Tag Archives: God

Jan26

Fragile

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When normal stops…

Last Wednesday, January 20, 2016, Knoxville experienced the first real snow of the season.  The prospect of snowfall still brings excitement to the childlike part of me.  The white blanket that shrouds everything, the quiet, the glory of winter’s beauty fills my heart with wonder.

As an adult, however, my excitement is tempered by the fact that, snow or not, I still have to get to work.  Most of us do.  It is a reality I have dealt with for a long time working in the media.  Our world doesn’t stop for snow or for anything else.

I have also long prided myself on being a careful, and fairly competent, snow driver, preaching the principles of safe speeds, proper following distances and plenty of extra time to get where we need to go.  I still believe in all those principles.  Being careful is just common sense.

But despite my best efforts, last Wednesday, I wrecked my beloved DivaMobile anyway.

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It seemed to happen both in accelerated time and in slow motion, all at once.  I was driving through downtown. The interstate did not look like it had been treated with either sand or brine, and lane lines were not clearly visible.  A small pickup truck veered in front of me, too close for my comfort, and in trying to avoid crashing into it, I applied my brakes, slid, spun several times and crashed into a guardrail.  I came to rest on an interstate on-ramp facing the wrong direction.  Had the guardrail not been there to stop me, I would have most likely gone down an embankment and landed on 5th Avenue.

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I am OK, physically.  A few scratches, bumps and bruises, but I’m OK.  And by some miracle, in all this madness, no other vehicles were involved.  I didn’t hit anybody, and nobody hit me, and I never lost consciousness.  After I realized what had actually happened, I found my phone, called 911, then called work and Jeff to tell them I’d had an accident.

Here’s the thing.  Seeing the damage that happened to my car, I realized once more just how fragile life is, how quickly an event can change everything.  I took the day of the wreck and the day after off from work, and on Friday I returned.  In more snow.  And yes, I drove myself, although I had to drive the SweetPeaMobile.  Was I scared?  Absolutely.  Will I be scared for a while?  Most likely.  But for all the fragility of life and how scary things can be, I can’t let fear keep me from doing what I need to do.  I’ll just have to do it afraid for a while, praying and trusting God to protect me and those I love, being as safe as I know how to be and getting on with the business of living and working, finding a new car to try to replace my beloved DivaMobile and looking forward to feeling, eventually, a little less Fragile.

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Jun10

Carried

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Words, burdens and letting go…

For nearly 20 years, I have carried a small book around with me.  It’s gone pretty much everywhere I’ve gone.  Inside its front cover I wrote down when and where I bought it.

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I have always loved blank books and journals, their potential for creativity and a place for me to vent my thoughts.  This particular one drew me in for 2 reasons.  First, I loved its cover art depicting the sun, moon and stars against a swirly blue background.  I think it’s permissible to judge a book by its cover when the inside is blank!

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Secondly,  I especially loved that its pages were unlined.  I have enough restriction in my life.  The pristine whiteness of its pages gave me freedom to write whatever I wanted, in whatever way I wanted…upside down, in a circle, diagonally or just crooked.

This little book became my constant companion, a safe place for me to write down the feelings I could not express any other way.  Looking at those words now brings back memories of the extremes in my life at the time…mostly extreme pain and sadness.  It contains the overflow of my broken heart and spirit during the last year of Mama’s life on Earth, a period when I was afraid and lonely, not thinking clearly and not making good choices.

I’m not proud of a lot of what I did during this chapter of my life.  My spiritual life and relationship with God were at an all-time low.  I couldn’t pray, really; all I could do was hurt, and sometimes, feel angry.  I realize now that God heard every anguished scream of my heart, even though I was not talking to Him.  He was still listening.

Even as wretched as I was, as horribly as I was acting and as distant as God seemed to be, I know now that He was right beside me all along, carrying me when I could not walk through life on my own.  And not just carrying me, but sending blessings, glimpses of hope that I could survive this valley.  His grace eventually brought me out the other side, altered for sure, but profoundly grateful.

I don’t think I need to keep my little book any longer, or at least, not the words it contains.  I think I can finally let that part of my life go.  Those pages need to be burned up in the bonfire of forgetting, of cleansing, never again a burden to be Carried.

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Mar11

My Hundred Pound Present

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A reminder of the miracles of weight loss…

For anyone who may not be aware, I underwent weight loss surgery on June 6, 2012.  The process for this was a long and arduous one, filled with moments of both humility and humiliation.  As I wrote elsewhere, the hardest part of the whole thing was making the decision to do it, because I had to “suck it up and get humble for a minute”.  Admitting that I needed help was a difficult thing, but, as most weight loss surgery patients will agree, it really was my last resort.  After battling my weight for decades and finally deciding one last time to begin exercising and eating more wisely, I started that process only to lose 9 pounds before getting stuck and then injuring my “good” ankle (the “bad” one having been broken years before and then surgically reassembled).  Weight bearing exercise was impossible and I realized I needed a drastic intervention to help me reclaim my health.

Surgery prep happened during the same period I was completing an extended unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at our local teaching hospital.  The timing was totally a God thing, and I am convinced that each effort enhanced the other.  My unit of CPE placed me in a peer group of strangers who poured unconditional acceptance and support into me throughout both my hospital experience and the concurrent surgery preparation, becoming treasured friends and chosen family by unit’s end.

My hundredth pound came off on January 6, 2013, which in the church calendar is Epiphany.  That’s one sure way I’ll always remember the date, because it was an epiphany indeed!  It was also my 7-month surg-i-versary.  More pounds came off in the months that followed, and I was grateful for every one of them.  I still am, even though I have experienced some “bounce-back”, as many weight loss patients do.  I am working to get the pounds I want rid of to go away once more.  It’ll be a lifelong process, as will blood tests for nutrient levels and tweaking my nutrition.  I knew going in that these things would be part of The New Normal.

I decided I wanted to treat myself to a Hundred Pound present, to commemorate my journey and to have a tangible reminder of God’s faithfulness along the way.  So the search began for my chosen symbol, a small diamond cross pendant.  I knew what I wanted, and as a lifelong jewelry horse, I was a pretty savvy shopper.  It took a while to find just the right thing…but, like losing that hundredth pound, it was worth waiting for.

The thing is, I’ve never been one to wear a cross.  For a long time, I just couldn’t bring myself to wear the symbol of crucifixion.  I realized over the years, though, that the cross is a symbol of faith, hope and new life, not just a picture of Christ’s torture and death.  What better symbol could I choose to remind me of my own hope and new life than that?  And what possible symbol could be a better reminder of God’s constant companionship, comfort and help along the way as I adjusted to The New Normal?  What better reminder of second chances and redemption?

Because, for me, the weight loss journey has been very much a spiritual odyssey.  There has been a lot of prayer, especially during those early days after surgery, when my recovery took longer and involved a lot more pain than I had anticipated.  There have been many long nights of the soul when I cried and leaned into God because I had come to the end of myself.  And as I have experienced bounce-back and regained a few of the pounds I had lost, there is renewed prayer that God will help me minute by minute to make wise choices, and that He will comfort the hurting places that I want to feed with unhealthy foods.

I wear my cross often, usually paired with a diamond heart that Sweet Pea gave me for our 15th wedding anniversary.  My fingers find their way to my charms throughout the day, touching them and remembering the love, comfort and hope they represent.  Thanks be to God for second chances!

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Oct29

Arms

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Memories of embraces past…

Tuesday, October 28, 1997 was one of the worst days of my life.  It was the day Mama went into the hospital.  It was the beginning of the end, of Mama’s life and of an era in our family.

At this time, on that night, I was at the hospital to spend the night with her.  It was a bad night for us both, for numerous reasons.  She was nervous and agitated, and the medicine given to calm her down only upset her stomach.

There are lots of things about her last month and a half of life that I’m sure I’ve forgotten.  I was still trying to work during most of that time while staying as many nights as possible at the hospital.  Sleep-deprived and stressed out, I know there are lots if things I don’t remember now.  But I remember some moments with vivid clarity.

I remember people’s arms around me.  I remember the night Mama’s condition was so bad that they had to bring  a portable ultrasound up to her room because they needed to do tests and didn’t want to wait for transport to come and take her down because she was so unstable.  Jeff had come to visit both with her and with me, and her condition upset him.  That was his meltdown moment during the last of her illness.  He cried like his best friend was dying and I couldn’t offer him much comfort.  We just held each other.

Dad had spent Mama’a last full night with her at the hospital, and I came the next day to relieve him.  He left and I settled in to spend what turned out to be her last day at the hospital with her.  She was unresponsive, and not too long after I got there her breathing changed.  I know now that she was actively dying.  A nurse came in and asked how long her breathing had been like that, and I said about a half hour.  The nurse then told me that I could talk to Mama, hold her hand and pet her if I wanted to. She said she didn’t think Mama was in any pain and that she didn’t think anything was going to bother or disturb her now.  She told me she would check on us during the day and if I needed anything at all to just call.  She put her arm around my shoulder and just stood with me for a few minutes, saying nothing more.

Countless times during her hospital stay, people hugged me, squeezed me tight and infused me with strength for the battle.  Guardian angels from my own family held me close as we all cried with sadness over what Mama was enduring, and what we all knew was to come.  I never take a hug for granted anymore.  I know the difference it can make.

After Mama died, at the graveside after the service was over, people were starting to disperse and leave.  I sat by her casket for what seemed like the longest time, by myself.  I knew the cemetery people would make me leave soon, but I wanted to spend those last few minutes with her.  My cousin Van, a favorite person in my life who I don’t see nearly often enough, came over and sat down beside me.  He didn’t say a word.  He just put his arm around my shoulder and sat with me.  I never felt more loved, more understood, than I did at that moment.

Many times I have leaned on the arms of other people for strength and comfort.  I hope that my arms have provided strength and comfort for the people in my life as well.  I believe one of the most powerful ways God loves us is through the love of other people. As I have leaned into the arms of other human beings, I have felt the everlasting arms of God spoken of in the old hymn from my childhood.

 

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Lord of love, thank You for holding me with the arms of the people You have sent me when I needed them most.  Use my arms and hands to comfort, strengthen and encourage the people in my life who need to feel You in theirs.

Jul22

Considering The Lilies

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Beauty at every stage…

Summertime in East Tennessee is filled with the scents, sounds and colors of nature.  All manner of blooming things burst forth to bring joy and beauty to the world around us.  From roadside patches of wild daisies and Queen Anne’s Lace to the fluffy blooms of the mimosa trees, the world seems awash with the glory of flowers.

Right now I am fascinated by the golden hues of the daylilies in various stages of development around my workplace gardens.  Unlike human beings, these flowering beauties never seem to have an awkward stage.  Even in the flower pod phase their detail is exquisite.

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From here they start to unfurl their trumpet-shaped blooms and reveal the yellow-orange flowers that contrast so beautifully with their green leaves and stems.  No interior designer could create a prettier color scheme.

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I always marvel at the simple, yet miraculous, way that our natural world perpetuates itself.  Perennial plants and flowers that return year after year with little or no intervention from humans amaze me.  We have a little patch of peonies in the front yard that we inherited when we bought our house.  Neither Sweet Pea nor I are wizards with outdoor plants or landscaping, and our peonies have never received much care from us.  Yet, every May, they return with their fluffy double blooms and sweet fragrance.  Some years they have been affected by poorly-timed cold snaps, and other years we’ve enjoyed bumper crops of them.  But they have never failed to come back.

The flowers remind me of God and His masterful craftsmanship.  He could have made our world a sterile, grey place…but He chose instead to delight us, His ultimate creations, with color and beauty throughout nature.  As I consider the lilies, I like to ponder how God must view us at our various stages.  Does He see beauty in all the phases of our lives…of MY life?

Lord, make my life a lovely, fully-flowered blossom whose color and fragrance point people to my Maker, Savior and Friend.

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Jun30

Over The Rainbow

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Maybe the rainbow IS the pot of gold…

East Tennessee summers are known for producing sporadic, sometimes intense, pop-up storms, especially in the heat of the late afternoon.  Often those storms come and go in a matter of minutes, and sometimes, if we’re blessed, we can spot a rainbow in their aftermath.  I was fortunate recently to be able to see and photograph a rainbow on my way home from work after such a pop-up thunderstorm.

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A couple of years ago at the end of my extended unit of CPE, Carolyn, a member of my peer group, painted a watercolor for each of us as a gift and as part of her peer review.  Her artistic vision captured each of us as some element or scene from nature.  One of us was an ocean, one of us was a mountain.  Her vision of me was that I was a rainbow.  I was flattered and touched by her assessment of me and her ability to see my true colors (pardon the pun) in this way.

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I’ve often heard the old tale about there being a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  It’s a nice thought, but I am not holding my breath waiting to find that pot of gold anytime soon.  Which end is it supposed to be at, anyway?  The front end or the back end?  Not really the point, I realize…but my mind works like that sometimes.

I think maybe the rainbow is its own pot of gold.  It’s a beautiful treasure, a gift from God, like His very own brushstrokes across the sky reminding me of His promise never again to destroy humanity with a flood.  I think of the many kinds of floods in my life…floods of trouble, illness, death and sorrow.  “When it rains, it pours,” as the old adage states.  But in my floods I know I am never alone.  God is not going to drown me, and He is not going to abandon me in the midst of the pouring rain.

Jun18

Nature In The Concrete Jungle

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Surprises from my trip to New York…

I never expected to find much nature in The Big Apple. All my life I’ve heard and read about the spectacular skyscrapers, the lovely brownstones, the dilapidated tenements with their rickety fire escapes. But the only reference to nature I remember is the book title, “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn”. So on my recent adventure to the big city, all I expected to see was …big city.

But, like any other city, New York has refreshing spots of natural beauty as well as an impressive skyline. Granted, that “natural” beauty has in most cases been designed and inserted into the cityscape. Still, on the way to St. Patrick’s Cathedral with Jenny and Jere, I was delighted to see a beautiful garden with fountains and hundreds, if not thousands, of blue and lavender hydrangea blossoms. Mom Cutshaw grew incredibly gorgeous blue hydrangeas in her backyard garden, and anytime I see them I think of her.

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The carriage ride around Central Park with Elizabeth, Susan and Katie Jo showed me more of the nature New York has to offer. We saw huge rock formations, trees, shrubs and flowers of all kinds, including Japanese dogwoods in bloom. The weather for our trip was as perfect as we could have asked for, with mild temperatures, sunshine, breezes and low humidity. The only rain we had was the day we landed (and it was gone and the sun shining on us again by the time we reached the hotel) and the morning we left to come back home. I feel a little bit spoiled that my first trip to New York was as beautiful as it was!

The happiest “nature moment” for me came as we walked to meet our carriage driver. I had prayed and hoped against hope that I would have the chance to add to my feather collection on this trip. As Elizabeth and Katie Jo and I hurried to meet Susan and our driver, I spotted a beautiful white feather, more than 2 inches long, on the ground. This was almost too good to be true! So I asked my companions to wait up while I grabbed it and tucked it safely inside my bag.

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 That pretty white feather is such a blessing, as all the feathers in the collection are. It reminds me of God’s watchful, loving care. Once again I imagined that my feather came from the wing of some guardian angel God had assigned to watch over me and my friends. Wherever it came from, it is a reminder that His eye is on the sparrow…and the pigeon, and the singing tourist enjoying the beauty of New York for the first time.

May7

World View

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It’s a double-edged thing…

Most of the time when people refer to a “world view”, what they mean is how they see things, their philosophy of life.  I often refer to my own world view when I talk to people about how I see things, the filter or lens through which I view the world around me.  My world view is based in my faith, my belief that God’s hand is present everywhere, “working all things together for the good of those who love Him…” as stated in Romans 8:28.  I see God everywhere because I choose to look for Him.

What I don’t choose, and what is indeed beyond my control, is how the world views me.  I underwent weight loss surgery 23 months ago in an effort to find relief from hip and ankle pain that had gotten severe enough to impair my quality of life in a tangible, physical way.  I had sustained serious injuries to both my ankles in years past, and the extra weight I carried had put such strain on those joints that I was slower getting around than I wanted to be, and the pain became a real problem.  It has always baffled me a little that my knees didn’t really bother me, but the ankles and hips were bothersome enough.

Less obvious quality-of-life issues were related to my self-esteem, or the lack of it.  I felt a lot of judgment from everyplace, starting (and most painfully) in my own home of origin with a father who had, and probably still has, issues with plus-sized people.  For all his concern about my health, which was genuine, he was also just plain embarrassed to have a fat daughter.  And for all the academic achievements, good grades, musical accomplishments and other areas in which I excelled, there was always the overshadowing cloud of disapproval because I was fat and Dad disapproved of fat people.  

One hundred thirty-six pounds after surgery, the world seems to view me differently.  But I am still me, I just live in a smaller package now.  I move better and my joint pain is gone.  Navigating my surroundings is easier because I am able to fit into more places than I used to.  

My heart wounds are still with me, though, and I’ll probably spend the rest of my life working through those issues.  I still see myself inside as a fat girl.  That is not an altogether bad thing.  That little fat girl made me realize that there are more important things than one’s appearance.  She motivated me to develop the other, more significant parts of myself—my personality, sense of humor, intellect and musical ability—because I was never “the pretty one”, I knew I needed something else to make me special and valuable.  That little fat girl also weeded out a lot of losers during my dating days, because I knew that a fellow would have to appreciate me for the less obvious, yet more important, qualities I brought to the table.  So I don’t want to lose her entirely.  She is largely responsible for who I am today and who I continue to become.

God is good and I see Him at work everywhere.  That is my world view, one side of the coin. The other side of the coin, how the world views me, is up to the world.  How God views me is what really matters.

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Mar26

Hand Made

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Genesis 1:1—In the beginning God created…

I spent part of an afternoon recently with my cousin Jim (aka Bobo) and his wife Donna in the home studio where she makes original fused glass art pieces, jewelry, bookmarks, window hangings, Christmas ornaments and just about anything else imaginable that can be made with glass.  She had posted pictures on Facebook of art pieces/caricatures she had made of Bobo and his brother, Hazen, doing their favorite hobbies, golfing and fishing, respectively.  I was so taken with them that I asked Donna if she could do one of me singing, and she said she’d give it a try.  When she contacted me to let me know that my art piece was completed, we made a date for me to go over and pick it up.  And when she unveiled it, I squealed with delight!

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We enjoyed a wonderful visit, someplace other than a funeral home, which is where we tend to run into each other these days.  I looked around her studio and learned the story of how she got into working with glass.  The colors, textures and shapes fascinated me as I poked in every corner of the space, and Donna explained that each piece is one of a kind because when it goes into the kiln for firing, she never knows exactly how it’s going to turn out.  Colors and finishes change when they are fired.  That element of surprise is part of the joy of fused glass work.

Donna was a hairstylist for years before retiring and beginning this new creative chapter of her life.  I commented that doing hair was an art form and she replied, “Well, it should be.”  Her daughters are both creative as well, with enterprises and interests ranging from music to photography to embroidery.  And they’ve passed that creativity to their children as well.  It runs in the family just like brown eyes or blonde hair.

My friend Vicki recently sent me a surprise in the mail, a beautiful pair of handmade silver earrings shaped like treble clefs.  She wrote in her card that she’d seen them where a lady was showing her handmade creations and they made her think of me.  I’ve worn them numerous times since receiving them and people always comment on how beautiful and unusual they are.  And with gratitude,  I always share the story of how they came to me.

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Several years ago, my friend Olivia, who was a member of the fraternity I serve as chapter mother, made me a bracelet in the fraternity colors, with a heart charm and my initial.  It’s a treasured gift and a reminder of the gift of creativity that lives within her, and within all of us.

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I am primarily a musician, a singer.  But I also write, make scrapbooks and greeting cards, and take pictures.  My friend David told me years ago that all creative people have more than one outlet for expression, and I believe that is true.  There are writers who also paint, painters who also dance, dancers who also quilt, quilters who also play instruments…the combinations are limitless.  

Genesis tells us that “In the beginning God created…”, (emphasis mine) and that He “made mankind in His image…”.  It stands to reason, then, that we are all endowed by the Creator with the gift of our own creativity, in whatever ways it manifests itself.  I count myself blessed to come from a heritage of so much music and creativity on both sides of my family.  I may not express my creative instincts in all the same ways as my predecessors have, but I try to express myself to the best of my ability and in the ways that best suit me.  And I continue to explore new ways to express those creative urges.  God gave them to me to use, and I hope to use them to bless other people.

Mar14

Happy 89th, Aunt Ruby

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Your first birthday in Heaven…

And we all miss you every day.  I haven’t been as diligent about keeping in touch with your kids as I’d like.  It’s hard with all our schedules being crazy like they are.  I know that’s no excuse.

Thank you for showing up in my dreams when you have, even when it’s been bittersweet.  The first dream was so hard.  I dreamed that we were in a huge gymnasium somewhere, with me up high in the bleachers and you down on the gym floor.  I couldn’t get to where you were no matter how hard I tried, and all I wanted was to reach you.  I guess that just speaks to how I feel about you since you died.  Sometimes all I want is to reach you, but I can’t be where you are.

The few dreams since then have been sweeter because I’ve been able to hug you. In each dream I’ve just held you for the longest time, pressing you into my chest until I could feel both our hearts beating at the same time.  Like if I pressed hard enough, you would leave your imprint on me.

The truth is, you DID leave your imprint on me, in ways I’ll probably spend the rest of my life thanking you for.  Lord, how I miss you.  How we all miss you.

Part of me still can’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that you died, even though I was there when it happened.  I felt your last breath, your last heartbeat.  I guess I just know that, while you are gone from this Earthly life, you aren’t really gone.  I’ll be able to reach you again someday, to hold you close and to share an eternity with you and Mama and all the others who are with you in Heaven.  For now I have to be content to know that you are healthy and whole there, surrounded by God’s love and reunited with so many of our loved ones.  Heaven must be so beautiful, and even more so with you there.

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So, Happy Birthday in Heaven.  I hope you and Mama and the rest of The Big Five can sit down to a big meal together, laughing and remembering the many happy times we enjoyed together.   I miss you every day, but I know you are with me in the ways that really matter, and I know that I will see you again someday.  I love you.

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