Welcome to My World

Regardless of where we are, life comes at us. If we want to cherish the moments, they tend to pass us by faster than we can savor them. If we would rather skip a day, it seems to linger endlessly. But life is what it is, and we have to make the most of what we have and focus on the good aspects, large or small, to truly relish our life.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

To Dance or Not to Dance?

When you were a child, did you ever have a dream?  I'm talking about a fantasy of how you wanted your life to be one day, a goal that you thought would make you happy?  What did you want to be when you grew up?  How did it turn out?  Have you achieved it?  Are you there?  Or did life get in the way and alter your course?

My daughter simply loves to dance!  She wants to be a ballerina when she grows up.  She listens to music and makes up her own little dances to it.  She leaps, twirls, and imitates all the moves she thinks a ballerina would make.  She announced to me recently that she knows ballet and is very good at it.

This she says despite the fact that she's never been to a dance class in her life.  Granted, she has a video made for children that shows the basic positions.  She even has the little plastic balance beam that came with the video.  She watches the video irregularly, sometimes twice a day, sometimes twice a month.  When she watches it, she sometimes follows the directions.  Thus, in her mind, she knows ballet. She wants to be a ballet dancer, she has a video on it, so of course, she's good enough to be a professional ballet dancer.

But given a choice between taking ballet lessons or gymnastics, she chooses gymnastics every time, no competition.  There is not even the slightest hesitation.  So what is really her dream?  What does she really want to be when she grows up?  We still don't know the answer to that question, because she has yet to put her body where her mouth is.

I find it interesting that there are some people out there who decide what they want to be as a child, and every time they have to decide on an action that will lead them to or away from that dream, they will choose the one that leads to the dream.  And there are others out there, like my daughter, who have a whim, a fantasy, of what they want, but when it comes to counting the cost of what it means to achieve that goal, it's not convenient for them at the time to take the opportunity.  We have choices to make, and those decisions will affect the rest of our lives.

And then there is the flip side.  What if you pour out all your energy into something and still don't achieve the goal for which you were striving.  What then?  Then you take a step back.  You examine to see if it is a gift you have or if it is just something you want to have.  If is truly a gift, then the time will come when it can be used to it's intended purpose.

Others around you will let you know it is truly a gift.  Forgive my bluntness, but I'm not talking about someone who will tell you something you want to hear just because they love you and want you to be able to succeed, though they may say you have a gifting in that area because you truly do.  Take another step back and see what others outside your "comfort" group tell you.

If a perfect stranger comes up to you and says you do exquisite handiwork, then you may be gifted in crafts.  If they say you inspire them with the dance, then that may be your calling.  If someone at work thanks you for being such an encourager to everyone, then that may be your gift.  The amazing thing is that you can find comfort if that is not your gifting, because there is something inside you that is special, something that nobody else can do like you do it.  The world is blessed when you work in your calling, and it is sorely missing a vital part when you do not.

We all have different gifts and talents.  We all have different things that we love to do, and often the things we are gifted in go hand in hand with our passions.  But the greatest aspect of all is this:  we all have different gifts for a purpose.  We all are called to be a team, a single entity, in a sense, like a single body, so that we can strengthen one another and work together for a common goal.  What would it be like to have a hundred minds with no hands, or twenty hands with no thumbs?  How much can a set of lungs accomplish with no synapses to tell the brain to breathe?  Every one of these parts of the body is equally important, no matter the size, because they all work together.

Can you imagine what could happen if we all discovered our hidden talents and put them to good use together with those of one another?  It's like a three cord rope exponentially:  we'd be united, unbreakable.  So I ask you....do you want to dance?

Friday, October 29, 2010

Growing Stronger Hand in Hand

She did it!  My baby girl walked today.  She took four steps while holding a bottle in her mouth and knowingly took those steps.  Such a bittersweet moment it was, knowing that the one who is probably my last baby is letting go of her uncertainty and realizing the strength she has within her.

It didn't happen overnight.  It took a whole year and a month to get her to this point.  It took her this long to get her muscles to work just so.  It took a year of growing bones gaining strength to support her weight.  It took a month of testing her abilities until she was ready to start moving on her own two feet.  Just thinking of the memories over this past year brings tears to my eyes.  My baby girl is moving on to her next phase.  She is transforming into a toddler.

I think of all the times she's wanted to get up and walk and demanded my attention as she reached, not to be carried, but to put my hands in hers so she could be helped across the family room carpet, into the wood hall, and on to the laminated kitchen floor.  Countless times she grasped my fingers with her entire hand as we toddled together back and forth, around and around.  Sometimes she merely wanted to stand and practice pivoting from one direction to the other, just moving one foot around and around in circles.  Other moments came when she just wanted to hold my fingers as she twisted in joyful dance, keeping her feet in place.  But every time, she clenched tightly onto the safety of her mother's hands.

Slowly I've loosened my grip on her, only to find her holding that much tighter.  Gradually, I would work a hand free only to have her loudly say, "Um" in protest and lurch for my hand once again.  I would take turns alternating which hand to free as she wasn't quite ready to go off on her own.  Then, as she flailed in uncertainty, I placed my hand once again in hers, to reassure her that I am there.

Yes, she has fallen back on her seat cushion a few times, but to no real injury.  And she has gotten directly up to try once again.  She's using different muscles to walk than to crawl, and she's learning how to make them work to her advantage.  She's been a work in progress.

She still is.  She has learned the basics of picking up one foot at a time and putting it down again, a little further forward than it was, and thus practicing, for she is no expert by any means.  But she is definitely on her way.  It is a journey she is learning to take, one step at a time, and as she takes each step, she is getting progressively stronger and more sure of herself.  For it is only in the doing that these actions can be perfected.

Isn't life interesting?  It is a process in which we learn how to function in this world.  First, hopefully, it teaches us to be dependent on those loving hands of others to support us in new and difficult situations.  It should teach us to find strength in the hands of one who can guide us and help us on our journey until, moments come when we are tested to see if we can stand and walk on our own.  It doesn't allow us to run before we can walk, but lets us take each day as it comes, a new experience that gives us an opportunity to grow, to be strengthened for the next level.

As infants, we are dependent on our parents, or our caregivers.  As we start to stand on our own, we take the hands of friends, leaning on their support to strengthen us.  Somewhere in time, we learn that we need to help them to walk when they are weak.  Then, as we grow older, we continue to long for someone to be there, ready to catch us when we fall, because even the ones that seem the most secure have that innate knowledge that, at some time in our lives, in some unexpected moment, we may slip and lose our way.  And we know we need those loving hands to be there in case we need help to get back up; because, even though I may be strong enough to get back up on my own, it certainly is comforting to know I can reach out and that someone will extend that helping hand and grab hold of mine, help me to rise once again.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

A Celebration of ?

I want freedom for my children.  I feel privileged to live in a country where my lifestyle and my choices are not hindered by the government.  But there's more to life and freedom than just our civil liberties and our rights in any country.  There is the emotional freedom that comes with being free from all the corruption that surrounds us.  So much is at stake for my children, and I want to encourage them to live their life abundantly, not just to get through the day.  I want them to be able to laugh and sing and jump for joy when the days get hard, and I want them to be free from fears that would seek to hold them down like a boulder on their shoulders.

I know that for most children, this time of the year is all about ghosts and goblins, dressing up in costumes to get free candy from the neighbors and stores.  It's a "season" where witches, spiders, cobwebs, and grim reapers hang outside windows and are propped up by telephone poles for all to see.  But my children don't like them, and neither do I.  Unamerican, you may ask?  Not I, for the freedom to express my dissension with Halloween is one of the most American facets at this point in time.  My children are frightened by these visuals, and I don't want to foster their fear and allow it to bind them up like some mummy in graveclothes.

No, I want to be a part of loosing those shackles over their hearts.  I want them to be free to run, to dance, to live in joy!  I want them to be able to lift their hands and wave them in the air.  I want my little ones to be able to conquer all their fears and dreads so they can live life to the fullest!

What does all that have to do with Halloween?  I mean, as far as most people are concerned, it's just a simple holiday for children that allows them to be silly and dress up and go out at night and get enough candy to last the year.  What's the problem with allowing them to have a little fun?  Why am I being such a spoil sport?  What's the big deal?

I went trick or treating as a child, so it's not like my parents "trained" me to think anything badly about it.  I remember the last Halloween for which I dressed up.  I was a Panda Bear, and I loved my costume!  I even had a mask.  I carried around a bucket to the neighbors saying, "Trick or treat!"  I came home with a year's supply of candy.  I was 5 years old.

But the theme of Halloween started to change.  Instead of children dressing up as fairies and Batman, witches and Darth Vader became the desired costume.  Instead of simple jack-o-lanterns, grim reapers and ghouly spiders and ghosts began to line the doorways of houses and the windows of the stores.  I felt a darkness that bothered me.  I saw children screaming in fear of the scythe laden faceless masked robed ones and realized that this was no holiday for them, and it was nothing I wanted to be a part of perpetuating.  It sickened me, actually, and I suddenly realized I didn't want to be a part of it.

I realized that Halloween had been like this all along throughout the years since it had come into existence, but that we had tried to sugar coat it, literally, with candy.  But the reality of the holiday slowly started seeping back into our society.  The mere words of "trick or treat" made sense to me...all of a sudden, I realized it meant, "You'd better give me a treat or I'm going to play a mean trick on you."  That isn't very nice now, is it?  Yes, I was only 6 at the time, but I was a very precocious child.  I knew how fear could cripple someone, and I didn't want to celebrate a holiday in which the main intention is to see how much someone can be frightened.

The next year, my parents asked me if I wanted to be Princess Leia or Snow White or some animal, but I refused.  I told them I didn't want to have anything to do with a holiday that was designed to frighten people into giving.  It was the antithesis of Christmas, which, coincidentally enough, happens to be my favorite holiday.  They tried to persuade me that there was nothing wrong with trick or treating, but I would not be swayed.  I had made up my mind.

The more the years go by, the darker the season gets.  We can't even turn on the television through the entire month of October because of movie trailers shown all hours of the day for the latest supernatural thriller or serial killer.  Those movies are rated R for a reason...they are not intended to be seen by children because of the content.  The entire month is filled with the commercialization of death.  My children ask me why there are so many yucky decorations around.  They love the idea of getting candy, but they don't want to parade around the neighborhood.  It's interesting, because my 6 year old daughter told me yesterday that she doesn't want to go trick or treating, but she does like the candy.

Now, as a parent, I stand behind my decision from 30 odd years ago.  I don't let my children watch Alien, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or Night of the Living Dead because of the images they put in their minds.  I don't want to have my children getting afraid from the zombies in the windows.  I don't want my children waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares from all the scary images to which they've been exposed.  I am already having to deal with that one as it is, just from the decorations they have seen at Sam's Club, Wal-Mart, or the mall.  Why would I want to expose them to more to feed their fears?  I don't want to have to worry about digging through their candy to make sure it's never been opened or poisoned.

We are never home on Halloween.  We find other things to do as a family.  My first married year, we went to see Remember the Titans at the theater and loved it.  Last year, we went on a hayride and toasted marshmallows, ate hot dogs, and drank hot chocolate beside a bonfire.  This year, we're combining the two.  We're going to watch a movie and then go out on a hayride.  At the end, we will give our children each a bag of candy.

We're not celebrating the darkness around us.  We are celebrating the light of love and family, of peace and security with one another.  We are not celebrating death.  We are celebrating life and togetherness.  We are not celebrating the coldness of fear that feeds off people for years.  We are celebrating the warmth of a fire, of warm bellies and hearts and hands.

The Jews have a holiday that they celebrate in a slightly similar way.  They dress up and have fun and give children candy.  The holiday is the Feast of Purim.  It is a celebration of life.  It is the celebration of the day they were delivered from the hand of Haaman, a wicked adviser to a king, who tried to annihilate them.  Fortunately for them, the king's wife was a Jew herself, Esther.  She faced the greatest fear of all to expose Haaman's plot; she risked her life.  When the plot was revealed, Haaman was hanged and the Jews were allowed to defend themselves.  Ever since then, they have celebrated Purim.  It's a feast of freedom and life.  Now THAT is something to celebrate.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

'Fessing Up

I'll come out and say it.  Tonight was rough.  My patience was tried during a forty-five minute time period just before dinner and I wasn't sure everyone was going to survive until bedtime.  Things simply weren't going well. 

While I was trying to get dinner made, my daughter got into just about everything she could.  I wasn't sure how much of it was her trying to get attention, how much of it was just plain busyness, and how much of it was just plain being nosy.  Regardless of which it was, I was having a hard time keeping up with her without burning the food, as she was making messes faster than I could see her making them or get her to clean them up.

First of all, she went into the dining room and got into my china buffet and was trying to scrounge around in there.  Next, she decided to get into one of my decorations in the dining room and take out, as she called it, all the brown Easter grass, which was, in fact, a paper confetti surrounding the decor.  She then pulled a couple other stunts.  Shortly thereafter, just as I was pulling the baked cod out of the oven, Nyssa decided to open a Ziploc bag of rubber bands and proceeded to toss them around the hallway and the family room.  Unfortunately, this I did not see until later; however, she was told that until she picked up the brown confetti paper, she could not eat dinner. 

She either thought I was bluffing or decided to be very bull headed.  Either way, I proved that I could be more stubborn than she and held my ground.  She hemmed and hawed, wailed, and pulled out the hungry card.  "But I'm more hungry than a horse!" she moaned, to no avail and receiving no sympathy from me.  It wasn't until the boys were halfway finished with their supper that she figured she was hungry enough to obey and took the 2 whole minutes to pick up her things. 

I would not be completely honest if I were to say it was the longest 30 minutes of my life, for my children have tested me on numerous occasions in such a manner, but it certainly wasn't the easiest.  She was so busy prying her nose into places it didn't belong that she kept getting in trouble and was eventually sent to her room before bedtime not only for her attitude, but also for her actions.

Don't we all find ourselves in that position?  We'd be lying if we said anything other than that there have been times where we have gotten ourselves into messes of our own accord, simply by being where we didn't belong.  We have all been guilty of sticking our noses into someone else's business instead of focusing on our own situations. 

Then we have the nerve to get upset because someone calls us on it.  Why?  Because we got caught and we don't like it.  We try to explain ourselves out of it instead of humbly apologizing and cleaning up the mess we made.  It'd be best if we just stay out of other people's business from the beginning.  Seeing as how we're human, though, we manage to do it over and over again, to great chagrin.  But when we do, let's own up and apologize for the hurt feelings that we will have inevitably caused in the middle of it all.  It is decisively less painful in the end for all concerned, and it is just the right thing to do.  Oh, and it's a lot easier than being sent away and ignored until we straighten up and behave.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Friendship

I find myself at 30 something with little spare time to spend with friends, as I am busy with my children right now.  But I do understand the importance of having them, and I relish that.  Just last week, I had to stay home from church with two sick children, and one of my friends from the choir dropped by to give me a new Starbucks salty caramel chocolate mochacchino...I think that's what it's called... and a muffin.  She also brought my son some hot chocolate.  That act of kindness and friendship meant a great deal to me and brightened my day in a way which she may never know.  I hope that all my children discover the importance of friendship, and I think my oldest child may have already.

Nyssa has discovered the art of the telephone.  She has always enjoyed playing with it and talking on it when Grandma calls, but last night she brought her whole telephone experience to a new level.  Isn't she a little too young for this?  She's only six years old!

Around 8:15 last night, I was downstairs getting a couple things taken care of when I heard her coming down the stairs.  She was supposed to be in bed.  I heard her talking and assumed at first that she was speaking to me, but then I heard another voice, which did not belong to any of my children.  When I saw her with the phone, my immediate thought was that she was talking to my mother.  The next thing that popped into my head was that the phone hadn't rung. 

I asked her who she was talking to, and she answered, very nonplussed, that she had called one of her best friends from kindergarten.  They are no longer in the same classroom, so she missed her little friend and had called her.  Nyssa has kept her class directory in her room ever since she got it, so she very easily took the phone off its hook in the hallway and dialed the number.

She was supposed to be in bed.  Obviously, she wasn't.  Thankfully, any time Nyssa has talked on the phone, I have set it on speaker mode, so Nyssa had it that way last night.   Of course, that was how I discovered she was on the phone in the first place.

I did have to tell Nyssa to tell her friend good night as it was past her bed time, and she passed the phone on to me and went on her way to bed.  It made for a very enjoyable conversation with the sweet little girl's mother about how quickly they grow up.  The situation was also made easier by the fact that her mother and I get along tremendously well.  We marveled at the whole concept of a 6 year old calling her friend at, for her, the wee hours of the night to have a little girlfriend's chat.  We also hoped that their friendship will continue to blossom through time.

You never know how much a friendship can mean to you until you are alone in your room, unable to sleep, and think of the one person you miss that might bring some comfort.  I have a very dear friend who I met when I was 4 and she was 3.  We've stayed in contact all through the years and we've seen each other through thick and thin.  We don't talk every day, and sometimes go years without seeing one another, but we always pick right back up where we left off and know we can count on each other.  I wrote a poem about her back in my junior year of high school when, interestingly enough, her mother was my English teacher.  I think I was in college before I actually gave it to her, after a particularly rough patch.

True friendship is hard to find,
Bound by the spirit and not the mind
A treasure so vast and yet so rare
That few have found a journey's end there.
A tie between spirits, that's all it is.
But, oh, so much greater when mingled with His.
For He is the One that binds us together
Through every hailstone and each falling feather.
At every crook, wall, road, and bend,
Our spirits will soar, one with the wind.
Without your friendship, whatever would I do?
For this special friendship, my dear,
Is found with you.

We all need that.  Every single one of us needs someone we can turn to for the good and the bad.  We need someone to rejoice with us, to cry with us, and occasionally to get us back on the right track.  My daughter is only 6 years old, but she realizes that concept.  Her friend realizes it, too.  She is a very sweet girl in her own right, and I hope their friendship can last the test of time.

Never underestimate the power of friendship.  It can be a joy, it can be a rocky road.  It can be a rock.  It can be a life line.  It can be the very thing that helps you through your day.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Frostbite

Sometimes the road can get weary and doing the right thing can get lost in the confusion of doing what you feel, what you would rather do.  But the truth is, we should always strive to do what is right regardless of how uncomfortable it makes us feel or how much it may cause us to become an outsider when the truth calls you to go out into the cold, windy snowstorms instead of sitting nice and warm beside the fire.

Blizzards are dangerous.  They can be deadly.  And no one in their right mind who knows what the elements are capable of doing to their body would dare to venture out into one.  Perhaps.  But perhaps someone, a loved one, or someone nearby were caught in the blizzard, so close to home, blinded by the wind and storm, and unable to find their way back.  What then?

Back in the pioneer days of the United States, in the times of wagon trains and gold rushes, many farmers in the Midwest had a system set in case they got caught up in such a sudden storm while they were doing their chores.  During the winter seasons, they had clothes lines or wires tied to fence posts periodically on their land, and they knew how many steps in which direction to go in order to get to the next guidepost.  These guideposts saved the lives of many, as these blizzards could come up from the middle of nowhere in the blink of an eye and it could be mere minutes before everything was blanketed in a sheet of white, including their vision.  Many of those who managed to get turned around and confused in the tempest were often found dead mere yards from safety.  But blessed were the ones who were expected at home.

Sometimes, if someone were caught in the storm, a loved one may have gone out to weather the elements in order to help bring the trapped one home.  The winds could howl fiercely, deafening the cries for help from all but a few feet away.  As the one left the safety of the home to find the trapped one, they would stay within touching distance of the guidelines, often never taking a hand off in order to avoid being lost themselves.  Then, calling out and reaching blindly, they would find the lost and guide them lovingly back to the warm fire and to safety.

It wasn't easy for a person to leave the comfort of their own fire; in fact, it could be downright dangerous.  They could get frostbite themselves or, if they let go of the guidelines, get lost as well.  But they did it because they cared.  They did it because they wanted their family to be out of the dangers of the cold.

Life can be like that sometimes.  We see someone blindly losing their way and we have a choice:  we can go weather the storms to bring them back, or we can let them suffer out in the cold void.  We can try to help lead them to the truth even as they are wildly waving their arms defying the weather, calling out to them in hopes that they will grab hold of the lifeline. 

It's not always easy.  In fact, bringing the truth to light can often be painful for everyone involved, but its light does bring warmth, healing, and security.  It brings security in knowing that there are absolutes.  It reveals what can and cannot be hidden.  It reaches to the vast resources of one's soul.  And when you sit once again by the fire, you may still have traces of the cold.  You may still have frostbite wounds to remind you of the bitter cold.  But it's better than being lost or knowing that there is someone who is lost, alone, and suffering, maybe not even realizing it...because the extreme dangers of a blizzard come in that final numbing slumber that takes one into oblivion.  And if I can be a part of bringing someone in from that, then a lost finger or foot is worth the price.

Beauty Shop

I am so glad that my children are finally getting old enough to help so that I can actually spend some fun, quality time with them without feeling guilty about the way the house looks.  Every now and then, they actually like to help and ask if they can do a favorite job.  They're getting better at their chores, and with some of them, I don't even have to supervise anymore, like taking a Clorox wipe and cleaning off the light switch plates and the doorknobs. 

Yesterday, Nyssa asked if she could help me wash the dishes.  She has gotten quite adept at washing the plastic ones, so I wholeheartedly let her.  I told her since she had already been such a good helper that she and I would play beauty shop after the boys had gone to bed.  A few minutes later, after finishing the rest of the kitchen, and confidently leaving the dishes in her hands, I moved on to the family room to vacuum.  Benjamin, who had been playing outside, came back in the house looking for his beloved sister.  Upon being told where she was, he skedaddled off to find her.

After about 5 minutes, something clicked and I remembered that sometimes my kids and the kitchen sink don't always make the best combination unless I'm looking to mop in there, so I went to the doorway to sneak a peak.  At first glance, everything appeared to be fine, absolutely normal.  There was no excess water on the floor or counter tops and the dishes were actually finished except for a few in the sink that were waiting to be rinsed off and set in the drainer.  A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I smiled.

A microsecond later, I took a second glance because something in my peripheral view caught my eye.  The 10 ounce bottle of Dawn dish washing liquid that I had filled last week had about 3 ounces left.  Now mind you, when I first left Nyssa in the kitchen, the bottle was mostly full.  My first comment to Nyssa was to remind her that she only had to use a couple short squirts per sink full of water.  Then I remembered that I was the one who had put the soap in the sink in the first place.  Then I saw the back of Benjamin's head.

Then I looked more closely at all of Benjamin's head.  See, he has blond hair and an army crew cut so I didn't notice at first the dampness that covered it.  Nyssa was standing behind him, smiling sweetly as she continued to rub the Dawn into his hair.  It was only then that I saw the amount of soap on his head. 

I was at once very concerned because my children always use the no tears type of shampoo and they absolutely detest getting water in their eyes, so you can imagine the dismay I felt as I foresaw the possibility of the dish washing soap burning those of my unsuspecting four year old son.  Awareness of the fact that the only way to get the soap out of his eyes would be to actually run water in them gave me cause for great apprehension.  I decided then and there that the only solution would be to have Benjamin lay down face up on the counter with his head over the sink as I rinsed out his hair.  I have never been more grateful for our sink sprayer than at that moment. 

The soap was so thick on his head that it took about 15 minutes to get all of it out.  Thankfully, none of it got in his eyes and he remained calm the entire time, even with water flowing so close to them.  Even when I wash his hair in the bathtub, he usually shows a little fear by saying, "Don't let water in my eyes, Mommy."  But yesterday, he just lay there, smiling serenely, enjoying the head massage.  I lifted him back up, took off his shirt that had gotten wet from the rinsing, and towel dried him off.  All in all, in spite of my concern, it was one of those nice memories that I will be able to look back upon through the years.

Nyssa and I did eventually play beauty shop.  I painted her fingernails and toenails.  I brushed her hair all pretty and put a sparkly headband on her.  I put Yankee candle strawberry scented lipgloss on her lips.  We talked and had a blast!  We both went to bed content and happy.

I enjoy the snippets of time I get to share with my children, the little "Kodak" moments when no camera is around.  Whether cleaning the bathroom together, teaching them how to mop a hardwood floor, or playing beauty shop, I don't think I realize how much they are watching and learning from me.  But these are times that are important, and memories they will have as they grow older.  When they look back, I hope they will remember them as fondly as I do.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Branching Out

Growing up is hard to do.  But when are we really grown?  Do we ever stop?  Isn't there some part about us that is constantly changing, learning, even after we have matured?  Do we ever actually arrive?  Or is that not until we are exiting the party?

I have a lot of trees in my yard.  I have tons of pines mixed with sweet gums, oaks, a couple of dogwoods, a maple, and some other large tree that bears purplish black fruit that I have no clue as to its name.  The pines tower over all the others by ten or twenty feet at least, and by more over the smaller trees.  It's rather fitting that I'm surrounded by arboreal giants since I grew up in an area of Texas where the largest trees we had were Mesquite trees.  Some of my friends here in Georgia jokingly refer to them as bushes.

I've learned a few things about trees in my time, some things through school, and some through mere observation.  One elementary thing I learned is that trees never stop growing throughout their lifetime.  They get taller, their trunks get wider.  You can often tell how old a tree is by the number of rings it has on the inside, as they grow with each rainy season. 

I also learned that trees grow toward the sun.  But that's a problem at my home because there are so many pines that they block the sun from the other trees.  So these other trees continue to grow, but at odd angles, with all their branches facing one direction: the direction from which they get the most sunlight.  They reach out, striving to get a touch of the rays which bring them life, a necessary part of the circle of photosynthesis by which they survive.

As these deprived trees continue to grow, though, shadowed by the looming pines, their branches continue to achingly stretch toward the only direction that brings them light.  The larger they grow, the more dangerous they become because all their weight starts to head in one direction.  If they are not allowed to come into the fullness of light, they will never be able to stand tall and strong; they will grow ever more vulnerable to the stresses of the forces of nature.

When we go through life in the shadows with only glimpses of the truth, we are filled with misconceptions because we long for that which is good, which will allow us to stand tall, straight, and firm.  We all want to be able to reach out to the heavens and spread our branches so that we can be all we are meant to be.  We can often even measure how we've grown by the way we weather a storm.  But life is full of obstacles:  fear, deception, doubt, uncertainty.  When we are led astray by these towering obstructions that block us from seeing the truth, one of two things will happen.  Either we become fiercely strong on one side and so incredibly weakened on the other that we eventually fall prey to the battering storms and winds of life or the deceptive orchard of death looming over us is cut away so that we can grow the right way, evenly, strong, powerful against those things that would rip us apart.

The truth is out there, and I was never one for living in the shadows.  See, as long as I can get full coverage by the sun, I am growing, I am learning. Up to the day I die, regardless of whether I'm a 300 foot Redwood or a 20 foot Mesquite, I want to be able to learn, to stretch my branches out into any direction without fear of deprivation from the sun, absorbing all that gives me life, so I can stand firm and weather any situation. 

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Yes I Can

Things don't always come easily.  Sometimes life is a challenge that seems almost insurmountable.  Whether it actually is or if it is just our own perception doesn't seem to matter.  The fact that we think it is too hard for too long may cause some of us to just want to give up.  Truth be told, I think there is not a person in the world who has found things that seem too hard at some point or another who hasn't felt like throwing in the towel.

My younger son just turned four yesterday.  He is a bundle of energy that looks like a young stocky sergeant in the army.  He could even be the sergeant in Gomer Pyle, USMC, in his younger, nicer days, with blonde hair and a serviceman cut.  He ramrods his way in and through things, but there is one area he does not seem to be able to master.

He absolutely refuses to go potty.  He wears pull-ups and insists he can't go potty chair.  What's worse is that there are days,like Monday, when he won't even change his training pants without assistance.  He claims that he can't.

"Benjamin," I say, "go get a clean pull up and take that one off.

"I can't."

"Yes you can, just go get one."

"But I can't.  It's too hard," he says as he refuses to budge.

"Benjamin, you are almost four years old now.  Take off that pull up."

"But it's too hard.  I can't," he says as he starts to whine and fuss.

Some days I just sit there until he goes in the bathroom and takes it off himself and then I help him get cleaned up.  Other days, when I don't have the time because we are in a rush to go somewhere, I cave in and help him, realizing that sometimes he just wants to stay the little boy.  But there is always this back and forth with the words, "I can't.  It's too hard," mixed in there any number of times.

Mind you, this isn't after he has tried endlessly to take off these pants with an elaborate belt.  No, it is a simple pair of elastic bands that he just steps out of any time he feels like it when he wants to go commando, but suddenly can't take off when he's soiled himself.  He is too busy, he wants attention, he's tired, he's hungry, whatever the reason, he gets it into his thick skull that he can't do it and nothing can make him budge.

Sometimes I'd like to hammer it and just go...DO IT ALREADY!  But that's not exactly the nice, motherly way to go.  I will, however, stand my ground when I don't have pressing matters, and wait for him to decide that he may as well take them off because he can't play any more until he does.  Then I will step in and help him clean himself.  But this is a routine we go through every day.  "Do this..."  "I can't."

When he finally gives in and takes them off, he'll smile and giggle.  He'll say, "Oh.  I can do it!"  And I will praise him endlessly, showering him with words of confidence in his ability, happy that he has obeyed.  I tell him how proud I am that he is such a big boy to be able to change his own pull up.  I tell him how easy it was and he'll agree.  "Yes, it was easy.  I'm a big boy.  I can take off my own pull up."

It's a simple task that he truly can do so very easily and in no time at all and yet he just bores in his heels and is determined that he can't do it.  How much time is wasted each day because he has it set in his mind that he can't do something?  How much fun does he miss out on because he simply refuses to try?

How often do we give up, not when we've truly tried something, but when we just look at the situation and think we can't do it?  How often do we just stare at life and say, "I can't do this," and sit down and just stop everything?  The we decide to just push through that overwhelming sense of inferiority and accomplish, very easily, that which we felt was impossible. 

Life is full of enough difficult situations as it is.  Sometimes the only way to overcome a situation is to just grit our teeth and go for the gusto, giving it all we've got.  We ignore the protests, even those within our very selves, that come from just looking at a situation and thinking it's unapproachable.  We'll never achieve anything if we're too hard to try.

Besides, I've often found that the most rewarding feeling comes after I come up against a mountain that seems immovable and I climb over it.  Better yet, I pick it up and toss it over to the side.  I would never be able to see that if I dwell on what seems possible.  The only way I get that satisfaction is when I stare the problem in the face and say, "regardless of how it looks, I'm going to barrel my way past this because I CAN."  Best of all, however, I like it when I look at this Mount Everest standing in front of me, and say, "You know, I don't care how big you are.  You are in my way and I don't like you there.  Get out of my way.  Move.  Now."

Thursday, October 7, 2010

In the Silence

Being a mother of four young children often means being surrounded by noise.  It's the noise of children playing, laughing, or fighting.  There is the noise of all the battery operated toys and cartoons.  Then there's the noise of everyone wanting my attention at the same time and unwilling to wait until someone else finishes talking because each child thinks that what he has to say is more important than what everyone else has to say.  That being said, when silence takes its turn, I almost don't know what to do with it.

Last night there was a lot of noise, as usual.  Everyone was wound up and took a while to calm down for bedtime.  The boys were bouncing on their beds and Nyssa was playing with Gabriela.  The thump thump rhythm of the boys bouncing around was occasionally interrupted by a thud as someone fell onto the floor.  Of course, there was the usual bedtime routine and the turning off the overhead lights in exchange for the lamplight.  There was the sound of Nyssa crawling back out of Gabriela's crib as she heard us going upstairs to check on them.

But eventually the noise settled down as all the children drifted off to dreamland.  But still I waited, because rarely does the quiet last.  Sure enough, after an hour, Gabriela woke up crying with a wet diaper, but went back to sleep easily enough.  A little while later, Nathaniel woke up dazed and confused because he needed to use the bathroom.  So I helped him to the restroom and put him back in bed. 

Within 20 minutes of Nathaniel going back to sleep, Nyssa also awoke.  Instead of the usual bathroom signs, though, she was crying.  I take that back.  She wasn't crying; she was howling, loudly.  The poor baby had bad leg cramps, growing pains, that hurt her so badly they woke her from her sleep.  I went ahead and had her go to the bathroom, knowing that if I didn't, she'd have an accident later.  Then I proceeded to rub her legs for awhile, give her some ibuprofen, and make sure she was nice and warm.  I stayed by her until she fell back to sleep.  The only problem was that her howling awoke her sister once again.  This time, Gabriela had been jerked awake by a fearful sound, so it frightened her as well.  It took a while to get her settled down after Nyssa fell back to sleep, but she did relax eventually, and returned to her blissful dreams.

After Gabriela fell back to sleep, I went back downstairs for a bit.  By this time I had been awake so long that I had gone past the "sleepy" stage, even though I knew I needed the rest.  But I enjoyed the quiet.  I loved listening to the peacefulness of the night and I savored it. 

It was the sound of stillness that struck me to the core, and it was then that my heart felt satisfied.  For along with the silence was the opportunity to listen without distraction.  I love being a mother; I love my children and being able to be there for them.  But I confess that as much as I love the laughter and the sound of their little voices, I treasure the moments of silence.  When I am surrounded by noise, I cannot hear the silence.  Perhaps that is why I tend to be a night owl.  I enjoy the opportunity to just feel the day, remember the moments, and relish the time spent with my family. 

In the stillness I am reminded of how blessed I am.  In the quiet I am told that my family feels secure.  In the peaceful night the realization returns that I am exactly where I belong, doing exactly what I should be doing.  In the weary silence I am told that the day, filled with mistakes as well as joyful memories, is passed, never to return, that I should be thankful for the present I have been given, and that if I am blessed with tomorrow, I have the chance to make a difference in the lives of my children.  The silence reminds me that the day is coming, more quickly than I can imagine, when the house that is now filled with the pitter patter pat of eight little feet will have no more noises to keep me awake at night.  And I listen, because there is wisdom in the quiet.  The silence speaks volumes.

Climb Every Staircase

Sometimes we want to take life by the horns and ride away with no thought or concern as to the possible repercussions of our actions.  We see what we want to do and we go full force, looking ahead and not looking back.  Maybe we count the costs, and maybe we don't.  But when we do get on that bull, we could easily take a hard fall.

Gabriela is still not quite walking on her own yet, though she likes to stand and wiggle her foot, testing whether she wants to take a step.  Sometimes she takes a little one, laughs, and sits back down, and sometimes she just stands, laughs, dances, and topples down on her diaper.  But she's not sure enough about her way to go full force.  That is not true, however, when it comes to stairs.

She has gleefully discovered the art of climbing.  She climbs on the little child size chairs and the low speakers in our family room.  She climbs on her sister's bed and over the toys.  She is driven to a mad frenzy to climb the fourteen steps to the second floor.

The amazing thing about that is the fact that she takes no thought of the possibility that she could fall.  She's looking ever upward, rejoicing in every step she reaches.  She is thrilled with the idea of the climb and of success.  There appears to be not a fearless bone in her body when it comes to climbing those stairs that would be just about equivalent to me scaling a 42 foot staircase with each step being 3 feet high.  She stops only long enough to cheerfully pat the next step and continues on to the next until she reaches the top.  Once she gets there, she crawls about a foot on the carpet and just sits there, bouncing away, dancing at her great success.

Now if I see her starting to go up and I can't follow her, I go get her, regardless of the howling protest at being pulled away from her newest game.  But that is because even though she doesn't see the danger, I do.  But when I have the opportunity to allow her to climb, I follow her, one step at a time, to make sure she doesn't fall down.  She's unaware of the way she can get injured in that kind of a fall, but I am there behind her, very sure of the dangers, and keeping her safe from them. 


Why don't have a gate at the bottom of the stairs?  The answer is simply because the way our house was built, we can't put one there.  I can surround them, but the other children proved that they can surmount or circumvent anything we put there, so we just stand guard.  All my children have been climbers, and they are very good at it.  But the older ones all know to watch for her when she starts heading that way.  Even Benjamin will tell me if Gabriela starts going toward the steps and will lay across the bottom one or extend his arms and legs to keep her from going up them.  He understands the risks.

But not Gabriela, no siree; she doesn't know that at any moment she could slip and tumble down.  All she knows is that she's safe in her house.  I'm there, and I have never let her get hurt.  So of course it is inconceivable in her mind that I would allow her to come to any danger.  So she is content to climb with me following her and sharing in her joy at being able to climb, totally unaware that I am extra vigilant to keep her from falling, totally unaware of the visions that go through my mind were I to let her go up alone and unescorted.  She does get mad, however, when I pick her up and carry her the rest of the way unless she's tired.  No ma'am, she wants to do it herself, thank you very much.  But when she gets  to the top, she has such a sense of accomplishment that she did it.

I know I can be like my daughter.  I can go through life unaware of the dangers.  I just look to the goal before me and trudge along.  It's a high climb and a lot of work, but I see the top of the mountain and I get giddy with excitement.  In a way, I sometimes wish I were more like her in that regard.  Too often I tend to look down and think of what could go wrong.  She's so trusting that nary an ill thought crosses her mind.  After all, it takes a bad experience to cause fear, and she has had none to give her any.

It's that childlike faith that everything will be alright.  It's the combination of growing up and being able to do something while still having the hand ready to catch us if we start to fall.  It's the fearlessness of the climb without a thought of what lies behind and below.  It is the joy of getting to the top seemingly unassisted and yet protected all the same by the invisible hand that holds us in love.

It's my own revision of the song from The Sound of Music

Climb every staircase
Eyes all agleam
Follow every rainbow
Till you reach your dream

Monday, October 4, 2010

The Writing on the Wall

Sometimes life is so difficult to make out that it's hazy.  Some concepts seem just too impossible to grasp and I need a fresh way of looking at things.  Sometimes I need to have it written out for me plainly, so I can see exactly what lesson I'm supposed to learn, like King Belteshazzar with the writing on the wall.

Well, I'm certainly no king, but I did see the writing on the wall last Friday.  It was when I went into the girls' room to get Nyssa up for school.  She had already woken up on her own earlier and was just playing quietly.  She was all smiles with a pen in her hand.  Well, it wasn't exactly a pen, and she didn't have any paper.  The wall was her canvas.

She had somehow managed to go into my closet and take out one of those mega thick blue permanent poster board markers.  For those of you who have ever made pep rally signs, you know the ones I'm talking about, the ones that are about 3 inches in diameter with a tip just as large.  I took one look at the wall that was staring me in the face and cringed.  See, when Nyssa was a baby, I spent the entire 8 months that I knew I was pregnant painting her room.  I'll see if I can link to the pictures.  I am so glad I actually thought to take some pictures back then, because it's all a lovely memory now.  Most of the murals I painted are now covered in said marker.

Knowing then what I didn't know 24 hours earlier, that Nyssa does, in fact, have some components of Autism, I stopped to calmly ask her what she had done.  Her face brightened as she started to explain her artwork.  Over Gabriela's crib, where I had painted a picture of Jesus playing with children, was the alphabet and the numbers 1-10.  She explained that she wanted Gabriela to be able to know her letters when we sang them to her.  Same with the numbers.

Next, she took me a few steps to the left to a drawing of the American flag over her bed, complete with stars and stripes.  The stripes had alternating R and W on them.  Nyssa asked me if I knew what they meant.  With a lift of my brow and a sigh inside, I said, "red and white?"  "Yes," she beamed back at me.  "I didn't have those colors but I wanted her to know what color they are supposed to be.  And I am so glad you don't have those colors, dear, I thought to myself.

On the opposite wall, where I had drawn a tree with a bird, a bunny, zebra, and a goose walking in a meadow, along with the door that had a giraffe, she had written something to the affect of  This is Nyssa and Gabriela's room.  We are going to have a play called, "The Little Red Hen."

Lastly, she took me to my favorite painting I've ever done...of a lion and a lamb sitting together, with paws touching.  On and under it were pictures, some of which I couldn't make out.  Next to one of them was an arrow with the words, Gabriela's crib.  My darling daughter told me they were all pictures of things in their room, objects Gabriela would need to learn to identify..shirt, pants, socks, shoes, glasses, and a couple other items.

She had turned their room into a classroom, and she was wanting to teach Gabriela everything she needs to know.  In truth, she meant no harm.  She wanted to help her sister learn.  In actuality, this was where I had to choose my words very carefully.

"Honey, this is permanent marker.  It won't just come off like the chalk did."  Nyssa's look began to change.  "I appreciate you wanting to help your sister, but you know you're not allowed to write on the walls.  We need to see if we can get it to come off."  Nyssa was worried for a second, then she got some baby wipes and dutifully began scrubbing.  They usually work.  But this time, they didn't.  Neither did the Clorox wipes or the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

After doing some research, aka asking other mothers, I learned that maybe Simple Green would work.  Otherwise, we are looking at Killz and fresh paint.  I decided not to go overboard and clean it all immediately, but to let Nyssa live with it for a while to see the results.

I think that's how I go through life sometimes.  I get restless and don't know what to do, so I go rummaging where I don't belong and start messing with things in a way I shouldn't.  My intentions are good; I want to help and I enjoy doing things that help others.  The motives are right, but the actions are not.  So I get caught with a marker in my hand, showing off all the good deeds I did, and sweetly announce the reasons for my actions.  And I have no idea how it can affect someone else, because I can't clean up the mess.  What I thought was a simple solution was no solution at all, so I'm stuck looking at all I have done, covering up the pretty mural that was already there.

Thankfully, I have help when I'm ready to change.  I have my own Killz paint and a fresh coat of white that I can use to cover up the mistakes I have done, and I can help choose the next palate.  Only this time, I wait for the right time, ask questions, and then do it the right way.  The writing on the wall is a clear sign that blatantly points out my mistakes, but I'm so glad that, unlike that Babylonian king, I have that fresh paint that I can get every day to start anew!

Sunday, October 3, 2010

The Deepest of Hurts

Betrayal.  The word alone imposes such deep emotion as to almost immediately put a person on guard.  A shield goes up.  It is perhaps the harshest dart that can be thrown, it penetrates deepest of all, and creates the most painful of wounds.  Why is that?  It is because in order to be betrayed, one must first have allowed another inside her walls.

My children have suffered the sense of betrayal at my hand many times.  Most vividly in my mind still, after six years, is when I took Nyssa to her 4 month old well care check up.  She was at the stage where she was smiling at everything and adored me above all else.  But, at this very young age, she was going to truly experience this terrible feeling for the first time. 

She did so well at her check up.  She was a little half pint for her age, but she was gaining weight at a slow and steady pace.  All her vitals and measurements were consistent with the last visit, and she was alert and falling well into the category of passing the normal childhood developmental milestones.  We were ready to leave except for one more item.  She had to receive her shots.

She was to get two of them, one in each leg.  We gave her infant Tylenol a few minutes before the shot; they said it would shorten the period of discomfort.  When it was time, the nurse came back in and got ready to administer her vaccinations.  She took the alcohol pad and rubbed my little girl's leg on the place where the needle would go as I firmly held her upper body while Nyssa lay on the examination table. 

I smiled sadly at my baby and told her gently that she was going to get shots and that it would hurt.  I wanted to be honest with her.  I promised myself that I would always tell my children if something was going to hurt.  Of course, she didn't understand what I was saying at the time, so she just smiled and cooed at me.  Then, to her, the unimaginable happened.  I just stood there as the nurse gave her the shot.

I will never forget the look of shock and horror that suddenly came over my precious girl's face!  Her eyes grew bright and her brows furrowed together at the pain, physical and emotional, that she was suffering.  I could see it, almost hear the words she could not express in her scream, "How could you?  You betrayed me!"  And then it happened again.  The second shot was given.  The scream, the cry, the look of utter incomprehension that was on her face was almost unbearable.  As soon as I could, I gathered her up in my arms and just held her close and spoke softly in her ears, mindful of her sore thighs.

There are times when we feel we have been betrayed because someone sits back and just lets something happen to us, something that is painful.  We have opened our heart to another and they just sit back and let us be hurt or they personally throw the javelin themselves.  How do we deal with that?  What do we do when someone says something that cuts to the heart, to an area that has already been ripped open?  How do we get past the hurt?

There may come a day when we realize that this "bad" thing that happened, like Nyssa's shot, was a pain that we endured for a reason to benefit us in the end.  It may or may not be the intent of the betrayer, but it will be the outcome, regardless.  Nyssa, by poke of the needle, was being strengthened and protected from these diseases that could cause her much greater harm down the road.  In the same way, sometimes things we endure in life are to make us stronger, to help us in our fight against greater things in life. 

Sometimes these things we endure are not for our own strengthening, but for the strengthening of others.  Because when we go through a hard, seemingly unbearable path and come out the other side, we can help others, just by the sheer fact that they know we have been there.  Our strength becomes their strength.  Sometimes, the greatest hurt can be the means of the greatest source of healing for not only ourselves, but for many others.

I have a friend who was such an example.  He endured a great deal at the hand of someone he had known for several years.  His silent suffering was an example to me of how I would like to be were I to be faced with that kind of betrayal.  In a way, his suffering and forgiveness showed me that I can handle whatever comes my way, because of the strength that HE has.  Sometimes it is the very act of betrayal meant to expose a weakness that reveals the greatest strength of all.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Living With Disappointments

I used to think I was an easy go lucky, go with the flow type of gal.  I just took life as it came, one punch a a time, and tried to let it flow right past me.  But somewhere along the way, I started to take a look at things and go, "Hey, wait a second!  This isn't how it's supposed to go!"  The jury's still out on whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.  I had a huge disappointment yesterday, literally.

Yesterday we had an appointment to see Nyssa's doctor to get the results from all the testing she's had done recently.  There was one final Autism/Asperger session from two weeks ago and we were going to get the final evaluation.  We had lined up Miss Anita, who was so gracious to help us out with the younger ones.  Richard had rearranged his work schedule, and we had postponed a meeting with the staff at Nyssa's school because everyone wanted the results before we decided on how best to deal with her behavior in class.  I picked Richard up from work and went to the doctor's office and waited.

And we waited.  After about 20 minutes, though it seemed an eternity, the (one and only person) psychologist who was there came out and asked us who we were waiting to see.  When we told him, he got that deer stuck in the headlights sheen to his face.  "Um.  You were supposed to get a call.  She's home sick with bronchitis right now. She's been out for the week."  Punch to the gut.  "Why don't you come in here so we can talk?"

We went into the inner office as he apologized and wondered at why we had not been notified.  No one had even called to let us know she was not going to be there.  He took down all our information, typed something in his laptop, and excused himself for a couple minutes.  I was very frustrated by this time, as was Richard, albeit he was calmer on the exterior than I was.  I did manage to keep my voice calm and held my temper in check, sort of, though I must say I was fuming internally.  Then, something happened to make me even more upset.

My cell phone gave a little vibration.  It's the kind that goes off when you receive a note that you have received a call earlier and that a message was left.  I called my voice mail, and there it was, from Wednesday, a call from the office manager stating that the doctor was going to be out and he wanted to reschedule.  Granted, he tried to call.  Yea.  But what truly got to me was the fact that I had implicitly told them to call my house number, and NOT to call my cell phone.

Why then did I even give them my cell number?  Because at the time I gave it to them, I was practically under duress. They had to have a second number where they could reach me.  Looking back, I should have stuck to my guns and said, "What about everyone that doesn't have a cell?  I mean, not everyone has the money for one, and even some that do may not have the inclination."  This I said because it was only two years ago that my husband himself gave in to the cell phone movement.  But when I gave it to them, I told them not to try calling me on it because I am home 95% of the time and I don't have cell phone coverage most of the time at the house.  Like I said, I should have never given it to them.  But like a moron, I figured a psychologist's office would know how to take someone seriously and actually LISTEN to them.

Breathe.  It wasn't her fault.  Nyssa's got a very nice doctor.  She belongs to a practice and it was the office staff that flubbed.  By the way, there was a different office manager who called my CELL a couple months ago to reschedule an appointment...and I didn't get that message, either.  I told them then not to call the cell.  Would somebody please note it in Nyssa's chart????  Anyway, this is what proceeded to storm through my brain as we sat there.  Richard just gave me the sweetest look and reached for my hand.  I could literally hear his Jedi mind powers telling me to calm down, breathe, and just relax.

After profusely apologizing and letting us know he'd make sure we got rescheduled and that the file would be noted with "call home and leave a message; do not call cell," he let us go on our merry little way.  I say that with a hint of sarcasm, but only a hint because Richard was the King.  We left the office holding hands and he said, "Well, we can at least go out to lunch together and have some time alone without the kids."  Leave it to him to be a knight in shining armor who saves my day.

I asked him if I was just over reacting or if he was calmer than he appeared.  He graciously told me that, no, he was just as upset as I was on the outset, but we expressed our frustrations, there was nothing we could do about it, so it was time to move on.  He was right.  To be honest, I did not completely deflate right that second, but over lunch at Nino's, I did melt and let it all wash away.  He was right.

It's okay to be angry over something, especially when it is due to some injustice.  But what really counts is what we do with those feelings.  Do we let them fester and gnaw at us until it eats away everything good inside us?  Some people do.  Where did the term "postal" come from, anyway?  A postal worker let some anger and bitterness get such a grip on him that he was blinded to everything else, got a gun, and took it out on his work place....and people got hurt.  People died over it.

The truth is, that could be anybody.  It has been many people since then.  I see it in the news on almost a weekly basis.  Something happens to someone and they just flip a switch.  Imbalance, personality disorders, it has many names, but it usually boils down to someone letting all that frustration and anger build up inside them until there is nothing left to do but pop, explode.  But I don't want to be just anybody, and I'm pretty sure there are lots of others out there who don't.  So what do we do when we feel it building and building?

We let it out before we give it time to fester.  We forgive.  We let it go.  It's not worth surrendering our will to it.  It's not worth giving our lives over to it and worshiping it.  But when we let it seep inside and consume our thoughts, allowing it to control where we go and what we do, that is exactly what we are doing, worshiping that anger, that bitterness. 

Yes, life is full of disappointments.  But it's how we live after them that shapes who we really are.  Frankly, even though we'll have to reschedule appointments and babysitters, I rather enjoyed the affects of that dis-appointment.  Because without it, I wouldn't have been able to do what immediately followed.  I got to have the best lasagna in the world and share it with my love.