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My closet is overflowing with clothes. If I wanted to I could probably wear a different outfit each day for at least a month, maybe longer. That's just the clothes that fit me right now...I have a whole different wardrobe down in the basement in a large closet. To be clear, I'm not a horder - I have given away many piles of clothes and sold others in garage sales.
Here's the problem. With all those clothes I still end up putting the same 3 or 4 outfits on each day/week...wash them...repeat. At one point I asked a friend if she would nominate me for "What Not To Wear" so that I could get a new wardrobe. But just recently when I was having an honest moment with myself I realized that even if I were to go on one of those shows where they teach me how to dress and proceed to give me a brand new wardrobe, more likely than not I would find 3 things that I really liked to wear and the rest would pile up in my closet and never be touched.
I have decided that it's a comfort zone situation. In my mind I think the few things that I like to wear look half-way decent on me, feel comfortable, and wash easily. On the days that I decide to go out on a limb and wear something else - or go to a dinner party or out somewhere that I have to "dress up" - I feel paranoid and wonder the entire time how bad or good I look. Is the color right? Does it wash out the color in my face? Does it show the "rolls" in my belly (more than usual)? Does it make me look shorter, squattier, boxie, rolly-polly, like a football player? Maybe I just look like an alien with one eye...or a slime monster that swishes around. Those days I use product and blow dry my hair, put on makeup, and wear jewelry so that perhaps the focus will be up at my head and not at what I'm wearing. In my head I believe that magically people will only see my head and nothing below...as if it's not all one package.
I was thinking about all of this yesterday and today while getting dressed...in the same sweatshirts that I wear every week. (sidenote - Those who know me and care about me might be happy to know that I finally retired the salmon colored "Polo" sweatshirt - well, it's not completely retired, it's just burried deep under the pile of sweatshirts on the top shelf of my closet. I found 3 other sweatshirts that I happen to like better lately. So some change is good, right?) As I was thinking about all of this I just had to apply it to other areas of my life and may have unwrapped a reality about myself, the way I think, and why my weight has been a life-long struggle.
See, the comparison comes in when I think about the food I eat and serve my family. I REALLY like certain things. I really like pizza. I really like fried chicken (esp. Hopocan Gardens in Barberton for a treat). I really like bread. I really like spaghetti, rigatonni, fetuccini alfredo, and buttered noodles. I really like french fries, baked potatoes and mashed potatoes. These are a few of my fa-vor-ite things....! So, any time in my life when I was at a decent and healthy weight I gave up those foods...traded them in for healthy food. Again, I do have healthy food in my fridge and pantry (just like I have lots of other outfits in my closet), they're just not my favorites! To think about giving up the things I like the best once again just doesn't sit right with me. And ask any fat person, including me, we KNOW what it takes to be skinny...how could anyone NOT know this day in age?? We are in the information era...we are inundated with information! I don't need any more information. I know every "secret" of weight loss that exists! (You mean, if I exercise, eat whole grains, lots of veggies, lean meats, some fruit, and occasionally all the bad foods I like in moderation that even I can lose weight?? Really?? Shocking!!!!) Truthfully, I like healthy food too! I like all food! There are maybe 3 foods I don't care for...but out of everything that's not bad. No, a diet plan is not what I need...I don't think so at least.
It seems to me my weight problem stems from the same place as the clothing issue...wherever that place may be (probably Neverland). It has something to do with resistance to change...fear of change. My fear of changing clothes is that uncomfortable feeling that I just don't look right...and mostly that I look as fat as I really am. My fear of dieting or changing my eating habits is that I won't get to enjoy my favorite things anymore...ever...or at least not as much.
I've asked God to help me many times in my life with weight loss. I've asked Him to magically let me wake up the next morning and be skinny. Understanding that He doesn't do "magic" but mystery, I've asked Him to simply change my mind and way of thinking for me to make it easier on me. That's been a no-go too. I know that's not how God works either. Really, this one's kind of on me, don't you think? I mean, look, God gave me this vessel to walk around in here on earth so that I can do good for others and work according to His plan for me. He charged me with the responsibility of taking care of this vessel. So to go to Him and ask Him to do it for me...well, that's sort of counter productive. He has given me all that I need in order to do the right things for myself and my family...it's just a choice in the end.
So, is it my choice to change or not change? Can I be ok wearing something different? Can I be ok eating the right way and treating my body the way I should in order to accomplish the things I was sent here to do?
Can I deny myself the foods I love the most in order to make myself better? What would it take? I don't want a doctor to tell me I'm on the edge of a heart attack...and yet, I know I must be. I don't want my kids growing up thinking that it's good to eat these bad foods all the time...and yet, that's what they're learning so far. I'm a walking hypocrate. So what is my prayer for my life and for those of you who have this or other similar struggles? I believe God can give me peace of mind, people to support me, and all the strength it takes to make those kinds of changes. Changing clothes...just a humorous similarity to the real problem.
I pray that God gives us all the strength, peace and support we all need to make the changes we need to make in order to be able to bless the lives He intends for us to bless.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Another Kind of Ride
June, about 10 or so years ago, I went to Cedar Point for a day with teenagers from Crawford and Marion counties and other adult chaperones/leaders. Part of our leadership program involved going out on fun excursions occasionally. I've been to Cedar Point many times in my life, in fact, I worked there a few summers while in college, but this story takes place that June day, about 10 (or so) years ago.
My friend and co-worker, Jodi, and I were standing in line to go on the Power Tower. Having worked at Cedar Point for a few summers I had been on the Demon Drop many times and never thought it to be a very "scary" ride...so approaching the Power Tower I think we both were pretty comfortable that it would just be something fun to do. We had to decide whether we should be "shot up" really fast, or brought up slowly and dropped suddenly...two different lines. She had already done both so it was up to me. Since I figured the "dropped suddenly" option would be much like Demon Drop, I opted for the "shoot us up" really fast line. Some of the teenagers we had come with were in the opposite line not far behind us.
Interestingly, the longer we waited and the more I heard the sounds of the ride and watched people go ahead of us, the more anxious I became. I started wondering if I really wanted to go on this ride. It was much, much, much, much higher than the Demon Drop (I am really fearful of heights). It was finally our turn to get on the ride. We sat down, pulled the bars down over our head, and someone came around to check and make sure it was locked. We sat there while others got on and as we sat there I started to really FREAK OUT! I turned to Jodi and said, I don't want to do this anymore. I want off. Do you think they'll let me off? She laughed at me and said it's not that bad...just calm down. I started trying to wave at the workers to come over. No one would come over. I started yelling that I wanted off. No one heard me. I yelled the "f" word (kind of like, "get me the 'f' off of here") forgetting that the teenagers were watching us. I heard them laugh and one of them said, "Dustine just dropped the 'f' bomb!" (Incidently, if those kids could hear me way over there in the other line, why couldn't or wouldn't a Cedar Point employee hear me or help me??) Nothing. I was going to ride this ride. I was buckled in and it was going to go. Out of my control. Nothing I could do to make it stop. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. And the ride took off and shot us straight up the tower as fast as it possibly could.
We got to the top of the ride and, I kid you not, in those SECONDS at the top I turned to Jodi, laughing, and said, "This was a BABY ride!! I can't believe I was so scared!! What a dumb ride!!"
I took this experience with me, as you see, even to this day. Every time I get overwhelmed by something I start to think of "the baby ride". Life is so much like it!! We look ahead of us at this monumental, huge, scary looking event (losing a job, moving to a new city, starting a new job, electric out for several days due to weather, the death of a parent, spouse, child, friend) sometimes the event is out of our control...and we think, "I want off of this ride!! Someone get me the 'f' off of this ride!" Sometimes we even think, "I never asked to be on this ride!" And there's no way off. Our seat belts are buckled and we HAVE to ride. The wheels are in motion and we are being "shot up" as fast as the ride can possibly take us. What do we say, what do we do when we're there...in real life?
Most of the time, don't we look back at that thing, that monumental, huge, scary looking event and say, "Well, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" Don't get me wrong, some things, like death, are far harder to deal with than other things - but even with the really hard things, like death, when we get to the other side of the pain, we can consider the possibility that we are much stronger than we thought we were. We may not necessarily say, "that was a baby ride," but we might say, "I hated that ride and I never want to ride it again. However, I know I will have to at some point, and I know that I can."
My friend and co-worker, Jodi, and I were standing in line to go on the Power Tower. Having worked at Cedar Point for a few summers I had been on the Demon Drop many times and never thought it to be a very "scary" ride...so approaching the Power Tower I think we both were pretty comfortable that it would just be something fun to do. We had to decide whether we should be "shot up" really fast, or brought up slowly and dropped suddenly...two different lines. She had already done both so it was up to me. Since I figured the "dropped suddenly" option would be much like Demon Drop, I opted for the "shoot us up" really fast line. Some of the teenagers we had come with were in the opposite line not far behind us.
Interestingly, the longer we waited and the more I heard the sounds of the ride and watched people go ahead of us, the more anxious I became. I started wondering if I really wanted to go on this ride. It was much, much, much, much higher than the Demon Drop (I am really fearful of heights). It was finally our turn to get on the ride. We sat down, pulled the bars down over our head, and someone came around to check and make sure it was locked. We sat there while others got on and as we sat there I started to really FREAK OUT! I turned to Jodi and said, I don't want to do this anymore. I want off. Do you think they'll let me off? She laughed at me and said it's not that bad...just calm down. I started trying to wave at the workers to come over. No one would come over. I started yelling that I wanted off. No one heard me. I yelled the "f" word (kind of like, "get me the 'f' off of here") forgetting that the teenagers were watching us. I heard them laugh and one of them said, "Dustine just dropped the 'f' bomb!" (Incidently, if those kids could hear me way over there in the other line, why couldn't or wouldn't a Cedar Point employee hear me or help me??) Nothing. I was going to ride this ride. I was buckled in and it was going to go. Out of my control. Nothing I could do to make it stop. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. And the ride took off and shot us straight up the tower as fast as it possibly could.
We got to the top of the ride and, I kid you not, in those SECONDS at the top I turned to Jodi, laughing, and said, "This was a BABY ride!! I can't believe I was so scared!! What a dumb ride!!"
I took this experience with me, as you see, even to this day. Every time I get overwhelmed by something I start to think of "the baby ride". Life is so much like it!! We look ahead of us at this monumental, huge, scary looking event (losing a job, moving to a new city, starting a new job, electric out for several days due to weather, the death of a parent, spouse, child, friend) sometimes the event is out of our control...and we think, "I want off of this ride!! Someone get me the 'f' off of this ride!" Sometimes we even think, "I never asked to be on this ride!" And there's no way off. Our seat belts are buckled and we HAVE to ride. The wheels are in motion and we are being "shot up" as fast as the ride can possibly take us. What do we say, what do we do when we're there...in real life?
Most of the time, don't we look back at that thing, that monumental, huge, scary looking event and say, "Well, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" Don't get me wrong, some things, like death, are far harder to deal with than other things - but even with the really hard things, like death, when we get to the other side of the pain, we can consider the possibility that we are much stronger than we thought we were. We may not necessarily say, "that was a baby ride," but we might say, "I hated that ride and I never want to ride it again. However, I know I will have to at some point, and I know that I can."
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Miracles in the Midst of Madness
I've been trying to put this blog together in my brain for a time and can't organize it very well there, so I thought I'd try writing it out and see where it goes.
Let me start by saying how I have always felt about tragedies, especially other people's tragedies. Maybe someone reading this can identify with me...I'm sure many others formed a more mature position on the topic earlier in their lives. Tragedies to me were always kept at a decent distance. I could sympathise but if I tried to empathise that would be too close. I have always been good at praying for people, really praying, for miracles, or for whatever their needs may be, but especially that God's love would surround the people in trouble and that He would provide His grace and His comfort. But selfishly, I was always too afraid of being too close to the pain. I did not want to experience that kind of pain...I was so afraid of the emotional pain that I had to ignore the comfort that I could possibly provide for someone. I know, someone is now seeing a side of me they didn't realize existed. To tell you the truth, I just never wanted to imagine going through what some of my friends have gone through.
That being said, when I spent a lifetime trying to avoid pain, putting up the necessary walls to not have to walk with someone through their time of trouble, you can imagine what happened when the events of this past year culminated with the death of my dad.
So let's just quickly put 2009 "tragedies" into a nice little paragraph sort of like ripping off a band aid. I believe it began with the death of my friend Sue Lorenz from post brain-surgical complications after she had dealt with brain cancer for about 8 months. Then, during the summer, my mother-in-law, Betty, developed a very bad infection with her diverticulitis, went to the hospital for a week while they treated the infection, went home for 2 days only to have to leave in the ambulance again and face surgery to have a portion of her colon removed staying in the hospital for another two weeks. Right around that same time, a friend that I used to work with, Staci Kelts, was diagnosed with untreatable cancer and died within 6 weeks of being diagnosed...a shock to all who knew her causing a lot of pain to even closer friends of mine. The second to the last week of September my dad passed away suddenly. A few weeks after that I was at May's Farm helping out for a day when a woman from a party in a tent out back came running up to Betty and I and said that something was wrong with Lee (Dan's dad). He was laying under his tractor and she thought he wasn't very coherent. I had to call the ambulance for him. It turned out that he fell off his tractor and broke his arm...unfortunate and uncomfortable, yes, but not as bad as it could have been. Just two weeks ago Dan's "Aunt" Mathilde died. Believe it or not I think I'm forgetting something, but I think you get the gist. Please don't think that I want you to think, "poor Dustine," because I happen to know that many other people face much worse circumstances (think of what Sue, Betty, Staci, my dad, Lee and Mathilde had to face)...just wanted you to realize that some tough things have occurred this year causing me to reflect on some important realizations. I think I could have gotten through the other events with little emotional injury (unless something worse had happened with Betty or Lee, which it didn't) but the death of my dad is where I had to really face reality, where I stand with my faith, and what really matters to me. So I am now going to go through the events of my dad's death...for those of you who are like the me I described at the beginning, you may need to stop reading...however, if you do stop reading, I warn you that you will be missing out on first-hand accounts of God's loving hand reaching out to show us that He's very much here among us, gracing us with His miracles in the midst of madness.
Basic truth #1: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven."
The day after Easter, 2009, I drove my mom and dad down to North Carolina where they would be staying with my sister while we tried to sell their house in Marion. Together we had decided that it would be too challenging for them to try to get it fixed up and ready every time a realtor wanted to show it to somebody. Imagine having to move out of the home you lived in for over 30 years quite quickly and suddenly knowing you would never live there again. I know it took some adjustment for both of them, but my dad struggled with it especially. He did not want to move out of their house. They were making the best of it in North Carolina and adjusting.
Sometime in August I started thinking about the May's Fall Festival at the farm which starts toward the end of September and goes through the end of October. I asked my mom and dad if they would come up for the month of October to watch my kids on the weekends so that I could help out at the farm. They agreed and since my younger sister's bridal shower would be mid-September they would come up that weekend and just stay until the end of October.
After a very nice bridal shower which everyone, including my dad, attended my sisters left and went back to their homes. There was work to do that following week on the farm to get ready for the festival, lots of work actually because Betty had her surgery and things had fallen behind there. So my parents lept right into watching the kids that week as I went to the farm.
On Wednesday when I got home my dad asked me if I'd take him to the emergency room because he was having really bad pain in his mid-section. I took him to Mercy at about 8:00 that night. It was a very busy night. We waited a long, long, long time to get in. There were people in very bad shape and I kept praying for them and kept saying to God, "Thank you that Pop only has stomach pain and it seems to be subsiding. Please bring your blessing upon these people who are suffering in so many ways." They had that show "Grey's Anatomy" on the television in the waiting room, which I can't stand...I can't stand any of those shows...they're too stressful! I wanted something funny on, but it was out of my control so I tried not to pay attention. After spending the evening in the emergency room, his EKG coming out fine, they found in the CT scan that he was passing a kidney stone and said that's where the pain was coming from. They said he also had a bladder infection. They gave him an antibiotic pill, and a shot of vicodin, and sent him home with a bottle of vicodin and a prescription for an antibiotic at about 3:00 am.
Thursday, I went to drop Pop's prescription off at the pharmacy. Again, a very long line and when they did get to me I found out it was a new guy and he was slightly confused with the computer. He said they were backed up and it would be ready later that day. I went to the farm. I called home and mom said pop was sleeping and the kids were fine. I worked late and did not get to pick up the prescription. When I got home I found out that Pop had been dizzy and had fallen. Mom said he had bad pain a couple of times during the day and she gave him the vicodin for that. I told her he was probably having a bad reaction to the vicodin and to stop giving it to him. Meanwhile she read the side effects of the antibiotic and it said it could cause dizzy spells and falling so she did not want to give him the prescription. I picked it up anyway on Friday. On Friday she called pop's urologist from Marion and he agreed she should not give him that antibiotic and called in a different one and also told her NOT to give him any more vicodin, that he should not be taking that stuff. He was still dizzy, had a dry mouth, and fell on Friday. I still thought it was a side effect of the vicodin. Saturday morning before I went to help on the farm he fell again and was in a position that he could not stand up. I helped him up...it was very challenging, he could not help himself hardly, but we got him up. I asked him what the problem was and he said he just needed to sleep more. I told him that I thought this was all a reaction to the vicodin and to sleep it off. So he got back into bed and went back to sleep. I went and picked up the new antibiotic prescription on my way to the farm, and called during the day. Mom said he was up and around and seemed to be doing better. He was using her walker, but at least he was walking around a little. We got home before the kids were in bed on Saturday night and I checked on him while Grace was waiting for me to take her upstairs. Mom said he was having trouble holding the water cup because he was shaking so bad, and was still dizzy...he told me he was so thirsty. I went to the internet and looked up vicodin side effects. These were all listed as side effects and it also said that vicodin was rarely fatal. So I put my fears to rest, I told Grace that Grandpa just wasn't feeling well and that he'd be much better in the morning (I didn't want her to be scared of him or the situation) and to give him and grandma a hug and kiss goodnight. I told mom that the computer said that his symptoms were all listed as side effects of vicodin. She hadn't given him any for a couple of days, but we just figured that with all the fluid he was retaining in his ankles (he had been for a couple of weeks) that it wasn't metabolizing quickly.
At 3:30 am Mom called up the stairs, "Dan, Dustine, pop needs you! He fell and can't get up." We ran downstairs ready to help him up. We got there and his eyes were closed...well...mostly closed...I could see a little of his eyes through a crack in the bottom of his lids. But I thought he fell asleep there. So I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. Dan asked if he fell asleep. I said that I guessed so. I tried to wake him up, said his name, reached down and shook him. No response. We looked at each other. Was something wrong? None of us knew. Dan asked if something was wrong. I didn't know. I shook him some more. I slapped his face. He was good and warm. I thought for an instant that was a good sign. I felt under his nose and looked at his belly and did not feel or see breathing. I knew I needed to give him breath. I held his nose and tilted his head back and gave him breath. I did it again. I did it again. He took one big breath on his own...like a struggling breath. I thought for an instant he was fine. Then I saw he wasn't breathing. So I gave him a few more breaths and decided that although I did not know how to check his pulse, that I was sure I should do cpr. I couldn't remember...it had been so long since I was trained and I never had to really do it. I went to the center of his chest and just did 20, sometimes 25 (I couldn't remember) pumps. In between I would give him a breath. Meanwhile, Dan had called 911. They showed up fairly quickly. When I saw them come in I kept going until someone came over to him. I stood up and just shook my hands and arms and had no words...I just wanted them to take over and do it right. We were all in shock and didn't really know what they were saying or doing. We all really, really, really thought that he would be fine. Pop had been through a lot of close calls in his life and always made it through.
They would take him to Mercy Hospital. When we got there they lead us to a room. I told the nurse to call a priest. She never did. A doctor came to us after several minutes and told us that it didn't look good for him. They were able to restart his heart a few times but they couldn't keep it going. If he continued to crash they would not be able to bring him back eventually. He left to go back to him and not too long after that came to let us know that he had passed on.
Miracle #1:"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Pop got to be with the entire family at Dea's bridal shower one week prior to his passing. He would have wanted nothing more than to be with his whole family together.
Miracle #2:"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Had this happened in North Carolina it would have been so much harder and so much more confusing to deal with the funeral and all the details of things you have to take care of after such a thing happens. Had it happened in Marion with Mom and Pop living by themselves, Mom could not have dealt with this all on her own. I did not ask for this. I did not want it. I wish it would not have happened at all. But it is a miracle that it happened in Ohio and with family who could support my mom.
Miracle #3: The very first thing Danelle did when she walked in the door after driving for 8 hours from North Carolina was to come straight over to me, sit down next to me, and look me straight in the eyes. She said, "Dustine, this was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You took good care of mom and pop. It was just his time. I thought I was seeing signs of it while they were staying with me and I was preparing for it to happen down there. It was just his time." I was torturing myself that entire day going over the details in my mind. All the "What if's" - what if I knew how to do cpr the right way - what if I had taken him to the hospital - what if I ever paid attention to those shows like Grey's Anatomy...maybe I would have known what to do - what if I would have stayed home instead of going to the farm - on and on. How did Danelle know I needed to hear that? It still took a good month for me to stop blaming myself, but her words would echo in my mind...they were words that sustained me.
Miracle #4: About 3 weeks after his passing I was a mess. Couldn't sleep for a few nights. I decided to go see a woman who does reike to see if she could help center me and calm me down. After the reike treatment she asked me if I had a conversation with my dad about someone not feeling adequate either him or me. That long night in the E.R. he had told me that he felt so inadequate as a father and did I feel like he was as bad a father as he feels he was. She said that she was getting a message about someone being inadequate and she said that she should tell me, "you did the best you could." I told pop that night that he did the best he could at the time with the circumstance given him and that he was fine...that we're all fine. She said he was using that conversation to let me know it was him and that he was telling me that I did the best I could with the circumstances given to me. She said that he said to look in his blue plaid shirt pocket for something (later mom had told me that it was one of the first things she did and that shirt was the one that he had all his pictures of his family in). She said that something else was wrong with Pop, that if we had saved him or taken him to the hospital sooner they may have found it, it would have been a long, painful, road for my mom and she could not have withstood it. She said that he needed to pass this way. It was his time. After this she gave me some advice. She said that I was acting like I had some sort of choice or power over what God had determined from before time started. She said I had a sort of power complex and that I needed to realize that some things are out of my control. If God wanted to take him there was no way I was going to be able to stop that. These words were the other miracle words I needed to hear to let myself off the hook.
Well, there were more blessings in all of this. But I fear I've really run away with this blog. I'm not sure it turned out the way I had hoped, the blog I mean, but I guess it turned out the way it turned out. Maybe I'll be able to pull my other thoughts together for a follow up after Christmas sometime. I think we'll all be far too busy for me to sit and try to do this again until then.
God bless everyone who reads this and have a wonderful Christmas!
Let me start by saying how I have always felt about tragedies, especially other people's tragedies. Maybe someone reading this can identify with me...I'm sure many others formed a more mature position on the topic earlier in their lives. Tragedies to me were always kept at a decent distance. I could sympathise but if I tried to empathise that would be too close. I have always been good at praying for people, really praying, for miracles, or for whatever their needs may be, but especially that God's love would surround the people in trouble and that He would provide His grace and His comfort. But selfishly, I was always too afraid of being too close to the pain. I did not want to experience that kind of pain...I was so afraid of the emotional pain that I had to ignore the comfort that I could possibly provide for someone. I know, someone is now seeing a side of me they didn't realize existed. To tell you the truth, I just never wanted to imagine going through what some of my friends have gone through.
That being said, when I spent a lifetime trying to avoid pain, putting up the necessary walls to not have to walk with someone through their time of trouble, you can imagine what happened when the events of this past year culminated with the death of my dad.
So let's just quickly put 2009 "tragedies" into a nice little paragraph sort of like ripping off a band aid. I believe it began with the death of my friend Sue Lorenz from post brain-surgical complications after she had dealt with brain cancer for about 8 months. Then, during the summer, my mother-in-law, Betty, developed a very bad infection with her diverticulitis, went to the hospital for a week while they treated the infection, went home for 2 days only to have to leave in the ambulance again and face surgery to have a portion of her colon removed staying in the hospital for another two weeks. Right around that same time, a friend that I used to work with, Staci Kelts, was diagnosed with untreatable cancer and died within 6 weeks of being diagnosed...a shock to all who knew her causing a lot of pain to even closer friends of mine. The second to the last week of September my dad passed away suddenly. A few weeks after that I was at May's Farm helping out for a day when a woman from a party in a tent out back came running up to Betty and I and said that something was wrong with Lee (Dan's dad). He was laying under his tractor and she thought he wasn't very coherent. I had to call the ambulance for him. It turned out that he fell off his tractor and broke his arm...unfortunate and uncomfortable, yes, but not as bad as it could have been. Just two weeks ago Dan's "Aunt" Mathilde died. Believe it or not I think I'm forgetting something, but I think you get the gist. Please don't think that I want you to think, "poor Dustine," because I happen to know that many other people face much worse circumstances (think of what Sue, Betty, Staci, my dad, Lee and Mathilde had to face)...just wanted you to realize that some tough things have occurred this year causing me to reflect on some important realizations. I think I could have gotten through the other events with little emotional injury (unless something worse had happened with Betty or Lee, which it didn't) but the death of my dad is where I had to really face reality, where I stand with my faith, and what really matters to me. So I am now going to go through the events of my dad's death...for those of you who are like the me I described at the beginning, you may need to stop reading...however, if you do stop reading, I warn you that you will be missing out on first-hand accounts of God's loving hand reaching out to show us that He's very much here among us, gracing us with His miracles in the midst of madness.
Basic truth #1: "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven."
The day after Easter, 2009, I drove my mom and dad down to North Carolina where they would be staying with my sister while we tried to sell their house in Marion. Together we had decided that it would be too challenging for them to try to get it fixed up and ready every time a realtor wanted to show it to somebody. Imagine having to move out of the home you lived in for over 30 years quite quickly and suddenly knowing you would never live there again. I know it took some adjustment for both of them, but my dad struggled with it especially. He did not want to move out of their house. They were making the best of it in North Carolina and adjusting.
Sometime in August I started thinking about the May's Fall Festival at the farm which starts toward the end of September and goes through the end of October. I asked my mom and dad if they would come up for the month of October to watch my kids on the weekends so that I could help out at the farm. They agreed and since my younger sister's bridal shower would be mid-September they would come up that weekend and just stay until the end of October.
After a very nice bridal shower which everyone, including my dad, attended my sisters left and went back to their homes. There was work to do that following week on the farm to get ready for the festival, lots of work actually because Betty had her surgery and things had fallen behind there. So my parents lept right into watching the kids that week as I went to the farm.
On Wednesday when I got home my dad asked me if I'd take him to the emergency room because he was having really bad pain in his mid-section. I took him to Mercy at about 8:00 that night. It was a very busy night. We waited a long, long, long time to get in. There were people in very bad shape and I kept praying for them and kept saying to God, "Thank you that Pop only has stomach pain and it seems to be subsiding. Please bring your blessing upon these people who are suffering in so many ways." They had that show "Grey's Anatomy" on the television in the waiting room, which I can't stand...I can't stand any of those shows...they're too stressful! I wanted something funny on, but it was out of my control so I tried not to pay attention. After spending the evening in the emergency room, his EKG coming out fine, they found in the CT scan that he was passing a kidney stone and said that's where the pain was coming from. They said he also had a bladder infection. They gave him an antibiotic pill, and a shot of vicodin, and sent him home with a bottle of vicodin and a prescription for an antibiotic at about 3:00 am.
Thursday, I went to drop Pop's prescription off at the pharmacy. Again, a very long line and when they did get to me I found out it was a new guy and he was slightly confused with the computer. He said they were backed up and it would be ready later that day. I went to the farm. I called home and mom said pop was sleeping and the kids were fine. I worked late and did not get to pick up the prescription. When I got home I found out that Pop had been dizzy and had fallen. Mom said he had bad pain a couple of times during the day and she gave him the vicodin for that. I told her he was probably having a bad reaction to the vicodin and to stop giving it to him. Meanwhile she read the side effects of the antibiotic and it said it could cause dizzy spells and falling so she did not want to give him the prescription. I picked it up anyway on Friday. On Friday she called pop's urologist from Marion and he agreed she should not give him that antibiotic and called in a different one and also told her NOT to give him any more vicodin, that he should not be taking that stuff. He was still dizzy, had a dry mouth, and fell on Friday. I still thought it was a side effect of the vicodin. Saturday morning before I went to help on the farm he fell again and was in a position that he could not stand up. I helped him up...it was very challenging, he could not help himself hardly, but we got him up. I asked him what the problem was and he said he just needed to sleep more. I told him that I thought this was all a reaction to the vicodin and to sleep it off. So he got back into bed and went back to sleep. I went and picked up the new antibiotic prescription on my way to the farm, and called during the day. Mom said he was up and around and seemed to be doing better. He was using her walker, but at least he was walking around a little. We got home before the kids were in bed on Saturday night and I checked on him while Grace was waiting for me to take her upstairs. Mom said he was having trouble holding the water cup because he was shaking so bad, and was still dizzy...he told me he was so thirsty. I went to the internet and looked up vicodin side effects. These were all listed as side effects and it also said that vicodin was rarely fatal. So I put my fears to rest, I told Grace that Grandpa just wasn't feeling well and that he'd be much better in the morning (I didn't want her to be scared of him or the situation) and to give him and grandma a hug and kiss goodnight. I told mom that the computer said that his symptoms were all listed as side effects of vicodin. She hadn't given him any for a couple of days, but we just figured that with all the fluid he was retaining in his ankles (he had been for a couple of weeks) that it wasn't metabolizing quickly.
At 3:30 am Mom called up the stairs, "Dan, Dustine, pop needs you! He fell and can't get up." We ran downstairs ready to help him up. We got there and his eyes were closed...well...mostly closed...I could see a little of his eyes through a crack in the bottom of his lids. But I thought he fell asleep there. So I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. Dan asked if he fell asleep. I said that I guessed so. I tried to wake him up, said his name, reached down and shook him. No response. We looked at each other. Was something wrong? None of us knew. Dan asked if something was wrong. I didn't know. I shook him some more. I slapped his face. He was good and warm. I thought for an instant that was a good sign. I felt under his nose and looked at his belly and did not feel or see breathing. I knew I needed to give him breath. I held his nose and tilted his head back and gave him breath. I did it again. I did it again. He took one big breath on his own...like a struggling breath. I thought for an instant he was fine. Then I saw he wasn't breathing. So I gave him a few more breaths and decided that although I did not know how to check his pulse, that I was sure I should do cpr. I couldn't remember...it had been so long since I was trained and I never had to really do it. I went to the center of his chest and just did 20, sometimes 25 (I couldn't remember) pumps. In between I would give him a breath. Meanwhile, Dan had called 911. They showed up fairly quickly. When I saw them come in I kept going until someone came over to him. I stood up and just shook my hands and arms and had no words...I just wanted them to take over and do it right. We were all in shock and didn't really know what they were saying or doing. We all really, really, really thought that he would be fine. Pop had been through a lot of close calls in his life and always made it through.
They would take him to Mercy Hospital. When we got there they lead us to a room. I told the nurse to call a priest. She never did. A doctor came to us after several minutes and told us that it didn't look good for him. They were able to restart his heart a few times but they couldn't keep it going. If he continued to crash they would not be able to bring him back eventually. He left to go back to him and not too long after that came to let us know that he had passed on.
Miracle #1:"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Pop got to be with the entire family at Dea's bridal shower one week prior to his passing. He would have wanted nothing more than to be with his whole family together.
Miracle #2:"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Had this happened in North Carolina it would have been so much harder and so much more confusing to deal with the funeral and all the details of things you have to take care of after such a thing happens. Had it happened in Marion with Mom and Pop living by themselves, Mom could not have dealt with this all on her own. I did not ask for this. I did not want it. I wish it would not have happened at all. But it is a miracle that it happened in Ohio and with family who could support my mom.
Miracle #3: The very first thing Danelle did when she walked in the door after driving for 8 hours from North Carolina was to come straight over to me, sit down next to me, and look me straight in the eyes. She said, "Dustine, this was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You took good care of mom and pop. It was just his time. I thought I was seeing signs of it while they were staying with me and I was preparing for it to happen down there. It was just his time." I was torturing myself that entire day going over the details in my mind. All the "What if's" - what if I knew how to do cpr the right way - what if I had taken him to the hospital - what if I ever paid attention to those shows like Grey's Anatomy...maybe I would have known what to do - what if I would have stayed home instead of going to the farm - on and on. How did Danelle know I needed to hear that? It still took a good month for me to stop blaming myself, but her words would echo in my mind...they were words that sustained me.
Miracle #4: About 3 weeks after his passing I was a mess. Couldn't sleep for a few nights. I decided to go see a woman who does reike to see if she could help center me and calm me down. After the reike treatment she asked me if I had a conversation with my dad about someone not feeling adequate either him or me. That long night in the E.R. he had told me that he felt so inadequate as a father and did I feel like he was as bad a father as he feels he was. She said that she was getting a message about someone being inadequate and she said that she should tell me, "you did the best you could." I told pop that night that he did the best he could at the time with the circumstance given him and that he was fine...that we're all fine. She said he was using that conversation to let me know it was him and that he was telling me that I did the best I could with the circumstances given to me. She said that he said to look in his blue plaid shirt pocket for something (later mom had told me that it was one of the first things she did and that shirt was the one that he had all his pictures of his family in). She said that something else was wrong with Pop, that if we had saved him or taken him to the hospital sooner they may have found it, it would have been a long, painful, road for my mom and she could not have withstood it. She said that he needed to pass this way. It was his time. After this she gave me some advice. She said that I was acting like I had some sort of choice or power over what God had determined from before time started. She said I had a sort of power complex and that I needed to realize that some things are out of my control. If God wanted to take him there was no way I was going to be able to stop that. These words were the other miracle words I needed to hear to let myself off the hook.
Well, there were more blessings in all of this. But I fear I've really run away with this blog. I'm not sure it turned out the way I had hoped, the blog I mean, but I guess it turned out the way it turned out. Maybe I'll be able to pull my other thoughts together for a follow up after Christmas sometime. I think we'll all be far too busy for me to sit and try to do this again until then.
God bless everyone who reads this and have a wonderful Christmas!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Fond Memories
My sister, Danelle, asked me to post to my blog the eulogy we wrote and presented at our father's funeral. I told her I would do it when I thought I could handle looking at it again and having it there every time I went into my blog. I guess I'm at that point now. I have some other things to say about all the events leading up to his death and things that have happened since, but I'll do that another time. For now, here's the eulogy. It's missing the opening poem that I wrote to him when I was in Jr. High (he had it laminated and carried it in his brief case wherever he went and we found it still there along with his medications, pictures, and anything he deemed important to carry in his briefcase). I don't have the poem, but if I get it I'll post it another time.
EULOGY FOR DENNIS E. LOBDELL (our "pop")
Opening: Poem (Dustine)
Let us share a little bit with you about our dad, “papa” or “pop” as we affectionately called him. Many of you who knew him before we were even born would agree that he was always ornery and enjoyed making people smile and laugh. He loved to introduce himself as “Dennis The Menus,” and anyone who knew him would quickly agree. He had a corny joke up his sleeve for any occasion. His favorite jokes with us when we were little included “I can tell a train just came through here…want to know how? It left its tracks!” and if we asked how to spell a word he’d get us to say, “Pop how do you spell it?” and then he’d say, “ I – T!”
He loved to strike up conversation with people. His witty personality was the foot in the door. No waitress was safe when he went to a restaurant. He was a charmer – he would brighten their day with the twinkle in his deep blue eyes and his great big smile.
During Mom and Pop’s second visit to their new church parish down in North Carolina there was a baptism of a small child and after the baptism Pop went up to them and gave the child a rosary. Her father was gratefully taken aback and told Pop that he didn’t know him yet and wanted to know his name. Pop responded with, “Oh, I’m Dennis the Menus!” At that moment the priest was walking by and commented, “I don’t know about the Dennis part, but I sure do know about the Menus!” – this after meeting him only once before.
Speaking of rosaries, Pop was known everywhere as “The Rosary Man.” He always had a rosary with him to pray and he always had a rosary to give away. He never knew who he would be giving them to, but somehow, many times over, years later, a stranger would approach him and say, “You gave me/my son/my daughter a rosary years ago and I/he/she still has it and it really affected/or changed our lives. I just had to thank you.” Pop would respond that it wasn’t him, but our Blessed Mother guided him as to who to give it to.
We never knew who would be at our holiday dinners because Pop would invite less fortunate, or shut-ins, or people who had no family to be with to come to our house for dinner. After the dinner was over he would take the left-overs to shut-ins.
A man of many names, in the Nursing Homes where he and Mom did nursing home ministry for over 25 years he was known as “The Candy Man.” He began nursing home ministry with the St. Vincent DePaul Society and they would deliver diabetic candy to the nursing homes. So when he walked through the door they would yell out, “here comes our Candy Man!” and the name just stuck with him throughout the years.
He was a peaceful man with a calming presence. Children would flock to him. Anyone could put a screaming baby in his arms and the baby would calm right down and go to sleep. He could also find a song for almost any thought or word that someone uttered. He loved to just break out in song, usually very softly.
We never doubted how much he loved us or how proud he was of us. He told us regularly. His shirt pocket did not hold pens. It was overflowing with love. His love for his family. He held in his shirt pocket photos of his children and grandchildren…some of them even in small frames. His family was the most important thing to him and he never failed to remind us how much he loved us. He often left us phone messages just to say that he loved us. One time when Danelle was on the phone with him talking about coming home for the week visiting from college, he said to her, “I’m sad because in a week from now you’re already going to be leaving me.” He shared similar experiences with all of us.
His relationship with his grandchildren was precious. Grace, the first grandchild, would order him to come sit on the ground and play with her when she was just 2 and 3 years old. If he would start to sing a song, as he loved to do, she would point at him and say, “No Grandpa, no singing!” and he would continue a little to tease her or to finish his chorus, but he would obey her commands. He found much joy in pleasing his grandchildren.
In 2002 after his bout with Guillian Barre he went from perfect 20/20 vision to almost blind. So Mom would read to him in the evenings. It was the best part of his life – he didn’t care about television or anything else – he just loved the sound of Mom’s voice and wanted her to keep reading to him – even when she would get hoarse, he just wanted her to keep on reading. Mom and Pop were never separated from one another – you never saw one without the other. Mom was the love of his life, and he was hers.
One time Dea went to the movies with Mom and Pop and they sent her ahead to buy the tickets. While she was buying the tickets the people behind the ticket booth started commenting, “Oh look at that cute old couple walking in holding hands! Aren’t they just the cutest thing you ever saw! They’re still in love…I hope I find love like that someday…come look at this!”
These are only a few things we can tell you about our Pop. This world doesn’t have enough words to summarize the depth of our love for him.
Right now we can only imagine all the ornery things he’s doing up in heaven…heaven will never be the same now that he’s there.
Ending: Oh My Papa Song (Dea)
(Dea sang "Oh My Papa" to him every year on his birthday)
-----------------------
One other note that I don't think is included in the eulogy: He often called each of us (almost daily) hoping not to actually reach us but to get our voicemail so he could sing, "I just called, to say, I love you. I just called, to say how much I care..." We all have it saved either on our cell phones or answering machines. I have not had the courage to listen to my recordings yet, but at least I have them. I also have him wishing me a happy birthday last year on my birthday. My birthday is next week so I may just have to listen to his message...might be a good gift.
EULOGY FOR DENNIS E. LOBDELL (our "pop")
Opening: Poem (Dustine)
Let us share a little bit with you about our dad, “papa” or “pop” as we affectionately called him. Many of you who knew him before we were even born would agree that he was always ornery and enjoyed making people smile and laugh. He loved to introduce himself as “Dennis The Menus,” and anyone who knew him would quickly agree. He had a corny joke up his sleeve for any occasion. His favorite jokes with us when we were little included “I can tell a train just came through here…want to know how? It left its tracks!” and if we asked how to spell a word he’d get us to say, “Pop how do you spell it?” and then he’d say, “ I – T!”
He loved to strike up conversation with people. His witty personality was the foot in the door. No waitress was safe when he went to a restaurant. He was a charmer – he would brighten their day with the twinkle in his deep blue eyes and his great big smile.
During Mom and Pop’s second visit to their new church parish down in North Carolina there was a baptism of a small child and after the baptism Pop went up to them and gave the child a rosary. Her father was gratefully taken aback and told Pop that he didn’t know him yet and wanted to know his name. Pop responded with, “Oh, I’m Dennis the Menus!” At that moment the priest was walking by and commented, “I don’t know about the Dennis part, but I sure do know about the Menus!” – this after meeting him only once before.
Speaking of rosaries, Pop was known everywhere as “The Rosary Man.” He always had a rosary with him to pray and he always had a rosary to give away. He never knew who he would be giving them to, but somehow, many times over, years later, a stranger would approach him and say, “You gave me/my son/my daughter a rosary years ago and I/he/she still has it and it really affected/or changed our lives. I just had to thank you.” Pop would respond that it wasn’t him, but our Blessed Mother guided him as to who to give it to.
We never knew who would be at our holiday dinners because Pop would invite less fortunate, or shut-ins, or people who had no family to be with to come to our house for dinner. After the dinner was over he would take the left-overs to shut-ins.
A man of many names, in the Nursing Homes where he and Mom did nursing home ministry for over 25 years he was known as “The Candy Man.” He began nursing home ministry with the St. Vincent DePaul Society and they would deliver diabetic candy to the nursing homes. So when he walked through the door they would yell out, “here comes our Candy Man!” and the name just stuck with him throughout the years.
He was a peaceful man with a calming presence. Children would flock to him. Anyone could put a screaming baby in his arms and the baby would calm right down and go to sleep. He could also find a song for almost any thought or word that someone uttered. He loved to just break out in song, usually very softly.
We never doubted how much he loved us or how proud he was of us. He told us regularly. His shirt pocket did not hold pens. It was overflowing with love. His love for his family. He held in his shirt pocket photos of his children and grandchildren…some of them even in small frames. His family was the most important thing to him and he never failed to remind us how much he loved us. He often left us phone messages just to say that he loved us. One time when Danelle was on the phone with him talking about coming home for the week visiting from college, he said to her, “I’m sad because in a week from now you’re already going to be leaving me.” He shared similar experiences with all of us.
His relationship with his grandchildren was precious. Grace, the first grandchild, would order him to come sit on the ground and play with her when she was just 2 and 3 years old. If he would start to sing a song, as he loved to do, she would point at him and say, “No Grandpa, no singing!” and he would continue a little to tease her or to finish his chorus, but he would obey her commands. He found much joy in pleasing his grandchildren.
In 2002 after his bout with Guillian Barre he went from perfect 20/20 vision to almost blind. So Mom would read to him in the evenings. It was the best part of his life – he didn’t care about television or anything else – he just loved the sound of Mom’s voice and wanted her to keep reading to him – even when she would get hoarse, he just wanted her to keep on reading. Mom and Pop were never separated from one another – you never saw one without the other. Mom was the love of his life, and he was hers.
One time Dea went to the movies with Mom and Pop and they sent her ahead to buy the tickets. While she was buying the tickets the people behind the ticket booth started commenting, “Oh look at that cute old couple walking in holding hands! Aren’t they just the cutest thing you ever saw! They’re still in love…I hope I find love like that someday…come look at this!”
These are only a few things we can tell you about our Pop. This world doesn’t have enough words to summarize the depth of our love for him.
Right now we can only imagine all the ornery things he’s doing up in heaven…heaven will never be the same now that he’s there.
Ending: Oh My Papa Song (Dea)
(Dea sang "Oh My Papa" to him every year on his birthday)
-----------------------
One other note that I don't think is included in the eulogy: He often called each of us (almost daily) hoping not to actually reach us but to get our voicemail so he could sing, "I just called, to say, I love you. I just called, to say how much I care..." We all have it saved either on our cell phones or answering machines. I have not had the courage to listen to my recordings yet, but at least I have them. I also have him wishing me a happy birthday last year on my birthday. My birthday is next week so I may just have to listen to his message...might be a good gift.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Enjoy the Ride
I had to go to the mall the other day to finish getting parts of Grace's school uniform. I took the kids with me, of course, and as we entered the mall from the Sears side we approached mechanical rides that require .75 or 1.00 to ride. Maggie ALWAYS asks if she can ride on the rides when we go into the mall...and SOMETIMES she gets to. This day was no different. I told Maggie and Grace that if they were super duper extra good in the mall that they would get to ride something on the way out.
Well, they were particularly good this day...no kidding...and I really should have let them ride 2 or 3 rides for as good as they were, but I told them one and they had to agree on the ride. Well, they had agreed on a ride and at the last minute I saw the Cedar Point roller coaster ride and convinced them that they should ride that one - that it would be more fun. So they both got on to the Cedar Point ride which Grace was more than excited about since she's now totally into roller coasters! Maggie was willing just because it was a ride.
The ride started and immediately Maggie started pointing at another ride that she wanted to do next. I told her to watch the movie screen that she was missing this ride and that she does not get to do another ride. She continued to point to a different ride that she wanted to do next. I told her that there will be no more rides and to have fun on this one. She kept saying "but I want that one next Mom." The entire ride I couldn't convince her to just enjoy this one...all she could think about was getting on another one.
So of course to me this whole incident was an analogy between the life of a 2 year old and life in general. I couldn't help but stand there and think about how often I miss the enjoyment of the "ride" I'm on because I'm constantly thinking about the next thing I want or how much better things would be "if". Here I was trying to convince Maggie to concentrate on where she was at the moment, knowing all along that this is a challenge even for a grown up.
Although ambition is a good thing, it's nothing unless we have a great attitude about present circumstances. No matter where we're going or what we're trying to achieve, if we get there with an attitude of ungratefulness and dissatisfaction then we lose the enjoyment of the ride. And most likely we won't even appreciate our accomplishment either. Attitude is everything.
I felt sorry for Maggie because when she got off that ride I could tell she didn't even feel like she had been on a ride. She missed it. Granted, it's not the ride she had chosen...but that's life too, isn't it? It was still a ride.
Although there are many more things I wish to accomplish in my life, I am so grateful to be home with my children and enjoying my time with them for now. There are days that I want to pull my hair out because I feel like I need a break from it...but those are the days that I find a friend or family member to go somewhere with me and leave the kids with Dan. Dan and I have had times when we can get away too if we find a babysitter. All in all I would not trade these years for anything. When I look back someday I have a feeling that I will not remember the things that bother me now with not having two incomes (such as not being able to give the gifts I'd like to give to friends and family...or not being able to get new clothes on a whim) - but I will remember all the times and moments with my kids. If only I was good at recording those moments! I think for now I'm just going to enjoy the ride I'm on...as opportunities arise I can embrace those, but certainly my mind and heart are fixed on the moment.
Well, they were particularly good this day...no kidding...and I really should have let them ride 2 or 3 rides for as good as they were, but I told them one and they had to agree on the ride. Well, they had agreed on a ride and at the last minute I saw the Cedar Point roller coaster ride and convinced them that they should ride that one - that it would be more fun. So they both got on to the Cedar Point ride which Grace was more than excited about since she's now totally into roller coasters! Maggie was willing just because it was a ride.
The ride started and immediately Maggie started pointing at another ride that she wanted to do next. I told her to watch the movie screen that she was missing this ride and that she does not get to do another ride. She continued to point to a different ride that she wanted to do next. I told her that there will be no more rides and to have fun on this one. She kept saying "but I want that one next Mom." The entire ride I couldn't convince her to just enjoy this one...all she could think about was getting on another one.
So of course to me this whole incident was an analogy between the life of a 2 year old and life in general. I couldn't help but stand there and think about how often I miss the enjoyment of the "ride" I'm on because I'm constantly thinking about the next thing I want or how much better things would be "if". Here I was trying to convince Maggie to concentrate on where she was at the moment, knowing all along that this is a challenge even for a grown up.
Although ambition is a good thing, it's nothing unless we have a great attitude about present circumstances. No matter where we're going or what we're trying to achieve, if we get there with an attitude of ungratefulness and dissatisfaction then we lose the enjoyment of the ride. And most likely we won't even appreciate our accomplishment either. Attitude is everything.
I felt sorry for Maggie because when she got off that ride I could tell she didn't even feel like she had been on a ride. She missed it. Granted, it's not the ride she had chosen...but that's life too, isn't it? It was still a ride.
Although there are many more things I wish to accomplish in my life, I am so grateful to be home with my children and enjoying my time with them for now. There are days that I want to pull my hair out because I feel like I need a break from it...but those are the days that I find a friend or family member to go somewhere with me and leave the kids with Dan. Dan and I have had times when we can get away too if we find a babysitter. All in all I would not trade these years for anything. When I look back someday I have a feeling that I will not remember the things that bother me now with not having two incomes (such as not being able to give the gifts I'd like to give to friends and family...or not being able to get new clothes on a whim) - but I will remember all the times and moments with my kids. If only I was good at recording those moments! I think for now I'm just going to enjoy the ride I'm on...as opportunities arise I can embrace those, but certainly my mind and heart are fixed on the moment.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Just A Happy Thought
As a youth minister there are many moments when your heart just wants to overflow with joy - sometimes just being part of the youth ministry community, sometimes a great spiritual moment, sometimes when you witness the students receiving some spiritual realization, sometimes when you witness students and adults giving time and talents unselfishly...just so many good things come from being a part of ministering to youth. I miss the ministry and the people every day. However, I have so so so many happy memories where my heart felt like it was overflowing with joy. There is one time I was thinking about today that I want to share.
Every year deaneries for which my parishes were a part of would put together pretty much a program every month for our students to attend and get to know other kids from the other churches around our area. In fact, they still do, but I'm speaking as in the past because it is the area I used to live in. We called our area the Back To Heartland area and there is a history behind that name which you can ask me about another time.
The Back To Heartland area would put together a program for high school students always on Martin Luther King Jr. weekend called the Back To Heartland High School Gathering. The last year I helped to plan this event, 2008, I wanted to add a little "theatrics" to the ceremony parts of the weekend...anyone who knows me knows that I'm sort of into the "theatrics". So I put together a group of high school students who met with me for a couple of months prior to the gathering, picked a few songs that I wanted them to act out skits to, and had them help me choreograph skits to those songs. They would perform those "song skits" during different ceremonies over the weekend.
One of the songs they performed a skit to was called "Here I Am" by John Angotti (if I knew how to attach the song to this blog I would do that for you, but alas I can not figure out how to do some things on here yet). The song, in short, is a prayer to God telling Him, as the chorus goes, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am on my own free will. Send me, Lord, to do your will." The verses speak a little about our fears and confusions and how we need to turn to God and focus on what He sent us here to do. So in the skit the students and I decided that we would have one of them wear a robe and portray Jesus. There would be a student at the beginning who is sort of distracted and a little weary, she would open up her bible when the lyrics cued her to do so, then when the chorus broke out into, "Here I am..." she would raise her hands and look to heaven and the Jesus character would come over and take her hand and lead her to the side to wait for his directions. Another student in the second verse does a similar scenario.
At the end of the song, we used the live version, a choir breaks out into an amazing chorus of, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will...Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will...Here...I...am..." and we had the Jesus figure go in front of the crowd of students where we planted the rest of our skit students in the front and they were to raise a hand (as if to say, "pick me") and Jesus would pick them to come do his will too. Before they did the skit I told "Jesus" that there could be a couple of others from the audience who would raise their hands too and to go ahead and pick them to come up too.
"Jesus" went to the crowd when the choir broke out in the chorus and began choosing our planted students. Unexpectedly, student after student after student after student kept raising their hands as the choir sang, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will..." and "Jesus" kept pointing and waving them up. Tears just streamed from my eyes. My heart was overflowing with joy. They were hearing the song and wanting to stand up and show that they were here and ready to do God's will. Out of 150 or so people in the audience I would say about half ended up at the front. I wish now that we had planned some amazing climactic ending...but it was simply a girl sitting alone at a table with a cafeteria tray that they were to go sit and be with. God's will is that simple sometimes, though.
What do we know about God's will? Mostly what the world would call the "Golden Rule" - "Do unto others as you would have done to do." Sometimes it takes a lot, we have to step out of our comfort zone, to accomplish this. Sometimes it's pretty easy.
As for the ones who did not raise their hands or stand and go to the front, I am sure in their hearts they were there. How many times are we somewhere in our hearts before we are there physically? There are many reasons a person may not have wanted to stand and go to the front...they were afraid of looking weird, they were enjoying the show, their friend wouldn't go with them, they were comfortable and didn't want to move, they were praying the song in their mind and did not think they needed to physically go to the front...lots of things. Just so, there are lots of things that keep us from standing up in real life and doing God's will - whatever that is for you or for me. Sometimes something pulls at us so strongly that we just know we are suppose to do it, but we are afraid of looking weird, or it is not convenient for us, or we said a prayer for the situation that someone else would take care of it...
Let's create more moments in our lives that make our hearts want to overflow with joy. To do that we have to stand up and go do God's will. Whatever that is for you or for me. Certainly if we do more and resist less then we will find ourselves in many moments of joy.
Every year deaneries for which my parishes were a part of would put together pretty much a program every month for our students to attend and get to know other kids from the other churches around our area. In fact, they still do, but I'm speaking as in the past because it is the area I used to live in. We called our area the Back To Heartland area and there is a history behind that name which you can ask me about another time.
The Back To Heartland area would put together a program for high school students always on Martin Luther King Jr. weekend called the Back To Heartland High School Gathering. The last year I helped to plan this event, 2008, I wanted to add a little "theatrics" to the ceremony parts of the weekend...anyone who knows me knows that I'm sort of into the "theatrics". So I put together a group of high school students who met with me for a couple of months prior to the gathering, picked a few songs that I wanted them to act out skits to, and had them help me choreograph skits to those songs. They would perform those "song skits" during different ceremonies over the weekend.
One of the songs they performed a skit to was called "Here I Am" by John Angotti (if I knew how to attach the song to this blog I would do that for you, but alas I can not figure out how to do some things on here yet). The song, in short, is a prayer to God telling Him, as the chorus goes, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am on my own free will. Send me, Lord, to do your will." The verses speak a little about our fears and confusions and how we need to turn to God and focus on what He sent us here to do. So in the skit the students and I decided that we would have one of them wear a robe and portray Jesus. There would be a student at the beginning who is sort of distracted and a little weary, she would open up her bible when the lyrics cued her to do so, then when the chorus broke out into, "Here I am..." she would raise her hands and look to heaven and the Jesus character would come over and take her hand and lead her to the side to wait for his directions. Another student in the second verse does a similar scenario.
At the end of the song, we used the live version, a choir breaks out into an amazing chorus of, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will...Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will...Here...I...am..." and we had the Jesus figure go in front of the crowd of students where we planted the rest of our skit students in the front and they were to raise a hand (as if to say, "pick me") and Jesus would pick them to come do his will too. Before they did the skit I told "Jesus" that there could be a couple of others from the audience who would raise their hands too and to go ahead and pick them to come up too.
"Jesus" went to the crowd when the choir broke out in the chorus and began choosing our planted students. Unexpectedly, student after student after student after student kept raising their hands as the choir sang, "Here I am, Here I am, Here I am, Here I am to do your will..." and "Jesus" kept pointing and waving them up. Tears just streamed from my eyes. My heart was overflowing with joy. They were hearing the song and wanting to stand up and show that they were here and ready to do God's will. Out of 150 or so people in the audience I would say about half ended up at the front. I wish now that we had planned some amazing climactic ending...but it was simply a girl sitting alone at a table with a cafeteria tray that they were to go sit and be with. God's will is that simple sometimes, though.
What do we know about God's will? Mostly what the world would call the "Golden Rule" - "Do unto others as you would have done to do." Sometimes it takes a lot, we have to step out of our comfort zone, to accomplish this. Sometimes it's pretty easy.
As for the ones who did not raise their hands or stand and go to the front, I am sure in their hearts they were there. How many times are we somewhere in our hearts before we are there physically? There are many reasons a person may not have wanted to stand and go to the front...they were afraid of looking weird, they were enjoying the show, their friend wouldn't go with them, they were comfortable and didn't want to move, they were praying the song in their mind and did not think they needed to physically go to the front...lots of things. Just so, there are lots of things that keep us from standing up in real life and doing God's will - whatever that is for you or for me. Sometimes something pulls at us so strongly that we just know we are suppose to do it, but we are afraid of looking weird, or it is not convenient for us, or we said a prayer for the situation that someone else would take care of it...
Let's create more moments in our lives that make our hearts want to overflow with joy. To do that we have to stand up and go do God's will. Whatever that is for you or for me. Certainly if we do more and resist less then we will find ourselves in many moments of joy.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Strange Occurrences
Have you ever...(love that game by the way) -
Have you ever had something strange or inexplicable happen to you in your life? If so, I'd love to hear about it...I love TRUE stories about strange occurrences. Why? Because it's so hard for people to deny that there is a higher power at work behind the scenes...when things are inexplicable we are forced to consider FAITH. For some of us faith comes easy - it has just been ingrained in us and we have practiced it our whole lives. For others, to just simply CONSIDER faith in God is an awkward step out of a box or brick wall that has been built up around them, and to see and hear about otherwise strange occurrences are a wonderful means for them to ponder the "what if".
My sisters and I have a great relationship today - in my opinion. Sometimes we had a good relationship while we were growing up too. Sometimes we wished we had a better relationship with each other - but none of us can deny that we cared about each other no matter how much we fought or ignored each other. Sometimes we were just awful to each other, though. Sometimes we said mean things, many times we screamed things at each other that probably didn't even make any sense but we just wanted to be louder than the other. Sometimes things got physical and we'd wrestle or hit or push. This strange occurrence happens to be one of those physical times.
When we were old enough there were times when my parents would leave for a couple or few hours for a meeting at church or other commitments and they would put my older sister in charge. My older sister is 11 months older than I am and sometimes I really resented that she was "in charge" especially since she seemed to milk it for all it was worth. Really she only needed to be sitting for our younger sister, but she was told that she was in charge and that's just the way it was. You know, I'm talking like Danelle, my older sister, and I were probably in high school by this time and Dea, my younger sister, would have been 4 or so years younger than us.
On this occasion my parents walked out the door and they didn't even make it out of the driveway when Danelle looked at me and said, "I have a really bad headache tonight and I don't want to hear a sound out of you. I have a lot of homework and I can't have any distractions. Not a sound out of you." I mean, come on, tell me not to make a sound and what do you think I'm going to do? Really? Really? What would you do? Who out there would not make a sound when someone, your sister, challenged you not to make a sound? What do you think I did? "Peep." "Tweet." "Psssst." "*cough*." "*sneeze*." "*tap,tap,tap*." "Peep." "do,do,do,do,do,la,la,la,la,la...."
She says, "Ok that's it..." and she races toward me and tries to - I think she may have been trying to choke me, but I threw my legs up to defend myself and so it was like she was trying to get to me, kind of pulling my hair and such, and I'm kicking her back with my legs and feet...ya, we're in a full-fledged fight. Dea was in her room and hears us screaming and fighting each other downstairs and comes to the stairs and is shouting at us to stop - we were scaring her. It didn't take long and suddenly...
"Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." The phone began ringing. Not the normal ring when someone was calling, but a pattern of like 4 rings at a time. We stopped fighting and I answered the phone. "Hello?" "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." The phone continued to ring even though I picked the receiver up and answered it. Danelle answered the kitchen phone. "Hello," she said. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued to ring even though we had two phones off the hook. Danelle told Dea to go answer the phone upstairs. Dea answered the phone upstairs. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phones all continued to ring for another minute while we all stood holding the phones off the hook.
The ringing finally stopped. "Wow," I said, "that was really weird." Danelle looked at me and said, "I'm not through with you," and she charged at me. Again, she was trying to pull my hair and whatever else and all I can remember is defending myself by pushing her away with my legs and feet. Dea was screaming at the stairs for us to stop. She was crying.
"Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." I answered the phone again. "Hello?" I said. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued. "Hello," Danelle answered the kitchen phone. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued. "Dea, go upstairs and answer the other phone," we said. Dea answered and the ringing continued another minute, all the phones off the hook once again. Danelle looked at me and said, "I think we better stop." "Yeah," I said. "Are you ok?" she asked me. "Yeah," I said, "are you ok?" "Well, you were really hurting my stomach while you were kicking me back," she said. I apologized, I didn't know I was hurting her. I didn't antagonize her the rest of the evening and probably rarely after that. She might disagree, but I don't recall many, if any, incidents after that one.
Why was this particular fight stopped? We'll never know. We're pretty sure our angels were frustrated with us that day. I hope and pray that God and the angels intervene in your lives when you need them and save you from any harm.
Have you ever had something strange or inexplicable happen to you in your life? If so, I'd love to hear about it...I love TRUE stories about strange occurrences. Why? Because it's so hard for people to deny that there is a higher power at work behind the scenes...when things are inexplicable we are forced to consider FAITH. For some of us faith comes easy - it has just been ingrained in us and we have practiced it our whole lives. For others, to just simply CONSIDER faith in God is an awkward step out of a box or brick wall that has been built up around them, and to see and hear about otherwise strange occurrences are a wonderful means for them to ponder the "what if".
My sisters and I have a great relationship today - in my opinion. Sometimes we had a good relationship while we were growing up too. Sometimes we wished we had a better relationship with each other - but none of us can deny that we cared about each other no matter how much we fought or ignored each other. Sometimes we were just awful to each other, though. Sometimes we said mean things, many times we screamed things at each other that probably didn't even make any sense but we just wanted to be louder than the other. Sometimes things got physical and we'd wrestle or hit or push. This strange occurrence happens to be one of those physical times.
When we were old enough there were times when my parents would leave for a couple or few hours for a meeting at church or other commitments and they would put my older sister in charge. My older sister is 11 months older than I am and sometimes I really resented that she was "in charge" especially since she seemed to milk it for all it was worth. Really she only needed to be sitting for our younger sister, but she was told that she was in charge and that's just the way it was. You know, I'm talking like Danelle, my older sister, and I were probably in high school by this time and Dea, my younger sister, would have been 4 or so years younger than us.
On this occasion my parents walked out the door and they didn't even make it out of the driveway when Danelle looked at me and said, "I have a really bad headache tonight and I don't want to hear a sound out of you. I have a lot of homework and I can't have any distractions. Not a sound out of you." I mean, come on, tell me not to make a sound and what do you think I'm going to do? Really? Really? What would you do? Who out there would not make a sound when someone, your sister, challenged you not to make a sound? What do you think I did? "Peep." "Tweet." "Psssst." "*cough*." "*sneeze*." "*tap,tap,tap*." "Peep." "do,do,do,do,do,la,la,la,la,la...."
She says, "Ok that's it..." and she races toward me and tries to - I think she may have been trying to choke me, but I threw my legs up to defend myself and so it was like she was trying to get to me, kind of pulling my hair and such, and I'm kicking her back with my legs and feet...ya, we're in a full-fledged fight. Dea was in her room and hears us screaming and fighting each other downstairs and comes to the stairs and is shouting at us to stop - we were scaring her. It didn't take long and suddenly...
"Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." The phone began ringing. Not the normal ring when someone was calling, but a pattern of like 4 rings at a time. We stopped fighting and I answered the phone. "Hello?" "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." The phone continued to ring even though I picked the receiver up and answered it. Danelle answered the kitchen phone. "Hello," she said. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued to ring even though we had two phones off the hook. Danelle told Dea to go answer the phone upstairs. Dea answered the phone upstairs. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phones all continued to ring for another minute while we all stood holding the phones off the hook.
The ringing finally stopped. "Wow," I said, "that was really weird." Danelle looked at me and said, "I'm not through with you," and she charged at me. Again, she was trying to pull my hair and whatever else and all I can remember is defending myself by pushing her away with my legs and feet. Dea was screaming at the stairs for us to stop. She was crying.
"Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring." I answered the phone again. "Hello?" I said. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued. "Hello," Danelle answered the kitchen phone. "Ring, ring, ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring, ring...," the phone continued. "Dea, go upstairs and answer the other phone," we said. Dea answered and the ringing continued another minute, all the phones off the hook once again. Danelle looked at me and said, "I think we better stop." "Yeah," I said. "Are you ok?" she asked me. "Yeah," I said, "are you ok?" "Well, you were really hurting my stomach while you were kicking me back," she said. I apologized, I didn't know I was hurting her. I didn't antagonize her the rest of the evening and probably rarely after that. She might disagree, but I don't recall many, if any, incidents after that one.
Why was this particular fight stopped? We'll never know. We're pretty sure our angels were frustrated with us that day. I hope and pray that God and the angels intervene in your lives when you need them and save you from any harm.
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