Somewhere Safe to Fall

 

The last post I put out was fairly bleak. I am not a bleak person, very rarely anyway. After I posted and shared to Facebook, I got no response from my friends. I thought that odd, but it's happened before. I am sure I said something that upset the FB gods, and none of my friends saw it. I decided with everything that is going on right now, I needed to get off of social media. I have a very bad habit of letting that vortex of negative news suck me in, and it was really messing with me. I put out a quick status that said I would be leaving for a while. That status set off an outpouring of love and support. Yes, I logged on promising myself I would do nothing but read notifications from friends. It made me feel so much better. I'm still not back on Social Media, but I felt the collective virtual hug, and it made me think.

 Almost 2 years ago I moved further away from my office. I have about a 25 minute drive everyday. Well, I did before COVID. Now I work from home. At the same time, I was also going to the theater almost every night for rehearsals or performances, and I started to listen to books on tape. I've heard a lot of good ones, and as a little plug, it took me a long time before I would listen to a book on tape, but now, I love them, so give them a try. I listen while I am working at home, but then I was mostly listening on my commutes. Last summer I listened to Big Little Lies, by Liane Moriarty. I listened before I watched the series. I liked the way she wrote, and so I look out for her titles as they become available at the library. I just recently finished Truly, Madly, Guilty, by her. There is a quote in the book that really struck me, and I think it really applies to my current situation, everyone's really. "You can jump so much higher when you have somewhere safe to fall." I have jumped really high in my life. I have gone after almost everything I wanted to do, and most of the time I have been able to achieve my goals, but that isn't all on me. All through my life I have had somewhere safe to fall. I never felt like I would be ridiculed or gotten an "I told you so" if I failed. That somewhere safe was my family, my kids, and my friends. I kept jumping because they were there, that safety net. All of my friends and family were my virtual safety net the other day. I had the courage to jump into that honesty and say what I felt because they were my somewhere safe to fall. It gave me hope, and that's exactly what I needed. Thank you for letting me fall safely. Always know that I am here to be your net as well. Stay safe, and have hope!

You Have to Have Rain to Get a Rainbow

I was tagged by my daughter in a post yesterday. It was about "Rainbow Babies." I had never heard the term. A Rainbow Baby is the baby that is born after the mother has already had a miscarriage. My oldest daughter is a Rainbow Baby. When I first got married, all the way back in 1982, I didn't think I even wanted children. I was very young. I had just turned 19 the week before my wedding, but that wasn't the reason. I was never one of those teens who liked to babysit. I didn't want to work the nursery at church. I was never the one that wanted to hold the newborns of cousins or aunts. Truth be told, I'm still not big on that. I didn't have anything against babies. I wasn't a baby hater. I just didn't find it something I needed to be around. When I had been married about 8 years I started to feel a little differently. Weirdly it was because of a soap opera I was watching called Guiding Light. One of the characters was pregnant, and as I followed her journey, I began to have yearnings of my own. I started to really want to have a baby. My husband had wanted children from about marriage year 3, so he was ready to start. It took me about 6 months to conceive, and in June of 1991 I was in the middle of doing a show and found out I was pregnant. I was over the moon. I bought What to Expect When You're Expecting, the BIBLE for expectant parents, and wrapped it up to give to my husband to tell him we were expecting. We told everyone right away. I told my whole cast, and every person was so excited. We started to make plans, even if only in our minds, and I bought a Baby Book and a first year calendar and started to fill it out with early details of this little one's life. I was a little queasy in the first month but not too bad, tired but not too tired. That could have had something to do with my schedule. Work 9-6, then go straight to the theater to do a show 4 nights a week and 2 shows on most Saturdays, but everything seemed to be going fine. It had been a long Sunday in September, at the end of an already full week with work and shows, we had also had a Sunday Matinee. I felt fine, but I had started to bleed, pretty heavily, and I called the doctor's exchange. My OB was not on call. His partner called me back. I explained what was going on, and he asked me if my OB had heard the heartbeat yet. I said no, and I will never forget his response. "Oh, well, just come in in the morning," he said in a very dismissive tone, as if to say, well, there's nothing we can do. No rush. the baby's already gone. Note here to ANYONE in the medical field who is talking to a pregnant woman who is scared about something going on with her unborn child: No matter what you think is going on, DO NOT DISMISS HER LIKE HER BABY IS ALREADY DEAD! I barely got any sleep that night. I was going in first thing in the morning to my OB to see what was going on. I continued to bleed. My husband had just started a new job and felt he couldn't miss work, so my sweet Daddy, God rest his soul,  took me to the doctor so I wouldn't have to go alone. They did an ultrasound, and I kept asking the poor technician questions. Questions she, of course, could not answer. She was wonderful and sweet. She kept telling me the doctor needed to interpret them and would tell me all about it. It was cold on the examining table. Finally the Ultrasound was done, and I went upstairs to see my doctor. My Daddy waited in the waiting room with all of the pregnant ladies. I'm pretty sure he was the only man in there. I waited, by myself, in the doctor's office for what seemed like an eternity. He walked in with a file and sat across from me behind his desk. Anyone that walked in would have thought it was a job interview. Side note: I am very good at holding it together, especially if I am not with someone close to me. The first words out of his mouth as he sat down were, "I wish I had better news." I didn't really hear much after that, but I kept my gaze directly on him appearing to listen intently for this very medical terminology to tell me that I wasn't pregnant anymore. I was at 12 weeks when all this happened. The baby had stopped growing at 9 weeks. It's called a "blighted ovum." It wasn't anything I had done. Sometimes it just happens. It just happens, but why to me? We scheduled a D&C for Thursday. I left the office, passing my sweet Daddy in the waiting room and half mumbling we had to go. He could barely keep up with me as I walked to the elevators asking what was wrong as he hurried after me. This was it. I was away from people I didn't know, and I lost it as I told him sobbing, "I'm not pregnant anymore!" That was Sept. 10th, 1991. Many emotions would run through me the days and weeks ahead. Lots of anger at God, myself, just life. Deep sadness, grief really. I think miscarriage and how it affects someone is a little better understood these days. Back then, no one knew what to say. Someone very close to me actually called it a "female problem." People didn't treat it like a death back then, and yes, it isn't like losing a living, breathing child, but it is the death of a dream and a hope for a life. I did get pregnant again, almost as soon as the doctor said we could start trying, but this pregnancy was different. I didn't let myself get as excited as I did the first time. I, myself, never bought anything for my baby until she was born. As silly as it sounds, I was afraid to jinx myself. A year and 2 weeks after I lost my first baby, my Rainbow Baby was born. She was healthy and such a good baby. They are called Rainbow Babies because a rainbow signifies hope after a storm. What a beautiful sentiment. If I had not lost my first child, I may not have had her, and I certainly would not have had my second child as both of my pregnancies were filled with health issues. I would have stopped at 2 or maybe the first. I always say that everything happens for a reason. We may not see how the puzzle piece fits at the time, but it is part of a beautiful masterpiece. I am so glad my "Rainbow" is part of the mix!

With Each Day There Is Another Chance for Hope

Yesterday I wrote a post about the "monsters we have created." Today, as is often the case, I was lucky enough to witness something quite the opposite. This morning I got up at 7AM on a Saturday to travel up Route 64 to make it to Harrisonburg, VA, by 11AM to see a concert. Was it a rock star? No. My favorite Accapella group? No. It was a group of high school students, about 200 of them, and my daughter was among them. It was the Virginia All State Choir concert. Before my daughter left on Thursday for the 3 day rehearsal process, she gave me a copy of her schedule. It was grueling! The end product, though, was amazing! They were focused and created a beautiful, harmonious sound! They all had to go through a difficult audition to earn their place on that stage today. Before the concert began, one of the music faculty from the host high school addressed the very full auditorium. Coincidentally he had been a very active member of the youth group I co-lead about 20 years ago. He said something that lifted me out of the very despondent attitude I had yesterday. He talked about students who are in the creative arts, and how important it is that we provide support for those programs. He said that when you see the wonderful dedication that all of these students have to create something so special, it gives us all hope. And just like that, tears rolled down my cheeks, and that's exactly what I felt, hope and pride in the child I had raised and every student on that stage. Did it change anything that happened yesterday? No, but it did allow me to see that for all the bad in the world, there is also good.

Look for the Helpers

Yesterday something terrible happened! People were hurt and some even died. To add to this, the people that were in harm's way were there because they were celebrating an event. They were there to encourage, to help, to cheer on others. In an instant, all that joy turned to sorrow and confusion and devastation, as not one, but two explosions went off at the Finish line of the Boston Marathon, an iconic race, that has been in existence since 1897. As I saw the headline come up in my newsfeed on Facebook, I immediately thought, BOMB. Unfortunately this is the first conclusion we all jump to, someone meant to do this. Someone sat down and calculated fear and causing injury to another human being. I stopped myself, praying that maybe it had been a gas explosion, no less tragic for those lost or injured, but easier to accept the fact that no one was behind something so horrible. But...as news reports started to roll in, my first fear was confirmed. They were bombs. The first question we always have is WHY? We feel confused, hurt. Then it transforms to outrage and anger at the world and the evil in it. I felt all of those things yesterday, and then I read this post by a friend. It was a picture of the beloved children's program host, Fred Rogers, with a quote from him. Here is the quote: "When I was a boy, and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that are still so many helpers -  so many caring people in this world."  Evil exists. It always will, but so does good! And that's what we have to hold onto. It is the only thing we can hold onto. Another very wise man said this, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." ~ Martin Luther King, Jr. What happened yesterday was awful! It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but we cannot dwell on that. Instead we have to focus on healing and helping people cope to somehow move on. Don't give up! Look for the helpers!

Hope for the Future!

When I was in high school, back in the early 80's, I had a dear friend who was gay. Looking back now, I had a lot of friends who were gay, but they were not "out" In fact, a lot of them were pretending to be straight because admitting those feelings to anyone, even yourself was taboo.There was a stigma attached to it that something was wrong with you. People used words like "fairy" and "faggot" in every day conversation without thinking anything of it. In spite of all of this my friend decided in 1982 that he would not deny who he was and was very open about his homosexuality. The phrase "coming out" didn't really exist back then, or if it did, I hadn't heard it used, but my friend was "Out" I often worried about him because threats were made by ignorant people who somehow were threatened by my sweet friend's refusal to deny himself. I loved my friend and was concerned for him, but I never made a public stance in support of his choices. Back then homosexuality and being gay was not openly discussed as it is now. If there were any characters on television who were gay, they were usually the "comic relief", that funny effeminate neighbor. There were certainly no serious characters, and depicting a homosexual relationship was unheard of! I remember the HUGE controversy that surrounded Dynasty in 1981 when Steven Carrington was the first gay character on a series drama. I admired my friend's courage, but I didn't speak out.
Why did I tell you that story? I am overwhelmed and deeply touched by the bold and courageous statements being made in the very public forum of Facebook by my young high school friends who are "coming out" as allies in support of equality for ALL! Bravo! It takes courage and conviction to stand up for what you believe in, especially in the face of opposition on this very sensitive issue! For all the reporting of  drug use and violence and bullying in our schools that make me doubt the future of our country, these young men and women make me proud and give me HOPE!

It's Friday, but Sunday is Coming!

Looking at my newsfeed on Facebook today, I saw a clip posted of a brief mini-sermon, you could call it, with the title, "It's Friday, but Sunday is Coming!" The speaker was addressing Good Friday. He pointed out all the sad and tragic things that were going on that day in the life of Jesus, but with each phrase he would end with the uplifting, "But Sunday is coming!" No one, except, perhaps, Jesus knew that SUNDAY and all the hope that held was coming. Even the human nature of Jesus on the cross cried to God why He had forsaken Him. Imagine the fear, the despair, the grief of his friends, followers, loved ones. We have the benefit of knowing that Sunday did come! Jesus is alive!! But at that moment when Jesus breathed his last, they all knew it was over. It made me think. How many "Fridays" do we have in our lives? How many times do we feel that all hope is lost, nothing will ever be right again, we are stuck in a vicious downward spiral of despair? When those times come, if we can just remember that Sunday is coming. There is hope! We can survive! We are loved!
Several years ago, I felt like my life was one big Friday. Nothing was going right!!! I was taking a Bible study, and the last part of it was to be in a half day of prayer. This was a little daunting for me. I pray, but I could not imagine spending 4 hours praying. How would I stay focused? I read some suggestions the study had of starting by writing a letter to God. I decided that's what I would do. The day came, and we were holding our prayer day at the home of one of the ladies in our class. We each picked a room in her house where we could be alone. I picked one of the bedrooms. Armed with my Bible and a spiral notebook and pen, I sat down in the small room. I began to write, "Dear God......" and it began to flow. However, you couldn't really call it a prayer. My words were angry and filled with "Why is my life this way?" "Why are you punishing me?" "What have I done to deserve this?", "Why have you left me?" "WHERE ARE YOU?!!" I took a small break in my rant to God and looked up as I was writing. There, spanning the wall, directly across from me was a painting hanging over the bed. It was a painting of a stormy sea with a lighthouse shining it's beacon at one end of the picture. That painting was my SUNDAY. It was what I call a sledgehammer moment. It was just like God saying to me, "Like this lighthouse, I am always here to guide you through the storm. However, you must look for Me." I was humbled. My rant became an apology for my selfishness and anger. Do you have goosebumps yet? It gets better. After our 4 hours of prayer were over, we joined each other in the main room to share what we had experienced. I told my story of the painting. The owner of the house told me that the painting had been under the bed and she had just decided to hang it a few days ago. I believe in signs, messages in all  shapes and forms. I truly believe that God knew I was going to be in that room and needed to send me that message. When I am going through the Friday's of my life, I think of that Lighthouse and know that SUNDAY IS COMING!!!

Why can't life be like the movies?

I love movies! I don't see as many as I would like to anymore as I rarely see one in the theatre, TOO EXPENSIVE! But...there was a time when I saw movies on a regular basis, and then the ones I really liked in theatre, I purchased on video (that word right there dates me) for my own collection. My collection is filled with movies I adore, some old , The Wizard of Oz, Hitchcock's Notorious, Arsenic and Old Lace with Cary Grant and many others, some new-er like Pleasantville, Rain Man and Victor, Victoria. There is one film in my collection that I have been thinking a lot about lately given the government's current financial stand-off. It is a movie called Dave starring Kevin Kline and Sigourney Weaver that was released in 1993, almost 20 years ago. If you've seen it, indulge me while I give a brief synopsis. If you haven't rent it and watch it!
 Bill Mitchell is the philandering and distant President of the United States. Dave Kovic is a sweet-natured and caring Temp Agency operator, who by a staggering coincidence looks exactly like the President. As such, when Mitchell wants to escape an official luncheon, the Secret Service hires Dave to stand in for him. Unfortunately, Mitchell suffers a severe stroke whilst having sex with one of his aides, and Dave finds himself stuck in the role indefinitely. The corrupt and manipulative Chief of Staff, Bob Alexander, plans to use Dave to elevate himself to the White House - but unfortunately, he doesn't count on Dave enjoying himself in office, using his luck to make the country a better place, and falling in love with the beautiful First Lady. ~ from IMDB

Why do I love this movie so much? Well first of all, I love anything Kevin Kline touches and secondly, it's one of those great, feel good, do the right thing, hope for the future movies that I am drawn to. With recent news depressing us all, I couldn't help but think of this film, and how "seemingly" simple things could be. I long for the day, when it's not about winning and control and argument for argument's sake but about running this country in a manner that is best for its people and being fair and working together. A pipe dream? Maybe, but this film gives me a glimmer of hope. Maybe life needs to take a lesson from the movies, well...at least this one.

I'm a Fraud

For a long time now, I have had many friends talk to me about their problems, ask me for advice, insight, and sometimes to offer a word that brings HOPE. In all those instances, I have been there and listened and gave my honest analysis and advised when asked, and yes I have, when needed, tried to ignite HOPE. I am great in doing this for other people, but when it comes to following my own advice, I am an epic failure. I used to be really good at getting back up after I was knocked down, but somewhere along the way I have veered off the path of hope into despair and indignation because life has given me way too many lemons, and frankly I'm sick of lemonade. I mask this pity party with the claim that I am a realist, and I am just trying to see things the way they really are, no rose colored glasses for me! However, my realism has turned into obsession with the phrase "Why me?" Not my usual post, I know, but in the past few days I got some news that really had me not only attending the pity party, but claiming the role of guest of honor. My oldest daughter was accepted to her first choice college. It also happened to be a college that was on tuition exchange with my work. That means there is a possibility that the tuition is paid for, something very important to a single mom struggling to raise 2 kids. I found out a couple of days ago that money may not come through. I was so mad, mad at the University, life, even God. Yet, when I shared the news with my daughter, I got this amazing response. She had this fabulous attitude about it.She knows that things will work out the way they are supposed to. She trusts God and the plan He has for her life. I used to be that way. What happened? How did I stray so far? So...the advice giver now must humble herself and learn a lesson from her child. Things will work out the way they are supposed to. Once we have done all we can do, we need to let it go, and leave it in the hands of God. I had an occasion to be at a hospital today and the hall where I entered had a huge sign over it, and it was also facing me when I exited. It said "Hallway of Hope" I thought to myself as I walked out, "Okay, God, message received." For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you HOPE and a future. ~ Jeremiah 29:11

Traditions

No, this is not a post about "Fiddler on the Roof." It is about Christmas traditions. Christmas is so important to me, and I think one of the main reasons it is is my grandparents. They started traditions with me when I was very young. In fact, I can't remember when most of these started. They've just always been a part of my Christmas season. Each one has brought joy to me, so I thought that I would try to share one each day as we approach Christmas. Now, I can't promise I'll blog everyday, but I'm sure going to try.
Tradition Number 1: ADVENT CALENDARS
My grandmother on my mother's side, from hereon referred to as "Gram", always got my sister and me an advent calendar. We usually argued about who would get to open door number 24. Now, if you don't know what an advent calendar is, you are missing out. It is usually made of paper and there is a holiday themed picture on it. Punched into the picture are doors numbering from 1 to 24. You open 1 door, each day, starting on December 1st and ending on December 24th. It was usually bought from Cokesbury Bookstore, a Christian bookstore downtown on Grace Street. It has now been turned into apartments. Each year my sister, Jenna, and I would wonder what the calendar would be like. We had many throughout the years, some had a religious basis with a nativity scene pictured or Santa's Workshop, or one year we had the Peanuts characters. The most interesting one we ever had was a huge poster of a nativity scene and parts of the picture were numbered and you were supposed to color your number each day. I don't think Jenna and I ever finished that one. It doesn't really matter. It was all about the countdown, the building of excitement to the "Big Day". Granted, as little children, it was a lot more about Santa Claus and all that Christmas morning brings than Baby Jesus, but it did help me to prepare for the season.
As I grew older and out on my own, Gram still got me an Advent calendar every year until she was no longer able to get out to do so. I still opened the doors (truth be told, sometime 4 or 5 at a time because I let the day go by and I would forget), but there was still the anticipation. It's coming, it's coming! Those words as a child were exciting and filled with wonder and hope. As an adult they sometimes ring with dread and anxiety, It's coming, it's coming. I'm not ready, I don't have enough time. I don't have enough money. My goal, this year, is to fill those words with hope and excitement again and to really try to focus on what I am anticipating and waiting for, to remember a tiny baby born in a stable on a bed of hay surrounded by the animals so I could be saved.