I was an elf this morning. In the briefness of my elfhood I was privileged to witness a few Christmas miracles. The occasions of anonymity I saw humans who were humbled and awe struck with gratitude. As difficult as it is to see people who never before have been in a state of needed help; it is spirit filling at this season of Christmas that lessons of sharing and caring present. Cars filled to the brim, some needing to make several trips to transport all the collected goods. It warms the soul. Fills the heart.
Adopt-a-Family.
There is always that one. The mom who not long ago told their child that Christmas would not grace the home this year. When presented with a bag of wrapped gifts, a second bag heaped with the treats for a perfect Christmas stocking, an envelope with gift cards, along with a few other neccessaries.... That one receiver who is thankful to tears. Whose gratitude hardly needs words because it is seen in the eyes and is the one who cannot stop saying "thank you".
It's that one that makes the job--worth it!
So when I made a quick run to Walgreens, the wind whipping and the air with its frigid bite...I scrapped every last bit of loose change from the bottom of my purse dropping it in the red kettle. I usually grab whatever change I can, no digging, just a fast grab. Tonight though I decided with my heart filled with the day's memory that I couldn't just make it a fast grab. Sometimes...
The joy of giving is expecting nothing back in return.
Showing posts with label awakening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awakening. Show all posts
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Meaning Keeps A Coming For Me
Till Thursday afternoon it was getting hard to go into the mail room at work. The mail room was the holding place for the wrapped gifts of the family the staff adopted for the holiday season. If there is a recession, hard times being felt by this country it wasn't looking so in that mail room. If someone took the ornament that said "cookie sheet" they came back gifting with a whole baking basket. If someone picked the ornament that said "games for ten year boy" they came with a wrapped tower of games. Same went for the personal care items. There was no sense that people were "forgetting to look around us", remembering to give instead of take; in this season can happen so quickly as the media hounds with reminders of the gluttony and greed this season makes way to often.
Just as last year I spent part of my Saturday morning loading boxes of food, household goods and satchels of wrapped gifts into the cars of those less fortunate. It never ceases to amaze how some wear the emotions of gratitude on there faces and embrace us in that brief moment of thanksgiving capturing our hearts. Well, brief in the sense of what we see but certainly not brief in their hearts. We kept hearing over and over "all this". Yep, all this!
Even before I realized D and Limelight would be singing this song for the holiday concert it was my pick for my favorite of the season. And so fitting for the day's work.
For me, another display of advent. Hope. Love. Joy. Peace.
Just as last year I spent part of my Saturday morning loading boxes of food, household goods and satchels of wrapped gifts into the cars of those less fortunate. It never ceases to amaze how some wear the emotions of gratitude on there faces and embrace us in that brief moment of thanksgiving capturing our hearts. Well, brief in the sense of what we see but certainly not brief in their hearts. We kept hearing over and over "all this". Yep, all this!
Even before I realized D and Limelight would be singing this song for the holiday concert it was my pick for my favorite of the season. And so fitting for the day's work.
For me, another display of advent. Hope. Love. Joy. Peace.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
My Heart Sang Last Night
We did last night as we have done every night this week--King Ralph and I went to the ICU to be with his mom.
Monday was a nothing-has-changed-day. Tuesday was significant progress. Wednesday was a step back day. Thursday I didn't go but King Ralph snuck down there during the day, it was a good day. Yesterday, last night, well my heart sang and I told my mother-in-law just that, that she was making my heart sing.
She is alert. Still disoriented. Not sure why she is in the hospital and needs to be reminded that she has had brain surgery. On Thursday she tore her feeding tube out. So, with doctor's orders they put that darn thing back in. She is unrestrained, as she has been tied down since the first night when her agitation was crazy out-of-control. Trade off to getting to stretch her arms (and to assure she doesn't rip that feeding tube out again) padded hand covers.
When we entered her room last night we made light of it to her, "mom check you out, you have on boxing gloves, you're a boxer." She raised her hands high in the air pulled her son close to her and bopped him on his head. Then she smiled. We smiled back. Then the game began. She would raise those padded hand covers up and shake her hands, first at me then to King Ralph...over and over. She finally got to the point where she said "Kevin (first time I heard her say his name since surgery, making me ever so happy) take these things off me." He told her he couldn't and I told her if he did they would stick him in time out. Her intermittent smiles turned to a grimace, a grimace of disappointment. As our nightly visit rolled on she spent quite a bit of time staring at those padded hands trying to figure out how she is going to get them off. I constantly said "mom quit trying to think of how you are going to pull off a Houdini" and the hands then rested. She also kept tapping her cheeks with her "boxing gloves" looking up at King Ralph. "Babe, she wants you to kiss her cheek." When he did, she smiled. Then looked at me tapped her cheek and I kissed her cheek. She smiled again. She also raises her boxing gloves to her head rubbing on that large incision.
Next was the HUGE moment...the moment that made my heart sing. She passed a swallow test that morning so they ordered her a liquid tray. When it came the nurse asked if I would feed her. So I did. I fed my mother-in-law like she once fed my children. She ate as much cream of chicken soup as her weakened body would allow, which wasn't a whole lot but good enough for a starting point.
Throughout the evening she would ask "where is George?" and I would answer in the same way, "he went to get some dinner and to take a nap." Time is something she doesn't have a grip on...night, day, all running together, but the love of her life is something she does not forget. The hospital staff says when George arrives in the morning she perks up. The evidence of his love for her has always been present and obvious throughout this whole difficult journey.
She asks for drinks of water-- which I gave to her on a soft sponge on a stick and she sucks the water from the sponge. She kept wanting to get out of bed, telling us she "needs to get up and move around." King Ralph explained to her if she got up and fell, hurting herself, she would only be in the hospital longer. She would then relax her body back down into the bed. She did this a number of times. She was on a mission impossible. I looked at her at one point and suggested maybe King Ralph was a spit fire in his childhood from her genes, she shrugged her shoulders and said "maybe so." The male nurse came in and turned on her bed alarm, just in case.
Oh here is the best part of the day...well that soup was best part so here's the second best part. Her sister came by to visit and before she fell asleep Aunt Janet held out two bottles of nail polish telling her to pick a color. My mother-in-law creeped her toes out from the sheets and twinkled toe nails of bright florescent pink. I had to text Princess A, M and D to tell them. They were so excited to know there grandma has her toe nails painted again. The painted toes were as much a surprise for my mother-in-law as they were to me. Aunt Janet painted those toes while my mother-in-law slept. She painted them because she had promised her that the morning of her surgery. Being allowed to have painted toe nails in the ICU is a sign, I am sure, that there must be a room waiting for her past those secured doors.
I told my mother-in-law she is running a marathon. She is around the twelfth mile and has fourteen more to go. She is running slow but picking up pace. As soon as she can eat more, gain an acceptable appetite, the feeding tube can come out. She has some optic nerve damage from the brain surgery which isn't an uncommon occurrence with brain stem aneurysm surgery. Hopefully it will correct itself in three months time and also her eye will open once all the swelling dissipates. If not the doctor says her can fix that. She can see out of the eye so that is really good news. She is weak in body but seems to have a spirit to move. That spirit is exactly what she needs to fully heal. While that spirit is fueled we must constantly remind her why she is in the hospital (since she can't seem to remember that).
The caged bird wants to sing. Amen!
Monday was a nothing-has-changed-day. Tuesday was significant progress. Wednesday was a step back day. Thursday I didn't go but King Ralph snuck down there during the day, it was a good day. Yesterday, last night, well my heart sang and I told my mother-in-law just that, that she was making my heart sing.
She is alert. Still disoriented. Not sure why she is in the hospital and needs to be reminded that she has had brain surgery. On Thursday she tore her feeding tube out. So, with doctor's orders they put that darn thing back in. She is unrestrained, as she has been tied down since the first night when her agitation was crazy out-of-control. Trade off to getting to stretch her arms (and to assure she doesn't rip that feeding tube out again) padded hand covers.
When we entered her room last night we made light of it to her, "mom check you out, you have on boxing gloves, you're a boxer." She raised her hands high in the air pulled her son close to her and bopped him on his head. Then she smiled. We smiled back. Then the game began. She would raise those padded hand covers up and shake her hands, first at me then to King Ralph...over and over. She finally got to the point where she said "Kevin (first time I heard her say his name since surgery, making me ever so happy) take these things off me." He told her he couldn't and I told her if he did they would stick him in time out. Her intermittent smiles turned to a grimace, a grimace of disappointment. As our nightly visit rolled on she spent quite a bit of time staring at those padded hands trying to figure out how she is going to get them off. I constantly said "mom quit trying to think of how you are going to pull off a Houdini" and the hands then rested. She also kept tapping her cheeks with her "boxing gloves" looking up at King Ralph. "Babe, she wants you to kiss her cheek." When he did, she smiled. Then looked at me tapped her cheek and I kissed her cheek. She smiled again. She also raises her boxing gloves to her head rubbing on that large incision.
Next was the HUGE moment...the moment that made my heart sing. She passed a swallow test that morning so they ordered her a liquid tray. When it came the nurse asked if I would feed her. So I did. I fed my mother-in-law like she once fed my children. She ate as much cream of chicken soup as her weakened body would allow, which wasn't a whole lot but good enough for a starting point.
Throughout the evening she would ask "where is George?" and I would answer in the same way, "he went to get some dinner and to take a nap." Time is something she doesn't have a grip on...night, day, all running together, but the love of her life is something she does not forget. The hospital staff says when George arrives in the morning she perks up. The evidence of his love for her has always been present and obvious throughout this whole difficult journey.
She asks for drinks of water-- which I gave to her on a soft sponge on a stick and she sucks the water from the sponge. She kept wanting to get out of bed, telling us she "needs to get up and move around." King Ralph explained to her if she got up and fell, hurting herself, she would only be in the hospital longer. She would then relax her body back down into the bed. She did this a number of times. She was on a mission impossible. I looked at her at one point and suggested maybe King Ralph was a spit fire in his childhood from her genes, she shrugged her shoulders and said "maybe so." The male nurse came in and turned on her bed alarm, just in case.
Oh here is the best part of the day...well that soup was best part so here's the second best part. Her sister came by to visit and before she fell asleep Aunt Janet held out two bottles of nail polish telling her to pick a color. My mother-in-law creeped her toes out from the sheets and twinkled toe nails of bright florescent pink. I had to text Princess A, M and D to tell them. They were so excited to know there grandma has her toe nails painted again. The painted toes were as much a surprise for my mother-in-law as they were to me. Aunt Janet painted those toes while my mother-in-law slept. She painted them because she had promised her that the morning of her surgery. Being allowed to have painted toe nails in the ICU is a sign, I am sure, that there must be a room waiting for her past those secured doors.
I told my mother-in-law she is running a marathon. She is around the twelfth mile and has fourteen more to go. She is running slow but picking up pace. As soon as she can eat more, gain an acceptable appetite, the feeding tube can come out. She has some optic nerve damage from the brain surgery which isn't an uncommon occurrence with brain stem aneurysm surgery. Hopefully it will correct itself in three months time and also her eye will open once all the swelling dissipates. If not the doctor says her can fix that. She can see out of the eye so that is really good news. She is weak in body but seems to have a spirit to move. That spirit is exactly what she needs to fully heal. While that spirit is fueled we must constantly remind her why she is in the hospital (since she can't seem to remember that).
The caged bird wants to sing. Amen!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Finding Meaning in Advent
My family attends church on Sunday. We attend Advent worship with our confirmation aged, and youngest, daughter each Wednesday evening. We sit silently while a verse is read from the bible that represents the candle of the Advent wreath-hope, love, joy, peace. Each week we join with the congregation after that lighting in song; celebrating another week of anticipation of the coming of the Lord's birth. Christmas. The real warmth all the candles glow will bring.
Now, I don't often write about what it is I do at work. Mostly because the nature of my job is guarded by privacy acts. But, Saturday morning I readied myself to donate my time for a good cause--Adopt-A-Family.
The school had spent the last month competing to raise funds to purchase gift certificates, donating food and household goods, purchasing specific gifts for a specific--yet unnamed-- individual, family. The signs of a recession showed little. Generosity was abound. The halls of the lower level were stacked tall and wide with boxes; each marked with just a number to represent the family in need. Anonymous they remain to most.
I carried box after box, bag of presents after bag of present; then I saw the meaning of those Advent candles come to life. I had nearly finished loading a car for a family with young children when I walked to the passenger side of the car to load one last box that had no place to fit in the back. I was lifting one of many bags of presents to slide the box of food under the bag when the mom picking up the donated gifts; and I know believing she was safely alone in her car to shed her emotions of gratitude, turned her head towards me with tears streaming her cheeks. I smiled at her and wished her Merry Christmas. Then I shut the car door.
My heart was humbled.
That mother felt it, the symbols of Advent; the hope that there is goodness in this conflicted world, the love and kindness of strangers, the joy that she would be able to give her children a Christmas unlike one she could provide and peace. Peace of mind? Peace on earth? Just maybe so, if only for her at that moment, in this time.
For me, everlasting.
Several weeks ago someone in my church gave every member of the congreation five dollars to take out into the world and do some goodness. To sprinkle our touch of Advent some where in the community. King Ralph, Princess A, M and D all donated there money to Children's Hospital so they could purchase gifts for the kids who will spend the holiday couped inside lying in a bed. I had different plans.
I am taking my money and buying ice cream for six children who are on the free lunch program. These are the kids who are blocked from being able to purchase snacks. It is so hard to watch a kid want to be just like everyone else, but they can't be because the family finances can't allow.
I hope tomorrow when I buy the ice creams they all love it and they feel the joy a sweet treat can bring. It will give me the peace this season is really all about.
Now, I don't often write about what it is I do at work. Mostly because the nature of my job is guarded by privacy acts. But, Saturday morning I readied myself to donate my time for a good cause--Adopt-A-Family.
The school had spent the last month competing to raise funds to purchase gift certificates, donating food and household goods, purchasing specific gifts for a specific--yet unnamed-- individual, family. The signs of a recession showed little. Generosity was abound. The halls of the lower level were stacked tall and wide with boxes; each marked with just a number to represent the family in need. Anonymous they remain to most.
I'm sure we have all done this, donated something during December for someone in need. Giving just brief thought to the nature and meaning of the donation. Probably a feeling of we helped and then going on with our own blessed lives.
Saturday changed that for me.I carried box after box, bag of presents after bag of present; then I saw the meaning of those Advent candles come to life. I had nearly finished loading a car for a family with young children when I walked to the passenger side of the car to load one last box that had no place to fit in the back. I was lifting one of many bags of presents to slide the box of food under the bag when the mom picking up the donated gifts; and I know believing she was safely alone in her car to shed her emotions of gratitude, turned her head towards me with tears streaming her cheeks. I smiled at her and wished her Merry Christmas. Then I shut the car door.
My heart was humbled.
That mother felt it, the symbols of Advent; the hope that there is goodness in this conflicted world, the love and kindness of strangers, the joy that she would be able to give her children a Christmas unlike one she could provide and peace. Peace of mind? Peace on earth? Just maybe so, if only for her at that moment, in this time.
For me, everlasting.
Several weeks ago someone in my church gave every member of the congreation five dollars to take out into the world and do some goodness. To sprinkle our touch of Advent some where in the community. King Ralph, Princess A, M and D all donated there money to Children's Hospital so they could purchase gifts for the kids who will spend the holiday couped inside lying in a bed. I had different plans.
I am taking my money and buying ice cream for six children who are on the free lunch program. These are the kids who are blocked from being able to purchase snacks. It is so hard to watch a kid want to be just like everyone else, but they can't be because the family finances can't allow.
I hope tomorrow when I buy the ice creams they all love it and they feel the joy a sweet treat can bring. It will give me the peace this season is really all about.
Advent is alive.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Into the light of the dark black night
So life just keeps getting better for my M.
This morning she finds out on August 6 she gets her [teeth] braces off.
She once described herself as a cracked glass. I thought of her more as my black bird--now I sing to her:
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Spread those wings, set sail my Maddi-Phyl.
This morning she finds out on August 6 she gets her [teeth] braces off.
She once described herself as a cracked glass. I thought of her more as my black bird--now I sing to her:
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Spread those wings, set sail my Maddi-Phyl.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Burning Party? Not Quite, But Almost.
M & I spent the afternoon at The Spine Center; there is nothing quick and timely about these appointments. You are totally at the mercy of the receptionist, the waiting room, the x-ray lab, another waiting room, the holding cubicle (some call it the examination room), the fellow, the brace maker, and the spine doctor himself. Seeing Dr. Bridwell is like finally getting in to see the wizard.
Today, the wizard gave good news. In six days after M has weened herself from her back brace by wearing it six waking hours a day...hasta la vista baby. Well, at least for four months.
Since M is a smidgen from being fully grown (so shows her hand x-ray, which was an, ugh, second trip to the lab), that her "improved" curvatures has remained the same for the last 12 months; they are going to see if her spine stays stable at the 23*/18* curves. Crossing our fingers it does so the beastly brace stays hasta la vista.
In four months if all is good and the brace is to be no more for certain...burning party invites will be going out in the mail.
If that wasn't good luck enough M found $5 in the hall on the ground as we made our way to the parking garage.
Today, the wizard gave good news. In six days after M has weened herself from her back brace by wearing it six waking hours a day...hasta la vista baby. Well, at least for four months.
Since M is a smidgen from being fully grown (so shows her hand x-ray, which was an, ugh, second trip to the lab), that her "improved" curvatures has remained the same for the last 12 months; they are going to see if her spine stays stable at the 23*/18* curves. Crossing our fingers it does so the beastly brace stays hasta la vista.
In four months if all is good and the brace is to be no more for certain...burning party invites will be going out in the mail.
If that wasn't good luck enough M found $5 in the hall on the ground as we made our way to the parking garage.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Bridge Crossing
Princess A, I was going to wait till Thursday to write you some heartfelt words of reflection but, I have decided that since tomorrow is officially your final day as a high school student I would tell you what my heart is singing.
Truth is I have been tinkering with my letter to you for about a week. I would type, delete, type again only to delete once more. I had intention of telling you how exciting it has been watching you grow from the tiny helpless, naive being you were to the young adult you are now. I was going to tell you how summers of you riding your bike, with and without training wheels, in your bikini and cowboy boots engraved a spot on my heart. The thought crossed my mind to tell you how you embraced sisterhood always being a role model and taking your place in life as our guinea pig with...well you hardly ever complained when we screwed up on you and fixed the mistake, error with your sisters. I wanted to tell how when you boarded the school bus for that first day of Kindergarten, in Mrs. Bingaman's class--in your dress, with your new white sneakers, your two French braids and a back pack that weighed as much as you did. Maybe I would have told you that it was fun being your Girl Scout leader, laughing with all the girl's as we camped out, sold gads of cookies...
Then I stopped deleted again.
Maybe I should tell you I feel blessed that I was one who could read your heart when friendships weren't going just like you wanted--I gave you shoulder to cry on and my arms to hug you. Somehow, through all the trials and tribulations of teenagehood you came out a stronger more mature young lady.
Would you like for me to reflect on the moments when you felt "trapped" in the car and had to dreadfully indulge me as we had "the talks"?
Perhaps I could I write about how your father and I never wanted you to feel different than anyone else, that we never made issue of the slight flaw God placed upon you. Instead we chose to instill faith as the corner stone of your life. Because of that you have the incredible strength of a spider's silk. No matter how many surgeries you had to have, no matter how many times those surgeries didn't produce the result intended--you just pulled up boot straps and carried on as though eye sight was not laborious. You showed me what a hero is made of.
The idea crossed my mind to write about how it was exciting to watch you go off on your first date, or drive off to school, license in hand, thrilled not to have to ride the bus any longer. Maybe I wanted my words to connote how your fashion was always a statement of Vogue. How Harper's Bizarre fanned across the table always lending hand to a sparkle in your eye (and a drain in both our wallets). How the sound of the flute from behind your bedroom door filled the house with the joy only music can cast. Or the excitement you had when the band won first place in a competition. Parading down Colorado Blvd. in the Rose Parade. What about reflecting on your stellar scholar.
I considered reflecting on all the great trips we have taken as a family. The songs we made you learn so to be a fully rounded music lover--from Patsy Cline to Queen's greatest hits, knowing every word to all those great classic tunes.
To laughing at me and with me. Knowing it was always with love.
No. No that is not what I decided I really want to say. Instead I want to say this, they are the words of Dan [Burns] in Real Life: so instead of asking our young people what are your plans, what do you plan to do with your life. Maybe we should tell them this...plan to be surprised.
The world awaits you Alee Marie. Now go, go and be surprised!
And know...you are loved!
Truth is I have been tinkering with my letter to you for about a week. I would type, delete, type again only to delete once more. I had intention of telling you how exciting it has been watching you grow from the tiny helpless, naive being you were to the young adult you are now. I was going to tell you how summers of you riding your bike, with and without training wheels, in your bikini and cowboy boots engraved a spot on my heart. The thought crossed my mind to tell you how you embraced sisterhood always being a role model and taking your place in life as our guinea pig with...well you hardly ever complained when we screwed up on you and fixed the mistake, error with your sisters. I wanted to tell how when you boarded the school bus for that first day of Kindergarten, in Mrs. Bingaman's class--in your dress, with your new white sneakers, your two French braids and a back pack that weighed as much as you did. Maybe I would have told you that it was fun being your Girl Scout leader, laughing with all the girl's as we camped out, sold gads of cookies...
Then I stopped deleted again.
Maybe I should tell you I feel blessed that I was one who could read your heart when friendships weren't going just like you wanted--I gave you shoulder to cry on and my arms to hug you. Somehow, through all the trials and tribulations of teenagehood you came out a stronger more mature young lady.
Would you like for me to reflect on the moments when you felt "trapped" in the car and had to dreadfully indulge me as we had "the talks"?
Perhaps I could I write about how your father and I never wanted you to feel different than anyone else, that we never made issue of the slight flaw God placed upon you. Instead we chose to instill faith as the corner stone of your life. Because of that you have the incredible strength of a spider's silk. No matter how many surgeries you had to have, no matter how many times those surgeries didn't produce the result intended--you just pulled up boot straps and carried on as though eye sight was not laborious. You showed me what a hero is made of.
The idea crossed my mind to write about how it was exciting to watch you go off on your first date, or drive off to school, license in hand, thrilled not to have to ride the bus any longer. Maybe I wanted my words to connote how your fashion was always a statement of Vogue. How Harper's Bizarre fanned across the table always lending hand to a sparkle in your eye (and a drain in both our wallets). How the sound of the flute from behind your bedroom door filled the house with the joy only music can cast. Or the excitement you had when the band won first place in a competition. Parading down Colorado Blvd. in the Rose Parade. What about reflecting on your stellar scholar.
I considered reflecting on all the great trips we have taken as a family. The songs we made you learn so to be a fully rounded music lover--from Patsy Cline to Queen's greatest hits, knowing every word to all those great classic tunes.
To laughing at me and with me. Knowing it was always with love.
No. No that is not what I decided I really want to say. Instead I want to say this, they are the words of Dan [Burns] in Real Life: so instead of asking our young people what are your plans, what do you plan to do with your life. Maybe we should tell them this...plan to be surprised.
The world awaits you Alee Marie. Now go, go and be surprised!
And know...you are loved!
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Training Wheels Removed
Life as a parent is like this...your child comes to you one day and says mom take the training wheels off my bike but you don't think they are ready. So the child asks dad who is all for the idea. However someone, dad, has to hold onto the seat to help the child keep balance. All the while mom runs along side cheering the child on. The child falls off the bike time and time again, mom picks them up slaps a band-aide on the wound and dad takes hold of the seat again.
Yesterday we let go of Princess A's seat and I stopped running along side. She had to sail down the road of life solo, like a big kid, making decisions for herself, by herself. She did great. But, somehow I know she knows I am still there willing to help if she falls and can't get up. That's what mom's do. Somehow I think she'll do fabulous taking on some big hills, knowing just what gear to switch into to reach the top a little easier.
In her wallet is her new college ID and pinned on her bulletin board is her college course schedule.
I'm excited beyond words for my Princess. Excited with an impending leaner bank account. A matter of fact my bank account lightened by $45 when I graciously purchased college logo wear at the book store.
Yesterday we let go of Princess A's seat and I stopped running along side. She had to sail down the road of life solo, like a big kid, making decisions for herself, by herself. She did great. But, somehow I know she knows I am still there willing to help if she falls and can't get up. That's what mom's do. Somehow I think she'll do fabulous taking on some big hills, knowing just what gear to switch into to reach the top a little easier.
In her wallet is her new college ID and pinned on her bulletin board is her college course schedule.
I'm excited beyond words for my Princess. Excited with an impending leaner bank account. A matter of fact my bank account lightened by $45 when I graciously purchased college logo wear at the book store.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunshine (of a new kind)
I just got off the Wednesday hamster wheel. It is nearing 9pm and finally I sit stretched on the couch--after being on my feet all day long.
This evening after school D and I joined four other teens, one eager 9-year-old boy and five adults to serve dinner at a men's homeless shelter downtown--Sunshine Ministries. King Ralph has served at the shelter before but for me, it was a new experience. The food was as good as anything you or I would serve our families; roast pork with stuffing, corn and peas and saucy noodles. Seconds were graciously served, followed by a reverent thank you.
Homelessness has a picture, right? Dirty. Smelly. Drunk. Strung out. Maybe a bit crazy. Tonight however, homelessness had a new picture. As I looked around the room that held the 44 men (that is the shelter limit) I wondered; how did you come to be here? You young man, no more than twenty years old, dressed in your Gap like T-shirt and denim pants. Or you man in the very neat, bright melon colored polo shirt and navy pleated shorts, your orthopedic shoes, your strained walk accompanied by a limp and a cane--I wonder are you a veteran of our present war struggling to re-enter life. I wonder about the older man who wore a sweater and stylish reading glasses; you looked like a professor I had in college. We couldn't stop staring at the young man who had an uncanny resemblance to "Alexander Supertramp"/Christopher McCandless (Into the Wilds). When he said he was train hopping we all thought that was mysteriously strange in similarity. Why, why are you all here? Your stories are each so different but unknown to those who serve you a meal.
Then we all toured the shelter. Not a cobweb in sight. Not a dust bunny to be seen. This shelter was cleaner, smelled cleaner than my own house. I was impressed. Everything had such order and discipline I was amazed. The teens rather inquisitive to the working of the oldest homeless shelter in our city asked lots of questions. The questions meant they were connecting with the intended purpose of this service.
Next we shared a chapel service with these men, a service that is mandatory attendance to keep your bed. The older gentleman in the back row was getting it, the “if”, the “why”. For everything the three girls dramatized in their skit he repeated because, he got it or was getting it. They are required to attend chapel not because the world wants to send Bible thumpers into save their bewildered souls. They are exposed to chapel in an effort to express the hope in this world that awaits them.
As we collected song sheets of Amazing Grace an older African-American gentleman neatly dressed with his quite, tender manner came up to us all shook our hands and thanked us. In reality it is us who should thank him--for tonight as I pull my warm covers over myself I will look around and awaken to the gratitude of my blessings.
The sun will shine in a new way for me tomorrow. This person says—God is good. Amen!
This evening after school D and I joined four other teens, one eager 9-year-old boy and five adults to serve dinner at a men's homeless shelter downtown--Sunshine Ministries. King Ralph has served at the shelter before but for me, it was a new experience. The food was as good as anything you or I would serve our families; roast pork with stuffing, corn and peas and saucy noodles. Seconds were graciously served, followed by a reverent thank you.
Homelessness has a picture, right? Dirty. Smelly. Drunk. Strung out. Maybe a bit crazy. Tonight however, homelessness had a new picture. As I looked around the room that held the 44 men (that is the shelter limit) I wondered; how did you come to be here? You young man, no more than twenty years old, dressed in your Gap like T-shirt and denim pants. Or you man in the very neat, bright melon colored polo shirt and navy pleated shorts, your orthopedic shoes, your strained walk accompanied by a limp and a cane--I wonder are you a veteran of our present war struggling to re-enter life. I wonder about the older man who wore a sweater and stylish reading glasses; you looked like a professor I had in college. We couldn't stop staring at the young man who had an uncanny resemblance to "Alexander Supertramp"/Christopher McCandless (Into the Wilds). When he said he was train hopping we all thought that was mysteriously strange in similarity. Why, why are you all here? Your stories are each so different but unknown to those who serve you a meal.
Then we all toured the shelter. Not a cobweb in sight. Not a dust bunny to be seen. This shelter was cleaner, smelled cleaner than my own house. I was impressed. Everything had such order and discipline I was amazed. The teens rather inquisitive to the working of the oldest homeless shelter in our city asked lots of questions. The questions meant they were connecting with the intended purpose of this service.
Next we shared a chapel service with these men, a service that is mandatory attendance to keep your bed. The older gentleman in the back row was getting it, the “if”, the “why”. For everything the three girls dramatized in their skit he repeated because, he got it or was getting it. They are required to attend chapel not because the world wants to send Bible thumpers into save their bewildered souls. They are exposed to chapel in an effort to express the hope in this world that awaits them.
As we collected song sheets of Amazing Grace an older African-American gentleman neatly dressed with his quite, tender manner came up to us all shook our hands and thanked us. In reality it is us who should thank him--for tonight as I pull my warm covers over myself I will look around and awaken to the gratitude of my blessings.
The sun will shine in a new way for me tomorrow. This person says—God is good. Amen!
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