on the UAMS website which yielded zero results. I turn to my friend google, and find an article mentioning a Dr. Mark Jansen joining the staff/faculty at UAMS. He was in private practice in Arkadelphis for 30 years prior to coming here. I shoot him an email.

"Dr. Jansen, you just called me about an U/S I had yesterday. Are you the same Mark Jansen that was at Arkadelphia Medical Clinic? I'm Terri's daughter. sheri"

His response came back about an hour later. "Yes! The same one. I LOVED!!!! your mother. She was so gracious in all situations. I was just thinking about her the other day. I recently moved to Little Rock to take care of my 88 y/o mother in poor health (you understand) and am working at UAMS 60% teaching and 40% administration. Small state, huh? Mark"

I will admit, that after the week I've had, and the fact that my mother has been on my mind pretty much constantly since my last blog, that connection made me a little teary. Of all the doctors on this enourmous campus, 17-20 that work at FMC, not counting residents and fellows, he pulled my chart from a stack that needed follow-up attention. I think in some way, it was a sign that my mother is still very much looking out for me. Believe what you will, but I choose to believe she's still very much here.

Happy day before Friday, y'all.

~s

01/24/14

Seven years ago, I kissed my best friend on the forehead as I was heading to bed. Before going to the guest room, I leaned close and whispered in her ear, "I love you, momma, now rest."  She took my advice a few hours later and my life has never been the same.  

Not a single day goes by when I don't think of her.  Although some days, it's at the very end of a busy day when she creeps into my mind.  Yesterday I was writing a note at work and instead of writing yesterday's date, I wrote her birthday. dd/mm/yy. It made me smile and shake my head all at the same time. I think she knew I needed her.  I need her a lot lately. 

She had a smile that could light up any room. She was quiet and reserved, but had an infectious laugh. She could scold you without raising her voice.  She loved with the biggest heart imaginable. (I think I inherited that from her.)  I've never really thought I looked much like her, until recently when I caught a glimpse of her in my bathroom mirror. 

I wish she could see Caity and Kenzie as adults. I wish she could meet Sophia. I wish I could introduce her to some of my friends. I wish I could get a cherry limeade with her at Sonic.  I wish I could hear her sing along to the radio. I guess I will just strive to live in a way that continues her legacy of love. You were a good one, momma. One of the best. I love you. 

~s

Be Present

Most of my mornings start out exactly the same. I wake up a few minutes before the alarm at 0545. I determine how many minutes I need to get ready so I can leave for work on time, because staying in my nice warm bed is WAY better than getting out of it at o'dark forty-five. Eventually, being a grown-up takes over, and I usually make it to work with time to spare.

At some point in the morning's routine, I check Facebook to see what I might have missed. Since I don't drink coffee, it's the equivalent of my morning wake-up. One day last week, that didn't go so well for me. The very first thing I paid attention to in my newsfeed, involved a friend whose mother-in-law is dying. His post was simple. "Morning report from Doc is she is going downhill. Pray for God to provide strength, comfort, and guidance for our family through these difficult days." Every single emotion I felt when my mom was in hospice hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes filled with tears. I was completely powerless to stop them. I was caught off-guard, and my "awesome" leaked out from the corners of each eye.

The thing I have come to understand about grief is that it is a process. There is an ebb and flow. After the initial shock wears off, it cycles. I've also learned that grief about a particular event in life, isn't isolated from every other event that may come up. I am an emotional person by nature, which is odd to me since neither of my parents were/are particularly emotional. Being emotional can be quite overwhelming when you aren't prepared for it. I have spent the better part of the past few years in a state of flux. Life happens, and then when you're dealing with one thing, something else comes out of left field and kicks you when you're down.

I joke sometimes that there is a little black cloud following me around since September 2001. In reality, I know that isn't the case, although some days it certainly feels like it. I have to remind myself on those days when I can't see the positives in a certain situation, that every situation is working on who I will be tomorrow, or next year, or ten years down the road. Every tear, every joy, every heartache, every struggle, every celebration is preparing me for the future. How I choose to deal with those situations is building my character. I didn't just reach adulthood and stop growing. I am constantly being challenged and molded and shaped into the person I will be when I'm a grown up.

For now, I find solace in that fact. I remind myself daily that I can't control my past or my future, only the way I act in the present. I am not done with grief, nor am I done with figuring out how to live the life I desire.  I'm a work in progress, and I sometimes feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark.  In the midst of awesome  leakage mornings, and realizations about the way I want to be remembered 20 years from now, I'm learning valuable lessons about the fragile balance of life. Lessons about patience, trust, hope, love, and grace.  I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to be better than I was yesterday.

~s

Be Still...2014 version

Eight days into the new year, and I still haven't made a resolution. I don't plan to make a resolution. I rarely stick to them anyway. Besides, it's exhausting to feel like I've failed before I've even started. That doesn't mean I didn't set goals. I am constantly setting goals for myself, in order to push myself to be the very best version of me. One of my goals was to read more books -- any kind of book.

I can read for knowledge or read for pleasure. It doesn't matter if the reason I read is to escape from reality for a bit, or to learn a little bit more about me. So last night, I picked up a book. I thought, "I'll give it one chapter. If it doesn't grab me, I will pick up a different book." It grabbed me. It isn't a book I would normally read. It's much more "christian" than I normally read. Don't get me wrong, I've taken part in several small group studies. I own 10 different Bibles, including my well-worn and tattered study Bible.

One of my goals for this year involves being still. That is not to be confused with wearing pajamas all day and laying around watching tv. Being still, at least for me, involves actively listening to my thoughts. It's very difficult to do, if you've never tried it. Sometimes I don't like where my mind takes me. Sometimes, I don't like what my thoughts say to and about me. I was fortunate because my book selection has a study component in the back. So as I was reading, I would peruse the notes in the back, just to see what kinds of questions or comments the author felt were necessary to explore deeper.

There, in the back of the book, in print -- a resource for being still. I haven't tried it yet, but I plan to do just that. It likely will take several attempts, because the first two questions might take a while for me to get past. (Ironically, the author anticipated as much.) If you have the same goal, or need the same goal, you're welcome to join me.


Exercise:

Write your answers to the following questions:

1.) What is frustrating me right now?

2.) What am I angry about?

No, don't go to the next question, go back. Listen. Reflect. Be honest. Give yourself time.

3.) What am I scared of?

4.) What am I dreading?

5.) What makes me anxious?

6.) What concerns me?

7.) What is stressing me right now, the smallest thing that I don't want to write down because it seems dumb that it is actually stressing me?

8.) What am I looking forward to?

9.) Today, tomorrow, this year?



It's a solo exercise, but there is an added component of community if you're interested in that sort of thing. You can email me at sheri underscore bentley 1027 at yahoo dot com for that piece of the puzzle. May 2014 be your best year ever.

Standing on the Promises

It's Aug 1, 2012. It's been the third hottest summer on record since they started keeping records. It's CFA (eat more chikin') appreciation day. I'm eating chicken (from the cafeteria at UAMS) and having a conversation about all the hoopla surrounding CFA. Another coworker walks in, hearing only a snippet of our lengthy conversation, and politely (with head shaking and gumption) says, "I'm just standing on the promises of God. Ain't never seen no gay man that didn't choose the path of sin.".

My first thought was to quietly exit the room without confrontation, because I do not believe being gay is a matter of free will. I also don't think you can "pray the gay away" because I have a friend, Josh, who prayed and cried for years, begging God to just make him "normal". I know how hard his personal struggle was, and the "cost" of finally accepting himself as a gay man.

My second thought was, "I wonder if she knows just how far God's promises stretch.". From my own personal experience and lessons I've been taught in and through people of faith, it's much farther than palm-to-palm. It's much larger than the ark built by Noah. It's even bigger than a rainbow, and if you've ever tried to find the pot of gold at the end, you know that's pretty big.

I also know the depths of human love. Just when I think I can't possibly love anymore than I already do, I am surprised that I really can love more. Love isn't even the right word. It's so overused in our society. We use the same word for our feelings about our favorite ice cream, a new pair of shoes, a haircut, for a newborn baby placed in our arms, and that special someone who makes us want to be the very best version of ourselves.

I'm not the sharpest crayon, but I believe a God who is capable of creating the earth, the oceans, and the animals of the land, air, and sea -- and is also capable of allowing His very creation to crucify a man on a cross to prove his love, is also capable of a love beyond understanding. A truly unconditional love. A love we humans are only capable of if we dare put ourselves last in every single relationship.

So then I started thinking about the various promises given to us by God. I look to Jeremiah 29: 11, Romans 8: 37-39, Matthew 11: 28-29, Isaiah 40: 29-31, John 15: 27. I believe in the God of the Old and New Testaments. I believe in a God who is capable of loving all of his creation. I also believe in a God that is WAY bigger than the teeny tiny box that creation places around him.

I agree. I too, will stand on the promises -- the promises of grace, hope, mercy and love.

For my girls...

Mother's Day is always bittersweet. It is the one day each year where I tend to be most conflicted. I miss my mom every day, but a holiday dedicated to mom's? What about all the women who are very much a "mom" to someone(s), but have no children of their own? Or the women who had to deal with the death of a child? Or the women who have tried everything, including standing on their heads, in order to try to have children? Or the women who gave birth, but aren't really much of a mother at all? Or the girls who don't have their mom in their life for whatever reason, but through no fault of their own? You see where I'm going? (The same applies to dads, but I'm not one of those even though I know some pretty phenomenal fathers.)

In an effort to not be quite so absorbed with my "motherlessness", I decided to do something different. I chose to write a letter to my daughters, and I decided to do it as a blog instead of a card that will be tucked away in some drawer. I do this for two reasons. First, I want my girls to know that while I am THE mom, there are others who have had a profound impact on who they are. Secondly, I want to keep a copy for me, and I lose paper. If I kept every piece of paper that had an impact on me, we'd be watching an episode of hoarders, folks. So here goes...

*****************************************

A letter for Caitlin (aka: CaityB, b-bess, Caitydid, "sister") and MacKenzie (aka: Kenzabug, Kenz, Mack, kenzanoodle):

I know that life hasn't always been easy. In fact, it sometimes seems like it's been an uphill battle. I think that is just part of having really young parents. Being in a family where you move often, can't have been easy either.

As your mom, it wasn't ever easy for me to see your heartache when we had the dreaded "family talk" to discuss a major life-changing event. Sometimes those talks resulted in a new address and saying goodbye to friends. (Other times, it was to decide to stay right where we were. That one time, it involved both at the same time.) We have had LOTS of those conversations over the years, but I am so proud of the young women you have become as a result.

You have always influenced the decisions that were made. As your parents, we tried to think of the decision that was best in the long run. Sometimes we failed, but mostly we expanded the walls of our home and as a result the size of our family.

You are both incredibly beautiful and sweet, often sarcastic versions of every "mother" you've had in your life. I may be the woman who gave birth to you, but it truly takes a village to raise strong, independent, thoughtful, smart, and funny girls in this crazy world. (In case you haven't kept track, I did the math because I'm a big nerd. 10 churches, 8 youth groups, and 77 youth "moms" -- and there's no way to keep up with all the big brothers and sisters that came as a result. Trust me, it's a LOT!)

You have endured more than your fair share of heartbreak, and while you have allowed yourselves to move past the tears, the heartache makes you somewhat more equipped to deal with the obstacles that come your way. You learn what you're made of in those moments. You're both pretty resilient and flexible. You make my heart sing with your wisdom and wit. I speak for a lot of people, family and friends (and friends who became family), when I say you are both pretty phenomenal in the daughter department.

Caitlin: College is fun. Boys are trouble. (There are very few exceptions, so find the one who makes you smile.) Make good grades. Set your alarm. Turn your stereo up loud enough to have a dance party, but not so loud as to disturb your neighbors. Eat breakfast. Play. Enjoy being young, there's plenty of time to grow up. Call your parents. Plan a Skype date with Ali - she and Emmy are going to miss you as much as Daddy and I do. Come home every now and then. Be safe. Most of all, have a good time and make yourself proud, the people who love you will follow suit.

MacKenzie: Your senior year is all about memories, so have fun. Boys are trouble. (There are very few exceptions to that rule.) Smile, it's nice to see you do that. Make good grades. Sing at the top of your lungs. Be yourself, no one else can do it for you. Read a book. Call and check in. Plan a Skype date with Jake and daddy, they're going to miss you a lot. Eat breakfast. Play, you're only 17 once. Audition for everything. Break a leg. Start on your college applications. Follow your dreams, don't allow others to dictate them for you. Have fun, but make smart choices.

As we move into this next chapter of life, may you know that you are forever changed by the amazing people who have called us family, either by choice or by chance. Not a day goes by, that I don't thank God for giving me the opportunity to be your mom. I may not always be perfect, but I have great admiration and love bigger than my heart can hold for each of you. I count myself to be the lucky one. "You're my favorite, but don't tell your sister!". I love you both equally, and separately. Thank you for making Mother's Day worthy of the celebration.

Momma
(Mother's Day 2012)

Ch-ch-changes

The cat is out of the proverbial bag, family has been told, as well as our closest friends (our church family was the first to know outside of our household, btw) and the pets have no idea how rocked their worlds are going to be. I can already see it in my head.

Kenzie comes home from school, and is greeted at the door by Sobe and Holly. Sobe runs over to the place the enormous doggy bed used to live only to find there is a much smaller version in its place. Holly is searching frantically for the big white dog, whose tail she loves to chase while his harness is being fastened for the afternoon walk. Only one problem...the enormous doggy bed and the big white dog are living with JB in Kansas City.

It's a lot of change. But change is good, right? JB is chasing his big dreams into unlikely places as he begins his new job as Associate Minister of Good Shepherd UMC in KCMO. I'm chasing mine to a BSN here in Little Rock. CaityB is moving off to attend college in Conway, before eventually making a more permanent move to "The City of Angels". Kenzie is finishing her senior year of high school and then chasing her dreams to a college in Missouri, which ironically she will have established residency for in-state tuition while living in Arkansas. Are you confused yet?

Well, that makes 8 of us. Or maybe even more. I don't know what this next chapter looks like, but I'm ready to see where it leads and learn the lessons along the way. And with today's technology, we can FaceTime, Skype, text and/or call to keep in touch And I'm sure we will put some mileage on vehicles for visits.

Ch-ch-changes are a necessary part of life. I look forward to the journey. Now, where did I put my keys?

Oh, the joys of school

So this week marks the beginning of my final year of nursing school. Three days in and my brain hurts. Literally. So does my rump. Seems sitting in a chair listening to lectures for 8+ hours per day will do that. And we are only on day three. I hope clinicals get here quickly, so I can give my rump a rest. My brain just has to continue to process all the information, and hopefully this knowledge comes in handy this semester when I'm helping birth a baby, or working in recovery, or taking care of kids, or working at the health department, or...

I think it's going to be a really busy semester, and I'm excited to see how it changes me, tired brain and all.

Please don't make me go to church

I'm tired. I have a long list of things on the docket for this week. I'm feeling quite unorganized and not at all churchy. (Thank goodness on that one.) I realize drinking Mtn Dew a few hours before bed is a recipe for disaster in the sleep department. So I'm sitting here, my mind is racing. I'm planning worship in my head for several weeks out when it hits me. I hate church. I hate the rules of church. I hate that people get so caught up in their ideas about church, and in creating rules for how church should be done that they create boundaries and walls that exclude entire segments of our population. While yes, technically we are a church at canvascommunity, I hope we never function as one. Before you go further in this little rambing girls thoughts, read this blog:

http://blog.sojo.net/2011/06/24/wanted-an-uncool-church-of-distractions/

So back to me hating church. I hate what we "Christians" have made church. When I think of the church of Paul's day, I think of folks gathering with their friends in their homes. I think of those same folks sharing a meal and stories of hardwork and perseverance. I think of a stranger meandering through town, and ending up in the home on the street that "left a light on" for them. I think of that stranger moving quickly out of the "stranger" category and into the category of "friend".

Today, that might look like a home group. An accountability group. A group of people attending Monday night worship, and then going to dinner together after. A praise team laughing during the creative process of learning new music for worship. The interaction of the ministry team. I have a friend who says she doesn't attend church. She takes part in a faith community. I think she shares my feelings about church. You see where I'm going?

It takes a conscious effort to maintain any type of community. Even more in a community with diverse personalities and leadership styles. One person can literally destroy a community with attitude or unkind words. "It only takes a spark..." to create a safe haven, and that same spark can burn it to the ground. The type of "church" described in the above linked blog is what I signed up for when I decided I wanted to be involved in church. I have been "in" church my entire life. It wasn't always a conscious decision. Now it is something I mostly look forward to. Mostly.

There are still "real people" in church with their ideas of how things should work and strong personalities to match. Real people with real flaws. I'm one of those people. I'm not perfect. I'm willing to admit that I fall WAY short of the glory of God more often than not. I make bad choices. I'm moody at times. I make really bad choices. (Monday night I had the biggest piece of birthday cake. A corner piece. I ate it in front of my trainer. He made me work it off the next morning. Bad choice #5,985.) There are days when I fall flat on my face. There all also days when I'm "right on the mark". Today I'm somewhere in the middle.

I don't like when people are mad at me. I'm a dumb junior high girl in that respect. I get my feelings hurt easily. People are inherently good. People have great intentions, for the most part. I realize that part of being in an "uncool" church means I might have something I say or do taken out of context. People might even question my motives. This next statement isn't going to make sense to most people who know me well. I get accused (often) of being cold and unapproachable. I'm neither of these things.

In all honesty, I'm quite an introvert. An introvert who happened to study vocal performance. An introvert who still get nervous when she sings. I also help lead worship. I'm always "on" when I'm doing my "job" in the church. I'm on as soon as I set foot in the door. I know that when people watch me they see me as the lead singer, or the girl who does harmony when Craig takes the lead. I'm also the girl who has on her mind the next thing to be accomplished. That next thing happens immediately after worship. I have to make a conscious decision to go talk to people. Not because I'm unapproachable, but because it means I have to put aside my to do list and my selfish nature and do something outside of my comfort zone.

I'm uncool. I get in a rut. I stick to what is safe and comfortable. I'm working on it. Monday night one of our littlest members wandered over to the stage. If there had been drumsticks in his sight, he would have gone straight for them. I could have allowed that innocent curiosity to derail me. I didn't. Instead I invited him to join me. I convinced him to let me hold the microphone. I held him and talked to him. And if he had been a tad less squirmy he would have been on my hip while we sang the final song. I hope someday soon we can all say "I'm un-cool, distractions don't bother me, this place feels like home, and it suits me just fine.". Care to join me in that sentiment?

Storm clouds and Ziggy

I was recently spending time with a friend. She was keeping me company on a day when I really wanted to stay under the covers. We were sharing frustrations, making jokes, and laughing. We have a joint endeavor that involves mounds of fabric samples. I wasn't feeling inspired. She wasn't feeling inspired. We decided to call it a night and forget "work". She went home. The girls were in their rooms. Jamey was trying hard to stay awake. I was trying hard to find distractions that kept me from brooding. I do that sometimes. I get so focused on one tiny frustration and it gnaws at me. Over and over again. That day just happened to be the beginning of Holy Week. The final week of the Lenten fast. The culmination of three years of ministry by JC. And the exact wrong time for a nervous breakdown.

Now you're probably thinking, "She always has it together.". That is mostly true. Kinda. Not really. I'm good at faking it. I tend to be very guarded with most folks. I might have a big laugh, but I'm mostly an introvert. I love quiet. I love "me time". I don't get much of that lately. I haven't for a long time. I've been known to spend my days off seeing how many naps I can fit into one day. I like most people, some more than others. And then there is that tightly knit circle. The "group" I can tell anything, who will share my joys and sorrows. Those I can talk to about anything and everything. That is a very small group. I won't trust just anyone with my heart. It is quite fragile and fractured. While I have most of the pieces, it isn't necessarily pretty.

So I put this blog aside, because my frustrations were (and still are) quite close to the surface. Truth be told, if the offer to run away to a mountaintop villa or a beach with fruity umbrella drinks were to present itself, I might (would) jump all over it. Being human means you leave yourself open to the potential for heartache and heartbreak, sometimes (most of the time) at the hands of those people you treasure the most. I am no different. People are inherently good. Until they prove to me that they aren't. I'm inherently good, mostly.

I started blogging as a way to deal with my emotions during the impending death of my mother. I keep blogging as a way to deal with my frustrations in everyday life. However, I don't necessarily think it is right to call folks out in a public forum. I use this space to vent -- and I try to always make sure the very thing I'm venting about applies not only to those who have somehow managed to shatter my faith in them, but also to me. I refuse to be a victim. There is a lesson in even the darkest storm cloud.

I'm sure if you live in Arkansas, you are more than a little tired of the rain and the storms that plagued our April. It seems the inches of rain 18 months ago had nothing on this year. (That was deemed a "hundred year flood".) We've seen cities evacuated and interstate highways closed due to to the swelling of rivers and rising of flood waters these past several weeks. We've seen destruction on a grand scale in the form of tornadoes and straight-line winds. Some of us have even experienced it personally. April has been stormy for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't always say the right thing. I don't always use my filter. I have very few people in my life that I let get close to me. If I keep you at arm's length, I don't open myself up to disappointment. That really isn't a very good way to live. Trust me, it hasn't worked for me thus far.

Sometimes, the words you want to hear in the most hurtful situations are "I'm sorry." No other explanation is necessary. No other gesture is needed. Just the acknowledgment of hurt, and the validation of feelings. Whether you think you were completely wrong or not. April is always going to be a gray month for me personally, not that I want to dwell on that fact. In fact, it usually sneaks up on me. Quite literally I turn the page of the calendar and BAM...sucker-punch to the gut. This year it was bad for several reasons, which don't need to be delved into any further than to say, sometimes disappointment happens when you aren't really expecting or prepared to deal with it. I still managed to get out of bed each day, put one foot in front of the other, and even muster a smile every now and then.

So I'm going to put an idea out there that you may or may not agree with -- forgiveness is hard work. It requires putting your selfish tendencies in a tightly closed box and admitting your humanity. It requires the person extending forgiveness to do so, oftentimes without the benefit of voicing the hurt and frustration. It requires putting yourself out there to be criticized by folks who don't know or understand that there is even frustration present. I tend to become very introspective when I'm struggling. I have often had folks ask me (several times a day, mind you) if I'm okay. Rest assured, I'm fine. I'm likely just processing my feelings in a way that isn't a burden to those I love. I've learned in these past few years, that it is really hard for folks to see someone they love hurting. It is, what it is. It is raw and very real to the person who is working through whatever issue brought them to that point.

As a way to move on -- forward momentum is what I need at this particular moment -- I am going to try my hardest to be a person who exemplifies not only strength on the most gray of days, but also one who extends a hand of grace and mercy to others. I am bigger than even the most profound hurt. I didn't ask to be strong, it is truly a blessing and a curse. My very favorite comic strip sums up how I feel most days. Ziggy standing at the top of a mountain. He's having a conversation with some unseen being. The bubble above his head reads, "Hey God, it's okay with me if you don't have quite so much faith in me next year." That comic still speaks to me. Forgiveness isn't necessarily deserved, but it is necessary for the one who harbors resentment to move forward. I have a choice every single day. I can let resentment turn me into someone who is angry and bitter at the circumstances of life OR I can say, no amount of wrong is worth me beating myself up over. I choose the latter.

So -- I forgive you, not because I have to, but because I choose to. I retain the power over my emotions. I retain the ownership of my feelings. Life is too short to become angry and bitter. Do I have a reason to be? I have a decade of reasons. But this weekend is Mother's Day, and I know that my mom is speaking to me through these words, even though I can't hear her voice. I hope that I make her proud with the way I live my life. I know I have probably disappointed her more times than I care to count, but I like to think she would be proud of the woman I've become. I'd give anything to hear her laugh one more time, I just have to have faith that she hears mine every now and then.

TMI

So, I'm going to offer a disclaimer -- as if the title isn't enough of a disclaimer on it's own. This blog might contain subject matter that isn't suitable for all people, unless of course you like me, and like hearing "stuff" that is going on with me. This blog also might seem totally random, but I promise I have a point -- just hang with me for a bit.

I recently waved a casual goodbye to several of my "lady parts", well all but Sheila. I have named my remaining ovary, because I needed to blame someone for the bouts of human emotion that have taken over my life of late. I might have become a tad cranky with my dad at Christmas (but he is sooo bossy sometimes) -- I still love him, but holidays are hard, without hot flashes, and weight restrictions and night sweats, and tears (OMG, the tears). I did all of this during my 15 day break from school. Every single minute of my break, to be exact. Sheila isn't really playing by the rules. I feel certain she is suited up, but she hasn't really committed to playing the game. I NEED her to play. I need to not have a fit of laughter that turns into tears (during the Rose Bowl parade, mind you -- I cried at a float...yes, you heard me right).

I'm home sick, which I don't do well, and I'm listening to worship online (which rocks!) and organizing the 700 pages of syllabus and lecture notes. While I'm trying to make sense of the mounds of paper in front of me (I did the math, 200 students, 700 pages, a LOT of trees died), I'm reflecting on a difficult situation that one of my friends finds herself in with regards to faith. Ironically, I have found myself in a crisis of faith of late. I'm busy. Really busy. School is tough. Work is required to pay tuition. Life has its ups and downs, and faith waxes and wanes.

I question the decision I made to let Sheila hang around, in order to forgo HRT. I question the decision to do nursing school. I question decisions every day. I question God. I sometimes yell at him. He can handle it. I on the other hand, feel incredibly fragile these days and I'm not sure I can handle it. So I'm pondering this conversation regarding faith, and it hits me. I don't have to. I don't have to do any of "this" alone. I have family and friends that let me vent, or share my tears. I have people in my life that allow me to have down days, but love me way too much to let me stay there. I have the best friends a girl could ask for. I'm human. I'm far from perfect. I don't have this faith thing all figured out, but I'm trying really hard. And some days, it just doesn't click. BUT when it does, wow -- it is amazing.

Kinda like Sheila. I suspect, she's in shock. I suspect, she is just waiting to jump into the game and hit a home run. And if she doesn't, the worst thing that happens is things won't have gone according to my plan. And I'm okay with that. The reward will be that I will feel better. And I will give her the hormones she needs to not have to do her work alone, afterall, for 24 years, she had a partner in crime. She shared the work. She didn't have to walk alone. And neither do I.

Do they make Happy 100th Birthday cards???

So, it's a little after 1 am, and guess who's wide awake? I can tell you it isn't the centenarian in the room. She's been snoozing for quite some time. And since there are only two of us in this spacious "hotel", and I'm the one typing, your guess is probably 100% accurate.

Why am I not sleeping, you ask? Great question! I'm certainly tired, but it seems I'm not really sleepy. It could be that I take my job as "night nurse" very seriously. Or it could be (this is likely the real reason, btw) that I can't seem to turn off my mind. It's reeling. I'm replaying different moments in my head, over and over again. Some of those moments rock, by the way. Some, not so much.

This week could be summed up in one comment, uttered by about 5 different people in my life -- at completely different times. "If it weren't your birthday week, it'd be a total bust." I concur. It wasn't a bad week. It wasn't a good week. It was a week. 7 days. 168 hours. No more, no less.

I used to look forward to my birthday. Sometimes I still do. But it's not as cool as it was when I was 7, or 16, or 18, or 21, or... Each birthday is a reminder that I'm not going to live forever (I really don't mind that part of it), and that I still have a lot of "to do" items to check off my list before I'm gone. I guess I'm thinking about birthdays on this particular "unbirthday", because I'm wide awake in a hospital room with one way cool grandmother who turns 100 years old...today. I'm singing to her at 4:30 am, because something tells me that hasn't happened for her in a very long time. She's lived a long, mostly healthy, life full of many blessings and she isn't afraid to say so.

I don't do that. Sure I have blessings. I have some really great people in my life. I've had some really amazing experiences in my 29(ish) years. I've had highs and lows, ups and downs. All in all, I'd say I've had the pleasure of living...sometimes. Other times, I'm just coasting from moment to moment, day to day, week to week. And the rest of the time, I'm just too busy to stop and take it all in.

I do that with my children. I rarely miss an opportunity to tell them I'm proud of them or to congratulate them on something exciting in their lives. But life is busy. I've got a lot going on, and there's always something more important that needs my attention at any given moment. So I don't often take the time to pat myself on the back for a job well done. I do what needs to be done, because it needs to be done. (It's kinda the same with laundry...)

So before this really cool lady I'm spending the night with went to sleep for the night, she looked at me and said, "I'm really glad you're going to nurses school. I think you'll make a really great nurse." I might have smiled on the inside. Not because it was a new concept, but because she's never really said anything like that to me before.

Prior to tonight, and our conversation about the Razorback game (she can't really see tv, and her good ear was away from the volume on her hospital remote/speaker thing), I think I've seen her a few times a year. One of those times is around Christmas, usually the Saturday before Christmas, when several of her kids, grandkids, great grandkids, great-great grandkids, and 50 of their closest friends gather for the annual Christmas caroling extravaganza. We always meet at her house, eat her Christmas candy, and peanut butter cookies, and chat with her about what's up in our lives (as told in 45 seconds or less, since her house it tiny, and there are so many people around).

Did I mention she's sharp as a tack? No really, she is. In between our conversation about football, and how she doesn't really hear well, and that I might have to translate for her when the nurses come in to wake her up during the night -- she asked about the girls. "Where are they in school? What are they doing tonight? Caity made All-Region Choir? She must be so proud. What about MacKenzie? MacKenzie has a boyfriend? Momma's never like it when their little girls have boyfriends. I had a boyfriend when I was about her age. My momma didn't like it at all." (I'm going to get the rest of THAT story before I leave this place tomorrow, by the way.)

So, I'm looking at the clock. It's pushing 2 am. I'm STILL wide awake, but a little more settled. I think I'll get off here and count my blessings instead of sheep, and see where that leads me. Hopefully, it leads to a little cabin near a snow-covered mountain and pleasant dreams. At the very least, it will lead me to 4:30 am when I will sing Happy Birthday to one really incredible lady. She'll smile, and perhaps get a little teary. (Or maybe that will be me...) Happy Birthday, Great Mammaw! I'd say you're one lucky lady, but somehow I think you already know that. Hmmm, do they make "Happy 100th Birthday" cards???

I have come to realize (only because I've said it out loud today a couple of times) that I might have vulnerability issues. I only say that because I hate to cry in front of people. Which is bad, because I also have a rule that no one cries alone in my presence. (Okay, actually that's Adrienne's rule, but I'm sure she won't mind if I borrow it.) For those who actually read these, that does not mean that I don't cry. If you read these at all you know i do, but usually I'm sitting in a room alone, in front of a computer monitor, with a box of tissues sitting next to me on the couch. Today, that was not the case. I used up my daily allotment of tears well before noon, not a kleenex in sight. I think it's because I'm good at compartmentalizing my life, and as such my emotions.

I'm in nursing school, I work, I have a family, I have friends, I lead worship. While all of those areas are distinctly me, there is some natural separation that happens. I have friends at school that I don't see anywhere else. I have friends at work that I only see at work. I have friends from high school, college, adulthood -- some peripheral, some close, some really close. The latter is the group I *might* cry in front of IF there was no other way around it. Do those friends know I cry? Well, they know I'm human, so I'm guessing they can come to that conclusion on their own if they so choose. (Alright, yes, they know...)

Does it mean I have trust issues if I refuse to let other people see me cry? I don't think so. I think it just means that no one likes to be exposed for all the world to see. There are some parts of life where tears are expected -- where it's socially acceptable to show emotion. Weddings and funerals, for example. But we're taught early on that we shouldn't cry over "spilled milk" and other seemingly trivial events in life. It's subjective, I guess. What seems trivial to one person, might be "life or death" to another. So my tear-worthy events, might seem trivial to you, but to me -- in "that" moment, they're huge.

Then it occurred to me that maybe there's a stigma with tears, because of the power they possess. Think about this. A family that never touches, never shows outward affections to one another -- the tears of one member of that family, brings about hugs and support from the others. Tears can also bring a grown man to his knees. I hear a song in a concert that makes my eyes water, or my lower lip quiver -- and I begin to bite my tongue or think about my grocery list. I check-out of the situation that brings on the tears and I place them on hold. Not only is it uncomfortable for me to cry in front of others, there's the discomfort of those witnessing another's act of vulnerability.

So, then I start thinking about a conversation Caity and I had in the car earlier about the human heart. It's a muscle. It's powerful. It's vulnerable. If it is damaged, there is zero chance of new muscle tissue growth. Damaged heart muscle is replaced with scar tissue. Scar tissue is more rigid and not nearly as flexible as muscle. If enough of the heart is damaged, it can't do it's job effectively or efficiently. That's the physicality of it. The metaphoric side is that a "broken" heart can heal, but not without acknowledging the hurt, allowing yourself the time to work through the emotions, and I dare say tears.

And like a ton of bricks, it hits me. I'm not hiding my tears because I'm ashamed of them. I'm guarding my heart because it's fragile, and fragile things are sure to break if stretched beyond their capacity. My eyes really are the window to my soul. They tell of my true feelings and give people access to a much deeper connection with me. Allowing someone to look into your eyes is an intimate experience that can either make you feel known and accepted or uncomfortable and invaded. And if tears are flowing from those eyes, it's like a magnifying glass -- straight to your heart. Silly, maybe. Human, most definitely.

~s

updates...

So I have had several folks comment about my lack of recent blogging activity. Sorry folks, even on Spring Break, I was a BUSY girl. I don't have the kind of sit down and ponder for hours about what I might say on here time these days. In fact, the ideas for these blogs usually come directly from a conversation or an idea that "flits" around in my head while I'm driving. Yes, I just used the word "flits". Sue me.

So I'll just give you an update on me...and we'll see where that takes us. You know I'm in nursing school, and it's kicking me in the pants. But we start clinicals, and I'm excited to see what happens next in that journey. Of course, every professor has decided we're behind, so they are kicking things into high gear at the point in the semester where you think you've got the routine down and can relax just a bit. I am back on my 4 test this weeks, none the next rotation -- happy, happy, joy, joy.

My dad just remarried, the verdict is still out on how I feel about that, but I did my part to ensure it was a memorable day for he and Lori -- even if I'm not fully "there" with the whole idea. As a good friend would say, I "put my big girl panties on" and dealt with it the best way I could. I may have a future in wedding planning...or maybe not. I had some great people there to support me and it meant a lot. I threw my own after party, and kept my party dress on because I could!

It's Holy Week -- and that means "busy". Need I say more? And I'm really looking forward to Easter dinner. (and Brad's Fried Chicken...yum!)

hmmm. yeah, I've got nothing.

Lessons I learned from my momma...

So I am apparently in avoidance behavior mode -- I'm physically tired of studying. I have no idea how I am supposed to comprehend (and retain) 930 pages of a book filled with every Diagnostic Test known to man (and woman, and child...) So, I've talked on the phone with Adrienne. I've taken a break to make dinner and get it in the oven. I've taken several breaks for football. And I've allowed myself to think, and to feel, and...

Mondays are a blessing and a curse -- generally speaking. I love that Mondays usher in a new week full of possibilities. I love that I get to spend Monday evenings with some really cool people -- and that I get to do what I love as part of that time together. But not all Mondays are "easy" -- some are downright monotonous, and others usher in feelings and emotions long suppressed. This Monday is no different, and yet, this year I have vowed to treat it differently. With respect, with due diligence, and without the kid gloves.

Those closest to me -- who actually read what I write from time to time (I'm sorry it's been so long) -- know that my mom died three years ago. January 25, 2007 to be exact. There isn't a single day that goes by that I don't miss her -- and yet I can say that the sting of missing her "eases" a little more each day. That isn't to say that I don't think of her, that's a daily occurence. Sometimes I say things that sound just like her (and my children are so blessed by those words) -- yes, you too will sound "just like your mother" someday. Sometimes I hear a song on the radio and I'm literally transported back to another time and another place, with her sitting in front of me at the dinner table or a conversation replaying in my mind.

Sometimes those memories are accompanied by laughter, and sometimes there are tears involved. (Newsflash: I cry almost every single day.) The tears aren't always sad -- sometimes, they follow a "belly laugh" or five. But they are mine. I own them, and I wouldn't trade them for all the shoes in the world. So tonight, while I'm taking a much needed break from studying, I'm thinking about all the lessons I learned from my momma -- she was a petite woman with a huge, infectious laugh. She rarely took things for granted, especially during the last decade of her life. She loved all things related to family -- even when family was really hard to love. So in honor of her -- and the woman I am because of her -- I'm going to give you just a taste of her wisdom. I can't possibly capture every nugget of "all things her" in these words, but it's in these tidbits that I remember -- and laugh, and cry.

1. The phrase "clean your room" isn't an invitation to rearrange the furniture -- or is it?

2. You really can't take it with you when you go -- but you can share it with those you love.

3. Don't say "I love you" just to say it -- but if you say it, say it often and mean it.

4. Eeyore was the most misunderstood of all of Pooh's friends. "It wasn't much of a tail, but I was kind of attached to it."

5. If you're lucky enough to have cute feet, wear cute shoes.

6. The people you love the most, and who love you the most -- are always just a phone call away.

7. Your mother can be your best friend, but she's still your mother.

8. The "stuff" you have in life isn't what sets you apart from the rest of the world -- it's what you do with what you have that matters most.

9. I was her favorite child. So was my brother.

10. You can do anything you want with your life -- sitting idly by and letting life happen around you isn't an option.

11. You're never too old to have a new hobby. (She was my age when she received her private pilot's license.)

12. Forgiveness doesn't always come easy -- but you owe it to yourself to try.

13. Laughter really is the best medicine.

14. Don't wait to live your life -- today is as good a time as any to start.

15. The people who love you most, no matter the distance, are there when you need them the most.

I love you momma -- someday I hope to be just a fraction of the woman you were. I was one of the lucky ones. ~sheri


“When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.” -Nancy Friday

as yet, untitled

It was pointed out to me, by some very devoted blog followers of mine that I have been a slacker in the blog department. I have indeed. I could go on for many sentences and give this excuse or another -- or I could just leave it at "I've been uninspired". Technically, that's not the case, but sometimes it's best if I process BEFORE I purge. Believe me, you don't wanna read these things before I've had a chance to mull it over in my mind for several hours, minutes, days, weeks -- however long it takes.

As the holidays roll around once again, I'm reminded that life isn't all roses and rainbows. There's a fair share of dysfunction that comes with this time of year. And anyone who tells you their family is a "pure joy to be around" is lying to you. Families are full of flawed, imperfect, sometimes emotionally and physically draining people. People not unlike myself. I tend to be stubborn. I tend to "dread" this time of year. I tend to cry a lot -- and laugh even more. Newsflash: I am not perfect, and I don't claim to be. Although there are a few things I'm quite good at. I can sing a little tune. I am apparently very good at chemistry (who knew?) and I can clean mirrors with the best of them. That's the short list.

So as we embark upon this season of thanks giving, I am reminded that there are a lot of people in this world a lot worse off than me. At least my sense of humor is intact, if not somewhat cynical in nature. I do love to laugh, and I have a lot of people in my life who help me with that daily. I also have a family full of people who actually enjoy cooking. I like to bake. I love to cook, but being a full-time student with homework (what WAS I thinking????) has taken its toll on our family's dinner planning schedule. Luckily, there are 4 of us, and all of us like to cook so we spread the love around and everyone is happy.

I have a laundry god (but don't let that get around). I have two wacky dogs who greet me at the gate each time I pull in the driveway (sometimes on the right side of the fence, other times at the car door). I have a husband who thinks I hung the moon (we don't have to tell him otherwise) and two daughters who while at times can be "typical teenagers" -- they also have a wit that can match any other on this planet. We laugh a lot! I have great friends, who build me up -- even on the days when I'm tearing myself down. Those days tend to be the days I don't feel smart enough or pretty enough, or...

I guess all that is to say, no one is perfect. No life is perfect. Least of all mine. But I'm okay with my imperfection. It fits me like a glove, and I am well-suited to the way it feels. That doesn't mean that I can't be constantly striving for a greater sense of me -- but I've lived with me for 37 years. Some of those years rocked, and others fizzled. I am beautiful, funny, smart -- the right amount of talented to make me always want to be better. I'm a great friend, an even better listener, and if I'm on your side -- you will always take the seat in front of me. I'm a Scorpio -- and everything that goes with that. And I'm very thankful that there isn't another me in this world. Not only would that be emotionally draining for the folks who know me, but likely there would be competition.

So in the coming days, I challenge you -- tell the people in your life how important they are to you. You might think they already know (and they just might) but take the time to say it anyway. You might not ever have a second chance at making someone's day. And those people that you struggle with, and we all have those people in our lives, don't waste your time and energy trying to get even -- let it go and learn to love. Learn to forgive. Learn to be your best self. Trust me, it's contagious. ~sheri

When it rains, it pours...

So, I'm not gonna lie, this day ranks right up there -- and that isn't a good thing. It started out as a decent day and then went downhill fast. Now there wasn't one "incident" that led this day to the far reaching under land -- it was just that several things hit at one time. And it's been a LONG time since I've had a day like today, a really LONG time.

So as I'm sitting at work, listening to the rain beat down on the roof -- the building is empty except for 3 other people, I find myself looking for the "lesson" in the rain -- both metaphorically and literally. Those of you who live in Arkansas, know that this has been the year for record rainfall in these parts. It has rained quite literally 23 days in October -- and this ain't Seattle.

So I'm thinking maybe it's a lesson in patience -- and then I remember Job and I don't want to go down that road, so it must be some other lesson. Perseverance maybe, or a lesson in being thankful for what's right in front of you. Or maybe it's a lesson that hasn't yet been revealed to me -- and I'm just supposed to allow the storm to carry me where it will, turbulent waters and all.

I'm not sure what is in store for me, but this isn't the worst day of my life -- I've endured far worse than a little "rain" -- so I'm going to put on my life jacket and hang on for dear life -- and someday I will look back on today and it will have just been a small blemish that I made into a much bigger deal than it really was. I'd say "bring on the rain" but quite frankly this girl needs sunshine. Then it occurs to me, without the rain, sunshine wouldn't be appreciated nearly as much. Hmmm, maybe that's my lesson...

sheri

what a weekend...

I'm not gonna lie, today was a killer day. It wasn't killer in the sense of "I worked hard" or anything of that nature. It was emotionally draining. I drove to Mtn. Home yesterday for what was supposed to be a fun weekend "reunion" of sorts with old high school friends (and it was to a very limited extent) but in the process of looking forward to spending time catching up and telling stories and laughing a lot (because that's what we all do when we're together) life happened. My best friend from college lost her momma, so my fun weekend turned into a "support your friend when she needs you the most" weekend.

I guess I didn't take into account that I might somehow be affected in some way other than being sad because momma Jo died and my friend was grieving a huge loss in her life. I mentally "prepared" myself by listening to happy music for the entire drive up. I even wore a dress that kinda makes me happy. And I made it through visitation just fine -- of course, so did she. But today was another beast all together. I fully expected there to be tears, and lots of them. I've been there and there's no way to describe what a girl goes through when your momma dies. But the part I forgot, was how a daddy reacts to the death of his wife. It came out of left field and caught me completely by surprise. And then the flood gates opened.

And not only was I totally unprepared for the magnitude of water pouring from my eyes, I found myself sitting at a funeral without a single tissue in sight. I guess I underestimated my reaction in more ways than one. I was a brownie for all of five minutes and I did learn to "be prepared" -- but today I was unprepared to the nth degree. Note to self: tissue packs for the car and purse are necessary at all times, just in case you need them...

In addition to all of that, I was also sitting by myself -- mind you, I was surrounded by other people, but none that I knew personally. And then at the end of the service, the "ticker tape parade" started. Now I'm not trying to sound cold or callous. I know that different traditions are in place for different families -- some are in place in my own family. But the "walk past the casket in a single file line" part of funerals is not my favorite. First off, the person is no longer present in the room. Secondly, as someone who's been down that road a few times, it's torture to watch other people's reactions to that part of the service. And so for a moment I debated. Do I sneak out the back or fall in line and do what's expected? I did the latter. And when I had walked past (with only a slight glance), tears in my eyes -- I looked at my friend and she mouthed "I love you" and I knew that it was all worth it.

I found myself playing over and over in my head things that I might say to Nikki and her sisters to help them get through this tough time. And then I reminded myself that words won't fix the hurt in their hearts, and they likely won't remember the words of this day past this week. So I put my words on the back burner and was just their friend -- who came to support them on a tough day. I ate lunch with their family. We went back to her dad's house (myself and former classmates/neighbors) and we laughed -- a lot. Mind you, there were only two people that I was actually close to in high school and I wasn't the former neighbor who grew up next door and caused all kinds of trouble. I was the college roommate, former sister-in-law, bridesmaid, and friend who was there to share in the laughter -- and the tears.

I know what her journey will look like -- kinda. But it's her journey, not mine. We share the loss of a mother, but not the moments that led up to that loss. As her friend, I can be an ear when she needs one and a shoulder to cry on. I can be the friend that just listens when she needs to scream and yell (and there will be many days where she wants to scream and yell). The friend she confides in when she thinks it's too heavy a burden to lay on her sisters who are grieving in their own way. And I can offer her encouragement when she gets frustrated by the fact that her daddy's journey of grief won't make sense to her or her sisters. Those will be the things that mean the most to her when she finds herself a little more distanced from the magnitude of grief she feels at this moment. I won't lie, you are forever changed when your momma dies, but if you're fortunate enough to have family and friends that help hold you together on the days when you can't do it for yourself -- you come out a little stronger on the other side. ~sheri